Angela, you are a goddess!

Notes: We're getting there! Thanks for reading and commenting!

Revelation

"What the hell was that?" John had expected his homecoming to be a bit difficult, to find his team in disarray, but this was overly dramatic. He eyed Ronon, Teyla and Carson inquisitively.

"He's not well." Carson attempted to examine the Colonel despite the force field. As with Teyla, Rodney and Ronon, he couldn't gain access to John's body. Frustrated Carson resorted to placing a blanket on his shoulders and hoped it would stay; if only to preserve the man's modesty. All the while, his thoughts were on Rodney and the pressure he was putting on his body; it had been through excessive amount of stress since their arrival in this forsaken galaxy. Rodney would surely die of a heart attack, despite all the dangers they encountered on missions, he would be his own demise. "Major Lorne, can you bring him back? He'll kill himself, the bloody fool."

John grabbed the edge of the blanket, wrapping it around himself for warmth and cover. "Kill himself!"

"His blood pressure is sky-rocketing, that's certain." The Doctor moved to his medication stock and came back with a filled syringe. He stood by John's bed, facing the vacant one on the left.

"LET ME GO YOU UGLY PRIMATES."

Carson took this as his cue and moved to stand at the foot of the empty bed, watching passively as the soldiers dragged a more than reluctant Rodney into the infirmary. "Rodney. Calm down." He indicated the bed and the soldiers forced McKay onto it. Idiotically, they released him and of the many things Rodney was considered to be, idiot was far down the list. Therefore, taking advantage of his freed limbs, he got to his feet, pushed the soldiers out of the way, shoved Carson to the side and headed for the door.

"Rodney!" Carson was at the end of his rope. He understood how distressing this could be for a man like Rodney, who felt everything with such intensity, but he needed him to calm down in the briefest of delays. If it meant using slightly humiliating tactics, then that's what he would do. "Get him on the bed and hold him down. Careful with the left leg, it'll hurt if you put too much pressure there."

The soldiers grabbed Rodney's scrubs-clad frame once more and wrestled him back to the bed. Two soldiers held his upper body firmly and the two others did the same to his legs, though heeding Caron's advice, realising that adrenaline alone was keeping McKay from feeling the pain a gunshot always left behind.

"GET OFF ME! GET OFF!" Rodney struggled and his captors increased the pressure on his limbs. Strong hands attached to powerful bodies; he was no match for them but he fought nonetheless.

Carson slowly approached the bed, syringe held high in plain sight. When he spoke, his voice was soft, gentle, cajoling. Tough-love hadn't worked earlier and it certainly wouldn't do any good now. "Rodney, you need to calm down. I don't want to sedate you…"

"Are you THREATENING me, BECKETT? Ooooooh, big BAD DOCTOR with his big bad NEEDLE!" The words were spat out. The eyes shone with defiance and intense dislike.

"I'm not threatening you. You'll only be hurt if you don't calm yourself down. Just stop struggling, stop shouting and take a few deep breaths." Carson hoped he would capitulate. Seeing him so out of control was like a dagger through his heart. He felt useless when faced with such behaviour. He had only concern, comfort and the presence of a friend to offer.

"I'LL CALM DOWN WHEN HE'S OUT OF MY SIGHT!" From his perch atop the infirmary bed, relentless in his fight to free himself of the restraining hands that pushed him down, Rodney glared at John with open hostility.

"Don't look at him if he bothers you. Close your eyes and take deep breaths." A doctor never wanted to feel so useless, giving silly advice and spouting platitudes. A friend couldn't tolerate powerlessness, when faced with such hurt.

"Rodney! Lie down and shut up!" John had to get in there. He knew how to handle him. So Rodney was angrier than he'd ever seen him; didn't mean he wouldn't do as he was told. Carson was usually able to get him to yield but he was doing it all wrong. A swift kick in the arse was what the man really needed. You couldn't be nice to Rodney when he behaved like this, when he...lost it.

"DON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME, SHEPPARD! DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE! I'll BREAK YOUR NECK AND BE DONE WITH IT! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

Carson frowned at John as he took a step closer to Rodney's bed, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Colonel, please don't antagonise him."

Rodney attempted to shrug off the warm, comforting hand but he was held down too firmly. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to be screaming like this. He wanted Carson to sedate him so he wouldn't have to hate himself for what he was doing. Obstinately, he continued screaming and struggling; waiting, wishing, pleading with all his being for Carson to empty the needle of its sleep-filled nectar into his aching flesh. He couldn't deal with his thoughts and feelings. Afraid, angry, alone; beleaguered, betrayed, baleful; cussed, cynical, chaotic. He could continue on, in precise alphabetic order and still would not have enough words for everything he felt, everything he embodied at that precise moment. He was obsessed with the knowledge that John would die again, sooner rather than later, and it tore him apart. The complete elation his homecoming caused was shadowed by utter despair; he didn't want John to be back, he'd only disappear, he always did. Curse the man for intruding upon his life. Invulnerable, he wanted to be truly untouchable. He'd had enough hardship; enough of people who abandoned him, enough of losing those he cared for.

