A/N: More recovery, more angst. The fun never ends. Gold to the reviewers! And tissues. Lots and lots of tissues.
13
Elizabeth ran to the infirmary. It lacked dignity, probably didn't inspire much awe for said expedition leader, but she was human, flawed, and had the right not to give a crap. She'd been holding back long enough, waiting with baited breath, walking on eggshells until the okay sounded over the radio from Beckett. Sheppard was awake, and Elizabeth wasn't going to hide her excitement over it.
She only slowed when she nearly impacted into the infirmary doors that she hardly gave a chance to open. She took two seconds to gather her remaining composure, and walked in as though she'd been walking the whole time. Beckett was moving to meet her, but Elizabeth's focus went beyond him to rove the room until her gaze turned left to settle on the infirm body inclined in a partial sitting position on the bed. A nurse was next to John, methodically tilting a blue plastic cup set at his lips, his throat moving rhythmically to work down the contents. On his face was a look of weary rapture.
" Please don't tell me this is a bad time," Elizabeth breathlessly said. She heard Carson chuckle.
" Course not, Elizabeth. He's having some broth. I just wanted to tell ya that him stayin' awake varies. He's still got a fever and his body isn't in the mood to multi-task. So don't take it personal if he nods off on ya. He's not makin' a statement toward borin' conversation or anything."
Elizabeth smiled. " He does that just fine during briefings." She headed over to the bed in time to see the nurse tilting the cup almost perpendicular for John to get the last few drops. When finished, she gently wiped his mouth with a wet cloth, set it and the cup on the tray, and pulled it away. Elizabeth grabbed the nearest stool and dragged it over to the spot formerly occupied by the nurse.
John's eyelids were attempting to slide close, taking his head with it when it lolled to the side. Elizabeth bit her lip in uncertainty on whether to interrupt this attempt or just let him sleep.
It was decided for her when she sighed and John jerked awake with a sharp intake of breath and widened eyes. Breathing fast and shaking, his head darted around the perimeter until landing on Elizabeth. He stilled, and just stared at her.
Elizabeth smiled at him, sadly but she couldn't help it. " Hi John."
John's brow creased thoughtfully. Elizabeth had assumed him to be staring, now knew him to be studying, scrutinizing, puzzling something out concerning her features. His eyes roamed over her face, flicking up, down, left, and right, from hair to chin. Moments of realization interchanged with moments of confusion. He reached out with a trembling, bandaged hand toward her face, only to pull back timidly when the confusion made an assault that overwhelmed him.
Elizabeth reached out slowly to take John's hand into both of hers. " It's all right, John. I'm real if that's what you were wondering." Even clasped, his hand still shook. She lightly squeezed his fingers, and turned John's hand palm-up. Small drops of blood had soaked through at the wrist, dark in the center, and radiating out fading to pink. Carson had filled her in on John's mishap trip off the bed. Seeing the aftermath made her heart ache and stomach clench.
" I really missed the hell out of you, John," she said, turning his hand gently, studying the thin fingers with their nicks, cuts and calluses. Against pale skin John's veins stood out like rivers of blue. She began rubbing his hand because it was still ice cold. " I still do, if that makes any sense. I mean you're right here, right now, I can feel you, but... it's like you're not... complete. It's like... there's still more of you that hasn't come back yet. I just wish you would say something, is all." She shrugged. " One word, pointless, doesn't have to be witty. Of course I could actually go for something smart-ass coming from you." She coughed out a laugh. " Funny the things you tend to miss. But – yeah – I missed that."
Elizabeth looked up into John's face. His head had sagged, and his eyelids were hovering on slits. He was trying, he really was, to stay awake, and Elizabeth could have sworn she saw his lips trying to twitch toward a smile. She set his hand down beside him to reach out and smooth his hair back. She really couldn't get enough of his physical presence even if his mental presence was what she longed for. There had been no getting used to the silence always present even within the noise, like a gap where his voice was supposed to be, and that her ears had kept straining toward to hear out of habit and hope.
They were still straining. She needed his voice, his support, his unwavering back up. His absence had brought about one of those moments where one doesn't know what they've got until it's gone – again. Not that she ever took his presence for granted. Times when his presence was lacking wouldn't let her. He wasn't just some military commander handling the grunt work off on the side, he was her military commander – not Earth's, not the SGC's – hers, Atlantis. Her support, her back-up, even in the face of higher ranking officials telling him what to do otherwise. True, they had their moments of differing opinions and views, but he had never – ever – attempted to usurp her, shove her aside like an incompetent. Hell, even the trust issues were less of an issue these days.
