When Sheppard woke, he realized instantly he was on the Daedalus. He remembered the sick bay from after they'd gotten rid of the wraith virus and had returned after flying into the corona of a sun. Carson had almost locked him and McKay in there for the rest of the trip back to Atlantis – not so much because the radiation had caused anything significant, but because he'd sworn they could find trouble anywhere.

He felt even weirder than before when he'd been isolated with Naem, empty almost. Sheppard wasn't quite sure what he'd expected to feel like – elation, relief…normal. He did feel the relief, not so much on the elation, and normal? What was that – 'cause he really didn't know right now. He knew what it wasn't. It wasn't being abused at one moment, and loved on the next, both by the same hand. Gone was Naem stroking his hair away from his face, the constant presence of knowing someone beside him cared to that depth, even while at the same time, he'd caused a lot of Sheppard's pain.

Did intent count for anything? Naem had done everything, at least in his mind, for good.

For his people, Naem had said, repeatedly.

John knew one thing he felt – bereft. Alone.

For more than two months he'd had guards, Naem, Ascaria – always someone with him, or near him, and always controlling everything he did. Now that he had his freedom back, Sheppard didn't know what to do.

Damn it!

He tried to stretch his legs and the pain in his knees brought him up, too fast.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

Carson's soft brogue washed over him in waves, and John went ahead and opened his eyes, knowing he was going to have to face them sooner or later. "Yeah, Doc."

"You had us worried."

He did look worried. But he also looked guilty, sad, tired and Sheppard kind of thought, "You look like hell."

Beckett laughed, but it sounded forced to Sheppard.

He leaned back in the chair and let his eyes close. "Aye, I probably do." A few minutes slipped away before Carson opened his eyes again and smiled sadly at him. "Colonel, what happened down there --"

"Doc, believe me when I say, I don't want to talk about it."

In fact, Sheppard kind of thought they'd drag a full account from him over his dead body. They'd seen enough to know he hadn't lived like Wally and the Beave', hell, it had been closer to Stephen King's Misery. If they wanted to read horror, he'd point them to the media room on Atlantis and tell them to have at it.

John hated seeing the look of resolve on Beckett's face, because he knew what it meant. The peace he wanted, he wasn't going to get.

"You know we can't do that. What happened to you, it isn't going to go away, Son."

"Are we en route to Atlantis?"

Carson wasn't happy but he nodded. "Our ETA is fourteen hours. Until then, you are to rest, do you hear me, Colonel? Your body's been through a great deal in two months time, and I'm afraid there is still more pain ahead."

Seeing how much he hurt right then, it wasn't the smartest thing for Doc to tell him, but Sheppard tried to slow down his heart, his breathing, only to find that it wasn't working. Instead, it was getting worse. He couldn't breathe, could barely see…was this a panic attack?

Did it feel like a vise was pressing on your chest and going to squeeze the life from you if someone didn't stop it? He'd never had one, but he sure as hell felt like it now, and it only embarrassed him more.

"Colonel?"

Black dots danced in his eyes, an ocean roared in his ears.

"Doctor, is everything all right? I came to see how the colonel…"

"Teyla, a hand here!"

John's head was raised, and an oxygen mask was slipped over his mouth, the straps pinching his ears. Beckett's strong arms guided him into a bent position, his head down towards his knees, and his abused joints and muscles cried out from the pain it caused.

He was sweating, and cold.

When soft fingers soothed the hair off his forehead, Sheppard almost thought he was back there. "Naem?" Slowly, his lungs got enough oxygen that he could breathe. Then he could see again. Smell…enough to realize it was Teyla trying to ease his fear.

He swallowed, and tried to straighten, but Carson's hands had other ideas, and gently, he guided Sheppard down to his side, still in a curled position. "Don't straighten, it'll make you faint."

"I don't faint, Doc, I --"

"Pass out, I know," he said ruefully.

