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Chapter 5
I sat on the side of the bed, grateful that Beckett had not inflicted one of those 'gowns' on me, instead handing me a set of scrubs that actually almost fit. There had been several blood tests, and scans, and assorted pokes and prods. For a while, though, I'd been left alone behind a privacy screen, and Beckett had given me a warm blanket and encouraged me to sleep for a bit, while the blood tests were done.
I'd known it wasn't necessary that I remain in the infirmary, it was Beckett being protective; but I'd found it relaxing to be there, knowing Sheppard and McKay were in the next room, and Teyla was waiting for me with them.
I'd heard voices. I was almost certain no one knew exactly how good my hearing was, and I wasn't going to volunteer the information, so I'd just sat there and listened. It was Beckett, and he was talking with Weir.
That was a surprise. I hadn't known what the head of Atlantis really thought of me, but as I began to follow the thread of the conversation, I discovered that she was genuinely concerned for me.
"…still anaemic, believe it or not. He has to stop eating just the sweet stuff and go for the green leafy stuff." Beckett had finished a sentence begun out of the range of even my hearing.
"Anaemic?" Weir had said, in disbelief.
"And exhausted. That, we know why. The anaemia is due to his diet change. When he was on the run he hunted, ate mostly meat and fruit. Rodney's introduced him to other, less nutritious stuff. I'll just have a word with him about that."
"Ronon?" There was a smile in her voice, I'd heard it.
"Rodney. He could stand to eat better, too, though his weight isn't an issue any more." The affection had been evident. "He'll be more likely to do it if he thinks he's helping a friend."
It hadn't been that much of a surprise that McKay thought of me as a friend. What had surprised me was Beckett's insight, and how - comforting - it was.
"What caused that...anxiety attack?" Weir had sounded worried, then. "It seems so – out of character."
"It was a combination of things, Elizabeth. He hadn't slept for three or four days before they went out on the rescue, he'd not been eating well - hardly at all, really. It takes a lot of nourishment to keep that body going." I heard them move over to the desk. "And it had to be partly the emotional impact of finding our lads the way they did. He's covering up better than most would, but, as you well know, he is by no means a dim bulb. Still waters run deep, my mum always said, and he's sharp, smarter than he likes to let on. He plays the big, dumb lug very well, is all."
What was the term someone used when they were caught? It was one of the more colourful terms…oh, yes. Busted.
"I haven't had their reports yet, and I only got the short version from Lorne. It sounds like there's more to it. How they found them?"
Beckett had sighed. "I asked Teyla that very same question. She said it was dark in there, that it smelled of evil – of people taking delight in other people's pain. It wasn't just what she said, though, it was her eyes. She looked like a – a rabbit in the headlights. I didn't press her on it."
Weir had made a small sound of distress; I remember thinking that she probably didn't even realize it. Surprisingly, I'd found myself almost wanting to comfort her.
"Aye. For it to frighten her…I didn't even ask Ronon. I didn't think he'd tell me. He seems to have only a certain number of words per day for conversation." He'd tried to bring a bit of levity to the dark topic. "But I'd guess that our Ronon has seen worse in his time out there."
'Our' Ronon. I'd almost smiled at that. And in my mind I saw Weir cock her head questioningly, as she did when she didn't want to interrupt someone's thought but wanted to hear more.
"He's been on the run seven years, lass. And yet he's not talked about it at all. Think about it - seven years, unable to remain in one place, knowing anyone you grew close to would likely die a horrid death. Now he's free. He can't just forget all those years, and he's discovered that, still, anyone you grow close to can die a horrid death. The man is very strong, we know that. But he is still a man, and he still has a breaking point."
"He hasn't reached that yet."
I remembered hoping her confident statement was right, though my breaking and running like a raw recruit had me wondering about myself.
"Not yet, no. But he's on the edge. He needs to reconcile his old life with his new, and he hasn't had the chance to, yet. He joined us and he's been out on mission after mission, it must seem almost as if nothing's changed."
Everything has changed, I'd wanted to say, but I'd held my tongue, curiosity overwhelming impulse.
There had been a quiet moment.
"How can we help him, Carson?" She'd sounded determined, and I'd realized, with a start, that somehow I'd truly become one of her team, someone she was responsible for and to.
"We need to give him some down time. All of them. In a way, it's perfect timing; I won't be releasing either John or Rodney for a few days. That's for the short term. For the long term, though she'll be able to help the two lads, I don't think Kate has the experience or tools to work with Ronon. I'm not certain anyone on Earth does."
"I agree. But I would think that his team knows him best of anyone here," I'd heard her stand. "Perhaps they can help."
