A/N: Well, this story has gone fast. Not really since I intended it originally as a one shot. Thanks for all the wondrous reviews. I'm glad this story entertained, as well as disturbed. Now to address a few lingering issues.
Epilogue
Shriek of pain, of death, shriek of metal. The freedom of flight, wind roaring passed the ears, over the body like water, flying up and away, into the sky, to the stars where nothing could reach him. He felt warm velvet softness on his cheek, and looked up into the sapphire orb within the night-black skin.
Don't let this change you...
Then he woke up.
John lifted his head from his pillow – his own pillow, on his own bed, in his own room. Two days after John's fever had finally let up, Carson had given him the okay to recover in his quarters. What was ironic was that John hadn't even pestered the Highland doc into relenting. Most of John's time in the infirmary was a haze to him, seeing as how he was asleep for most of it. He probably would've still been a resident if all the activity hadn't kept waking him up. Anything from a dropped bed pan to Beckett shouting code this or code that while rushing along side a gurney transporting the recently injured would have John not only jerking awake but panicking in momentary delirium as he tried to recall where he was.
So rather than sedate him – which Carson didn't want to do - or resort to strapping him down - which Carson refused to do – he released John to his quarters. No need to keep him lingering when all he needed was rest and food.
John lowered his head back to his pillow. He could have easily drifted off back to sleep, except that he had no desire to just yet. He'd been sleeping non-stop since being confined to his quarters, and that had been yesterday. Reaching out and picking up his watch, he nudged the lights up enough to read the time to be five seventeen a.m. Scratch that, officially two days ago, waking up only enough to drink his meals of broth and soup brought by either Beckett, McKay, Ronon, or Teyla. It would have disturbed John the amount of sleep he was getting with no energy to show for it, but Beckett had assured him time and again that John had a lot of sleeping to make up for.
John pushed himself up on shaky arms, inching into a sitting position on the edge of his bed. His aching body sagged and he remained sagging to catch his breath. Then he stretched, arching his back until it popped, and rubbing the back of his neck.
Besides sleep, John had also been instructed to get up and move about for a few minutes whenever he woke up and felt lucid enough to get his circulation going. John climbed to his unsteady legs to start moving around his room like a drunk tiger. He rubbed the side of his face that scratched his palm with stubble. His body felt like lead trying to pull him back down into sleep, into dreams that alternated between the bad, the really bad, and the tolerable. But it was possible to be tired of being tired, which John was. He wanted a moment of coherence, of feeling the tangible, and firmly ground himself in being back in Atlantis rather than panicking when he tried to recall where he was on waking.
He also didn't want to be alone. Occasional visits by his team were fine but conversation tended to be short and monosyllabic on his end.
Five in the morning wasn't normally a good time to be seeking out living company, but John knew just the place to go. He grabbed the midnight blue robe from off the chair in the corner of his room and slipped his good arm through one sleeve then adjusting the other side onto the shoulder of his cradled arm. Normally he wasn't a robe-wearing kind of guy, but he was cold in just a T-shirt and sweats, the robe was soft, and it was a birthday present from Elizabeth so felt he owed it to her. It was kind a gag gift – though a nice one – since being the commanding military officer of Atlantis and the resident favorite for lighting up Atlantean artifacts had people barging in on him at odd hours. Hours that included warm nights when he was in nothing but boxers, or was just stepping out of the shower. Locking the door didn't help against persistent scientists who knew a thousand ways to override that lock.
The gift was also revenge for when John had discovered Elizabeth's birthday. But how she found out was simple. Being the leader, she was privy to everyone's birthdays written blatantly in everyone's files.
John didn't tie the robe closed, just let it hang from his shoulders as he headed from his quarters. Beckett hadn't officially confined him as he had officially grounded him, and the Highland doc had been insistent that John move around when he could, so Sheppard felt no qualms about his early morning stroll. His bare feet made quiet slapping sounds on the metal floor, and his movements were deliberate. He met no one as he made his way through the darkened halls, not that he expected to, say for maybe the occasional marine on patrol, but he knew their routes so knew how to avoid them. He didn't have that far to go anyways.
On reaching his destination, John went for the nearest counter and eased himself down onto the nearest stool. Beside him, scattered neatly over the clean metal surface, were mechanical parts, lots and lots of parts, which he knew better than to touch. Instead, he set his elbow on the counter to rest his head in his hand for a light doze. Time passes without notice in a semi-conscious state, and what felt like only seconds later, the door whispered open and the lights flared on, snapping John from his nap to blink against being blinded. He heard someone mumbling to themselves, so turned his body on the swiveling stool to face the door.
McKay, fixated on a scanner, glanced up briefly, fumbled with the scanner nearly dropping it, and yelped, " Colonel!"
John smiled, swiveling back and forth on the stool. " Hi McKay."
