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What's Left Behind – Chapter 13

John listened to the sounds of the infirmary for a while before opening his eyes. He wanted to gather his thoughts before having to talk to anyone and deal with life in general. Life hadn't been much fun lately, so he wasn't particularly anxious to jump in just yet. He did notice that his stomach felt better and for that he was grateful. Although throwing up had been a common activity lately, it certainly wasn't a favorite one.

John finally opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. Nurses were bustling about, taking blood pressures, pulses, and temperatures. He watched for a while, not really interested but not wanting to think about anything beyond what was going on before him.

"Good morning, Colonel," said the nurse as she approached his bed. "I see you're awake."

John lay quietly as the nurse took his vital signs and recorded them. She looked up at him when she had finished. "I'll get Dr. Beckett. He wanted to see you when you were awake."

John just nodded, not really wanting to see Beckett right now but knowing he didn't have a choice. "Okay."

Beckett appeared a few minutes later. "Good morning, Colonel, at least I think it's still morning." He looked at his watch. "Well, just barely. How are you feeling? More importantly, how is your stomach feeling?"

"It's okay I think."

"Good. I'm not sure what happened last night. It could be that your stomach didn't settle after the sandwich or it could have been from the medication. Unfortunately many of the anti-depressants can have nausea as a side effect. Just in case it was the medication, I'd like to try a different one this afternoon after you've had a chance to eat something."

John grimaced. "Are you sure we can't just go without the drugs for a while?"

Beckett looked at him and sighed. "I don't think so. We discussed this yesterday."

John looked down at his lap glumly. "Yeah, that was before I heaved until I thought my stomach would turn inside out."

"You didn't seem to have a problem with it before your collapse."

John winced at the cut. "Yes I did. Why do you think I was flushing my food? I got tired of puking it back up."

"All right, point taken. I can try one from a different class of drugs that is less likely to have side effects."

John still didn't like the idea of being on medication of any kind, but he knew he didn't have any choice and he was tired of fighting over it. He didn't give his approval, but chose instead to just sit quietly and let Beckett come to his own conclusion.

"If you think you can eat, I'll send out for some soup. They have some chicken noodle today and I've heard it's pretty good. I think it'll be easier on your stomach than the sandwich."

John felt a knot in his throat, so he just nodded. As Beckett turned to go, he looked disappointed at the lack of interaction. He briefly turned back and looked at John, who pretended he didn't see him. The doctor finally turned and left, leaving John alone with his thoughts. He tried to remind himself of his self admission the day before that he wanted to get better and that he needed help. He began trying to convince himself that he needed to cooperate, to let them help him. Somehow that battle seemed harder today.

oOo

As John put the spoon down, he had to admit that the soup had been good. That was the closest he had come to enjoying a meal in a long time. Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe he could go without meds after all. His mood began to brighten a little bit. Hearing the sound of approaching voices, he looked up to see Carson escorting Elizabeth and Rodney his direction. Elizabeth smiled at him and Rodney just looked nervous.

"Hi guys." John decided to break the ice by speaking first and he didn't miss the glint of surprise in all three faces. Good. Keeping them off guard probably wasn't a bad thing.

Elizabeth nodded to him. "Hi, John, you're looking better."

Rodney looked around nervously. "You haven't been throwing up again, have you?"

"Rodney!" snapped Carson.

John couldn't help but smile. At least Rodney was being honest. "No, not today anyway. Hang around a while though, the day's not over."

Beckett sighed. So much for keeping things positive.

"Carson tells me you've been making some progress with Kate." Elizabeth laid her hand on John's arm, hoping to convey her support. John just stared down at his empty soup bowl. "I know this isn't easy for you, but if you'll just continue to work with Carson and Kate, I'm sure they can help you get through this."

"Did you guys have a meeting and discuss the 'make Sheppard feel better' speech or something? Everyone that comes in here either relays some feel good story about how I saved their life or they give me the 'work with the doctors' speech. I'm sick of it! I just want to be left alone. Why is that so hard to do?"

John pushed the tray table away and turned over on his side, his back to his guests. He ignored the awkward silence that followed and closed his eyes. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest and he had no idea why he had become so angry. He felt like he was smothering under all the "concern" being shown to him, feeling like it was all just an act to keep an eye on him, to try to get in his head.