"Rodney, you need to calm down. It'll be fine if you do. You don't need to scream like this. Can you calm down just a little? Close your eyes, breathe and it'll be over." Slightly squeezing the shoulder his hand rested upon, Carson attempted to subdue him with kindness. He saw the pleading look that danced fleetingly over Rodney's face and decided to give him the sedative, unwilling to shackle him with restraints. That would be the ultimate insult, the sign that he was truly unmanageable. By sedating him, they could pretend he had simply fallen asleep, wouldn't have to acknowledge there was a problem, not until he woke. Rodney was not listening and whether he couldn't or he wouldn't was of no consequence. Ultimately, it would lead to harm. "Hold him down, keep his arms still."

Rodney struggled, carrying on with the charade, because he couldn't do otherwise, because his body was so full of unwanted turmoil that he had to let flow out in a torrent of insults and forceful, stilted movements. Carson plunged the needle in the pale skin and deeper to the muscle. He emptied it of its content and waited, watching McKay's face slacken, his eyelids flutter and finally, sleep overcame him and he relaxed completely. Carson thanked the soldiers as they left, but for Major Lorne who couldn't hide his concern. He might not have liked Doctor McKay when first they had met, but he certainly didn't wish him any harm.

"Is he gonna be okay, Doctor?"

"He'll be fine, but asleep for some time. Thank you for your help, Major."

Lorne nodded to Carson, Teyla and Ronon, saluted his CO informally and turned to exit the infirmary. John's voice stopped him.

"Nobody needs to know about this, Major." His meaning was clear; the hard edge to his voice told of the unpleasantness that would befall his team was the story of Doctor McKay's inflicted sedation made to be known around Atlantis.

"Of course, Sir." Not that he needed to be told. Lorne was not the kind of man who enjoyed another's pain. He turned and exited the room under his CO's thoughtful gaze.

Carefully manoeuvring his blanket so he would remain covered, Sheppard turned and stretched out on the bed. "Anybody care to fill me in?"

Teyla started to explain what had happened in the last two weeks. They had been reunited with the Colonel for a few days, but sleeping from a draining fever he had been unaware of Rodney's descent into the depth of despair. All this emotionality made her somewhat poetic but words failed her when it came to speak of the problem at hand. "Rodney is…"

"Crazy." Ronon's mind and speech were free of any poetical influence. Quietly, he had gained a new respect for words and considered his choice to be precise, concise and befitting.

"Ronon." The disapproving tone and chastening look plainly expressed Teyla's disaccord of her team-mate's command of the spoken word.

John smiled despite himself. They were home, safe and sound. Nothing had changed between Ronon and Teyla, they had the same dynamic. He would mesh seamlessly with them as he had before. It left only Rodney.

"He has not been well since our mission to Atle. He is…"

"Crazy." Ronon nodded convincingly. He wondered why she skittered around the issue; deliberate vagueness was not like her. She was purposefully seeking a different word, as if telling the truth would only make it worst.

"…angry."

"He's angry?" The answer was unacceptable. John knew angry McKay and this performance had not been it. That had been hostile, hateful, feral McKay. "It's not anger. There has to be something more for him to get like that." John indicated their friend slack from forced drowsiness. There simply had to be something wrong. Something he didn't know, something he hadn't seen.

There was and it was obvious enough. "It's stress, Colonel. It was bound to happen, I'd told him to be careful, take a few days for himself and that was before the force field and your..." Carson's hand fluttered, as if to grasp the right word out of the air.

Teyla was forced to wonder when speaking had gotten so hard for them and so easy for John, who completed Carson's sentence with a slight lift of eyebrow. "Death?"

"Aye, your death. But, he doesn't listen, think's he's a bloody robot, keeps going and going with no regards for his health. He'll work himself to an early grave."

"That can't be all stress and missing a vacation or two." Worry hid within the golden flecks of Sheppard's irises. He wanted to reach out and touch; to get off his bed, cross a few feet and place his hand on his Rodney's arm. Pat-pat; it'd be over and he would get back to bed, the compelling need to soothe, or be soothed, dissipated. He couldn't; not here, where life was relatively normal. Comfort was something you offered in the field, when things went wrong and fear took reason away. A pat, a squeeze, a warm hand on a cold shoulder; they'd come later, when speaking wasn't enough anymore. For now, he would safeguard his doubtful secrets, his need for reassurance, beneath the reliable Sheppard façade.

Carson gave him a hard look. "He doesn't enjoy seeing a friend die again and again."

"Hey! That wasn't my fault!"

The physician's face softened at the vehemence of the reply "I know it wasn't Colonel. I'm just telling you why he's like that. It's the push that he needed to go over the edge. He's exhausted."

