Note: Thank you for all the wonderful and sometimes funny reviews. This chapter might need a Kleenex alert for some of you. I know what you're thinking, but we can't help it, we really can't. It's a sickness and we've got it bad.

Silent Sacrifice – chapter 17

It seemed to take forever for him to wake up enough to start thinking coherently. His mind and body alike felt sluggish, the roll of nausea making him shift uncomfortably. He worked his eyes open against the goo that seemed to have welded them shut, only to discover he wasn't in his quarters. When he tried to sit up, he found he couldn't move his arms. Looking down as he pulled, he saw his wrists bound in restraints.

"What the . . . " He yanked again on the restraints, but they held solid. John closed his eyes and forced himself to remain calm. When he had successfully lowered his breathing back down to an acceptable level and his heart wasn't racing quite so madly in his chest, he opened his eyes and studied his surroundings. He was still in Atlantis, the room vaguely familiar. It finally hit him that it was one of the back rooms in the infirmary about the same time he realized that was dressed in scrubs. He had no idea why he was here, much less why he was restrained.

"Carson!" He watched the door, hoping someone would hear him. When no one came, he yelled again. He kept having to stop himself from pulling on the restraints. It was almost compulsive and he couldn't seem to resist doing it, no matter how hard he tried. "Carson, what's going on?"

The door finally opened and John shuddered with relief. Marcy smiled as she moved to his bedside. "Sorry, Colonel, I should have been listening and checking on you more often. Just lay back and take it easy, Dr. Beckett is on his way."

John tried to do as she said, or at least the laying back part. He tried to remain still as Marcy took his pulse, blood pressure, and temperature. By the time she had finished, Beckett came through the door. She handed him her results and then left as Beckett shook his head. "Blood pressure and pulse are high, but I guess that's to be expected."

John looked at Beckett, almost afraid to ask the question he knew he had to ask. "What did I do?"

Beckett frowned, looking confused. "What do you mean?"

John pulled his arms up and rattled the restraints. "I've obviously done something for you to have locked me away in the back room in restraints, but for the life of me, I can't remember what."

Beckett's eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, I forgot about those. Well, obviously you're lucid now and don't need them," he rattled as he removed the bindings from John's wrists. He watched as John nervously rubbed his reddened arms. Beckett started to take hold of one of John's arms to examine the abrasions, but the colonel flinched and pulled his arm back.

"It's fine, just a little red. Now what happened?"

Beckett sighed and pulled a chair up to the bed, sitting heavily in it. "What do you remember?"

John thought a minute before answering. "I think the last thing I remember was going onto a balcony for a little fresh air. Then . . . something about Wraith attacking?" He tried to remember details, but he just had a hazy impression of fighting the Wraith. John looked at Beckett and his stomach curled into an even tighter knot. Something had happened . . . something bad. "What did I do?"

Beckett rubbed his eyes and then leaned back in the chair. "Apparently you fell asleep on the balcony and got caught up in very vivid nightmare about the Wraith. Colonel Caldwell found you and tried to wake you."

John slowly let out the deep breath he had taken in and rubbed his forehead. He had a bad feeling about what was to come next.

"You punched Colonel Caldwell when he was trying to wake you. He finally called me and I had to sedate you to get you calm enough to move here. You were . . . very violent . . . and we couldn't get you to calm down or wake up. I'm sorry Colonel."

John felt as though someone had punched him. It was bad enough that Caldwell had seen him like that, but then he had to go and punch the man, his commanding officer. Can you say court martial? "How much damage did I do to Caldwell?"

"Black eye and a broken nose. He wasn't very happy."

John chuckled, but it sounded miserable. "Yeah, I bet. So, when do I get moved to the brig?" When Carson didn't answer, John felt his heart start double-timing. "Carson?"

Beckett looked at him for several seconds before averting his eyes to the floor. "Caldwell sent a report to the SGC. In light of your recent setback, they have decided . . . the SGC has decided that you could be treated more effectively on Earth. The Daedalus leaves for Earth tomorrow and you are to be on it."

John looked around for a moment, his heart racing in his throat so fast it almost made him dizzy. He hadn't expected that and was totally unprepared. "But that's not fair. I've been doing so well, lately, haven't I? I know it's been slow, but I've started putting weight back on. I've been eating and resting and everything I'm supposed to do. You said yourself the other day that I was finally starting to make progress. How can they send me back now?"

