Ch. 6
Weight of the World
John kept his Cyladran experience to himself. It wasn't by choice - withholding information for some obscure reason. He would never do that. It's just that whenever he did try to talk, his throat would close up, his mind would run a blank, and he was fairly certain his gaze glazed over.
The reasoning behind this was an enigma even to him. The more the others pressed, the tougher it was to yank the words from his throat. Lucky for him, Heightmeyer came to his rescue with a no argument 'he just needs time'. John was all ready to be thankful, but the words 'trauma', 'post-traumatic stress' and 'exhaustion' put a halt to all gratitude.
John had plenty of moments in his life that should have left him traumatized. Trauma had never been a problem for him. Yet even he had to admit that something was different – off – and it caused the sensation of bugs beneath the skin trying to figure it out.
John was set free from the infirmary after three days. Strength was at an acceptable level to keep the good highland doctor from worrying. John still had a ways to go before he was back to combat ready, and he knew with a twist in his gut that combat ready involved more than just the physical. Heightmeyer was going to be hunting him out.
At least that was the usual pattern. A day after being released, and John waited in his quarters for the blackmail to begin – To step foot off world, he had to go through Kate first.
It never came. Apparently even Kate was taking her own advice and giving John his space. But she would be waiting. John wouldn't be surprised if she was having him stalked in the name of observation, watching him for signs of emotional breakdown.
John's response to that – bring it on, doc. He didn't really care. He wasn't going to fault anyone for worrying, not when he wasn't even going to try to feign being fine.
Mathers' body had yet to be retrieved.
Apprehension made John's stomach churn non-stop. He may have had an appetite in the infirmary, but it was now on the decline.
Day one of being out of the infirmary was spent napping and picking at food in the mess, with only snippet bites ever being taken. Day two, naps, walks, and more food picking. Being in the very public mess, it didn't go unnoticed.
Rodney was mutilating his waffle trying to cut it one-handed with the edge of his fork. " I was right." He stuffed syrup-soaked waffle into his mouth.
John drew a smiley face in the puddle of syrup beside his own waffle, and watched it fade. " About what?"
" You're going scrivener."
John rolled his eyes up at McKay. " You need better metaphors."
" Similes."
John scraped his fork across his tray. It parted the syrup like claw marks. " Whatever."
McKay did a little scraping of his own as he sliced off another bite of waffle. " Getting a little testy 'Bartleby'?"
John shook his head. " If I'm Bartleby, you're Ahab."
" Why?"
" You're obsessive."
McKay dropped his eating utensil and perked in offense. " I am not!"
John tapped his fork on the tray in no particular cadence. " Yes, you are. You won't get off the Bartleby metaphor. Pick a new one."
McKay snorted and resumed mutilating and stuffing. " Why should I? It's perfect. You're wallowing in silent brooding and you've hardly touched your breakfast. I give you a day, and you're back in the infirmary." Rodney shoved more waffle into his mouth and talked around it. " No way is the witch doctor going to let you die of starvation."
John finally cut a piece of waffle using Rodney's technique without the butchering and stuck it in his mouth. " Happy?" he said while chewing.
" Show me half that waffle gone, then I'll get off your back. Speaking of riding your 'arse' as Carson might put it... Why hasn't the local shrink been baring down on your bony butt? You finally scare her off for good? Wouldn't be surprised. Seriously, I do not understand why that woman hasn't insisted on you being locked up. You're clearly insane."
John scraped his fork, making the plastic shriek. " Please tell me that was just an attempt at being funny. It was, right, McKay?"
McKay, nonplussed, took a drink from his coffee mug before replying. " Oh please. Don't even try to pull that intimidation 'I'm off my rocker and liable to do some harm' crap. You're insane because after having nearly taken my hand off just to down some broth, you're now deliberately avoiding placating your own stomach. You'd think you would have learned a little lesson after having been deprived of nourishment for so long."
John took another bite and shrugged. " I've got a lot on my mind."
" Care to share?"
John looked at Rodney pointedly. " Have I yet?"
Rodney pointed his fork at John. " Yeah. What's up with that anyways? Elizabeth's getting antsy for a report and won't stop hounding the rest of us about whether or not you've talked to anyone. Isn't that a little... I'm not sure how to put it... wrong, maybe? I mean there's a soldier missing or dead, you apparently know something about it, and you won't say anything. That's just... It sounds rather selfish. Whatever's going on it that head of yours can't be so bad that you wouldn't give a young kid his due for doing his duty."
John's suddenly nerveless fingers released their hold on his fork, and it clattered onto the tray, splattering syrup. The words could have been bullets the way they packed a punch, hitting John square in the chest, shoving the breath from his lungs. McKay was right in so many aspects that John wanted to vomit. Mathers had died doing what a soldier did – saving lives, in this case the life of his CO - and John was the only one who knew it.