Sheppard settled for a disgruntled look, and thanked God he hadn't fainted. This was almost worse, though. He'd panicked, freaked out in front of Beckett, and then had Teyla walk in on them and he'd called her Naem when she'd ran her fingers through his hair. She'd done it before. He'd woken on the Hive ship, his head in her lap, and he'd had vague sensations of her soothing him before he'd fully woken from the stun.

It sucked that Naem had taken what was a normal comforting sensation for him, and attached all kinds of heavy shit to it. John wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to forget the way he'd felt then; helpless, vulnerable, desperate.

Sort of like what he felt now.

OoO

Teyla was used to living a hard life. She had kept her people alive for many years, and it was not until Sheppard's people arrived on Athos that Teyla began to learn how very much she did not know.

Life on Arstaem had not been pleasant, but it had also not been terrible, at least, once they settled into the town and began to live every day as a day to endure while waiting for the rescue they had all believed would come. The events leading up to that rescue would stay with Teyla for a very long time.

She had tried to tell the others that John was being abused, and was not living life as a privileged member of royalty, but Leal had truly believed in Naem, and what he was doing, and had tried to keep her quiet at every turn once she had suspected Teyla could not keep her promise any longer.

It was an accepted practice on Arstaem; for the royal family to train their successors in that manner, and the people had been so desperate that they had believed their king when he promised John would be the one to stop the cullings. As if the mere fact of having a prince again would act like some form of talisman, and ward off the wraith. So desperate to believe, they had gone along, and been as culpable as Naem. She wondered if she would ever forgive any of them, even the dead.

When the infirmary doors opened, Teyla was alarmed to find Carson trying to support John while struggling to reach an oxygen mask too far away for his hand to grab.

"Colonel?"

She was confused – when she'd left the infirmary earlier, he had been recovering and doing well, though Doctor Beckett had explained that shortly they would all begin experiencing withdrawal from the Lumival.

When Carson saw her, he shouted over his shoulder, "Teyla, a hand here!"

She hurried over and quickly grabbed the mask and gave it to him. While Carson got John settled, Teyla squeezed in behind, and rubbed John's back. He had been through so much, suffered, and she had done nothing, had not even confessed to the others his pain, and she knew he felt, his shame.

Within moments, John was lying on his side, and she tried to ease his misery. Perspiration had broken out all over his forehead and face, and the lost look as he squeezed his eyes shut, then opened to look around, made her wish again that Colonel Caldwell had not so easily turned the ship towards Atlantis, and away from any hope of finding resolution with Naem.

On Athos, when someone committed an atrocity against another, it was that person's responsibility to atone for their actions.

"Naem."

John whispered it so softly, Teyla almost thought she had imagined it, until her eyes saw the stricken expression on Carson's own face. Her fingers stilled in his hair, and she almost pulled away.

Her move to comfort him had been instinctual, something she did when he was unconscious or hurt.

John had mistaken her for Naem; the man who had brought him to this. Dimly, she heard the conversation between the two men.

"Don't straighten, it'll make you faint."

"I don't faint, Doc, I --"

"Pass out, I know."

As Carson said it, he rolled his eyes slightly at Teyla, and she did her best to smile bravely, when inside, she was a storm of emotions so great, she only wished to leave. When she looked down again, it was to find John watching her.

Clearing his throat, Doctor Beckett patted John's shoulder reassuringly, and pointed to a desk across the office. "If you need me, Love." Then he left Teyla alone with her injured team leader. She wanted to call him back, because she was not ready to confess to him, while at the same time, the burden was causing a large degree of discomfort.

"Colonel Sheppard, I am…we were…I wish…"

It was not working. Her tongue was as twisted in her mouth as her stomach felt. No one else yet knew the extent of what he had suffered. Teyla had prompted Leal into an explanation that went into the various methods that Naem would use, and did use. The suspension they had seen, the eating ritual, again, they had all seen but no one else understood as Teyla did – how John had endured a test and failed. He had been hung on that beam for two weeks…it was fathomless to her how his mind could still be strong, and yet, she knew it was…he was, for that was Sheppard.