Beckett shook his head. "I know lad, I just finished saying almost the same thing to Elizabeth and Colonel Caldwell. You have been making a real effort to get better the last two weeks and it was beginning to show. Your stomach is certainly in much better shape. I don't understand it myself."

"It's Caldwell. He's either getting me back for punching him or making sure he gets control of Atlantis for good, or maybe both." John leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "I'm so screwed."

"Elizabeth and I are putting together a report of our own, showing how you were making progress . . . well, except for that one incident. We're going to try suggesting that you could see Heightmeyer right here in Atlantis and pointing out how valuable you have been. We'll do everything in our power to change their mind."

John kept his eyes closed. "You can try, Doc, but Caldwell's got a lot of pull and he's been watching for this opportunity for a while. I'm sure he's got a padded cell in a psych ward all line up for me. Hey, but if you get back to Earth sometime, maybe you could come visit me. I'll be the one shuffling around in my pajamas all drugged up and talking to imaginary Wraith."

Beckett was so taken aback for a moment, he didn't know what to say. "Colonel, you can't just give up."

When John looked up at Beckett, the doctor noticed that the light seemed to have gone out of his eyes. "You let me know what the SGC says to your report. While we're waiting, though, it seems I need to pack. Can I go?"

Beckett sighed and found himself wanting to hit a wall somewhere. "Yes, you can go. I guess I'll get your medical records ready . . . just in case. Can I get you something to eat before you go?"

John snorted. "Sedative, remember? You're lucky I haven't already puked all over your nice clean room."

Beckett shook his head. "Yes, I knew that. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I'm a bit rattled right now and not thinking straight."

"Yeah, I know how you feel," John said softly.

oOo

John pulled the last shirt from the drawer and stuffed it in his bag. His movements were slow, methodical, almost robot-like in manner. He was operating on autopilot, the depression and dread weighting him down to the point he almost couldn't think. He turned to close the drawer and saw a photo looking up at him. Picking it up, he closed the drawer and sat on the edge of the bed beside his open bag, staring down at the picture.

It had been taken shortly after they had returned from the far planet in the solar system, where he and Rodney had gone several rounds with what they had dubbed super-Wraith. John was sitting dressed in scrubs in an infirmary bed with Carson on one side and Rodney on the other. He kept the photo in his drawer because he thought he looked goofy. He had been spaced out on painkillers for his broken ribs and severely bruised hip, and between the dazed expression on his face and the scrubs, it was not one of his favorite pictures. Zelenka had insisted on taking it and had printed out one for each of them. The little Czech scientist had decided to photograph everyone before the Wraith arrived to help remember anyone who didn't make it (and that was assuming at least some of them would make it). Still, it was a good reminder of his two friends and how often they took care of him. He picked his book up off the small table near his bed and put the picture in it for safekeeping. At least War and Peace would be useful for something besides pretending to read. He stuffed the book into his bag as someone knocked on the door.

John thought the door open, too tired and lethargic to get up. Caldwell stood in the doorway, causing John's stomach to clench and roll. He was almost happy to see the black eye and bruised, swollen nose. Almost. After all, that had probably been the deciding factor in having him hauled back to Earth. John stood, not out of respect, but because he didn't want Caldwell looking down at him.

"Come to gloat?" he asked curtly.

Caldwell stepped into the room and the door slid closed behind him. "No, I was just checking to be sure you understood that we leave for Earth tomorrow."

"I understand. Don't worry, I won't get you off schedule. Wouldn't want you to be late getting back to your new post. You won, okay? You got me kicked out and yourself installed as new military commander and you got to ruin what's left of my life in the process. I get it. You can leave now." John turned and walked over to the window, his fists clenched at his side.

Caldwell stood watching him for several seconds, making John nervous. "In spite of your complex that assumes I'm just after your post, this is being done for your own good."

"In that case, you should have just left me on that planet to die. I didn't fight to make it back and work like I have the last few weeks to get better, only to be dumped in a psyche ward on Earth. You know as well as I do that my career is over, and they can't just turn me loose because of what I know. I have no illusions about what's about to happen."

Caldwell's expression softened a little at Sheppard's suggestion that he should have been left on the planet. "You need help, Colonel, and that's the only reason I'm not charging you with assault. You weren't ready for this level of responsibility. You haven't earned it and you don't belong here."