He was also a hell of a lot easier to be around than those stick up the butt career military firm in the belief that they knew better. Elizabeth chuckled inwardly at the thought.
" It's all right John," she soothed. " Go to sleep. You need it."
Whether giving into her permission, or simply unable to fight it, John relented, and his eyes snapped closed the rest of the way. Gentle breathing followed, thin chest rising and falling. Elizabeth pulled the blankets a little further up John's body, then just watched him sleep.
Coming to the Pegasus galaxy had brought many surreal moments to her life. She added this one to the collection. But it was a surreality she couldn't get enough of. Having John back in body had made her year. Having him back in mind would make her year and years to come. She doubted she'd ever be able to let him out of her sights again. She knew she'd never stop listening for him.
SGA
John squirmed against the rough upholstery of the easy chair, rubbing his arms on the arms of the chair to scratch the itch that same chair was creating. He should have been in his long sleeved shirt. His t-shirt was making him cold, and didn't keep out the poky material. But itching wasn't really a major concern at the moment. Just a distraction. Funny how he felt that, and cold, when it was supposed to be ninety-degrees with the only relief being open windows and a whirring rotating fan.
Beyond the windows the day was blindingly bright. Inside it was dusk, misted by the rippling heat John couldn't feel. The couch beneath the window was a silhouette, and so was the figure sitting on it. A turn of the head outlined the side of the face, with shadow on shadow marking sharp features. John gripped the edge of the arm rests. Another funny; he couldn't hear birds even with the windows open. All he could hear was the buzz of the fan, and the shift of cloth from movement.
" Good times kid," said the man on the couch. A new sound emerged, the slosh of liquid in a glass bottle that flashed amber when lifted to the unseen mouth.
John looked down at his hands – his adult hands – blue-veined, pale, and shaking. New kind of funny. Wasn't he supposed to be young? Way, way younger? But who really cared?
John lifted one shoulder in an a quick, awkward shrug more fitting to an adolescent than a grown man. He smiled just as awkwardly. " Yeah, it was, dad."
A fishing trip. John recalled a fishing trip. Good times indeed. His dad had resigned himself to only beer the whole time – and separate tents, just in case.
Except that, on the final night, it hadn't helped. John's dad had woke up screaming, running from the tent into John's tent to grab him, haul him out, throw him to the ground to cover him against a bombardment that wasn't coming. Post traumatic stress had that effect on people. Most called it shell shock, except that it didn't take a bang or a pop to set his dad off. It just happened. Drinking... helped, sometimes. Sometimes, it made it worse. So John just watched. It was all he could do.
But screw the last evening. The rest of the trip had been a blast.
" Could we do it again?" John innocently asked. He recalled sitting in the boat on the mirror still lake, bored out of his skull, until his dad started cracking jokes. They hadn't caught a damn thing, but man life had been good – perfect even – those hours spent on the lake.
His dad's head dropped. " I um... I don't think so Johnny."
John looked uncomfortably away. " Oh. Um... Why?"
His dad looked back up. John could see his face better now. Dark hair, almost black, almost long, receding a little from the forehead. His dad had always joked that John was lucky baldness was only inherited on the mother's side.
Mom. Where was mom? Six feet under, that's where.
His dad sighed. " Johnny, you know why."
John did. Oh boy how he did. He gripped the armrest tighter until his fingers dug into the scratchy material.
" It – it wasn't your fault, dad. You know that, right? You didn't mean... It was a freakin' accident!"
His dad leaned forward, elbows on the knees so his hands could dangle and the bottle with it. " I broke two of your ribs, Johnny. We had to cut the trip short because I broke two of your ribs all because of some damn dream. That was strike three."
" But it was an accident!" John yelled. " I don't want them to take me away! It was a frickin' accident!
His dad slammed the bottle onto the coffee table. " No, Johnny, it was frickin' lucky you didn't get hurt worse. I could have killed you, and I almost did. This is the way it's got to be, kid. I'm not safe to be around. I know it, the state knows it... but you could never get it through your head. You go to live with your grandpa who gives you the life I wasn't giving you, and you still took off to find me. And what did you find? A grave, a frickin' grave! I kept failing you, Johnny, and like hell I was going to keep on failing you."
John shook his head stubbornly. " No, hell no, no way. You did not fail me! I don't care what the hell anyone says. You were good to me, you took care of me..."
His dad began to laugh, bitterly, the sound more like a sob that a snicker. " Oh, man, Johnny, you really don't let yourself remember, do you?"
" What the hell do you mean?"
