What's Left Behind - Chapter 10
The next two days were pure misery, as far as John was concerned. His head and neck were killing him. He couldn't find a comfortable position to sleep in to save his life. Taking a shower about made him curl up and cry by the time he was done and dressed. So in the end he just put on a t-shirt, a pair of sweatpants and lay in bed, willing himself to slip into oblivion. He didn't even leave to get food, not wanting to deal with people, and certainly not wanting to walk around Atlantis with two guards. He also turned down any and all visitors. John knew he was falling into a funk, but he just couldn't sum up the energy to care.
By the end of the second day, however, Rodney bulldozed his way into the room with a tray loaded with food. John managed to sit up against the wall, pillow stuffed behind his back and one curled behind his neck to offer support. Not that it helped. His head still ached, in spite of the Tylenol Beckett had given him, and his neck hurt if he so much as breathed wrong. Not that he gave Beckett any of this info. When the good Doc made his nightly room call, John was careful to plaster on a smile, walk around the room to show he was still mobile and getting better every day, and he made it a point to show the crumbs on his food plates. Which were brought by either Ronon or Teyla. John didn't mention flushing the food down the toilet after leaving just enough to make it look good. Nor did he mention how he would chat with whoever came for just long enough to seem like he was back to normal, then he would yawn and make the excuse that he was tired.
It wasn't that much of an excuse. John did a lot of sleeping lately, only to wake up feeling exhausted. So he really wasn't up for a visit from McKay. Rodney was too loud for one thing, making John's head ache all the more. An ache that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his skull. "Did you want something?" John asked, keeping his voice soft and his tone as polite as possible. "I'm trying to get some sleep."
"All you do is sleep!" Rodney shot back, his voice almost echoing in the room. John must have winced in reaction, because when Rodney spoke again, his voice was much quieter. "How are you feeling?"
"Been better," John allowed. He knew he had to stick to as much truth as he could. "Just taking it easy and healing, Rodney. Doc said it's gonna take a little time."
Rodney snorted. "Like Beckett knows what he's talking about? He got his medical license out of a Cracker Jack box."
John forced a smile, letting Rodney believe he was interested in bantering. But nothing could be farther from the truth. All he wanted to do was crawl into a dark hole and never come out. If only his sleep would offer oblivion instead of nightmares.
"Feel up to a game of chess or something?" Rodney offered.
"Um, maybe tomorrow," John replied. "Thanks for the offer though." All he wanted was for Rodney to go away.
But Rodney looked ready to stick around. He moved to sit at the table, pointing to the trays filled with food. "You're looking scrawnier than ever," he stated. "Come eat, or Beckett's going to hook you up to a feeding tube." Rodney shuddered. "Nasty things. Had to visit a great Aunt at a nursing home when I was a kid. Three weeks before she died. She had a feeding tube."
John grimaced just thinking about it, making the appetite he already was lacking, disappear completely. But he made himself sit at the table, moving gingerly, and picked up his fork. He took a bite of what was supposed to be green beans and it took all of his will power to keep it down. Not even three swallows of water helped. Just when John was pretty sure he was going to have to give himself away with a mad dash to the bathroom, Rodney's radio beeped.
"Yes, what?" Rodney asked, impatiently. They both listened as Radek explained McKay was needed in lab six."Can't anyone do anything without me around to take care of it for more than five minutes?" he grouched.
"Apparently not," John replied, before Zelenka could. He watched Rodney grab his plate and head for the door, still muttering to the Czech. The moment the door closed, shutting out the bulking forms of his lurking guards, John made a beeline for the bathroom. Kneeling on the floor and bending over the toilet to puke was agony for his head and neck, hence why John had pretty much given up eating. Every time he put something in his stomach, it came back up anyway and vomiting daily was not his idea of a fun way to pass the time.
After emptying his stomach, John sat back against the wall, waiting for the pain and dizziness to ease. He felt sweaty and achy and shivering, his skin slick with a cold sweat. After a time he managed to stand up, strip and step into the shower. The hot water eventually helped to wash away the deep ache and the chill. He brushed his teeth, dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt again then remembered to dump the food off his plate into the toilet and flush it away. Beckett would be coming for his check soon and John didn't want to get caught out.