John slowly turned around to glare incredulously at Caldwell. "I haven't earned it? I don't belong here? You can't seriously believe that." John began pacing, searching for an outlet for the rage within him that didn't involve hitting his C.O. His voice was calm and controlled when he responded. "I stepped through the gate with the original expedition, at a time when we had no idea if we could ever go home again or what we'd find here. I gave up everything I'd ever known to take a chance and come to the lost city of Atlantis." His eyes almost misted as he remembered that first trip through a wormhole and his first look at Atlantis.

"I watched the city light up as I walked through it, welcoming us, welcoming the ancestors of the original inhabitants. Where were you? I was here when we discovered the stuff of nightmares and lived through a few of them as well. Where were you when the Genii invaded the city and tried to take over? I could have used your help because I was the one sneaking around the city in a hurricane trying to take them out. Where were you when the nanovirus struck or when I took a nuclear weapon up to set off over Atlantis? Where were you when McKay and I were battling a super Wraith, trying to keep it from using our jumper to call his friends? I've been stunned, shot, starved, tortured, bitten by an iratus bug, almost turned into an iratus bug, and brought back from the dead. But you don't think I've earned the right to be here." Sheppard sighed in disgust as he stopped pacing.

"And you don't think I belong here." He turned the lights in his quarters on and then off again. "Can you think the lights on and off?" He opened the door and then closed it again. "Can you open the door with your thoughts? I can feel this city and the city feels me. I can operate things no one else can operate. I'm the only one who can run the weapons chair with any control or accuracy and now we even have drones to use. But I don't belong here? Why don't you ask Atlantis if I belong here? Oh, that's right, you can't. You don't have the Ancient gene, so you have no idea what it's like to actually feel this city run."

John stood and glared at the man with contempt. He didn't try to hide the bitterness that engulfed him as he moved to stand purposefully in Caldwell's personal space. "It's just you and me here and we both know what's going on, so I don't know why you're playing these games. You can tell others and yourself that I'm sick if you want, but do not ever say I haven't earned the right to be here or that I don't belong here again in my presence, or you'll see just how violent I can get. Trust me, you haven't seen anything yet, just ask the Genii."

John didn't wait on Caldwell to leave. He simply couldn't control it any longer. He went quickly to the bathroom, closed the door, and heaved until he was so weak he couldn't stand. He sat on the floor with his back against the wall and his legs pulled up to his chest. Leaning his head back against the wall, the full brunt of his frustration hit and he finally allowed the tears to stream down his face. Soldiers weren't supposed to cry, but he wouldn't be one for much longer. He figured he was allowed. Closing his eyes, he let his face fall forward until his forehead rested against his knees, trying not to think about what was to come.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but at some point he was aware of someone sitting down beside him. Curiosity got the better of him and he twisted his head to see who it was.

"Doc, what are you doing here?"

Beckett looked at him, sadness in his eyes. "Caldwell said I might want to check on you."

John snorted as he returned his head to facing down and closed his eyes again. "I said my peace to the man and don't worry, the only thing that got violent was my stomach. I'm starting to wish I'd let go of the pack."

"What?" Beckett asked, confused.

"Nothing. Doesn't matter."

"How about if I help you get up and over to the bed?"

"No, I'm fine. I just want to sit here for a few minutes. You know, sulk, feel sorry for myself, that kind of thing."

Beckett stood up next to him. "Well, you can do all that sitting on your bed instead of on a cold, hard floor. Let's get you up."

John looked up at Beckett and realized the doctor wasn't going to give up. "Fine," he muttered, taking the offered hand. When he was standing, he leaned heavily against the wall, fighting off the dizziness and rushing in his ears. When the room settled, he allowed Beckett to lead him to the bed, where he sat down. He pulled his arm back when the doctor began taking his pulse. "I'm alive, Doc, you don't need to do that. Although there's not much point any more."

"Colonel, there is too a point and it's keeping you healthy."

John looked down at his open, packed bag. "You don't get it, do you? Why do I need to be healthy? They're sending me back and locking me up."

"You don't know that," said Beckett, his voice getting louder and angrier. He couldn't understand why Sheppard was giving up so easily after working so hard to get his health back.

