Chapter Six

I didn't sleep well, even with the pills. They weren't as effective as the intravenous drugs. Late into the night, I got up, surprised to find that Carson must have come while I had managed to sleep. There was a tray with a sandwich, and some kind of juice. I wasn't hungry, but ate it anyway.

Padding silently into the bathroom, I studied myself in the mirror, surprised at the bruises on my face. I hadn't realized they were that big. I ran the water till it was too hot, and juggling the rag, wetted it and squeezed out the excess water till it was steaming but not dripping. I washed away the sweat before letting it drop into the sink. I wandered back into my room. It was too quiet, and I searched for my computer, opening it and starting a playlist of favorites. Rodney had gotten me hooked onto this format over a regular cd player. He'd said the way I was listening to music was outdated and I needed to join the twenty-first century. I'd grinned and pointed to my poster, reminding him that my music tastes tended to run late twentieth century anyway. He'd won me over when I found every album Cash had ever made loaded on to my computer.

"You never did tell me where you got the files," I said. "Nefarious dealings, McKay – never knew you had it in you till then."

The basketball was in a corner, and I bent to pick it up with my left hand, but the bruise on my stomach bitched, and I only made it half-way before the pain stopped my progress. I glared at the ball, and then at the pajama bottoms I was wearing. I couldn't get dressed without help, and there wasn't anything in my room to keep me occupied.

Johnny sung about a gun, and I decided if I had to stay in this room for another minute, I was going to find one myself. Pajama bottoms and gray t-shirt would have to suffice for uniform of the day. I looked at my feet and figured socks would do, also. I liked to go bare foot, but when I'd left the infirmary it'd seemed stupid to put boots on for the short walk to my quarters. Beckett had helped with my socks and I hadn't bothered to take them off when I got back.

I left my room, against direct orders by one Carson Beckett, CMO of Atlantis, and headed for Rodney's lab. The door opened, and the first thing I noticed were the boxes. Someone had been in here packing up his things. The spike of anger at what felt like a violation made me almost shake. They couldn't pack it up; couldn't take away the only place where I could still feel him. Jaw grinding, I spun around, and headed back into the hallway.

By the time I found Elizabeth, my anger had surpassed even righteous indignation, and fallen instead into desperation. That was the only explanation for why I confronted her in a too public command center.

"Whoever is packing Rodney's office stops now," I ground out.

She showed surprise at my appearance, then sympathy. "John – we need the room. I had to."

"We need the room?" I repeated, incredulous. "Elizabeth, we've barely scratched the surface of the city!"

"The location matters," she replied, trying to be understanding while bearing the brunt of my frustration. She turned to her office, and said, "Let's talk about this privately."

"No," I snarled. "I'm fine just where I am. I don't want that room changed."

"It's too late, John." She stepped near, reaching for my arm, to pull me willing or not, into her office. "His lab's been reassigned to another scientist."

I stubbornly held my ground. "Who?" I grated, thinking we'd see about lab assignments.

Instead of answering my question, she evaded. "I realize this isn't easy for you – it's not easy for any of us -"

"Who?" I repeated, lower and more forcefully.

A diplomat Elizabeth might be, but even she had her limits, and the recent losses hadn't done anything to help maintain her patience. I knew I'd gone to far when her eyes sparked, and her face became unreadable. "Colonel, in my office, now," she ordered.

I opened my mouth to protest, again, but she held me in an icy glare, and repeated, "Now," with enough force that it got through my wrecked emotions. I realized everyone was staring. I felt the anger leave me, boneless and washed, and I followed her. Once we were both inside, she shut the door, and indicated the chair across from her desk. "Sit down before you fall down," she snapped, a mixture of her own anger and annoyance surfacing.

After I did, she sat on the corner of her desk, close to me. "Do you think I wanted to order his lab packed?" she finally asked.

It didn't matter what she'd wanted; what mattered is what she did. "You can't do this -"

"To you," she finished. Her head jerked with frustration, and she pulled a file off the desk, and almost threw it at me, before her eyes followed back to the sling around my right arm. The file stayed in her hands. "This is Kate's report."

I stayed silent, motionless.

"She says you're having a hard time with McKay's death -"

"I didn't realize I was supposed to have an easy time with it."

Her lips tightened, but she didn't comment, instead continued on the early vein, "She also believes you're hiding something about what happened in that cell."

My heart slowed, my breathing stopped. I felt the tightness in my chest, and wondered if it was possible to have a heart attack from fear. Haunted – I was chased by ghosts of memories; the harsh reality had faded to be replaced by exaggerated torments of the truth. In my memory, McKay begged me to do it. In my dreams, he cursed me for not doing it. I swallowed, and said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

She uttered a hollow laugh. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

My face twisted in irritation. "Elizabeth, I was ran down by an oversized Bambi; I'm allowed to look like shit."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she accused.

Of course I did, but what do you say when you're barely holding it together? Sorry for my mental breakdown, find me a nice padded room with a view? I didn't say anything at all.

The sympathy was back in full force. "Rodney's death was hard on everyone, but hardest on you, because you were there. You thought your team was inviolate – invulnerable," she whispered.

I think a part of me broke; right then and there.

"You weren't – aren't. We need…I need you to pick up the pieces, and move on. Rodney would be the first one telling you to get over it, and you know that."

He would. I knew it, even as she said it, but that didn't make it any easier. Why'd Rodney have to be the one that died in that cell? The queen had gotten it all wrong. She should've taken me to get McKay to talk. Rodney would've given in, and said something, and then we would've had another day, and the rescue would've come in time, and we'd both be home nursing our psychological wounds.

My mouth almost stuttered that I couldn't, but I rescued myself in time. I glanced away, and stared at the solid wall of glass that I'd destroyed not long ago. Remembered how worried Rodney had been, and his bumbling attempts at trying to be there for me while I mutated into something non-human.

Elizabeth stood. She leaned over me, reaching for my good arm, and tugging me to my feet. I allowed it, like an automaton. "Go back to your room, John," she said wearily.

"I don't want to," I managed to protest; to finally speak up.

She seemed a lot older, I realized, as she shook her head. "We do a lot of things we don't want to."

My feet carried me to her door, like a pair of traitors, but the question on my lips resurfaced, and I asked, "Who?" again.

Her sadness seemed to have no bounds, as she answered this time, reluctantly. "Doctor Zelenka."