A/N: An early posting because I liked this chapter. Good whump in this one.
John's recovery isn't going to be a two chapter then he's all better deal. Recovery was meant to be half the fun of this story, so many things are going to happen as his mind settles and body heals. Many, hopefully interesting, things.
12
Two days later...
People. People, people, people. Everywhere people. Lots of people. Too many people, flooding faces, like a crowd packing in, shoving John to the center, flowing, flooding, flying over him. Too many, too heavy. He couldn't breathe, so didn't have the breath to scream.
This wasn't right. He felt so heavy, with skin of led. He couldn't start the engine of his own body. Work damn you! This wasn't right. One face, supposed to be one face, not a thousand. Why couldn't he move? Oh yeah, made of led. Maybe it wasn't his skin, maybe his bones. He didn't like this. It was unnatural. Something else was supposed to be happening, something pleasant. Well, not totally pleasant, just better than normal. Because normal sucked, it didn't make sense. Ironically, the unreality made sense. Reality didn't. So what did that entail?
Duh, you're freakin' nuts.
I could have told you that!
He was so heavy. Fight it! Fight, fight, fight! Why? Like he could remember, except that why didn't matter. Just the fight for the reason without a name, before the faces crushed him to baking powder.
Oddly enough, breathless and squished as he was, he didn't hurt. Ached, maybe, but it was distant and easy to shove aside. From wolf to annoying puppy, the pain didn't have much say in anything now.
With that little positive, Sheppard felt ever so slightly more inclined to fight. So he pushed through the faces, and sucked in a deep breath. Mistake, that wasn't so comfortable. A little tight around the chest. He went to lift his hand to feel why. A few inches of rising, and that was it. Something had him.
Oh boy, that wasn't good. Last time something had him, pulling him down...
Breaths came fast. Tied down, tied down tight. Squirming, screaming out his defiance. He was a vicious brute, that's why they had done it. He'd been hurting bad that day. They said they were trying to help him, but he was moving too much. Men in cloth half-masks covering their mouth and nose, standing to one side. Baldy with device. Touch it, touch it, touch the blasted thing! Then you will be healed.
" Screw you!" Sheppard had snarled, he laughed then, laughed now. Stopped laughing when bruiser placed his hand on John's bare chest. Why bare? To heal? No, to make cold. Too freakin' cold. It was supposed to be a hospital! Bruiser presses down, just a little. Sheppard recalled agony, recalled screaming. Doctor had enough. "Back off," he says, and pokes John, pushes his skin, along each individual rib.
Broken, all broken. Or all cracked, maybe some cracked, some broken.
Sheppard tries his hand again. Resistance remains – not so futile now! His heart tries to hammer itself to death, and it's only going faster, taking his breath along for the frenetic ride. John knows what this is, where he is. Time, no time. They'll be coming, demanding, hurting.
Not this time, not ever again. He won't let them. Get free, grab scalpel, saw, whatever – slit freakin' throats. All of them! Make them bleed!
John struggles, tugs, pulls. It hurts, yes, but the results will be worth it. Pull harder, harder, tug, yank, twist, ignore the pain. Pain's your pal, always had been, and it isn't so loud today so use it, it's an advantage.
Pull, twist, rip. Sheppard feels hot liquid smear his hand. Good, lubrication. He uses it, more advantage, and pulls harder. They'll be coming soon.
John jerks his arm, gritting his teeth, growling out defiance, his friend above the pain. Defiance has his back. He pulls, more hot liquid slicking flesh, leather, and soft cloth. Finally, his hand pulls free, flying upward, and Sheppard gasps in triumph.
Until the noise. Voices, footfalls. Crap, no, they're here, they're here! Nooooo!
John can't let them touch him. He lunges from the oddly soft table. But there's a reason slow and steady wins the race. Oops, forgot to free the other hand. John crashed to the cold, unrelenting floor. Someone calls out. Pain's back, and it's decided to be particularly volatile as it rips through his arm.
Sheppard screams.
SGA
" How's the arm. Dr. Beckett?" Kate, one of Beckett's many nurses, inquired, keeping pace with him as they made their way back to the infirmary. Beckett lightly touched the area hidden under wrap and sleeve.
" Not too bad. No signs of infection. The skin may have broken but it wasn't all that deep."
Kate shuddered. " Nothing toward the Colonel, but are you sure about removing the restraints when he awakes? What if..."
" The lad was just scared," Carson said. " I've no intention of keeping him tied down if there's no reason. And I'm sure once he knows where he is and what's going on, there'll be no reason."