So, Carson was worried, very worried and John wasn't wholly encouraged. "Alright, he's having trouble dealing. Shouldn't he be happy to see me? I mean, if he's so upset I died!"

Teyla shuffled on her bed, glancing quickly at Ronon. It was all there, in John's innocent question. Memory supplied a soft voice, divulging thoughts that were never meant to be shared. Rodney's whispered I hate you John haunted her. It came riding on a wave of guilt and she wanted to tell him, tell this man that their friend was lost, that he was suffering because of him, but she couldn't. She didn't say a word and let the guilt of knowledge eat away at the joy she felt from John Sheppard's presence. She feared they would never regain their prior closeness; the bounds had been too severely damaged. She'd hit Rodney and it had only aggravated his withdrawal. Guilt heightened and tore at her. It translated into physical pain and she couldn't help the wince that stressed her usually serene features.

Ronon had no such guilt. He had tried being quiet, it was worked for him if for no one else, but there was no need for it now, he could regain his stance, his world was no longer falling apart. That was the faith he had in Sheppard; he would set this right, could face McKay and make him listen. He found himself comforted in sharing the medical space of Atlantis with his strange family; a family in need of truth, in need of trust, in need of repairs. He believed in them all; they'd see this through, as they did the rest. He ignored Carson's presence for he was the soul of discretion and, Ronon had come to learn these last few days, a friend to McKay. "He doesn't like you much."

"Ronon!"

"You heard him." His eyes locked on Teyla and she could only lower her gaze. They had both witnessed the late-night confession.

"How come he doesn't like me much? What does that mean!" John wasn't one to care about being liked, being accepted. He did, however, care about this man. His gaze strayed once again to the prone form of his best friend. They'd been through so much together. He liked Rodney, he liked having him around and it pained him to hear that perhaps it was not reciprocated. He thought they had an understanding; each was the other's crutch. They were rough, they were brutally honest, they had no need for politeness and it worked. It worked.

"That's what he said."

"When!"

"A few nights ago."

"He told you he didn't like me!"

"He told you."

"He didn't, I'd remember that!"

"You were dead."

"It might be best if you and Rodney discuss this." Teyla felt it wasn't their story to tell, this should be settled between the two men involved.

"Rodney's out of commission right now, Teyla. If there's something wrong with one in my team, I need to know. I'm still…we're still. I'm team leader…right?" Damn those doubts, making him insecure, making him ask ridiculous questions. He couldn't help it, what if Elizabeth had appointed someone else since he'd been thought dead. It hadn't been that long, but life had to go on when people died. To his great relief, and pleasure, Teyla looked properly scandalised.

"Of course! John, we would not follow another!"

"Now that we've got you trained, we can't deal with someone who thinks he can order us around." Ronon's smile was playful, speaking of another man who lived deep within the warrior.

"Jeee, thanks." Sheppard was ridiculously happy to have kept his standing as team leader, to havehis team. All that was left to do was put it back together. "So we're clear, I give the orders around here." He smirked, content to be with them and pick up the friendly teasing, the silly conversations, but he was quickly reminded of the problem at hand by a loud snort echoing from his left. "Now, you guys tell me what this is all about. This not liking me thing…"

Ronon shrugged; it was up to Teyla. She knew exactly what to say, knew what had pushed Rodney to say all these things. He'd had no choice. "He could not do otherwise. You are very important to him, to us all, and when you died…" She sighed, trying to arrange her thoughts. "He fell apart. Lying there…beside your body. It was difficult, draining. He could not…he hated you because that is all he could do."

They fell silent, each reflecting on the situation. Carson stood beside Rodney's bed, shifting the sleeping man's legs and covering him with the thin blanket. Wanting to do more, he needlessly fluffed his pillow and gently guided his head to its centre. As he had done only a few hours before, he pulled the blanket to his chin, effectively tucking him in. He felt John's eyes on him and smiled, caught in actions that went beyond the call of duty.

"He didn't mean it, what he said earlier. It was –"

A wave of hand cut Carson's explanation "Yeah, I know."

Carson moved away from the bed. "You should sleep now." He watched them as they settled into their beds quietly. He nodded and left for his office, they'd had enough excitement to last the day.

John lay on his side, his gaze roaming over Rodney's restful face. "I'll fix this Rodney. It'll be fine," he thought, as his heart tightened. Childish impulses had him rubbing his eyes roughly, pretending it was the dryness of the infirmary that made them water. John Sheppard had not become a soft touch and he refused to acknowledge that he had more than the right to be rattled by the turn his life had taken of late.

Doubts, pernicious little devils, crept back quietly, snickering at the opportunity to lay assault to John's mind. "You'll be taken off-duty and really lose your team. You're a useless pathetic weakling and he doesn't like you. He hates you. He wishes you dead. You should've died…" John fought the doubts with Lokas' words, holding on to them like a salvation. He'd fix this, he had to!