"I've seen what they do when you're no longer useful to them." John got up and walked over the window, leaning against it for support when his legs felt shaky. "I've seen what they do," he repeated in a whisper.

Beckett came up behind him. He didn't say anything, but John knew he was waiting for an explanation. "My father used to have this friend in special ops. Real vibrant, alive, never sit still kind of guy. I always loved it when Uncle Tye visited. When I was in junior high school, dad told me he had some kind of breakdown, but the Army was taking care of him. We finally went to see him when I was in high school." He turned around to face Beckett. "Do you remember what I told you to look for if you came to visit me on Earth? Shuffling around in pajamas, drugged to the gills, and talking to imaginary people? That was Uncle Tye, that's what they reduced him to."

Beckett sighed and looked at the floor. "Look, Colonel, I don't know what happened to your father's friend, or if he received proper care or not, but there's no guarantee that's what will happen to you."

Sheppard narrowed his eyes as he studied the doctor's expression. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

Beckett shook his head emphatically. "No, not in any way, form, or fashion."

John had to smile at the confidence the doctor had in his answer. "Tougher question, Doc. Do you think I need help? Do you think I need to go back to Earth?"

Beckett looked straight at Sheppard. "I do not think you need to be back on Earth, but I do think you could use some help. It's not normal to have nightmares as often or as realistically as you do. And it certainly isn't normal to be that violent and so deeply into it that you cannot be awakened. I think it is at least partly due to your weak physical condition and to the trauma you suffered while stranded on that planet. You were under a lot of stress, trying to keep you and the other two alive all by yourself . . . all while hiding your own injuries and discomfort. But I think at least part of it runs deeper than that. I do believe that you would be better served, physically as well as mentally, by staying on Atlantis. And I will argue that point with anyone that cares to listen."

John smiled wryly. "Thanks for the honesty, Carson."

Beckett nodded, unable to bring the smile. "You're welcome, Colonel. I just wish I could do more."

"You've done everything you can, and I thank you for that. I think I'm going to take a little walk. I have a city to say good-bye to."

"Mind if I walk a minute with you?"

John shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself." The two men walked amicably out the door and down the corridor.

oOo

John spent the next few hours slowly walking the halls and outdoor walkways of Atlantis. He took his time and stopped to rest when he was tired. Sometimes he just leaned his hand against the wall and listened, feeling the hum of the city beneath his fingers. It almost felt like electricity flowing down his arm and into his chest. "I'm going to miss you," he whispered and, in a way, it felt like she answered.

The light slipped out of one of the labs and across the darkened hallway, keying John in to exactly where he had wandered. He stopped in the doorway to watch, the muttered complaints from inside the room making him smile. The smile faltered a little when Rodney turned and he saw the pained expression on the man's face as he pulled at the brace around his torso.

"What are you looking at?" came the sharp question, followed quickly by a scowl.

John just continued to smile. "A friend I'm really going to miss."

Rodney's expression softened, the frown dissolving as he studied Sheppard. "Yeah, me too."

After an uncomfortable silence during which neither knew what to say, John finally recovered. "Are you supposed to be working this late?"

Rodney snorted and eased himself down on his stool. "No, probably not. Are you supposed to be roaming the halls this late?"

"No, probably not. What's Beckett going to do, ground me?"

Another pesky bout of awkward silence ensued. "So . . . you want to help me try out this new Ancient thing Zelenka found?"

John stepped forward. "Sure, why not? It's probably the last Ancient thing I'll ever lay my hands on." For once, he thought, I actually wish this thing would zap me and somehow get me out of going back to Earth. He sat down on the stool beside Rodney and looked down at the device. "What do you want me to do?"

When John finally looked at his watch several hours later, it was 0200. He was so wound up that he hadn't noticed it was that late. "Rodney, we'd better knock off and let you get some rest." He was just letting himself notice the deepening lines of pain around Rodney's eyes and mouth.

"What? No, it's too early to quit . . . unless you're tired." Rodney looked at him expectantly.

"Yeah, actually I am," he lied. "Big day tomorrow and everything. I wouldn't want to oversleep and make Caldwell even madder."

"Oh, right. Well, I'll see you . . . er, no, I won't see you." Under other circumstances, it might have been funny to watch Rodney struggle for words. As it was, it just made John feel sick.