Or so Beckett prayed. No picnic for anyone having the Colonel tied down like a mental patient. It was a temptation to take the straps off now while the Colonel was under. No saying what form of restraint had been used in the process of applying to the Colonel the marks that had his back looking shredded. It wouldn't be doing the Colonel any favors to wake up to a nightmare.
They reached the infirmary without fully realizing it – being so conditioned to it and all. The doors parted for them, and welcomed them with a scream of terror.
" What the...?" Carson rushed over to the only occupied bed in the place. He skidded to a halt on seeing rumpled blankets lacking one malnourished occupant, and a restraint dripping blood. Then movement caught his eye, getting him to look down to something thrashing on the other side of the bed.
" Oh bloody freakin' hell," Carson hissed. He rushed around, doing another skid with heart slamming hard enough to burst.
Colonel Sheppard was on the floor, struggling like an animal caught in a trap. His blood-caked left hand, shaking too hard to control, slipped with each attempt at unbuckling the strap still bound to a bloody right wrist. Between each attempt he tried to yank his arm free, abrading the flesh, drawing more blood. But he kept attempting, pulling, twisting, then attempting again. Blood smeared the floor, stained the gown, and was splattered on John's corpse-white face. The man's terror was wild, irrational, and had a bitter taste pool in Carson's mouth with each whimper and plea for the hand to slip free.
It took a moment for Carson to snap back into the here and now, and to get his body to move. He crept with a wide berth around the bed until he came up beside Sheppard, when the panicked man turned his head to look at him.
Beckett expected an increase in the frenzy. Instead, Sheppard went perfectly still say for the shivering, eyes drowning in absolute confusion. Beckett bent his knees into a slight crouch and raised both hands with palms out.
" Easy lad. It's all right. It's just me, just Carson. You know me lad. You know I won't hurt ya."
He eased in toward John. John shrank back in a shivering cringe, and the unrelenting tug of war began to gradually resume. Carson didn't understand why John didn't just stand and undo the strap, unless his panic was that debilitating. The Highland doc continued to speak soothing words, presenting empty hands and assurances that John would be all right. John never took his eyes off him, eyes so terrified and confused it was painful to look into them. But eye contact was the key. Let Sheppard see the truth through the windows to the soul.
" Kate," Beckett said, pausing in his movements. " When I grab Sheppard, you undo the strap."
" Y-yes, Dr. Beckett," he heard Kate say. He didn't look at her; too dangerous to break contact now.
The sound of Kate's voice had Sheppard increase his struggles a few levels, and blood snaked down his arm, completely soaking the sleeve of the gown.
Beckett lunged forward, grabbing John's over-heated, sweat-drenched and blood-smeared body into a loose embrace. John struggled against it by trying to push away, and Beckett understood why John didn't just stand. He was pretty much tapped out. Kittens put up a better fight than him. However, it was still a tricky fight with Beckett maintaining the hold without furthering Sheppard's injuries. He lifted Sheppard, just enough to put slack on the strap for Kate to undo. Her hands shook, fingers slipping over the blood coating the buckle. She eventually loosened it enough for John's wrist to slip free, and the moment it did, the struggles stopped, and Sheppard's body went limp in Carson's arms with chin resting on the doctor's shoulder.
John was shivering hard – head to toe, inside and out. Even his heaving breaths shuddered, interrupted by coughing fits. And he was sobbing, Beckett could hear it, quiet as it was.
" It's all right, John," Carson said. " You're all right. You're out now. See? Didn't I say I wouldn't hurt ya?" He began rubbing Sheppard's back up and down along the protruding backbone. On a normal day it would have been an awkward gesture of comfort, but there was no such thing as a normal day, and the action was almost automatic, because Beckett had needed a way of calming John down without the use of a needle.
However, Beckett still couldn't help the rise of discomfort. John was just too bloody thin.
Kate approached and knelt by the two. One hand she began brushing through Sheppard's hair as taking part of the comfort act, and the other hand she used to lift Sheppard's arm to look over the abrasions.
Sheppard had basically skinned himself in his struggle. Carson, joining the scrutiny, sighed heavily. " Help me get him back into bed. A different bed."
Beckett took the front, Kate the back with her hands under John's armpits, and they lifted him onto his feet. Except his legs refused to take his weight, so they had to practically drag him to the nearest bed leaving a trail of crimson drops. Kate raised the head, then aided Carson in getting John settled, which was far more awkward than a simple back rub. In a rather sick twist of fortune, at least they didn't have much weight to deal with.