Giving up on trying to explain, she took his hand firmly in her own, and knelt, touching her forehead to his.

"I'm fine," he mumbled underneath her hair.

She pulled away, feeling oddly pleased by his false insistence. It was so very like John to say something so absurd given the situation.

"No, Colonel, you are not." She said it firmly, and pulled a chair near to sit by his side, while he frowned, but did not argue. "I do not believe any of us are."

OoO

If Sheppard hadn't known better, he would've thought Teyla had taken some lessons from a psychic. Not long after his embarrassing episode that would probably get honorable mention on the thick report already winging across space to Heightmeyer, Ronon stumbled into the room, sweating like a glass of iced tea on a hot, steamy summer day.

He was shaking all over the place, and Sheppard hadn't realized the Satedan could ever really do pale. Apparently, he could.

And he could also throw up a lot.

There wasn't a lot to do for the withdrawal. The Lumival was a lot like the wraith enzyme, except it had the opposite affect. Instead of strength, it made the person weak; instead of better reflexes and ability to fight, the person was clumsy and ineffective. And just like the wraith enzyme (and Sheppard had really wanted Doc to stop using that comparison), they would all be sick, and then it would pass.

John had asked why the big guy was sicker than anyone else, because oddly enough, Sheppard was doing the best. That was when he heard about the botched escape attempt and how close Teyla had came to dying from infection. He'd been so caught up in his own problems, that he hadn't even thought to ask what had happened to them during the last two months.

Beckett wondered at some point that night why John was the least affected, but he pretended to have no idea. The truth was there had been enough times he had been too sick to have the drug, and then the time he'd gotten so sick in the beginning, then the enforced purging…it all boiled down to the fact that he'd gotten the least amount of the drug than all of them.

He tried hard to ignore them, including McKay.

Rodney had arrived, irritated that Hermiod had complained that he was dripping on the console, but he had been trying to get them back to Atlantis faster than the estimated five hours (by then). He'd looked over at Sheppard, but John had quickly closed his eyes and pretended he was trying to sleep.

Probably not the most believable maneuver he'd ever done, but McKay had muttered, "Oh, God." Then John had opened one eye to see him bolt for a trashcan on the floor, forgoing the emesis basin Beckett had out on a table.

After listening to him, Sheppard could see why.

Normally, he would've sat with Rodney, told him he was being a baby – make a few jokes about his abilities…the kind of things he did to make Rodney know Sheppard was worried, but right now John couldn't find his way to normal. His thoughts about it from earlier were just as confused.

How did you find it again after what Naem had put him through? It wasn't just a simple case of torture…Naem hadn't been beating him, demanding secrets. He hadn't done unspeakable things to Sheppard and then walked away. No, Naem had done unspeakable things, and then held him through the aftermath.

That was why John Sheppard was one seriously screwed up pilot.

He hadn't realized until now that you could hate someone and crave their touch at the same time. By making John depend on him for everything, including the food he ate, Naem had created some kind of needy bond. Sheppard was trying to cope with the abrupt severing of it, but to say he felt one hundred percent fucked was an understatement.

He wanted to go back to Naem, as much as he wanted to kill him. And then he felt all kinds of sick for the wanting part.

There was one place that he might be able to find normal.

Even though he wasn't throwing up, the other doctor that was running the show now that Carson was in a bed across the room, had insisted Sheppard have an IV. His back had been given the once over and though it hurt like hell, Naem had been careful. Nothing too deep and no infection, the cuts had already been healing. He had a headache from the withdrawal, sweating, queasy stomach, but all things considered, it wasn't that bad.

And luckily enough, right now they had shift change. He'd asked the nurse the ETA for Atlantis, and he knew they'd be there in a couple of hours. No one would miss him until then, so he yanked the needle out, pushed his finger on the bubble of blood, and swung his feet off the bed.