That was wrong, disgustingly wrong, selfishly wrong.
Guilt drilled into John, and he looked at McKay. The story – true story - was there, but the words remained stuck in his throat.
What the hell is wrong with me!
McKay stared back at John, alarmed. " Colonel?"
John shoved his tray away, abruptly rose to his feet, and strode quickly from the mess. He was aware of leaving Rodney in the dust to reel in confusion – maybe even guilt in thinking that he'd probably said something wrong. John would need to amend that, but not yet. John needed to think, and he needed someplace quiet to do it. The balcony was too conspicuous, so he took to the halls leading deeper into the obscured parts of the city. He picked the first room he came to and went in, keeping the lights from flickering on with a thought.
He dropped against the wall by the door, draping his arms loosely over his upturned knees.
What's different? Of all the losses to start shredding his conscience into confetti, why the two week acquaintance? Because of the suffering that was shared? Because Mathers had been just a kid? Ford had been just a kid. Half the soldiers of Atlantis were just kids.
Why couldn't John talk about it?
Why is it doing this to me? What' so freakin different!
John jolted at the blare of alarms signifying gate activation. Cold shot down his spine, and his heart started up a marathon-run thumping. He darted from his seat against the wall, tearing from the room and down the hall to the control room. He arrived, skidding to a stop, just in time to hear the words 'unscheduled activation' and see the gate rush open in an explosion of foam. When it congealed, John's hands twitched for want of... he wasn't really sure what, just something, anything to grip to for dear life.
" Receiving Major Lorne's IDC..."
Hope spilled into John like water through a breach. The team was already stepping through the gate one by one. Lorne, however, shook his head. No body to show for all that gate jumping from alpha site to obscure rock to the Mykote/Cyladran world. No Mathers home coming.
John's teeth could have cracked under the pressure of his clenched jaw.
" John?"
John looked over and up at Elizabeth. She was moving toward him, brow furrowed, face troubled, and assurances at the ready. But John never gave her the chance when he turned and moved quick as he could without running away from the public place.
Why he kept clinging to hope, he didn't get. He had more thinking to do.
SGASGASGASGA
A shrink John was not. It was his own head and he couldn't even shut it up. Sleep was made unpleasant by visions of blood pooling in a split chest-cavity and liquid screams. He awoke with a gasp, followed by a mad dash to the bathroom just as his stomach expelled everything in a stream of burning liquid.
It was pointless to try again. This had been the third attempt, and puking was a good sign that it hadn't been a charm. He was in sweats and a T-shirt, safe enough clothes to be seen in were he caught out in the halls. With a quick rinse of his mouth, a drink, and slipping his boots on over bare feet, he left his quarters for a little stroll through the darkness.
Direction was disregarded as he took one corridor after another. At one point he passed the lab, heard the muffled click of keys on a laptop, and slowed.
His minds eye could see through the doors to the hunched back of McKay, typing one handed.
John just had to give in to a drink. Then what did he do? He listened to Culs again! Freakin' salvation at a sicko's price. Twice, the man had gotten him twice. How the hell does that happen? Hunger, delirium – okay, John would buy that. He'd been pretty freakin' out of it. He probably would have listened if it had been Menk handing out the keys to freedom.
John twitched his head. No, he didn't buy that. He'd been clear-headed enough to sense that something was off.
It'd been so damn obvious! He fooled me twice? And what was that platitude? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
John quickened his steps on moving away from the lab. It was starting to make a lot of sense. It was all his fault.
Now there was a sobering epiphany.
SGASGASGASGA
John was MIA. Not officially since he was seen at the occasional meal or glimpsed walking down the halls, maintaining more of a haunting presence than anything legit. He wasn't even to the point of being cleared for light duty, so it wasn't like he had a lot to hold him down to one spot. He'd become adept at avoiding everyone, physically and verbally. Even when he was there in body, it was made apparent through the vacant stares and complete lack of attention to conversation that he wasn't there in mind.
His reason – he was thinking. Always thinking, always with a lot on his mind.
But Kate didn't have to hear it to know it. She'd had her share of glimpses, and had seen the gears at work. The man was lost in thought in every sense of the word, and drowning in it. Carson was going to be pissed if he ever managed to run across John. The Colonel was veering away from the mend, going sallow-faced. He was already sunken-eyed.
Kate took it upon herself to keep tabs on where John was sighted, and where he went when possible. The latter was the most difficult. It was coming to the time when she would need to have Weir order John in for a session, even if it meant he had to be physically escorted. Kate had given John time, since time usually did the trick and brought John in on his own accord. But even she knew it was not always guaranteed. Force usually ended up being the next course of action anyways.
