Thank you everyone who has reviewed so far………great motivators!
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He was lying on his side, curled into a tight ball, hands wrapped around his knees beneath the covers and staring at a point across the room in an attempt to keep his mind focused and his head clear. He was staring at a spot on the wall, it was dark, could have been blood. An old stain, holding his attention, eyes unwavering from it to keep his fragile composure.
Sweat was pouring down his face, stinging his eyes, his teeth were chattering because he was so cold and at the same time stiflingly hot. His stomach was cramping periodically, waves that spread and burnt with every breath he took. He was in pain, didn't admit to it, but by the way that Beckett was hovering over him he knew he sensed it. He didn't want to offend him, but he wanted him to quit his hovering. He almost wished someone else would come in, of course with a minor injury, which could temporarily distract him.
"I can give you something for the pain."
Beckett touched his shoulder and he jumped. His eyes moved away from the spot and his composure shattered, allowing the pain to resurface and the rolling cramps to force him to curl tighter into himself.
"No," Sheppard ground out through his teeth.
"You can't go on like this," Beckett stated looking apologetic for having startled him.
"Can you make the pain go away entirely? Can you stop me feeling like this?" He met Beckett's eyes with a cold hard stare.
"I can make it go away temporarily, but you're going to have to tough this one out."
"Cold turkey," Sheppard muttered as he gripped his stomach.
"I'm afraid so," said Beckett, "There's nothing I could give you that could make this just disappear. Perhaps talking to Rodney would help?"
Sheppard rolled onto his back, straightened his legs under the covers and promptly moved back onto his side. No other position alleviated the pain. His hand reached up to the railing and gripped it with white knuckles, "Why would that help?" Sheppard closed his eyes against a wave of nausea.
"Because he's been through this before," stated Beckett.
"No," said Sheppard, "I don't want to talk to him about this. If you say I have to sweat it out, I will." He groaned and moved his head to the railing, dropping his head down onto his hand with a sigh. He certainly had the sweating part down pat.
"You're going to exhaust yourself and you can't keep this up much longer. Let me get a sedative at least."
"No!" Sheppard shouted and his legs twisted under the covers. His toes curling. He pushed them off him angrily and wiped his perspiring forehead, "No, just leave me alone."
"Colonel, this is going to be hard. You need you're friends around."
"I need to lie here on my own and not have people watching me at my lowest hour."
"Nobody is going to think any different of you. You've been through a traumatic experience and you're body is-"
"Killing me," said Sheppard as he bit his lip. He bolted upright all of a sudden and clamped a hand over his mouth, wrenching the I.V as he did so, "I'm gonna be sick," he mumbled and turned green.
Beckett reached for an emesis pan and handed it to him and watched as Sheppard dry heaved into it. When he had finished he sagged back onto his pillow, fatigued.
"Better?" Beckett asked taking the pan and handing him a glass of water, "Drink it slowly."
"Any idea how long this is going to last?" Sheppard groaned as he rolled onto his side.
"I'm afraid it could last for days. You're body is reacting as if you had stopped taking Heroin. At the moment you're body thinks it needs it to function which is why you're having such a bad reaction, but there's no telling how long this will go on. If we knew what the Enzymes elimination half-life was I might be able to give you a better time frame."
Sheppard sighed and balled the sheets in his fists. Minutes seemed like hours so the prospect that this could go on for days didn't seem like a viable option.
"Isn't there something you could give me to take the edge off?" Sheppard asked.
"Not unless I had some of the wraith enzyme, which I don't."
"Okay," said Sheppard waving a hand dismissively. He pulled the covers over his head and returned to his inner mantra.
"I have to be somewhere but Doctor Adams is here if you need anything. Colonel, if you're in too much pain, I want you to say."
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"Sorry I'm late." Beckett entered Doctor Heightmeyer's office and found Elizabeth, Mckay, Teyla and Ronon all sitting in chairs positioned into a circle. "I had something to attend to."
"Colonel Sheppard?" asked Teyla. She was concerned as they all were.
Beckett sat himself down in a vacant chair and crossed his arms with a heavy sigh, "He's certainly suffering."
"You can't help him?" asked Mckay leaning forward slightly.
"Not at the moment," admitted Beckett, "He's refusing to take medication that could lessen the pain. Says if it's just going to come back he might as well deal with it now."
Heightmeyer cleared her throat, "Well, I'm glad you could make it. I know how busy you are."
"This is important," said Beckett. "And I realise that us having psychological assessments is necessary."