He startled at the hand on his shoulder a few minutes later. "They're gone, Colonel. Would you like to tell me what that was all about?"

He turned over to see Carson looking down at him. "I don't know. I just suddenly felt . . . like I was being smothered, like I couldn't breathe. I'm so tired of this. Why can't I just go back to the way I was? Sometimes I'm afraid . . . "

Beckett's brow creased in concern. "Afraid of what, son?"

"Sometimes I'm afraid I'm losing my mind . . . that I'm never going to be okay."

Beckett smiled and patted his arm. "You'll be all right again, Colonel, you'll see. And we're sticking with you all the way, whether you want us to or not. Sit up for me now."

Sheppard turned over and sat up, seeing the little white paper meds cup in Beckett's hand. He looked at it nervously. "Doc . . . I'd rather not."

"I know, but I think this is the only way. Please Colonel, give it a chance." He held the cup out to Sheppard and picked up the glass of water he'd brought with him.

Sheppard sat staring at Beckett's hand for a few more seconds before he took the pill out of the cup and popped it into his mouth. He took the glass and swallowed some water, quickly handing it back to the doctor.

"Thank you Colonel. Kate should be here in a bit for your session."

"Okay," Sheppard said so quietly that Beckett almost didn't hear him.

oOo

He screamed and begged, but Thalan just ignored him. His friends and team members were lined up at the conference table like lambs waiting on the slaughter. He screamed at them from inside his head to run, to protect themselves, but he couldn't make them understand. Thalan walked up behind Ronon and the big man just looked over his shoulder and nodded, turning back to the others. Thalan slid the knife easily across his throat and John felt the warm blood flowing against this hands. He waited on the others to tackle him and stop Thalan from doing any more harm, but they didn't. They just sat and smiled, stupid expressions of calm acceptance on their faces as he walked up to Teyla and then Rodney, quickly slicing across their necks as well. He was now covered in blood. He continued to scream and cry and plead, but Thalan just laughed. Carson Beckett and then Major Lorne, their warm blood spraying across the room as the knife cut flesh with almost no resistance. He begged for it to be over. And still Elizabeth sat smiling at him, trusting him fully as Thalan slit her throat as easily as the others.

And then Thalan was gone, leaving him standing in the conference room, the smell of blood thick in the air, the feel of it slick on his hands and arms. He ran to the bathroom and began washing the blood off, wondering how they could sit there and let him do that. He washed and washed, but even though the blood seemed to poor down the sink in rivers, it never left his hands. He rubbed and rubbed and it wouldn't come off. They had trusted him. They trusted him and he killed them and now their blood wouldn't come off his hands. He began to panic and scream for the blood to come off, for someone to help him get it off.

Caldwell appeared with his soldiers and they began pulling him away from the sink, dragging him to a cell. "You killed them, Sheppard. They trusted you and you killed them. We have to lock you up." Caldwell laughed at him as he begged for help to get the blood off and the soldiers just continued to pull on his arms as he struggled to maintain his position. After several moments, one of the soldiers became Carson Beckett and he was confused.

"No, you're dead, I killed you! Thalan killed you. Let go of me, I have to get the blood off."

"You didn't kill me, son, I'm right here and there is no blood. Look!"

Beckett held his hands up in front of his face. He was right, there was no blood. John suddenly realized they were in the infirmary, not in the bathroom. He also noticed that everyone in the infirmary was staring at him, so he figured he must have put on quite a show. He lay back against the pillows, now becoming aware that he was shaking and drenched in sweat. Beckett let go of his arms and he let them fall to his sides. He was breathing like a runner after a sprint and his heart hammered away in his chest so hard he could hear it in his head.

A nurse walked up beside his bed with a damp cloth and began to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He breathed in sharply as the cool cloth hit his hot skin, startling him.

"You gave me quite a start, lad. I couldn't get you to wake up. That must have been some nightmare." To say Beckett's face showed worry and concern was a huge understatement.

"Yeah, some nightmare." He swallowed hard against the nausea rolling in his stomach. Not again, not again, he kept thinking. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, fighting the rising bile, but it was a losing battle. He felt hands on both sides help him as he lurched forward and once again began to puke, Beckett already there with the basin to catch the foul contents of his stomach. When he was exhausted and the stomach spasms stopped, he slumped back against the bed, wishing he could just disappear.

He opened his eyes to see Beckett hovering as the nurse wiped the sweat and vomit from his face. "I hate this," he whispered.