His dad tilted his head. " Come on, kid. Nights alone either because I was working or passed out. Your gut always hurting because I could never keep a job long enough to put food on the table. Crap, kid, you were so skinny I was surprised no one took you from me sooner for that alone. Then all the nightmares, the screaming, being pulled from your bed 'cause I thought some Vietcong was in the house. I was messed up, kid. Goin' down fast and taking you with me. I mean you did good covering up the bruises and all, but it was inevitable, kid. You needed to go, get out, get saved... And you did. I mean, look at you now. A Lt. Colonel. I couldn't even get past frickin' major. And commander of an alien city?" He chuckled, this time sincerely. " An alien city!"
John smiled shyly. His dad has always been quick with the praises, even if it had been something as small as tossing a football a few meters farther today than yesterday.
" Johnny, you can't deny it. Being taken from me was the best thing to ever happen to you in a long time. My pop was good to you, gave you the life I wanted to give you. You can't put that down."
John would have denied it with every fiber of his being, except underlying that denial was the cold, biting truth of it all. John hated that, and would have gladly ripped it from himself, chucked it, and never looked back on it again. But since that wasn't possible, he'd stuck with simply ignoring it all together by erasing the moment of transition from when he was taken from his father to go live with his grandfather. All he ever let himself recall was the good, and only the good. The rest was irrelevant.
John's eyes burned with unshed tears. He clasped his hands, wringing them together, fingers dinging into the flesh, but without any pain to show for it. He looked up at his dad's shadowed form. " You were still a good dad."
John saw, through the shadows, a sad smile. " Thanks kid. I'm just sorry I couldn't do more."
John swallowed. " That's okay. You tried."
" I could have done better."
" Maybe... Doesn't change the fact..."
His father sighed. " You're a good kid, Johnny. You always were. And I loved that about you."
They fell silent, and not even the fan could be heard. It had stopped without anyone having to turn it off. Maybe Ancient gene powered, John couldn't say.
" I can't remember their names, dad," John said. " I know them, their faces. I just... their names... Nothing – nothing sticks. I – it's scaring me dad." John started trembling. " What if I don't ever remember?"
He looked up at his father, could see his face more clearly, and the rest of him. He had his uniform on his well-built frame. John only recalled seeing him like that, only once, the day he was shipped out, before everything went wrong in their little world. Back when mom was still alive.
His father smiled. " You'll remember. You know why?"
John shook his head.
" Because it's too important to continue to forget. Don't be afraid, Johnny. You'll be all right. You'll get through this. And you're not alone 'cause – hell – you never have been. You really need to stop thinking that."
John smiled. " Thanks, dad."
" Love ya kid."
SGA
John opened his eyes and waited. Waited, waited, waited, his heart beating so hard, so fast, he couldn't breathe fast enough to keep up. What was he looking at? A ceiling, metallic, pretty. Smells, weird smells. No, familiar. Clean, overly clean, and chemical. Well that's different. Where was the pain? There was supposed to be pain? They always came for him after the dreams. Where was he?
John didn't risk movement, not even to turn his head or his eyes. He started quaking, because something was wrong. Or maybe nothing was wrong. Or maybe...
His thoughts drifted away from him. Faces waltzed in, clearer now. And there was an ache in his chest, his heart. A dull ache that made it hurt to swallow. Then he had to move. His face was cold, he didn't know why, and it scared him. He lifted a cloth-wrapped hand to his face and wiped, bringing his hand away to see moisture shimmering on his fingertips.
Maybe something already happened. Except... beside the ache... he didn't really hurt.
He dared to move again by rolling his head to the side.
Where was he?
Metal walls, metal floor, clean, beds, clean, everything clean. Machines, complicated and large. They made John nervous. Devices, maybe. More devices for the touching, dropping, and hurting. Why was he here?
Faces, where were the faces? Didn't he see them? For real? Feel them? Where were they? Another dream? But he doesn't feel in the dreams. He wanted the faces back. They made sense. But... he couldn't remember the names.
He wanted to see the faces. He needed the faces, to know they were real. He knew they had to have been real.
John gritted his teeth as he attempted to sit up, and the pain made manifest, going from a fading ache in his chest to a different kind of ache that throbbed and increased. It hurt, bad, driving the breath from his lungs and dropping him back to the pillow, panting, coughing, and shuddering. That only made the situation worse, giving the ache strength. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing only on his breathing. Someone had told him to do that once, twice, many, many times. Man with the funny voice who took the pain away. Where was he? John needed him. He needed the pain gone, wanted it gone so bad, before the bald man came with his devices and more pain.
No, that wasn't right...