"Rodney . . . I just wanted to say it's been a pleasure working with you and thank you for all the times you stepped up to save my butt. I'll miss you . . . and who'll finish my meals for me or ramble until my ears just about fall off?"

Rodney tried his best to smirk, but it came out looking more like he had a bad case of indigestion. "Yeah, well, thanks for letting me be on your team. I can honestly say I've learned a lot from you . . . stuff about using guns and hiding from the enemy that I never even thought I wanted to know. I guess I'll have to step up and be the one who attracts all the Ancient women and alien princesses now." He frowned at Sheppard. "How do you do that thing with your hair?"

"Not going to happen, McKay."

Rodney just nodded, as if he expected it. "Yeah, I know."

They stood looking at one another for several seconds. John finally put his hand out. Rodney looked at it oddly and then slowly took it, shaking the hand of a man he had come to deeply respect. He would never in a million years have imagined he would grow to like and respect a career flyboy as much as he had Sheppard. And now he was probably seeing him for the last time.

"Sheppard . . . I don't think I ever thanked you for keeping us alive on that planet. I have no doubt we would have died if it weren't for you."

"I'm just glad I was there."

"Yeah . . . me too. Well, I mean I'm not glad that you were there hurting and starving and driving yourself to exhaustion, I mean I'm glad – "

"It's okay, Rodney. I know what you mean."

"Oh . . . okay . . . Colonel . . . I don't think I can come in the morning. I never was good at the whole good-bye thing." He felt guilty telling this man who had saved his life countless times that he couldn't bring himself to watch him leave, to know that he would probably never come back to the place he'd come to call home.

"It's okay, I understand. I don't think I'll be in all that great a shape myself by then. It's probably just as well."

Rodney nodded. "Do you regret coming?"

John shook his head. "Never. I wouldn't change that, even if I could. I just regret the way I'm leaving. If I had to leave, I'd rather go out fighting the Wraith or the Genii or fighting for my team. This . . . is just humiliating."

"No, it's not, because everyone on this base knows how important you are to the city, to the expedition, and to the people here. Caldwell may get your assignment, but he'll never take your place."

John smiled sheepishly. "I thought you didn't go in for sentimental."

"I don't. I'm just stating the facts, the pure scientific facts." Rodney crossed his arms defiantly, challenging John to dispute him.

John just smiled at the scientist, his throat constricting as his chest tightened. "Thanks, McKay," he whispered. He turned and quickly left before he lost it completely.

John made his way to the balcony near his room. He breathed in the cool night air, trying to let it calm his nerves. He knew there would be no sleep tonight, but he wasn't concerned. He'd have plenty of time to sleep once he boarded the Daedalus. He figured that would be just about all he'd be allowed to do. Caldwell had never told him if he would be making the trip in the brig, the infirmary, or private quarters. He was probably better off not knowing until the last minute, because he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

John gazed up at the moon and the stars, trying to burn the patterns into his head since it would be his last look at this particular nighttime sky. He had sought comfort and solace on this balcony many times over the past two years. He'd faced a few demons and made some important decisions out here. It had been his private sanctuary and it had also ended his career. If only Caldwell had left him alone that night.

No, he had to quit blaming Caldwell. He knew the nightmare problem had begun long ago and he also knew he should have sought help before now. Granted, the ordeal on the planet had intensified the problem, but if he'd gone to Heightmeyer like Beckett had suggested long ago, he might not be in this mess. He figured it was time to step up and take responsibility for his actions . . . or in this case, his inaction. He had no one to blame but himself and it was time to face it. He turned around and went to his room.

John checked his bag to make sure he had everything and then looked around his room. When he was sure everything was packed, he sat down at his desk. He prepared an email to Elizabeth to be read to his teammates and friends after he was gone, apologizing for not getting help when he needed it and letting things get so far out of hand. He thanked everyone for everything they had done and been to him while he was in Atlantis and wished them all well, ending with how much he would miss them. Sitting at his desk for the last time, he stared at it until he knew it was time to head for the Daedalus. Hitting send, he shut the computer down.

John Sheppard picked up his bag and took one last look around his room. "Good-bye Atlantis. Take care of them for me." He walked out, thinking the door shut behind him. He realized he would have to get reacquainted with doorknobs when he got back to Earth or he'd be smacking into doors all the time. He already missed Atlantis.

TBC