He managed to be in bed, reading, when Beckett arrived some time later.
"How are you feeling, Colonel?" Carson queried as he moved towards the bed. He tried to be surreptitious about sneaking a glance at the plate on the table. He smiled for a moment, but it faded when he caught sight of John.
"I'm about the same," John replied, his tone carefully neutral.
Carson didn't look happy at that. He reached out to take John's pulse, then got his trusty pen light out, making a face when John grimaced at the light. "Head still bothering you, I see."
John resisted the urge to shrug. "Concussions are like that." He knew Beckett knew that, but it was a safe topic of conversation, more or less. He just wanted the man to give him some good drugs then leave him alone.
"You look tired." Carson was pressing his fingertips to the back of John's neck, testing the soreness. He eased up when John hissed as he touched a sensitive spot. "Hard to sleep?" Carson guessed.
"Yeah, hard to get comfortable," John replied. He watched as Beckett went to the black bag he'd brought with him and removed a syringe. Relief flooded through him. Maybe now he could get some sleep without dreaming. It was the dreams that plagued him more than anything now. More than the physical injuries. John couldn't stop dreaming about Thalan. Dreaming that he was back inside him, taking over. Making him do things he didn't want to do. Making him hurt the people he cared about. He held back a shudder of reaction, blinking in surprise when a hand touched his arm.
"Just a wee sting," Carson was saying, as he carefully gave the injection. He rubbed the spot again with an alcohol pad then patted John's shoulder. "Lie down, laddie. This should give you a good few hours."
John didn't resist. He shifted so Beckett could pull the covers down then slid under them, letting his eyes drift closed. He longed for oblivion.
He didn't see the way Beckett watched him for a time. He didn't hear the worried mutterings as the doctor left the room. John was drifting in sweet darkness.
OoO
Elizabeth had been surprised when Beckett asked her to meet him in her office. It was late, nearly ten o'clock and she had been reading in her room when he buzzed her. The moment he told her it was about Sheppard, Elizabeth got up and headed out. She wasn't all that surprised to see Kate Heightmeyer waiting with Beckett. "Did something happen to John?" Elizabeth asked, as she escorted them into the room, closing the door behind her.
Carson scrubbed a hand over his face, unable to erase the lines of exhaustion etched into his skin. "Nothing new, not really," he replied. "It's just all come to a head now."
"What are you talking about?" Elizabeth found herself looking to Kate for an explanation.
The blond woman glanced at Carson, who nodded, then she focused on Elizabeth. "Carson and I both believe that Colonel Sheppard is suffering from depression. A rather severe case of it at that."
Elizabeth couldn't believe what she was hearing. She had been to visit John twice a day since he had been released to his room. He seemed fine. Tired and sore, which was to be expected given his injuries, but otherwise fine. He had smiled at her, said all the normal things he would say. "Why do you think that?" she challenged.
"Well, for one thing it's to be expected," Carson stated. "In fact, if it had been anyone else suffering through what Sheppard is going through, they would have cracked long ago."
"Are you telling me that John is having a break down?" Elizabeth could not, would not, believe that. He was the strongest person she knew. He'd been through tragedies and atrocities long before Atlantis, throughout his military career and since coming to the Pegasus galaxy. He always found a way to deal with it. His strength was the foundation for her own. It was the foundation for the entire expedition.
Kate leaned forward, reaching out to pat Elizabeth on one hand, drawing her attention. "It's happening slowly, but steadily, Elizabeth. He's been through so much and he just stuffs it away deep inside him. But what's happening to him now is different. We're shaking his belief in himself. It's no surprise that he's starting to buy into it."
Elizabeth felt herself shaking as she tried to absorb the reality of what she was hearing. She didn't want to accept it. "What if you're right, then what do we do to help him?" she demanded.
"There's not a lot we can do if he won't talk about it," Kate replied. "You know that in the entire time we've been here, the Colonel has refused to talk to me on a professional level about anything that's happened to him."
"So we do nothing?" Elizabeth was stunned.
Carson patted her shoulder. "We watch for it and do what we can. Baby steps really. Trying to get him to talk. He's not at the breaking point yet, but it's coming."