"I know you do lad and I'm sorry. I wish I could make it go away for you. How's your stomach now? Are you still nauseous?"

"Better."

Beckett felt his patient trembling beneath his hand. "Are you cold?"

"No."

"It's the nightmare making you shake then. You want to rinse?"

John opened his eyes. "Yeah, please." Beckett and the nurse helped him sit up and Beckett handed him a glass of water and held a fresh basin out for him to spit in. After rinsing, he swallowed a few sips, trying to wash the burning sensation from his throat. When he was settled again, he took note of his surroundings and saw Kate standing a few feet away, quietly watching. He guessed he knew what their next topic of conversation would be.

Beckett fussed with the covers until John was settled. "Do you feel like talking to Kate?"

"Not really. Throat hurts."

Beckett nodded, but didn't seem surprised. "You were screaming pretty loudly and I'm sure the vomiting didn't help any. It should pass in a bit, but I'll ask her to come back a little later."

Sheppard nodded. "Doc, please . . . no more drugs. I can't take that stuff, it's making me sick."

Beckett hesitated. "I'd like to try once again, Colonel, from a group that doesn't usually cause nausea as a side effect. It's a different type of drug than I usually use, but it can also be effective. We aren't doing anything right now, though, so we can talk about it later. Maybe you should try and get some rest."

Sheppard nodded, mostly so Carson and Kate would go away. He had no intention of trying to sleep, not after that last fiasco. He could still see his team and his friends, sitting there calmly trusting him as he slaughtered them one by one. Maybe that was the message he'd been trying to relay to himself. Maybe the problem was that people shouldn't trust him with their lives, not that they didn't trust him enough. He began to remember all of the times people had trusted him and he let them down, often ending with their death. And if he wasn't fit to ever earn their trust again, then where did that leave him?

oOo

Sheppard lay on his side as he heard Beckett approach behind him. He felt numb inside and out and wished Beckett would just go away.

"Colonel? Are you awake?"

He briefly considered closing his eyes and pretending he was asleep. In the end, he figured he'd just face what was coming and get it over with. He knew Carson and he wouldn't quit. Slowly, he turned over to lie on his back. Beckett raised the head of the bed a little for him as he eyed Kate, standing behind the doctor.

"I thought I'd see if you felt like having our session now, Colonel?" she asked.

Sheppard sighed loudly, not really caring how rude it sounded. "Might as well," he mumbled.

"All right then, I'll just leave you two. Let me know if you need anything." Beckett walked back across the infirmary as Kate sat in the chair beside the bed.

"Colonel, do you want to tell me about that dream you were having earlier today?"

Sheppard brought his right hand up, rubbing his eyes and forehead with the heel of his hand. He knew it had been coming, but he had refused to think about it. He could feel the tension headache beginning to build.

"Not really. Do I have a choice?" He looked at her a minute. "Right, that's kind of what I thought." He pushed himself back into the pillow and let his head fall back against it, his field of vision now resting on the ceiling instead of Kate. "Thalan was back in my head. I . . . he slit everyone's throat one at a time and I couldn't stop him."

"Who exactly?"

"Ronon, Teyla, McKay, Carson, Major Lorne, and Elizabeth, in that order if you want to know. They just sat at the conference table, quietly watching him, watching me. They never tried to run or stop him." John looked down at his hands and began to rub them together, and then to absently rub them against the blanket.

"Is that where it ended?"

"Not exactly. I was trying to wash the blood off me and Caldwell brought some of his men to take me to a cell. I kept washing the blood off, but it wouldn't go away."

"What do you think it means?"

Sheppard frowned at her and snorted. "I don't do dream interpretations. Why does it have to mean anything, maybe it was just a stupid dream? What do you think it means?"

Kate smiled. "You tell me what you think and then I'll tell you what I think it means."

John shrugged. "I think it's my way of telling myself that I'm the problem, not everyone else. They were right not to trust me. When people trust me, they tend to get killed. Maybe Caldwell wasn't so far off after all. Look at my track record, Dr. Heightmeyer, it's not pretty. Probably the best thing Elizabeth can do is pack my bags and send me back to Earth when the Daedalus returns. I'm more of a liability than anything."

Kate was stunned. She had expected a certain amount of guilt and a pessimistic look at the future, but she hadn't expected this. "You don't really think that, do you? I can assure you that no one else does."