Kate caught on to rumors that John had been seen strolling the corridors late at night, taking the spook attribute a little farther. Curious, she started having coffee in the evening, and taking strolls of her own. She went to the places that John would naturally veer toward – his 'haunts' appropriately enough. Places where he went for runs, the balcony, the lab, and the gym where he did stick fighting with Teyla.
All duds. She headed to the jumper bay. In the dark, with its size, she didn't deny that it was creepy. There was a hollow echo to it like a constant exhale or the sound a sea-shell makes when placed against the ear, only deeper, way deeper. She shivered, flinching at the reverberation of her footsteps through the cavern of metal.
" I figured it out." The voice was a whisper magnified by the acoustics of the chamber. Kate yelped and whirled in circles in search of the voice. Her eyes were slow to adjust, but they adjusted plenty for her to see a small mass of darkness against the larger, lesser darkness of the wall to the right. She moved toward it with uncertain, tentative steps. She was trying not to startle John, but at the same time she was trying not to startle herself by not startling John.
As though in response to her discomfort, the lights were raised, just a little, enough for Kate to see John. He was on the floor, thumping his head repeatedly against the wall with hands flat on either side of him. Kate stopped in front of him, and when he didn't acknowledge her presence, she moved beside him to sit. His head kept thumping away.
She opened her mouth to ask " figured what out, John?" but he moved fast even when he was only speaking.
" It's all my fault. I really did have a chance to save him." He squinted his eyes. Chances were, his head was hurting from being banged, if it hadn't been hurting already. He looked very fitting to be a ghost, sickly pallor and shadow-eyed as he was. All Carson's hard work was circling the drain - John was reverting.
John slammed his head against the wall. " Son of a bitch!"
Kate flinched, fighting flight instincts. " John?" She placed her hand on his shoulder. It was uncomfortably bony, and John was shivering.
" I screwed up. Crap, I saw it coming. I saw it coming twice! I knew something was wrong! What the freakin' hell is wrong with me!" He slammed his head again for emphasis.
" John, don't do that..." She placed her hand on the back of his head to stop the thumping and further attempts at self-made concussions.
John was panting, seething. The emotions on his face were fleeting, interchanging with fury, grief, confusion, then back to fury. Kate moved her hand from John's head when she was sure he wasn't going to continue the self-abuse, and moved it to his back and protruding spine. It was nauseating, the clear feel of bone through the stretched skin and cloth of the shirt. John's unplaceable fury was even worse. Kate was getting nervous. A few more outbursts and she would be scared.
" We all make mistakes..."
John turned on her, and she snatched her hand back to shrink away.
" Mine cost lives! Do you understand that! I screwed up, and he's dead! All I had to do was not follow freakin' Culs! The man screwed me twice! TWICE! MATHERS IS DEAD BECAUSE I – LISTENED – TO – CULS! HE SCREWED ME TWICE!"
John's chest heaved with heavy breaths, and saliva stretched from his jaw in long, shining strings to the floor. He slammed himself back into the wall with head tilted back. After a moment of deep breaths, his respiration slowed. " I think it was the way he talked," he rasped resignedly.
Kate was shaking, and clasped her hands together to stop it. " C-Culs?"
John closed his eyes and nodded. " He – um... he was really – you know – mild mannered. Kind of guy you could go up to in a bar, have a few drinks with, and be buddies for life." John's chest jerked in hitched, breathy laughs. " He – he said he liked me. He said it twice. And I freakin' believed him! Because they're good at that – the Cys... at lying, I mean. They're good, they're really good. I didn't even know my team was released a week before me. But they weren't lying when they said I'd meet up with them. That was probably the only thing that was true. And you know what's really funny? They never laid a finger on me and Mathers. They just did the attempted rape thing by stripping us down to our underwear," he spat, " then chained us like dogs to a pole to give the locals a good chuckle. And – and then – get this – they gave us sewage for food, and just when we were really starting to trip, Culs comes along singing freedom, sweet freedom, dragging are skinny butts out into the woods - and fed his freakin' hell-hounds using Mathers!"
Kate's jaw dropped.
" And it's my fault! I – killed – him!" he screamed into the air, at the ceiling. " I – killed – hiiiim! I – KILLED – HIIIIM!"
Kate's heart felt like it was trying to escape her own body. She gripped John's shoulder and shook him.
" John, calm down, please..." but her voice was drowned out by John's screams. Someone was going to hear, call security. Security rushing in would bring attention – followers, onlookers – and John's privacy would be shot to hell. There would be questions, forced sessions... the man was just trying to vent. He needed to before it killed him.
John was spared becoming an exhibition when his breath caught and he choked. He coughed a heavy, chest deep cough that incited pain made manifest on his twisted features.
Kate patted his back awkwardly. " John, it's okay John. Listen to me. You didn't kill him. You didn't kill Mathers. The Cyladrans did. You were just desperate, John, that's why you listened to Culs. You were hungry, sick, exhausted. You wanted out and took the only way presented to you. If you'd stayed, you would have both died. It's not your fault. It is not – your – fault." She was tempted to have him repeat it over and over out loud.