McKay gripped the scanner in one hand and covered his heart with the other. " Sheppard, what the hell! Crap! Isn't Morpheus supposed to have you in a head lock or something?"
John furrowed his brow. " Huh?"
" Asleep, aren't you supposed to be dead tired asleep? And did you touch anything?" Rodney added in horror, hurrying over to the organized chaos spread across the counter top.
John continued to swivel, finding the motion relaxing and yet slightly thrilling at the same time. " Believe it or not, McKay, I do have the power of self restraint. I have yet to touch a damn thing in this room."
McKay, still doing visual inventory, snorted. " Uh-huh, good for you, you get a gold star. It's only because I got here in time. Another two minutes and this lab would have been trashed."
John's eyes went heavy lidded. " Oh how you cut me, McKay. If it's any consolation, I'm too tired to be both curious and bored."
Rodney picked up a piece of whatever this stuff was and eyed it carefully. " Then why aren't you back in your room sleeping?"
" 'Cause I need a respite from the respite. So what is this stuff anyways?"
Rodney set that piece down and picked up another. " The inner workings of that culling device that whisked you away to the bad lands." He looked over at Sheppard, looking him up and down as though seeing if making mention of the device would cause a reaction. But seeing as how John didn't recall being culled, this was all news to him, old, boring 'been there done that' news. Then Rodney's brow lifted.
" Of course you'd be a Southpark fan."
John looked down at his black T-shirt with a picture of a cartoon kid wrapped up in an orange parka with face pretty much hidden say for the big eyes by the hood. John took the end of the T and stretched it for a better look at Kenny.
" Buddy at McMurdo gave this to me. He was more of a Cartman fan, but said I reminded him of Kenny."
" Well I can well see how that analogy pertains to here, but what were you doing at a science station in the middle of a perpetual winter wonderland that made your friend think death had a thing for you?"
John released the shirt, smoothing it down so as not to look up and let Rodney see his small grimace. " Oh, you know, whatever came along that struck my fancy. My second week there, I nearly froze to death after being tossed out in the snow in my underwear. Three days later I almost broke my neck while snowboarding. Four days after that had to make an emergency landing in a snow storm, one day after that nearly plowed into a snow bank... Shall I continue?"
John lifted his face to look at a balking McKay. " Wow, you really are Kenny in the flesh."
John held up a finger. " Except what happens to me are close calls. Kenny just dies."
" What about all those times you had to have your heart shocked back on, or when one of us had to give you CPR..."
John held up both his hands. " All right, all right, I give, I'm Kenny. I guess that makes you Cartman..."
McKay went rigid at that and stabbed a stiff finger at John. " Oh don't you even compare me to that fat little creep! I may be unpleasant to be around, but I'm not a jerk like that brat."
John smirked, feeling vindicated. " Didn't figure you for a Southpark follower, McKay."
McKay had turned back to his mess, picking up more parts for further scrutiny. " I'm not. I just tend to indulge in the complete idiocy of it when I'm bored and there's nothing else to watch. I prefer Futurama anyways."
John swung around on the stool in a full 360 turn, catching the edge of the counter for an abrupt stop. " Why am I not surprised?"
Rodney pulled his laptop from its carrying case and set it up on the counter. " Did you come here to discuss cartoons or were you just lonely? Because I've got a lot of work I'd like to get started on..."
John spun again. " You brought up the cartoon thing. I was just going for a walk. Clearing my head, getting the cobwebs out."
John waited for what he thought to be the inevitable smarmy comeback, but it never came. Instead, silence filled the gap where the response should have come, with McKay seemingly preoccupied with booting up his laptop. He clicked away at a few keys, then stopped.
" Have you given any more thought to... um..."
Again, John wrinkled his brow. " To what?"
McKay looked at him searchingly. " You know what."
John shook his head. He honestly didn't. He'd said a lot of things, thought a lot of things, as he fought to stay awake. " McKay, come on. This is the most clear-headed I've been since you guys picked me up from that planet. You're going to have to give me a little more than that."
McKay rolled his eyes to the ceiling with a huffed exhale and started tapping the side of the laptop. " It's just that..."
John stared at the physicist for a moment, then rolled his hand to hurry him along. " It's just that? Come on, McKay, spit it out."
McKay looked down at the keyboard, still tapping, holding his tongue firmly between his lips at the corner of his mouth. Then, finally, he straightened with another – though more slower – exhale. " The last time you were kind of, sort of, coherent, before you got sick, you talked about... talked like... you were giving up. Not giving up on living but giving up on," he gestured one handed around the room, " this, all of this. The expedition, being military commander, going off world... all of it. I was just wondering if you still meant it or... totally forgot until I just now reminded you so that now you can go through with it."
John started in surprise. " I said that?"