His own mental ramblings were interrupted by more coughing.
" Colonel Sheppard?"
A hand on his shoulder, feathery light. His heart slammed, and he yelped, pulling away by trying to snap upright, which turned the pain to fiery agony. He cried out, dropping back to the pillow, sobbing with chest convulsing in ragged gasps.
" Colonel Sheppard, it's all right, you'll be all right."
Very odd. The voice was kind, gentle and female. Quaking, wondering if he might regret this, he forced his head to turn and look at her. The pretty lady with the dark shoulder length brown hair smiled at him. She had a needle, but didn't stick him with it. She stuck it in a little tube in the little bag hanging from the pole.
" This should help with the pain," she said. And, like Hokus Pocus my word be done, numbing warmth spread through John, and the pain slunk away. He breathed easy and filled his lungs until the slight twinge told him when to stop. Twinges were better than the pain. He looked back at the pretty nurse smiling at him as she adjusted his blankets.
Then came the man, a face he knew. Man with the funny voice who takes the pain away. John stared at him in wonder. To see the face, real, beyond a floating image that came and went in his head, made his heart beat fast. It was the same every time, with every face existing beyond his dreams. He recalled so much, but too fast. With funny voice, it was pain, then pain gone. Pain, pain gone, pain, pain gone. It was always gone when funny voice was around. Within the images bouncing in his head were words, but too quick and quiet to be properly grasped. John creased his brow trying to concentrate, pulling the thoughts only to have other thoughts push them away.
Had this man strapped him down? No, that couldn't be right. He'd already gone over this. But... Sometimes. Yet... there had been reason. Hadn't there?
" Glad to see you're awake, lad," funny voice said. John liked the way he talked, how different it was. It made John feel comfortable, made the man seem always nice. Talk to the nice man. Make him talk more in that funny voice. Bring out the images, make them dance, then maybe the whispered words would speak louder. But John couldn't get his voice to work, or think of words to say.
" Ya hungry, John?" funny voice asked while placing a familiar instrument into his ears, then placing the other down the front of the gown to touch it to John's chest.
Sheppard nodded to the question. Funny voice moved the object around John's chest.
" Could you breathe in for me John?"
John inhaled deep until the twinge, and exhaled when funny voice told him to. Funny voice tsked, and that made John nervous for reasons he couldn't recall.
" Still congested." Funny voice removed the listening device, and picked up another device, this one small and hand-held. Familiar, very familiar, but John couldn't recall... It looked – like a weapon... like... like...
Carson was bringing it toward John's head.
Like you know exactly what.
John's heart did another slam. In a burst of terror, he bolted upright, and with every measly ounce of energy he could gather scrambled from the bed, dropping to the floor. Pain erupted, but the terror stomped it back for him to go scrabbling across the cold, slick floor with no direction and no real intent except to get away. It was a blind panic, and when he met the barrier that was the wall, he stumbled and scurried along it until he came to a second barrier. He was trapped. Funny voice, the pretty lady, and another lady were coming toward him, surrounding him, cornering him, boxing him in. He pushed himself into the corner, shrank against it, drawing his knees up and grabbing his head to protect it, panting, whimpering, and shaking until his teeth chattered.
The three converged close with hands held palm out and fingers spread, with no devices present. But they could be close, hidden in pockets, up sleeves. Wait... had that ever really happened?
" Easy John," soothed funny voice. He looked worried, sad, even a little scared. Not angry, not even close.
" Easy now, lad. It's all right. We're not gonna hurt ya, son." John couldn't be certain of that. They had one of those... hurting things. They were going to stick it to his head, turn it on, twist his brain.
But he had no where else he could go. He was surrounded, though only funny voice was approaching now. John shrank further into a cringe, still breathing fast, sometimes making small, whimpering sounds with each exhale. Funny voice knelt slowly beside him, and even more slowly reached out his hand. John turned away, squeezing his eyes shut (as though that had ever saved him from the hurting device), and wrapping both arms around his head though the cast hurt when it tapped against his skull.
Instead of hands trying to pry his arms loose, and cold metal against his temple, he felt the weight of a warm hand on his shoulder blade, and heard only calm, kind words.
" John, I swear, ya no need to be frightened. Come on. Come on out and look at me."
John opened one eye, and turned his head enough to have funny voice in sight. He still looked sad, and worried.
" What is it, John? What scared ya?"
John looked over funny voice's person. He saw it, trying to hide in the pocket of the white coat. John stared at it. It was different but... not by much. White, not metal, with a blue-green tip. Just fancier really. He gulped. Just looking at it made his head hurt.