Sheppard lifted his head off the pillow to look at her for the first time since they had begun. The look of hopelessness in his eyes scared her into wondering if she would be able to help him after all.

"It's the truth. Why do you think Elizabeth let this go on so long? I think deep down she didn't trust me, she knew that I would screw up, just like always."

Kate cocked her head slightly. "Is that why Elizabeth was the last to die? Because she stood by and watched Caldwell and his men humiliate you and physically attack you for days before she put a stop to it?"

John looked confused, making it obvious he hadn't consciously considered why Elizabeth had been the last to die other than just coincidence. He seemed troubled by the possibility.

Kate decided to continue in John's silence. "You wanted to know what I thought about your dream. I think you feel guilty about all the people you have been unable to protect over the years, but especially since coming to Atlantis. I think you have unrealistic expectations of what you can and can't do in that regard. The people you care for and trust the most didn't protect you at a time when you needed protecting and they didn't let you see their faith and trust in you. You were then stripped of your ability to do your job and control your life. I think that combined with the physical injuries and illness you encountered acted to send you into this depression."

She paused for a second, making sure John was listening. He wouldn't look at her, but she could tell form his changing expressions that he was processing everything she said.

"I think all of that played a role in adding to the guilt of not being able to stop Thalan as he tried to hurt the people you care about, the people you protect. I think you've convinced yourself that no one should trust you or they'll be let down. Colonel, your dream is how you perceive yourself, not how we do. We haven't lost faith in you, we just want you to get better. You can go back to being Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, military leader and chief protector of Atlantis, but you have to want it. Do you want it?"

John just stared at the ceiling. "I don't know," he said softly. "Part of me wants that more than anything and part of me thinks it's already too late."

"It's not. I promise it's not." Kate got up and stepped over to stand closer to the bed. She reached out and placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. "We can do this John, but you have to help us." She stood watching him for a few seconds, thinking about the stoical soldier who had been through so much and yet still managed to hold a city together through crisis after crisis. If anyone deserved to be trusted, the man before her did. "Let us show you we still believe in you, we still trust you."

John didn't say anything and wasn't sure he could, even if he knew what to say. Part of him wanted to believe what she was saying so badly. Part of him needed to believe her.

"I'll let you get some rest, Colonel. Dr. Beckett said he didn't think you were able to sleep any this afternoon and I know he's worried about you. I'll see you tomorrow."

He nodded slightly as she turned and left. Closing his eyes, he brought his hand up through his hair and then rubbed his aching head. Bits and pieces of the nightmare kept replaying in his head and he could still smell the stench of blood. He could feel the blood making his hands slick and he began rubbing them against the blanket again. He opened his eyes to see Beckett standing there watching him like a bug under a scope. Stilling his hands, he cleared his throat.

"Need something, Doc?"

He couldn't help but think that Beckett looked tired and sad. He supposed that was his fault too. Beckett pushed the tray table over his lap and he saw that someone had brought supper. A plate with some type of casserole and a piece of bread sat on the table, along with a glass of juice and a paper cup with a new kind of pill.

Sheppard pushed the table away. "Not much point in eating if you're going to make me take that. I'll just puke it all up in an hour." He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. He was so tired of all of this.

"Colonel, this one is from a different class of anti-depressants. You can't have a bad reaction to all of them. You know what they say, third time's a charm." Beckett smiled at him, but it was obviously forced and didn't comfort Sheppard at all.

Sheppard pouted for a few seconds before picking up the pill and looking at it like it was some type of vile bug. He stuck it in his mouth and swallowed a drink of juice before wadding up the paper cup and throwing across the infirmary.

Beckett just sighed quietly. "Thank you Colonel." He walked across the infirmary and picked up the paper, tossing it in a nearby garbage can before making his way to his office.

Sheppard watched until Beckett disappeared into his office and then pulled the pill out from under his tongue. There was no way he was spending another night puking his guts up. It was time to take back control of his life. He looked around for a place to put the pill. He couldn't throw it away, they might check the garbage. He carefully pushed several bites of casserole over to the side of his plate and slid the pill into the center. He would never eat everything on his plate anyway and Beckett wouldn't expect him to. There were not going to control him with drugs. He picked up his fork and began to eat the non-medicated portion of the casserole.

The end . . . of chapter 13.