Aftermath

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Well, that's the whumping over for Carson, but there are still a few surprises in store. As he realises what he's done, who's going to understand how he feels...?

There's seven more chapters to go, so thanks for staying with me - I hope you enjoy this latest one !

Chapter Sixteen

03.12 AM

Since joining this once in a constantly threatened lifetime mission, he'd become many things – second in command to some, inspiring CO to others, surrogate big brother to everyone in between.

At the moment, John Sheppard was taking that third role every bit as seriously as he took the other two. A still vulnerable friend, one of his surrogate brothers, needed his help, his sadly unique support. Even as he lay in precious, healing sleep, that traumatised friend still needed his protection

So blithely ignoring his own orders for his team to get some sleep, he'd kept guard at Carson's side – the edge of his shoulder, it seemed, providing a lot more comfort to his friend than foam packed linen.

His own medications, his own exhaustion, had provided Carson with everything else he needed – carefully controlled sleep keeping a broken body, a brutalised mind, securely in its healing depths.

Doggedly pursued novel in his lap, coffee mug in his hand, John now glanced down to the huddled form beside him – allowing himself just the trace of a smile as he carefully tucked the covers around Carson's shoulders.

He'd been spark out for almost twenty hours now, and looked set to remain so for some while yet. So it was some surprise when the silent huddle stirred under his hand, slowly uncurling itself – a sleepy, unmistakeable voice disturbing him from a novel that he clearly just wasn't fated to finish.

"L – La'ra…?"

Mentally peeling himself from the ceiling, John then offered his friend a deliberately neutral smile –shrewd eyes already searching for telltale signs of trouble as Carson blinked sleepily around him. He'd woken calmly enough. But John knew, all too well, how deceptive such calmness could be.

"Sorry to disappoint you, buddy, but no… she's still in bed… though I can go get here if you want…" he said at last, cursing in silent dismay as the first of those warning signs betrayed itself in widening, already stricken eyes.

Damn, he was remembering it already. Couldn't those sedatives have kept him under a little longer…?

The faint voice beside him set further alarm bells ringing. It sounded lost. Broken. Defeated.

"How – How bad is it, John…? I - I mean, what I told him, what - what he made me tell him..."

Realising there was no choice now but to come clean, John sighed while turning to face his friend.

"He took a hell of a lot from you, Carson… the bomb, our long range scanners... the schematics for the shield…" he said at last, hastening to reassure his friend as an already unhealthily gaunt face turned several shades paler. Firm hands settled back onto trembling shoulders. The voice, still gentle, held little room for argument

"But it's nothing we can't handle, Carson, you hear me…? I've told you that already, remember…? What that bastard did to you, what he made you do, it wasn't your fault… it wasn't your fault…"

The stricken eyes in front of him were still wide, filled with more suffering than they ever deserved – Carson's yearning to believe those precious assurances so painfully familiar as John made them again.

"It wasn't your fault, Carson… believe me, no-one can withstand that kind of control… that kind of torture..."

Blue eyes still held his, still yearning to believe. Blue eyes suddenly, and blessedly, grew even wider. And as he watched this change, John Sheppard offered silent, heartfelt thanks to every god he knew.

He understood. At long last, Carson Beckett didn't just believe what he'd said, he understood.

"Oh, sweet Christ…" he finally whispered, his voice expressing every part of his horrified shock. "You – You've been through this too, haven't ye…? An' – An' no' jus' from the Wraith…?"

Always a firm believer that actions spoke louder than words, John Sheppard simply nodded in reply, saying nothing. He'd made his point. Carson understood it. He didn't need a sledgehammer to drive it further home.

They would talk about it, of course. They would find strength in this horrific connection between them. But for now they simply held onto each other, each finding that strength without the need for words.

At 03.12 am on a storm-swept morning, two broken souls found common ground on which to heal