Carson snorted, and shifted to his side, making John pause, half standing, half sitting. He waited, seeing if Beckett would wake or settle back to sleep.

After a few minutes went by and Beckett stayed still, John was satisfied that he wasn't going to get up. He crept out from behind the edge of the privacy curtain that was only half-pulled, and kept going till he was safely in the hallway. A crew member in a flight suit was striding by when John walked out in his white scrubs and bare feet, and the woman jumped back, startled, then looked concerned, and tried to peer around him, searching for someone to confirm that he was allowed out in the hall.

John smiled and thumbed at the room. "Doc needs me to use the bathroom in the auxiliary sickbay, too many people in there right now."

She opened her mouth and then snapped it shut, nodding quickly, and walking uncertainly away, every now and then throwing him a puzzled look.

"Auxiliary sickbay," Sheppard muttered. "Good one, John."

Knowing she might mention his appearance if anyone started looking for him sooner than later, he hurried a little faster to his destination.

OoO

The F302 bay was quiet, the small spaceships lined in neat even rows on each side of the hangar bay. Everything was shut down, waiting for the time when they'd be needed. John ran his fingers down the hard angled planes of the first fighter, as if to take strength from the ship. Normal.

He walked around, till he got to the latch, and popped the canopy. He glanced back, making sure he was alone, and climbed in, bringing it down over his head. Sheppard figured he'd get the time alone he needed here --time to sort out what was going on in his head. Eventually they'd realize he was missing, but the Daedalus was a big ship.

Then again, maybe all the time in the world here wouldn't help him.

The controls were dead, but he knew flipping a few switches, and he'd feel all the power he needed thrumming underneath and around him. This…this was normal, if he ignored the fact that he was only wearing scrubs.

He was still Colonel John Sheppard, USAF, pilot. He'd never been Prince Jaem of Arstaem…

…or had he?

For those months, what had he been, if not Jaem, in everyone else's eyes, including his team. Because McKay and Ronon had sure as hell believed that he was being turned into something else.

He knew Teyla wouldn't lie about how she had felt, Ronon wouldn't talk to him about it, and Rodney…John didn't know what was going to happen with McKay. He didn't even know what he wanted to happen. An apology? A 'sorry I thought the worst of you', or a little groveling, and a promise to never doubt him again? Or maybe, Sheppard just didn't care at all right now, because if he couldn't even figure himself out, how the hell was he going to deal with McKay's issues, too?

Sheppard chuckled to himself at the irrationality of the situation and flipped one of the switches, just to feel the controls come alive under his hands. God, what he'd give to take her out, right now, just like this…

…why not?

John's hands pulled back, and he popped the canopy. Within a minute he was in the locker room and finding a flight suit and helmet that would fit. He would open the bay doors on manual and by the time they realized what was going on, he'd be in space, just him and the stars, with a good stick to steer by.

He was almost dressed, when McKay walked raggedly in the doors. Sheppard had jumped to the side, trying to get out of sight, but there wasn't anywhere to hide, and by the time he'd decided to act nonchalant, like he belonged here, his brain had processed that the intruder was Rodney.

Even green around the gills, he crowed, "I knew you would be down here. See me, see you, predictable."

Sheppard yanked the flight helmet off the bench. "See you getting the hell out of here."

Before he could get to the doors leading back to the hangar, Rodney stepped in front of him. "Either I come with you, or I'm telling."

"You wouldn't."

"I will."

They stared at each other, until Sheppard finally growled in disgust, and pulled open another locker and shoved the flight suit into Rodney's hands. "Where I'm going, you can't wear scrubs."

McKay swallowed and looked like he was having second thoughts. Sheppard hoped he was, because he wanted to be out there by himself, just him and the stars, but he knew Rodney would tell Caldwell what he was planning on doing and they'd have those hangar doors locked down so fast he probably wouldn't get through the pre-flight checks.