"Remind me why again?" asked Mckay, his jaw was set and tense. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be helping Sheppard in whatever way he could.
"You all witnessed Colonel Sheppard being tortured. I thought a group therapy might be beneficial to you all. I believe that you need to deal with what you saw before you can even begin to help the Colonel. By providing details of you're thoughts and feelings on your shared experience it will help you put any individual feelings you have into perspective." She folded her hands loosely in her lap, "Now I've watched the recording to familiarise myself with what you all saw. It's disturbing stuff to say the least."
"You're telling me," said Beckett.
"So let's start. Why don't you each tell me how you were feeling when you were watching it." She retrieved a pen from her desk and a notepad and flipped it open onto a fresh page. When there was silence she looked up, "Who would like to start?" she scanned their reluctant faces, "Look, I know this is difficult. It's never easy revealing your feelings in front of others but this is the best way for you all to communicate how that video effected you."
She knew that over the past few years the people sitting before her had inevitably grown close because of the situations they often found themselves in. They had all saved each others lives in one way or another. They had grown attuned to each others behaviour patterns and moods. Their obvious reluctance to speak was a product of how deeply the past few days had touched them. "Elizabeth?" She had asked Elizabeth first because she was their leader and she felt that by getting her to talk openly about her feelings would encourage the others to follow.
Elizabeth looked startled and she took in a deep breath before speaking, "It was one of the single most horrific things I have witnessed in my career," she said keeping her eyes downcast, "I've never really seen somebody being fed on before. Especially not somebody I care for deeply." She cleared her throat.
"So you were angry?" asked Heightmeyer. She was keeping her voice low and even and trying to maintain eye contact when she could to solidify her support.
"Absolutely."
"Upset?"
"I don't think I'd be human if I said it didn't," she said with a raised eyebrow.
"You've had first hand experience yourself of Commander Kolya."
She nodded. She didn't provide any further words to convey how she was feeling. She was closing off again, trying to protect herself.
"Doctor Mckay. How did watching that video make you feel?"
Mckay looked up, eyes wide and full of dread. He began to fidget nervously, uncomfortable at the glares coming his way, "What kind of a question is that?" he asked with a sigh, "We're all going to say the same thing. We were all angry, we all felt powerless. We all wanted to go and find him and get him out of there." When Mckay was on his own talking to her, she usually couldn't get him to shut up. He was always open with her, but here surrounded by friends he too was being pensive and trying to avoid her question.
"I expect that's true," said Heightmeyer, "But I'm asking you how you felt. You have become close to Colonel Sheppard over the past few years."
Mckay snorted and leant back in his chair, "I wouldn't say close. We have a mutual respect I guess you could say. He irritates me, I irritate him."
"You know, your feelings of being powerless are to be expected." Heightmeyer reassured him, "And as someone who is often called upon to deal with problems here in Atlantis and off-world its not surprising you would feel that way."
"You shouldn't massage his ego," said Beckett with a small smile.
"Now hang on Carson. She's merely speaking the truth." Mckay said in retaliation. "And you're right," he added, "I couldn't help this time." Admitting that truth sent Mckay back into himself. His face tightened, his lips pursed into a thin line and Heightmeyer could see the guilt residing in his eyes.
Silence shrouded the room again, but it was only momentary and Heightmeyer didn't have to prompt for anyone else to speak.
"It was brutal." Teyla interjected, "The whole process was….." she paused and took a steadying breath, "The fact that Sheppard was gagged and bound; he could not fight back. It was…..one of the worst things I've seen."
"And you've witnessed a lot of feedings," Heightmeyer said.
"Yes," she nodded, "but usually the victims aren't completely powerless. They have the chance to fight back."
"And this bothers you. That he couldn't fight back?"
"It bothers me that Sheppard knew he couldn't fight back. He is a proud man," said Teyla with a small smile.
"You know he'd never tell us it bothered him," said Mckay, "He'd rather keep it all bottled up."
"That's interesting that you feel that way," said Heightmeyer.
"It's not a feeling, it's the truth. He never tells us anything." Mckay snapped back.
"It is true that the Colonel has trouble…..confiding in us," said Teyla.
"And you think this could hinder his recovery?" asked Heightmeyer.
"Of course it will," said Mckay, his voice raising in volume, "He never tells you how he feels about a situation, he hides injuries and.." he paused, "I don't really know anything about him except what I've seen on the surface."
"Sheppard is a private person," Ronon shrugged.
"It is true that Colonel Sheppard has often evaded speaking to me," said Heightmeyer with a nod.