Four words, just four words, and they'd almost done me in. That stone face I keep on is as much a mask as McKay's arrogant expression, or Sheppard's easy confidence, or Teyla's patient smile. It's easier for us all if we don't show ourselves too clearly. But hearing that, I had a bad couple of seconds, and if those screens had been pushed aside just a bit earlier Beckett would have had a real shock. Fortunately, by the time the screens did open I was back under control.
"The results came back, lad. I'm giving you a vitamin shot, and then you're free to go. On one condition."
"Hm?"
"Eat a good meal. Get some sleep. Take a day and do nothing. Your team is off the roster - take advantage of it. The only thing you'll need to do is make a report to Elizabeth."
I'd nodded, slipping off the bed.
"And don't be haunting the infirmary, either; they need their sleep."
"They need us," I'd replied, shucking the shirt.
"Aye, they do. But not every minute." I'd felt a hand on my shoulder. It had felt fragile; it belonged to a being I could kill in an instant. Yet these people had a power over me, and it was power I'd given them. I'd let his hand turn me. "Take time for yourself, lad. Do what you need to do, but you're home, here." Beckett's blue eyes had met mine with frankness. "Make it your home."
I'd let myself smile.
"I will," I'd replied. Home, huh? Yeah. I could do that.
OoO
McKay waited a moment for me to continue, but I just kept eating, offering no explanation, and finally McKay began to eat again too. We finished the meal in companionable silence, paying strict attention to the flavourful stew.
It wasn't till we'd finished, the last of the gravy sopped up with the last of the bread, and I had cleared the table, that I decided to try what Beckett had suggested. For me, home had been my troop, wherever we were, and now I had a new troop.
"I had a tent for a while," I said offhandedly.
"Can't see the stars through it, though."
I looked up in surprise at McKay. "No, you can't," I replied, pleased that he would understand.
I turned a chair to face the stove, brought another over, and a hassock, and gestured McKay to sit and put his feet up. Pulling the grill out, I put a larger log on, and a companion one to help it burn, and we sat and stared at the flames through the fireguard.
The fire crackled and spit as moisture in the wood turned to steam, boiling off. I couldn't help letting my memory drift to the rescue again, and the video reports Sheppard and McKay had once they'd been released – the first time. They'd been made privately to Weir, with Beckett and Heightmeyer in attendance, but they'd both indicated we were permitted to watch it, if we thought it would help. Teyla and I had agreed to view the recording of the debrief. It seemed the proper thing to do.
Sometimes I wondered, selfishly, if it had been a mistake.
Chapter 6The video image had been clear. Sheppard and McKay had been released that morning. The first thing they had done was to ask to make their verbal report, typing on a keyboard being a proscribed activity for the foreseeable future. Heightmeyer had agreed, thinking, Teyla had suggested, that it would help them begin to deal, and the camera had been set up next to Weir in the brightly lit briefing room. Only our two teammates were on the screen.
Weir had set the recording up and left us, and we were grateful for the privacy.
Teyla's tension was palpable. She couldn't sit at first, watching; she'd stood and paced for a few seconds until I'd reached out and stopped her, gently. She'd sat again, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them, making herself as small as possible, as if what they'd endured would pass over her more completely that way - but still, she stayed. In the first fifteen minutes, our teammates had covered being separated from us by the carefully timed parade in the central square of Orna, the location of several of our trading partners – 'Planet Mall' as Sheppard had christened it. They had described being drugged, and waking in a cell.
Their manner had been controlled, the delivery as dispassionate as they could make it.
"…it was cold, and dark. Black. There was no light at all, except when they came for you. There were vents everywhere. You could hear the…what was going on below you. In the deeper chambers." Sheppard's voice was flat.
"Rats. Well, rodents." McKay was taking his cue from the pilot. They both sat on one side of the table, chairs a little closer than most human males were comfortable with, Teyla had mentioned to me. Both sets of hands folded on the surface in front of them. The video was clear enough to show the neat wrappings of the splints on their hands.
"Rodents. And noises from below. Like…like sick amusement park music. All the time."
"After a couple days, we spent most of our time in one corner, for warmth."
There was a pause.
"Did you see any of the other prisoners?"
It was a fairly innocuous question, didn't seem as potentially emotionally charged as any of the others she could've asked.
"A couple. They didn't look like Kabronians. The guards had that kind of – ridge – between their eyes. Like those Star Trek aliens." Sheppard glanced at McKay, who'd managed a wavering grin.
"Everything comes back to Star Trek, huh? You mean Bajorans. Like the Bajorans."
Sheppard quirked the corner of his mouth in an approximation of his usual smirk. "Scares me that you know that, McKay."
"Does that mean the prisoners were all from offworld?" McKay asked suddenly. "That would explain why we didn't hear much about the place from anyone else."