McKay wagged his head from shoulder to shoulder. " Uuuhhh... more or less. Something like it. What I said was just the gist. I mean I still don't blame you if you want to... I was just kind of thinking that it might have been a heat of the moment thing. You were tired, in a lot of pain, so granted you wouldn't want to put up with anything anymore. Of course now that it's over..."
Recollection finally snapped its lazy carcass into action, and John remembered. " Ooohhhh. Now that it's over, I wouldn't feel the same."
McKay nodded. " Exactly. I mean it's your choice (though personally at this juncture I would consider it the cowards way out). Not that I'm calling you a coward! Because you're not. I mean if anyone has to a right to be fed up it's you, I just never actually believed such a thing were possible... with you... calling it quits I mean." He drummed his fingers awkwardly, staring at the laptop screen casting a blue glow on his features.
McKay's aforementioned conversation became clear in John's head. What was said, by both of them.
Don't let it change you... No, McKay hadn't said that, not those words, but his point had been more or less the same.
John planted his elbow back on the counter to rub his tired face. So many good points and not a damn thing he could think or say to argue against them.
" I'm not," he finally replied. Rodney's head snapped up then around to stare at John wide eyed.
" You're not?"
John nodded, so McKay visibly relaxed with shoulders sagging. " Oh good. I mean, if you'd wanted to, I wouldn't have tried to stop you..."
John dropped his hand. " Yes you would have. You would have with every fiber of your being. And you know why, other than the fact that you like having me as a friend even if you won't admit it?"
Rodney snorted, ready with a comeback, but John interrupted him.
" Because you're right, I'm not a quitter. And you were right to say that me quitting would also mean the bad guys winning, because that's exactly what it would mean. It would mean that I was finally broken, defeated, and I didn't even have to be killed. So I'd rather not give them that satisfaction. But for the most part... yeah, I'm not a quitter."
McKay smiled slightly. " Glad to see your recent torment hasn't changed you."
John flinched at that. Rather than look at Rodney, he looked down at the counter, one finger scratching at what looked to be a stain, probably glue, that came away easily under his ministrations.
" You don't come away from something like that the same man," John said. A shudder coursed through his skinny frame, one he knew Rodney saw plain as day.
" Physically, definitely not," McKay replied.
John nodded. " Stuff like that messes with your head. Not all the time, just now and then when the conditions are right and the memories choose to pop back fresh as yesterday." When the glue spot was gone, John rubbed the area with his thumb until the underlying smudges vanished. " I'm still scared Meyon's going to start slamming against doors or knocking them down to bust in and start ripping a nice big hole in my chest. I know it'll past once I've had enough sleep, but until then every thump, clank, slam or shout keeps trying to give me a heart attack. But what really scares me is the future. Whether or not I'll have to go through something like that again, wondering if you guys can find me, or if you'll be able to make it. Wondering what new form of pain's going to be tried out on me. I normally try not to think about it. Kind of gets in the way of my job if I do. But I can't stop now. I know you guys have had plenty of times where I was almost lost, but this..."
John looked up at McKay. " I always have something to hold onto, you know? Either the prospect of rescue or the prospect of death without uttering a single syllable of useful information to the bastards beating me. But I didn't have squat this time. I wasn't being interrogated, I was being beat for the sake of being beat, for being a lowly, miserable, weak, pathetic side of steak thinking mean thoughts about a deranged robo wraith. And at the same time, Atlantis was being lead around like a pony ride at a carnival. I had nothing to hold on to, and no foreseeable way out. Then there was Atlantis being possibly lost... one way or another. It hurt McKay. That kind of hopelessness? I mean it physically hurt, and I never want to feel that kind of pain again. I really did think this was it and that we were all screwed. Hell, I'm still reeling over the fact that I'm alive and Atlantis is still standing. And I'm scared it'll happen again, only this time with no surprise escape around the bend. And I really don't know if I could take that, not again."
Silence returned, heavy as a shroud. It lasted for five heartbeats before John spoke again.
" But I know I'll get past it... kind of. And I don't want to quit, go back to earth. Not much for me there anyways. At least here I'll be doing something while I'm being haunted," he added with a weak, short lived chuckle, then sighed. He lifted his hand, wanting to say more, but dropped it back to the counter, having nothing more he could think of to say.
" It's all right to be scared sometimes," Rodney said. " Take it from me. The moment my heart rate descends tends to be a major event in my life. You're human. What you went through was scary. And it's going to stay with you for a while, probably a long while."
John closed his eyes, tired before, now utterly bone weary. His chest ached, announcing the approaching time for more pain meds. " It's hard," he said, and released his breath in a long, shuddering exhale. " I'm still scared." Then he opened his eyes. " But I'm not going anywhere."
He felt a hand on his shoulder, so looked up into McKay's completely sympathetic face.
" Good to know."
John smiled. " What do I do then?"