"John just likes to protect the people around him," said Elizabeth in defence.
"He cares for all of us," said Teyla quietly and she found five sets of eyes on her, "When Ronon had been taken he told me…" she paused, unsure whether to break his confidence, "He told me that he cared for all of us and would do anything for us. I believe it is simply his way."
Heightmeyer listened to them speak in turn, what had started off as disjointed and timid had turned into free flowing conversation and an honest expression of their feelings.
"I don't think I will ever stop seeing him like that," admitted Elizabeth her eyes resting on the rest of the team.
"Tell me about it," said Mckay, "Kolya owed him. He could have left him in that pit to die and he let him get out alive."
"He should have killed him," Ronon offered. "The first time they met."
"It's no secret that Kolya had it in for him," said Mckay.
Heightmeyer had written down a plethora of notes and was beginning to understand her patients feelings better. There was one person who hadn't spoken as much as she thought he would.
"Doctor Beckett. Do you have anything to say?"
Beckett had remained quiet while everyone else spoke. He shifted in his seat, obviously preoccupied, "Well, I'm unfortunately used to seeing the people I care about in dire situations, but there's nothing like seeing your worst fears confirmed and not being able to treat them."
Heightmeyer maintained eye contact and he continued, "I knew that if he received another feeding he would die. But," he shook his head, "I'm honestly used to the feeling of powerlessness. There are times when I can do nothing to help a patient and I have to stand back and watch as they deteriorate. " His mind was drifting back to all the times he couldn't help his friends and he sighed.
"Elizabeth. You're the one that had to make a difficult decision. You chose to align yourself with Laden." Heightmeyer was writing as she spoke.
"I had to make a choice. John had ordered us not to comply with his demands, which I of course wanted to do, but we couldn't risk breaking our alliance with Laden and the Genii. He could be a potentially powerful ally."
"You feel guilty?"
"Incredibly," she said twisting her hands, "Its one of the hardest decisions I've had to make but ultimately I knew John would understand. And if I had to make that decision again. I would do the same."
"He does understand," offered Teyla.
"Sheppard's a soldier. He understands that he's expendable," voiced Ronon.
"Aye, that's the problem," said Beckett.
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When the session was over Mckay decided to head straight for the infirmary. When he arrived he could hear Sheppard before he saw him. His voice was elevated and whining and as he walked around to the curtained off area he was being kept in he saw why he was annoyed.
A nurse was holding his hands and cutting his fingernails with some scissors. He couldn't help but notice how agitated he was, his legs were continually moving under the sheets and his face was covered with a sheen of sweat.
"What's this?" asked Mckay as he pulled a stool over with his foot, "Your own personal manicure?"
Sheppard shot him a look.
"I'm cutting his nails because he won't stop scratching at his skin," said the nurse as she continued to cut them down.
"It's not my fault that I itch like crazy," said Sheppard. Mckay noticed that his arms were red and blotchy from where he had indeed been scratching. He had a patch on his neck which looked raw to the touch. He looked and sounded thoroughly miserable.
"One more and then you're done," said the nurse.
Sheppard absent-mindly began to scratch at his arms again as she cut the nails on his left hand.
"Colonel, don't make me get you some mittens," warned the nurse with a hint of a smile when she noticed him trying to claw through his skin.
"I itch, I'm uncomfortable. Feels like my skin is crawling," he said as he finally got his hand back and crossed his arms.
"I'll be back later. I find one scratch and I'll cut you're fingers off."
"Hey Sara, wanna cut my toe nails too? Paint them? Give me a French manicure?" she disappeared around the corner and he deliberately started to scratch at his skin again. Now his nails were cut though, scratching was proving ineffectual.
"How do you know about French manicures?" asked Mckay as he leant against the bed railing.
"How do you?" Sheppard shot at him with an irritated look.
"I have a sister," said Mckay suddenly.
"Oh, I see, so while the rest of us were out partying and having fun as kids, you were getting your nails painted. I bet you looked real pretty."
"Very funny."
They shared a brief uncomfortable look.
"How are you doing?" Mckay asked as tapped his fingers on the railing.
Sheppard rubbed at his neck and clenched his fists, "It feels like I have a million ants crawling under my skin. How are you?"
"Well you're certainly cranky," Mckay shot back.
"Look, I'm sorry Rodney, but I'm not feeling all that good right now and…I…itch……everywhere."
"Maybe Beckett has some lotion or something."
"Yeah a miraculous lotion, that will help."