Sheppard shrugged. "Didn't hear anyone else getting rescued," he said dryly.
There was a creak of a chair as someone out of range of the image shifted.
"How many times were you taken from that cell?" Weir's voice, from off camera, had been quiet and contained.
"I'm – not certain," Sheppard had said, facing Weir and the camera beside her. "We couldn't speak, after the first day or so. There was no sense of day or night down there, and we never saw the same guard twice, it seemed like. And I was out of it towards the end."
"They took me at least seven times," McKay had said suddenly, and the front he was putting up was beginning to break down. "I'm sure about that much. Each time, they'd break a finger." He barked out harsh laughter. "Counting on our fingers. That would make it - five - for Sheppard. He wasn't giving them much response after they…after…with the internal bleeding…" he trailed off.
Another pause.
"Were you fed? Did you have water?"
"Not much, and not really. They'd throw a skin of water and some grainy bread in whenever they felt we'd gotten too weak. The cell was cold. Condensation helped…a bit…" Sheppard had taken on the burden of response now. Beside him, McKay had shuddered once. Sheppard had rolled his chair a bit closer.
"You said you couldn't speak."
"It's amazing what a few hours of screaming in pain will do to your vocal cords," McKay had replied bitterly. "The first couple of days, they'd bring me back and take him, then bring him back and take me."
"We tore up one of the jackets to try to keep our hands splinted. We'd do what we could, when we could. After a while we lost track of time. They took us more and more seldom. Never together…"
"…thank god…" McKay muttered beside him.
"…but sometimes…you could hear…I could hear…from below…"
Sheppard had hunched over a bit. To an untrained eye it seemed as if he'd just changed position. McKay had moved his arm so they brushed elbows, and after a few seconds Sheppard straightened again.
"We can stop if you like." He'd heard a tiny quaver in Weir's voice.
Sheppard had looked at McKay, then back at the camera. "Let's get it done."
"What information were they looking for?"
"Where we were from, how many troops we had, what our fighting force was like. But I think it was just an excuse. No matter what I said," Sheppard frowned "and I said some stuff that would have sounded plausible - they just kept working me over. Beatings, mostly. Some drugs. Electricity."
"And you, Dr. McKay?"
"Pretty much the same. They were amused that we'd try to take care of each other, after. It made them laugh. It was funny to them that we'd huddle for warmth. And when the Colonel was hurt so badly…I couldn't leave him on the floor…I knew he was bleeding internally. He breathed easier sitting."
Sheppard had glanced over, a small, sad smile on his face, but the physicist was buried in remembered pain. "Holding on to him kind of helped me, too. It was like we'd gone to purgatory, but at least we weren't alone…" the halting voice had drifted to almost a whisper, and he wasn't looking up but at his hands, eyes dark and memories far too fresh. The broken sentences were so wrong for someone whose command of language was one of his defining characteristics. "…wasn't going to let him die alone. My ribs hurt. Bastards kicked me. I felt them break." He was shivering now, almost constantly, and Sheppard had moved closer still. He'd placed one wrapped hand on McKay's folded ones, and McKay had glanced up, then down again.
"It's over," he'd said quietly. "Rodney. It's over now."
"Right," McKay had whispered. "Over." He moved one hand, laying it over Sheppard's, curling over to rest his forehead on them, shoulders shuddering. Sheppard looked up past the camera, eyes tight with concern, but Beckett had stepped into the frame, and Heightmeyer had followed, turning to face the lens. "Turn it off," she directed, pointing. "Turn the damn thing off."
OoO
I blinked, aware again, staring into the faint red glow of the embers. Sheppard and McKay had returned to the infirmary for another night under observation, Beckett giving himself six kinds of hell all the while, furious at himself for letting them out, letting them do the report. Heightmeyer had spent several hours with them, in private, and they'd been released, again, the next day. Weir had decided the report would stand as it was, and once Teyla and I had viewed it she'd marked it "Eyes Only" and sent it through on a separate databurst.
It had been deeply disturbing. I still wasn't certain it had been the best thing to do, but there was no doubt that it helped me understand some of the fresh ghosts that haunted the two. I held up a hand, seeing the warm, ruddy light along my fingers. I had some of my own ghosts, too, they were just older. Maybe Beckett was right, maybe this time off the rotation would help exorcise some of them.
McKay snorted beside me, and I nudged the man's shoulder. "Off to bed," I said.
"In a sec."
It was warm and comfortable; we'd both stretched out our legs on the hassocks, slouching down. I eyed McKay, decided he couldn't get into any trouble sleeping there for the night, and let it go. The two logs I'd put on were burning down, and I roused myself long enough to put two more on, leaning back and letting my mind roam again.