John had dropped his head onto his knees, and remained like that, just breathing.
" John?"
John let out a shuddering heave of a sigh. " I'm sorry."
" For what?"
John rolled his head sideways to look at her. 'Spent' didn't cover his present appearance. He looked so sad, horribly sad.
Gee, Kate, I wonder why?
John wiped one eye with his palm. " For freaking out."
Kate shrugged. " Hey, we all have our moments."
John lifted his head abruptly, startling Kate.
" Doctor/patient confidentiality stands, right? I know this isn't some kind of a session. More like a fluke. But it still stands?"
Kate nodded. " Yeah, of course, John."
John wiped his face, his eyes darting about suspiciously. " I have a confession to make."
Kate twitched a pathetic smile. " I'm not really a priest, John but... okay." She grimaced at that. She wouldn't blame him if he stormed out this very second.
John, however, offered a brief pathetic smile of his own that was gone when Kate blinked.
" What is it, John?" she pressed.
John sniffed and looked about in the distracted manner of one regaining self control.
" I'm... scared..."
Kate wasn't exactly floored by it, but it did strike her as odd. It was troubling enough that John was talking to her on his own power, by his own choice, opening up in a way he never had before. The man didn't just bottle feelings, he sealed them in impenetrable vaults.
To confess being afraid – it didn't matter to what, just that he was – she wouldn't have seen it coming from even two feet away. Hints, innuendos, maybe. Never full blown admittance.
As much as she should have been appreciating this cooperation, in truth it was dredging up a little fear of her own.
But she knew better than to put a halt to all this. They'd officially crossed a line, and there was no turning back. " Scared of what?"
John looked away at his feet, his fingers clenching and unclenching. " For the record, this isn't the easy part," he said. " I don't even know why the hell I'm telling you all this. I wouldn't tell Elizabeth anything and she's the one who needs to know. It's just... even thinking about it makes me sick."
" What, Mathers' death?"
At this, John looked up to stare into the distance, brow raised and eyes fever-bright. He was realizing something, Kate could see. Things were starting to click for him. Confessions really were wonders, harboring their own momentum. Once they started, they just kept going.
" Yeah," he said. " But... also the way he died. It was all about humiliation. They never touched us 'til the end. Mathers was mauled, and I was kicked. We were running in our boxers. You couldn't get much more vulnerable than that. Mathers hated being on display. Kid had a major modest streak. Wasn't a picnic for me either. I thought the rest of the team were going through it too, but... I don't know if they were. I never... really asked. None of my business."
John looked directly at Kate, and the fear and fury poured from him like molten rock.
" The Cys don't care what they do. I can honestly say – that without a doubt – I hate them more than the Genii." Tears shimmered on the precipice of John's eyes. " They didn't need to do what they did. No rhyme, no reason, they just did it! And I don't get it. They hate us, Kate. They hate us more than anyone else in this freakin' galaxy. They make the Genii look like our pals."
Kate's stomach soured over, and she gulped back rising bile. John was rattled beyond even his own comprehension, and that was bad. But Kate understood. She'd talked to Teyla, Rodney, and Ronon. She knew about the Cys and their ability to hide. They were world travelers, they knew how to get around, scrounge information.
And now she knew they hated Atlantis. So of course John would be rattled. Protecting Atlantis was John's burden, and the Cylandrans were officially a threat. With the right intel, and their ability to remain anonymous, they could discover Atlantis still stood, and find a way to take it. Or simply become a deadly hindrance to future missions.
They were also the straw that broke the camel's back – Sheppard's back. The last thing John Sheppard needed in his life was another enemy.
Kate placed her hand on his twitching back. She was starting to suspect that he was cold. " John. You need to tell Elizabeth what happened to Lt. Mathers. Write it down if you need to. Or I'll tell her... if you find you can't, I mean. And you have every right to be afraid, just stop blaming yourself for what happened to Mathers and your team. Nobody else blames you, so no point in being the only one." She gave a wan chuckle. " Listen, do me a favor. Go to Carson, let him help you out, give you some sleeping pills for the insomnia, and you won't have to come in and see me – unless you want to. It'll be your choice, I swear. You did good by talking to me, volume level aside. Don't let these Cylandrans keep beating you down like this. It's not your fault. Never was."
John wiped his eyes, then nodded. " Heard you the first couple of times, doc."
" Heard isn't the same as listening." She stood, taking his arm in both hands. " Come on, we need to get you to Carson."
She actually had to do some work in helping him to his feet. He kept one hand on the wall to steady himself as they headed out the jumper bay. The lights dimmed behind them.
" Call me Bartleby," John muttered.
" What?"
He shook his head. " Nothing."
TBC...