John didn't react as he seemed preoccupied with staring at Carson with a lined brow as though he were trying to figure something out. Kate fetched the needed supplies of a bowl of water, a cloth, antibiotics, bandages, suture materials just in case, and a fresh, folded gown. She wheeled them over on a cart by Beckett. He administered a pain killer, and as he proceeded to cautiously clean Sheppard's left wrist, his eyes lingered on the way John held his right arm protectively against his chest.
Carson gestured at it. " Your arm hurt lad?"
John nodded stiffly.
When the blood was gone, Carson studied the bright red abrasions and pink raw patches still attempting to ooze out more blood. John had really worked himself over this time around. Carson wanted to kick himself.
" Should've just taken 'em off," he grumbled. " No sense in strappin' an unconscious man down." As he applied the required ointments then wrapped John's arm in gauze, he looked up at the mute pilot. " I'm sorry, John. This was my doin'. Gave into paranoia. You didn't deserve this, so don't ever think ya did."
John just kept on staring and puzzling. Carson puzzled in return.
" Taken a vow of silence John? Why so quiet?"
A muscle in John's jaw twitched, but his mouth stayed shut. Carson shrugged. " Guess you're not up for conversation then? No matter. Just never thought I'd live to see the day when John Sheppard had nothing to say. Although I suppose the real kicker would be a mute Rodney. Now that'll be hell freezing over the day that happens."
" What the hell happened!" yelped a suspicious sounding voice. Carson grinned.
" Speak of the devil..."
Rodney rushed over to stand at the foot of the bed, slack jawed, pale, and wide-eyed. " What happened to Sheppard? What's with all the blood? He didn't... didn't... you know, try to..."
" Kill himself?" Carson snapped. He turned his head to glare at Rodney. " No, he didn't. And I'd rather you not be thinkin' about the possibility." He returned his attention to administering to John. " I don't know what happened. A nightmare probably – fever induced - definitely him being strapped down. The poor lad was so terrified he ripped his arm free of one restraint, fell off the bed, and got caught in the other. And there's a good chance he's broken his arm to boot. Lad's brittle as glass so it's not like it would take much for that to happen."
With the left wrist and hand wrapped, Carson reached for the other. On trying to move it as gently as he could, Sheppard's face contorted with discomfort. But the pain meds had been the good stuff, so no agony was involved. Didn't mean pain was totally out of the picture, though. Carson had Kate hold the bowl under the arm as Beckett squeezed water over it, then lightly wiped away remaining dry blood. John swallowed tightly, hissed, and tried several times to yank his arm back. All in all, however, he allowed Beckett to do what needed to be done. It left John shaking with eyes watering, but never got a peep out of him.
Carson wrapped the bandages loosely to help stop the bleeding for now. " Let's change the gown then get him into X-ray." Carson said. " Rodney, lend a hand here."
Rodney rushed around to the other side of the bed. Carson was stunned by the man's eagerness when on any other given day he was usually fixated – blanching – on the blood. He helped Kate raise Sheppard enough for Carson to remove the gown, cutting the right sleeve rather than attempting to slide it off. The man was in boxers, so no real loss of dignity for him in that respect.
The bandages around John's chest and on his back hid nothing. If anything, they enhanced the frailty. Beckett shot a glimpse at Rodney and his tight expression and moving throat. Shock was ever present, but underlying that, Carson witnessed sorrow.
Carson didn't even try to get John's arm through the sleeve of the new gown. He let the gown cover it for now, tieing it only at the neck. Kate fetched a wheel chair, and Rodney aided Carson in moving Sheppard into it. Sheppard tried to stand, the effort plain on his sweating face, but his legs just wouldn't hold him. He had to be lowered into the seat, and the expression that resulted broke Carson's heart.
It was a look of defeat, of utter shame. John just stared at his hands, letting his head hang. Carson clasped his shoulder.
" It's all right, lad. You can't rush these things. You'll be back on your feet before you know it, you mark my words."
" Yeah," Rodney said. " 'Cause no one's going to want to wheel your scrawny ass around forever."
" Rodney," Carson admonished.
" What! I didn't say anything wrong. Besides, Sheppard thought it was funny."
Wrinkling his brow, Carson leaned to the side and in for a peek at John's face.
The Colonel was smiling.
SGA
Kace wandered into the infirmary as though he were on a meandering stroll. Truth to the matter, he'd actually been called in, and knew the answer why before the marine fetching him had even shown up.