Funny voice followed John's gaze to the pocket and device. He reached in and pulled it out.
" This?"
John flinched and tightened his hold on his head, shivering so bad his limbs felt ready to snap apart. He looked at funny voice, pleading with his eyes. No – begging Funny voice wasn't supposed to bring pain. He took it away. He was supposed to take it away. Right? Right! But John couldn't quite recall. Too congealed, like paint smeared on paper. For once, John's breaths were keeping up with his thundering heart.
" Is this what's the matter?" Funny voice asked.
Tears burned John's eyes, pooling, then spilling. " P-please." It hurt to talk. Made his head throb, his throat ache, unless he did it quietly.
Funny voice's face went slack, and he blinked suddenly rounded eyes. " What? What did you say?"
John had done it now. But it was too late. If he didn't respond, they would make the pain worse.
" P-please..." he whispered in a rasp. " Please... don't." He swallowed when his throat when horribly dry. " D-don't..." and in an even smaller, barely audible voice dared to say, " hurt... me..."
Yes, he had definitely screwed himself now. Funny voice's jaw was hanging open wide enough for John to see his tongue. The two nurses just look confused. John wracked his brain for what it was he had done wrong. No devices had been presented – couldn't be that. Names, there were the names. Maybe that. Maybe they were tired of him not knowing their names. It didn't sound right – feel right – but John couldn't think of anything else.
" I-I'm... s-s-sorry. I-I'll, t-try harder... remember. To... remem-ber. Don't... p-please don't..."
Wrong again, he knew he was, because it had felt wrong. Something was off, he couldn't grasp it, understand it. What was he missing? What did they want? Tears came faster. He was too confused and too scared. They won't give him any food now. Just give him the pain. But that couldn't be right. Funny voice took pain away...
His head began to throb, then pound, and he rubbed his hand along the side of his head, trying to massage it out of existence, but it hurt too much.
Then, John saw something – and though it didn't still his mind, it quieted it.
Funny voice's eyes were shimmering. He snapped his jaw shut, and swallowed thickly.
" Ma..." it came out as a squeak, so he cleared his throat. " Madison, love. Go bring up the broth for the Colonel. Jenny, go find that Kace fellow. Tell him I wish to speak with him."
" Yes, Dr. Beckett," they said in unison, then hurried away, exiting the room.
John blinked. Beckett. Beckett, Beckett, Beckett. He knew that word, that name. But it was only one part of a name. John tried to recall, but became distracted. Funny voi – Beckett's - eyes were shimmering again. This time, a drop of water escaped to go sliding down his face.
" John..." he said in a thick voice. " You probably don't remember, but as a doctor, there's an oath I have to take. And a part of that oath is to do no harm. But even if I hadn't taken that oath, I'd never harm ya lad. On my life, I never would. This..." he took the device, and set in on the floor. " I'm not sure what you think it is, but it's really nothin' more than a thermometer. I was just goin' to check your temperature. But that's all right. We can do it orally – the old fashioned way."
Beckett pushed the device hard, causing it to slide across the floor, out of reach. " See? No more of that. So will ya trust me, lad? Trust me to help ya?" Beckett extended his hand, palm up and empty. John stared at it, then at Beckett.
An oath, a promise. Yes... that sounded right. Familiar. Safe. He pried his bandaged hand from his head, and tentatively reached out to take Beckett's. Beckett's grip was firm, but not painfully so. As John pushed himself up, Beckett pulled. On his feet, John stumbled, and would have fallen if Beckett hadn't caught him. Still holding on, he helped John shuffle back to the bed, then aided him in climbing in. He pulled the covers up to John's waist, after which he cleaned the cut on John's hand where the IV needle had been ripped out. He placed a bandage over the wound, and reinserted the needle in another vein. John winced at the pinch. Pain, but not a bad pain. Quick and forgettable.
John watched it all, fascinated. Why had he been afraid? He didn't recall, only that he had been. But he shouldn't have been, not of this man. It made his chest tighten, and he looked away, at the arm wrapped in a cast.
" S-sorry," he whispered, because it was the right thing to say, and needed to be said.
" John, look at me."
John did, and it startled him to see Beckett smiling, though the wet shimmer remained in his eyes.
" No need to apologize. Ya did nothin' wrong."
No anger. Just worry, sadness, and surety. John shuddered with utter, draining relief.
Man with the funny voice – Beckett.
" F-friend... Right?" John ventured hopefully.
Beckett, still smiling, clasped John's shoulder. " Aye, lad. That I be indeed."
SGA
A/N: More interesting moments to come. Stay tuned for our next installment.