"Really thick with the sarcasm today," said Mckay crossing his arms over his chest.
Sheppard pulled the blanket up to his chin and brought his knees up to his chest to try and get warm.
"How's my patient doing?" Beckett came around the corner.
"He itches," said Mckay.
"Yes my nurse informed me," said Beckett, "You should be nice to her. She'll be changing your I.V line later. The sensation of crawling skin isn't unexpected. Just try not to aggravate your skin too much.
"Hear that Sheppard. No scratching."
Sheppard shot him a look that could kill.
"Do you want anything to eat?" Beckett asked as he looked over his chart.
"No," said Sheppard, "Nothing stays down anyway." He scratched his face unconsciously, "This is driving me insane. You know, I remember when I was six and I had chicken pox. My mom would slap my hands every time I reached to scratch one. I swear every time I itch I can feel her slapping me." He slunk down into the bed and lay on his back.
"Well you just need something to take your mind off it," said Beckett, "I'll go and get you something to eat. You can't live on air."
Sheppard held a finger up, "Uh, actually-"
"And I'll keep you preoccupied," said Mckay cutting him off, "hey I bought along some cards."
"Cards?"
"Yes, you know. Cards. They have different numbers, suites and pretty pictures." He said in a patronising tone.
"Fine," Sheppard sat up slowly. His stomach was rolling in waves of nausea and he tried to ignore that and the constant cramping. He felt like he was having a bad bout of the flu coupled with a stunner blast. No two stunner blasts.
Mckay pulled over a table and started to deal the cards, "What do you want to play?"
"Go fish," he supplied.
"Okay, but I'm warning you. I'm really good at this game," said Mckay with a smug look.
"I happen to be king of Go Fish!" said Sheppard, "And if I win, you have to clean my quarters." He leant forward and breathed through more sickness.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine," said Sheppard, "Do you have any threes?"
"No, Go Fish!" said Mckay with another smug smile, "Do you have any fives?"
"Damn," said Sheppard handing him two cards, "So where were you earlier?" he asked, "Do you have any eights?"
"No eights, Go Fish," said Mckay, "We kind of had a thing. Any twos?"
"You're cheating," sniped Sheppard as he handed all three over, "What kind of thing? Any sevens?"
"Ha," said Mckay, "Go Fish! We had a group therapy."
"You realise you having none of the last three cards I asked for is pretty much statistically impossible," Sheppard said with a slow shake of his head, "Group therapy?"
"Any Kings?" asked Mckay, "Heightmeyer made us. She said our return to normal duty was pending a psychological evaluation."
"No kings," said Sheppard, "So was it about…me?"
"Yeah," said Mckay.
"What did you say?"
"We all said the same, we were angry." He looked up at Sheppard and watched as he licked his lips, "Your go."
"Well I mean….I was angry too," admitted Sheppard, "I don't really-"
"I mean…. it's your go," said Mckay holding up his cards.
"Oh right," said Sheppard with a nod. "Any Aces?" he asked quietly gently rocking to help the pain subside.
"Two," said Mckay handing them over, "Kate thought it would be beneficial to us to talk about it. You realise you'll eventually have to talk to her about it?"
"I know," said Sheppard. "I just need a little time."
Mckay nodded, "Well, you know…uh….we're here." He looked down at his hand, "Any Queens?"
Sheppard suddenly turned pale and dropped his cards, "I uh…I don't want to play this game."
"Oh I see, you're trying to get out of this because you have all the Qu-" Mckay stopped talking and realised why the reference to Queens had spooked Sheppard.
Queens.
Wraith.
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When Beckett returned with some food for Sheppard he found him sitting alone and attempting to build a house of cards. He watched for a while as Shepard tried to get two cards to balance against one another. The task seemed impossible as his hands were shaking so much. He finally got two to balance and Sheppard breathed out with a sigh of relief. His outward breath toppled the cards and he shoved the moveable table away, "Stupid game," he muttered as Beckett came over and placed a tray of food in front of him.
"Thought you might want this." He said.
Sheppard looked at the tray with a look of disgust, "I don't think I can eat that. It's turning my stomach." He said as he looked down at the oatmeal.
"I just need you to have a few mouthfuls."
"I don't want it Carson," said Sheppard lying down and holding his stomach.
"I know you're feeling bad, but you need to keep you're strength up."
"I don't…want it," said Sheppard.
"Okay," said Beckett as he picked up the tray.
"So, you were all talking about me today?" asked Sheppard as he rolled onto his side.