Kace spotted the skinny man in a bed on the left side of the room, arm wrapped in a cast from hand to elbow and tucked safely in a sling. Green-Brown eyes looked black through the heavy, slitted eyelids. Sheppard had his head lolled to one side, vacant as a corpse and just as pale. Exhaustion clung to him like several layers of second skin, heavy yet numbing. The man was worn to the metaphorical bone, with only a dust mote of adrenaline allowing him to keep his eyes partially open.
Kace shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat on stopping beside the bed. He looked Sheppard up and down, noticing for the first time the white cloth bandage around his wrist. Kace – at the risk of making his own head spin – did a surface scan of John's thoughts. He started in surprise at the images popping up – all with a kind of 'theme' as it were, the theme of being bound. They flickered back and forth, sometimes dwelling, sometimes snapping in then snapping out of existence. Kace saw the prison infirmary – familiar to Kace since a visit was mandatory before being tossed into crap-hole cells. Can't have diseased prisoners where viruses thrived like insects in the summer over a stagnant pond. Sheppard was there, strapped to a metal table, shirtless, body cut and bruised, face bleeding, arm bent above the wrist at a funny angle. Panting, defying, Harl hovering with a device, Gorek applying pressure to busted ribs, and a doctor's protest.
Between those image flashes were those of John's recent adventure. Caught, struggling, and the doctor with the weird accent stepping into view. There was pain, fear, but it was all subdued when the doctor showed himself. Kindness, care, gentle treatment as wounds were cleansed. Another face, familiar, that scientist – McKay – and fear was nothing more than a squeak at the back of John's skull.
These images danced around eachother. Or, more appropriately, fought, with one leading to the other, the other leading back to the one. Still, Kace was impressed. The images may have been wild, but it was only the two, nothing else trying to push its way in because of some minute reminder leading to it.
John's brain was calming down. Still, Kace didn't quite understand the less than pleasant image of the infirmary. Some kind of torture? The doctor hadn't looked too happy about the abuse Gorek was laying on. And John seemed – as far as Kace could tell – quite coherent. No fear on the face, only in the mind, which was mostly stifled by pain and the cold. He also wasn't so emaciated. Slender, yes, but mostly muscle and bone rather than just skin and bone. This had occurred before the scrambler.
Kace tentatively reached out and placed his hand on John's bony shoulder. John flinched, rolled his head in Kace's direction, and just stared. Kace sensed wariness, but also a slight inkling of calm at seeing a familiar face. Kace smiled.
" Hey there, friend Shep. Sorry for taking my sweet time on dropping by, but folks here have a bit of a paranoia problem – no offense to them. Not that I don't understand why or anything, but that guy your friends call Caldwell seems keen on having me watched, and all those suspicion waves from my 'escort' gets a little annoying after a while. Lot of interesting minds in this city, I gotta tell you. Not that I've been purposefully digging around into various skulls, but the thoughts and emotions to come snapping about tends to bring out the curiosity beast in me and I can't resist."
" And you wonder why Caldwell's having you followed," said the sarcastic stained voice from behind. Kace turned his head to see McKay approach the foot of the bed with arms folded.
" This is a highly coveted city, we're a highly coveted people, with lots of coveted technology, and we've had a lot of problems with security. You do the math."
Kace never could lose a grin, because taking offense just wasn't in him. He understood way to much to let it. " I did the math a long time ago, Doc McKay. Personally, I've never had an interest in technology I can't work – which, basically, constitutes your entire city. I know there'll be no convincing anyone to open up their trust to me, but I'm not worried. Whatever secrets your people have they're yours to keep. I've no interest in information that might have me tortured for extraction purposes. Story of my life. People want what's in my head – or what I can get out of other folk's heads – so do whatever they can and want to get it out. So believe me when I say – in a scan, if there's some vital bit of info concerning security, codes, names, ranks, what have you – I give that wide birth like it's an angry Gruth trying to protect its kits."
The twisted look of confusion on McKay's face almost had Kace bust out in laughter. Instead, he shook his head. " I ignore it, friend McKay. The knowledge your people carry inside their head would make my life miserable if anyone found out I had it. I'm more fascinated by these moving picture stories I've caught snippets of in a few brains. What do you call 'em? Movies? Now that's a bit of techno I wouldn't mind acquiring. A nice way to watch folk without their emotions muddling you up."
McKay relaxed, just a tad, which from what Kace gleaned from the man and from the opinion of others, was as far as he went in relaxation. There was still uncertainty as a means to keep McKay's guard up, but other than that he accepted Kace's explanation.