Elizabeth wasn't sure what to think. What to do. She pinched the bridge of her nose to give herself a moment to pull it together, then she looked at Beckett and Kate. "I'm going to talk to him and get back to you. I can't believe it's that bad. He seems fine." She figured if she said it out loud, maybe it would make it true.
"He's not," Kate said gently.
"Have your talk," Carson told her. "Then come see us."
Elizabeth nodded then stood up, heading out. She was halfway to John's room when she realized how late it was and that Beckett had called after her to wait until morning. She slowed her step, turned around and stepped into a transporter. Once back in her room she grabbed a pillow and curled up on the bed. A part of Elizabeth hoped tomorrow would never come.
But come it did and she went to see John. He greeted her with a tired smile and in the soft light of day she could see how exhausted he was. How fragile he looked. It hit Elizabeth like a slap in the face. "You've given up," she whispered.
"No," John replied, shifting up off the bed and moving to walk to the far corner of the room. As far away as he could get from her within the confines of the room. "Everyone else has given up on me." John was shaking suddenly, clenching his hands into fists he held tight at his side as he glared at her. But the rage in his eyes was dim. "This isn't living, Elizabeth. I'm nothing but a prisoner. Everyone is starting to buy into the myth that I'm the enemy. They believe I'm the bad guy."
"You're wrong!" Elizabeth protested. "We believe in you! You know we do!"
John laughed then, a sound that was sharp and bitter and echoed through the room. "Actions speak louder than words. I'm locked up and under guard. Send me back to Earth."
That hit Elizabeth like a ton of bricks. "What?"
"If you're just going to keep me locked up, then send me back to Earth." John moved back to the bed and sat down, looking defeated. "I'm worthless here." He curled up on his side. "And tired." He closed his eyes.
Elizabeth didn't know what to say. So she backed away to the door and fled. She went to the nearest balcony and paced for over an hour before tapping her radio. Ten minutes later she was in conference with Beckett and Kate. "Do what you have to do to make him better," she ordered.
Kate looked surprised. "You know it's not that easy."
"Nothing ever is," Elizabeth replied, hearing the bitterness in her voice. "But I need John. Atlantis needs him, and I want him back."
"So do we all," Carson replied, reaching for her arm and giving it a squeeze to get her attention. "But if things don't change, nothing we do is going to help the Colonel."
Elizabeth felt determination spark deep inside her. "I'll make sure things change," she promised. "You take care of John, I'll take care of Caldwell."
OoO
The nightmares kept coming, so John pretty much gave any pretense of sleeping. He wasn't surprised when Beckett showed up with Kate. He stared at them, feeling nothing but apathy as he told them both he wasn't going into sessions with Heightmeyer."
"We'll worry about that later," Beckett said, moving to the table where he'd set a tray of toast. "First things first. We need to get some weight back on you. You're skin and bones. Come eat now."
John wanted to laugh. Just one more thing he no longer would have control over. Eating. They were taking everything away from him now. But he knew Beckett wouldn't leave until he ate, and that if he refused he would be taken to the infirmary. He couldn't let that happen. So John took a bite of toast, then another, forcing it down against the rising bile. But in the end he lost the fight and he didn't even make it to the bathroom in time before he was spewing his stomach contents over the floor. He felt sick and sweaty, his head ached and his neck radiated pain into his shoulders. He felt hands on him, supporting him. Heard Beckett's voice calling for a gurney. John began to struggle then. He wasn't going back to the infirmary.
But hands were on him, forcing him down to the floor, pinning him, controlling him. Then a sting in his shoulder and darkness swirled around him, dragging him down and away.
He didn't know how long he was unconscious, nor did he care. John peeled his eyes open and saw a pretty nurse coming towards him. He tuned her out, but accepted the straw she held out and took a sip of water. He nodded at her questions, then did the same with Beckett, playing along for now, saying what he knew had to be said and playing up how tired he was. Didn't take much acting there, he felt exhausted into his soul.
Finally he was left alone to doze. John watched and waited then he pulled out the IV and slipped away. Only to be caught by his guards. He had forgotten about them. John cursed as they gripped his arms, hauling him back into the infirmary. He screamed at them, kicking out, struggling until a flash of white hot pain exploded in his head and he was falling into darkness.
THE END...of part 10