McKay shrugged. " Well, right now I suggest you go back to bed before Carson skins us both. Later... I don't know. Do what you can. Find normalcy. And I know it goes against your nature of being a stubborn ass – but don't refrain from asking for help when you need it."
John patted Rodney's hand still on his shoulder. " Way ahead of you on there," he said, then stood, Rodney's hand sliding from his shoulder. He began making his shuffling way to the door when a thought struck, getting him to pause then turn back to McKay.
" Oh, yeah, there is one thing I wanted to tell you. You're a good scientist, McKay. You take responsibility for your mistakes, even show a little humility now and then. But if I ever catch you becoming obsessive until you go mad scientist on me, I'm sending Beckett after you to sedate you for a week until it passes, got that?"
McKay reared his head back. " What!"
" Just don't ever change," John said, and hurried out the door before McKay recovered himself enough to argue.
SGA
John straightened his black shirt, making this the fifth time he'd done so. He felt more himself back in uniform, or as close as he came to uniform minus his jacket and vest. Four more days of rest, Carson said, then the okay would be given for light duty. Getting back through the gate was going to require a lot more, and for once, John didn't mind. He wasn't ready. Not quite yet. And it wasn't so much a matter of getting more meat back onto his bones (though Carson emphasized weight gain as one of the top priorities to reaching the point of getting back through the gate). He simply... just wasn't ready.
John continued to tug at his shirt, then smoothing it out, his hand running over the ridges of his protruding ribs, making him grimace slightly in discomfort. He then clasped his hands behind his back, only to bring them back around when he realized they were sweaty, and wiped them off on his pants.
He was having second thoughts, unsure if he could do this. It might be taken as a sign of weakness, give others doubts about him, especially his men. Bring down moral...
John twitched his head. He was over analyzing this. It needed to be done whether he liked it or not, because whether he liked it or not, he needed help. Nightmares still ran rampant, and fears sat like boulders in his mind. And though he was sleeping, it was no longer a deep, healthy sleep. It wasn't that long ago his mind and body had screamed for sleep, now they were trying to push him toward insomnia.
And Carson was going to haul him back into the infirmary the moment he caught on.
John jerked his head in a resolved nod. That settled it. He was getting help, and didn't let himself form an opinion of whether or not he liked it. He walked forward, the door slid open, and a surprised Heightmeyer looked up from the book she was reading.
" Colonel Sheppard," she said, mouth slightly agape. " Uh... Can I help you with something?"
Of course she'd be surprised. Of course she would never expect to him see him in a million years, not in her office, more along the lines of either in the infirmary strapped to the bed, refusing to make eye contact, or imprisoned in his quarters.
Although he wasn't making eye contact now. His gaze was on the floor, then sometimes on the wall, his heart pounding fit to burst from his chest. He cleared his throat and lowered his head enough to start rubbing at the back of his neck.
" Um..."
Kate closed her book and set it down on the arm of her chair. " Do you need to talk?" she asked.
John glanced at the door, considering possible escape plans that wouldn't seem like an escape plan.
This was a bad idea. If his heart beat any harder, it was going to explode. He had to pry his hand from his neck, and to his horror saw that his hand was shaking.
It shouldn't be this freakin' hard!
Kate rose from her chair and move toward John. She placed her hand on his arm, and gently began pulling him out the door.
" Here, come with me."
He didn't argue, ask, or try to pull back, but let her guide him down the corridor, then another more devoid corridor until they finally reached their destination of a small balcony. On stepping outside, John found two chairs already set up, facing outward at the ocean rather than each other.
" Have a seat," Kate said.
John did so, his back rigid and his hand clasping his knees. Kate shut the door and initiated the lock, then took the seat beside John, leaning back with a contented sigh. " Some find this more tolerable than an office setting. I'm inclined to agree." She looked over at John, then reached out, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and giving it a gentle squeeze. " It's all right, John. Give yourself a moment. Talk when you're ready, or don't. We can just sit, if you want."
John let out a sharp breath. " I uh... don't know how... this works..."
Kate smiled. " There's no method. I may ask questions, unless you just want me to listen. Usually the best way to begin is to say what's on your mind, even if you think it might sound strange, or has nothing to do with what you really want to say. You eventually get to where you're going, so it doesn't matter how you begin."
John nodded, swallowing, gripping the material of his BDUs until his knuckles turned white. Then he released his grip and the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
" It's funny," he began. " After something's happened, something weird, and I wake up, I expect to hear certain sounds..."
The End
A/N: Although I'm entertaining the idea of some sort of sequel, I just haven't decided yet. Plus I don't have an exact idea of how I would go about doing a sequel. Feel free to share suggestions or ideas for what could come about in a sequel to this. I could use some inspiration. I would also like to point out that I've never really watched Southpark say for two episodes, but have hung around a lot of people who have.