As Rodney dressed, Sheppard stood near, leaning on the locker for support. This was probably a stupid idea. A bandaged back, drugs in his system, the whole 'just been a victim of abuse, torture and psychological trauma', but that was exactly why Sheppard needed to do this. It was like getting back on the proverbial horse. He needed to know he could do it again; could fly, and be who he had been before Naem had changed him.

As for Rodney, he had a hunch that McKay would want to talk about what had happened…apologize while trying to not get too mushy, which was fine, because one thing the two of them just didn't get was mushy. But, what he really wanted was for McKay to never bring it up – that'd suit him just fine.

Which probably meant it was going to be the only thing Rodney talked to him about for the next week.

It wasn't just Rodney, either. Sheppard knew that everyone was going to talk about how he was the victim of abuse, and that it was normal to be angry and confused. John almost wanted to stand there and tell them that he wasn't only angry and confused but lost – that he wanted to see Naem again, to talk to the man, and there was a part of him that couldn't even admit how much he wanted to feel that same level of caring again.

That was the bitch of it. When Sheppard had screwed up before, did something wrong that the military hadn't approved of, or even his dad, they'd just shipped him off somewhere else – wiped their hands of him.

With Naem, every time Sheppard had done something wrong in his eyes, he had punished Sheppard, but then he'd held him, cared for him, soothed him and told him that it would be all right. The nights recovering next to Naem had been scary because of that. Naem had never left him, never opened the door and kicked him out with a slap on the wrist and a black mark.

Which was the better mentality?

That's where Sheppard knew he was FUBAR…because a part of him had been so pissed over what his father, and then the Air Force, had done to him, that he couldn't look at what Naem had done and feel like it was as terrible as what everyone else felt. Not anymore.

He also knew the moment he confessed any of this, they'd write in his file with big permanent ink Stockholm Syndrome…and damn if he didn't know if it wasn't.

That's what John didn't know, what he couldn't pin down.

In some ways, those days in Naem's care, he'd felt more loved then he ever had growing up. And then he'd hated the king more than he'd ever thought it possible to hate another human being, and that was saying a lot when you considered some of the crap John had been through, not only in this galaxy, but on Earth.

It was surreal, to have good memories amidst the ones of pain and abuse. To remember fondly the walk in the winter, the falcons hunting above. The lessons with Ascaria, and the elation of learning an alien language. Those moments when Naem had caressed his hair, and soothed him, telling him it would be all right, and Sheppard had wanted to believe him, more than anything.

He'd been Jaem, Naem's son, and he'd been John Sheppard.

"You do realize Caldwell has the entire ship looking for you," Rodney said, climbing in the seat in front of John. "Hurry and shut the damn canopy before we're seen."

"Then I guess we better get going." Sheppard climbed into the back seat and shut the canopy. "You look like hell, and if you throw up in my ship, I'm gonna get pissed."

Rodney looked at Sheppard over his shoulder. "You're not one of those hold a grudge types, are you?"

"I wasn't," Sheppard answered dryly.

"Good, because…" McKay turned back to the front and slouched into the seat, bringing up the nav computer. "…if you do any loops, I will embarrass myself further."

The hangar doors began to open, the decompression alarms were wailing though he couldn't hear them inside the canopy with his helmet on. Sheppard couldn't keep the grin off his face as he imagined the look of surprise on Caldwell's face right about now.

As he steered the ship into position, he hit the turbos and said into the helmet mic, "Just so you know, I said 'wasn't' as in past tense."

And he pulled up, sending the fighter into a vertical rise above the Daedalus.

Rodney's groaning was worth it…for a couple of seconds. Then he felt like shit for making McKay feel like shit, and leveled out.

"Flight, this is the Daedalus – what the hell are you doing, Sheppard?"

John looked out the glass at the long galaxy class ship, as he flew under her and then headed out in front. Keying his mic, "Daedalus, this is Flight; I'm going home."