"Yes," said Beckett.
"You okay?"
Beckett placed the tray onto one of the free beds and walked over to him, "Don't worry about me. You're the one who went through it all."
"Yeah, but I'm okay," said Sheppard, "I'm not exactly new to torture."
"But you're new to having your life sucked out." The words hung in the air and Sheppard nodded, "You should get some rest."
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The force of the hand slamming into his chest, rocked his body back and into the hard chair, and he felt the excruciating pain as it travelled throughout his body. His life was leaving him, his muscles were loosing mass, his skin was beginning to sag and his energy levels were dropping radically. He could feel himself slipping away with every breath he took and he wondered when his last one would be.
Sheppard snapped his eyes open and sat up in bed, vomiting as soon as he was upright. He wiped his mouth, pulled out his I.V line and pushed aside the covers.
He had to get out of there. He had to move. Had to go somewhere where the wraith wouldn't find him.
He was dizzy, had trouble focusing on the world in front of him and he staggered through the infirmary. He knocked a tray full of instruments onto the floor and it clattered noisily. He didn't hear the sound; it was muted against the constant thrum in his head.
"Colonel Sheppard?" he heard the exclamation as Beckett came out of his office, hair sticking up, day old stubble on his cheeks, "What are you doing out of bed?"
Sheppard didn't want to talk, he wanted to get away and he moved towards the door of the infirmary to get away.
He just had to get away.
Two soldiers came into the room, they must have been passing in the hall and heard the commotion, and Beckett was slightly relieved, "Can you help me get him back into bed?" he asked tiredly.
Sheppard turned slowly, the guards just behind him and he threw out his hands and rammed them both back against the wall. While he kept one in place he managed to twist one of the guy's arms and propel him forward. The other guy he jabbed him twice in the windpipe and then he reached out for the knife and found it gone…it wasn't there…confused he punched the guy across the face and staggered out into the hallway. He found a wall and used it to keep upright.
He was incredibly dizzy and his legs went from beneath him before he could take another step. Hands seized his wrists and restrained them against his sides as he struggled for control.
The Genii guard had secured his hands to the chair and when the wraith fed on him he couldn't get them free.
"Get off!" he shouted.
"Sheppard, it's me Carson. I need you to calm down."
The voice was distorted and he didn't get the message that he was trying to be soothing. He kicked out his legs, felt them connect solidly with flesh, and the tension on his wrists lifted. He got onto his knees and attempted to crawl away.
"Colonel," that voice again was trying to break through to him.
"I need to get out of here," he snapped.
"You're on Atlantis," he heard Beckett say. He leant against the wall and listened as more voices spoke around him, he couldn't tell where they were because he was so dizzy, but they were there.
"What's going on?"
"He's having a psychotic episode. Get me some Haldol."
Sheppard gripped his stomach and felt it do a somersault. His insides were trying to rebel and he wasn't going to have it. He was sick of feeling nauseous, of having a permanent headache and feeling so incredibly helpless. He was John Sheppard. Commanding Officer of Atlantis and there was no way in hell he was going to allow himself to be passive. He needed to get away.
He was so confused.
"Okay, John, I'm going to give you an injection. You'll feel much better in a minute."
He was breaking out into a cold sweat, even his palms were clammy, and the itching had returned. The infuriating crawling under his skin that made him want to vomit.
"Why can't you leave me alone?" he asked.
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Beckett was kneeling on the floor and moving closer to Sheppard. His nursing staff were tending to the men that he had just beaten up and Ronon, who had heard the chatter over the radio, had come to stand beside him.
Sheppard was pale and sweating. He was staring forward with unseeing eyes. He was obviously detached from reality. It wasn't an uncommon symptom of withdrawal to suffer delusions.
"Now, just sit tight and-" He couldn't finish his sentence because Sheppard dove forwards and grabbed his wrist. He dug his finger into a pressure point and the hypodermic needle clattered to the floor.
Sheppard punched him in the face and tried to make a break for freedom.
Ronon coolly, un-holstered his weapon and stunned Sheppard in the back. He flopped to the ground, his head connecting on impact, and his arms were lax at his sides.
"Was that really necessary?" asked Beckett from the floor.
Ronon re-holstered his weapon and shrugged. "You okay Doc?" he asked as he helped him up to his feet.
Beckett probed his mouth and tasted blood. He had a possible oral laceration, but it was something he could worry about that later. "I'll be fine. Help me get him up."
They moved over to Sheppard's lifeless form and rolled him onto his back.
TBC
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