" Actually," McKay said, " that's probably the only technology we don't mind sharing. Besides being known to deplete a few brain cells – though that's mostly my opinion – it's not like it can be used to blow us all up or anything."
Kace nodded thoughtfully. " True. So you brought me to check on Shep's head, eh?"
Rodney visibly tensed, dropping his arms and scowling. " Will you not do that! I mean, I don't know if it's something you like to do or something more automatic, but for the sake of not creeping me out, can you let me talk first? Pretend that you can't read my mind?"
Kace shrugged. " If you wish. Although my way's faster. Keeps people from beating around. Drives them to the point, you might say."
Rodney's brow smooth over speculatively. " Huh, never considered that. I can't stand it when people ramble and don't say what they meant to say..."
Kace cleared his throat. " Already did a scan. Shep isn't out of the river yet, but he's wading through. The muddle's less muddled and I actually caught a glimpse of something more definite concerning what happened to him. Can't say exactly what it was I saw – torture or a crappy rescue. Shep was hurt, but he was clear in the head, and he wasn't in a bad way hunger wise. All in all, I'd say I saw a smidgen of a prequel to before my encounter with him. He was strapped to a table, being hurt, same old, same old."
Rodney's eyes drifted anxiously to the right, and Kace followed the man's gaze to a blood splattered bed with bloody restraints. Kace's heart actually jolted at the sight, a sight he couldn't tear his gaze away from.
" You..." he stuttered. " You... you had him tied down?"
He looked at Rodney, felt the man's annoyance, his sadness, and even a little shame, all of which he tried to cover with more annoyance.
" I had nothing to do with it. Carson had to tie him down so they could work on him. He was going nuts, even bit Carson." Rodney sighed. " They didn't have a choice."
Kace looked back at Sheppard. The man was now sound asleep, breathing softly, perfectly content in the stability of his dreams. Kace pursed his lips thoughtfully. Kace might have been quick to kindness, but not always pity. Still, he pitied the thin man, having to wake up to a bad memory...
" You have to be careful what you do to the man," Kace explained. " A fractured mind moves fast, and even something as small as a pebble could trigger a memory like an avalanche, eventually leading to the bad."
" So what do we do?" McKay asked, tersely, nervously, even a little fearfully, but with plenty of conviction. Kace could have told McKay to drop Sheppard into the ocean for a wake-up call, and he'd probably do it.
" Simple enough. Bring out the happy memories, and don't overload him. He's home, back in the familiar, with familiar faces. It's already starting, it's just going to take time until his mind starts to settle. That's all I can really tell you for now. Oh, and to be careful. You don't know what'll trigger what and even I can't tell you. Not yet at any rate."
He looked at McKay. McKay, however, was looking at Sheppard. Worry, lots and lots of worry, rolled off him, carrying with it the sadness, anger, and conviction. Kace narrowed his eyes.
" Not meaning to pry. Just caught a glimpse, really, but I could have sworn you once said something concerning hating friend Shep?"
" I always say that," Rodney blurted, his mind wrapped in the hatred he kept building up against Harl.
" Why?"
Rodney removed his gaze from Sheppard to glare at Kace. " Why don't you stay out of my head. That's why."
Kace smirked. " Bad choice of words, friend McKay. I'm a curious man, and for someone so quick to talk the words, you certainly don't adhere to them that well."
McKay snorted. " They're just words. And no need to play shrink. We've already got one."
" Oh I'm not playing at anything. You've a complex mind, Doc McKay and I'm not talking in terms of all that knowledge you've got stuffed in there." Kace studied Rodney for a moment. He was tempted to pry a little further, ask questions concerning the snippets of imagery concerning a wraith ship, imprisonment, and escape. Kace's claim to curiosity wasn't an exaggeration. It was a universal trait among his people out of reasons of caution, and once peaked was hard to let go of. People were far more fascinating from within than without. But Kace knew how and when not to push his limit. Better to gather the info for himself at some point and time since any questions Kace had would be answered by a massive, resounding no from McKay.
" I'm flattered you think so, but stay out of my mind anyways. I don't know what passes as etiquette on your world but around here bouncing around in other people's brains is considered rude."
Kace shrugged. " As you wish, friend McKay. Mind you, though – I'm not responsible for what slips from your mind into mine. It happens."
" Not if I can help it," McKay grumbled. Kace decided not to tell him it was happening even now. The man's brain was as rampant as his mouth, a perpetual motion machine unto itself. And he had a feeling Shep would be inclined to agree.
SGA
A/N: Yes, let the healing commence.
