Okay so you've made it to the last chapter. I could go on with this forever but I've decided to wrap it up. Yes, I have made an executive decision.

I have loads of stories written and unfinished (Which I will finish), RL is beginning to be pain, I'm moving and looking for a new job etc. So, here it is…I hope you enjoy. And if anyone thinks it was lacking maybe I could insert some scenes at a later date.

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The coffee was cooling in his hands. The once billowing steam had dissipated to an exhausted wisp. Sheppard sighed, untangled his fingers from the mug and pushed his chair back to stretch. Removing the tension from his aching body wasn't easy and as he let his arms drop back down onto the table, he rotated his left arm to look at the track marks in the crook of his elbow. The firm evidence that he was still battling with withdrawal. Still fighting an internal war.

The commissary was quiet. It was late and only a handful of staff meandered in to collect forgotten meals before heading back to their respective work stations. Life was moving on. He wasn't able to.

Four doses of the enzyme, three sessions with Heightmeyer and still he didn't know what she wanted from him.

By nature and instinct, he felt conditioned not to like psychologists. Heightmeyer hadn't been in that room when he was fed on and in his mind, there was no way that she could, nor was entitled to, connect with him. She kept telling him that he wasn't seeing the reality of his situation, that he was focusing on his friends reactions and not on his own too much.

He sighed again and swigged some of the coffee, swilling it around in his mouth, before swallowing it.

He didn't like to talk about the things that really bothered him. He preferred to push them down. He was caught, he was rescued and he was returned to his old self. As far as he was concerned he could move on. He didn't understand why he had to continue watching those videos of him getting fed on. He'd been there the first time after all. He'd felt those sensations, had time in his cell to come to terms with what was happening to him, and he had now arrived back at Atlantis wanting to move on. Nobody would let him. Somehow they kept dragging him back into the fray.

Both of his viewings of the video had followed a similar pattern. He'd sat down, watched them, made comments and then left at the end.

"Colonel. This time, I want you to focus on yourself. I want you to really look at you." She'd smiled at him and indicated for him to switch on the video as if he were going to watch a football game. She truly didn't understand.

Sheppard rolled his shoulders, feeling weariness permeate his bones, and yet his muscles were taught and tense. He knew that Beckett would be expecting him in the infirmary but he wasn't ready to face him yet. He'd wait for the call to come over the tanoy before he got up.

His whole body was tense. His neck hurt, his jaw was aching from persistently clenching it, his throat felt constricted and dry and his vision was hazing as he watched the feed play out before him.

There was a pain in his chest, radiating from the feed mark and out into his extremities. He knew it was phantom pain and that it wasn't real, but it still didn't make it any less genuine.

"I don't know what you want from me," he'd said suddenly. Words escaping his mouth before he could stop himself, body twisting around to face her.

"Colonel. This is about you and your acceptance of what-"
"Of what happened to me," he'd finished for her, "I have accepted it. Everyone else here hasn't."

Heightmeyer had looked hurt, he'd felt like an ass for his outburst, but nonetheless, it was the truth. He was sick and tired of being pushed, prodded and coerced into a breakdown.

He'd stood up, thrown the remote at the screen, triggering it to turn on and show him the feed again and his agonising expression.

"Colonel."

"What?" he'd shouted, "Look, I'm not doing this anymore."

"You need to stop focusing on how everybody else felt about this and concentrate on yourself."

"I'm…..fine," he'd enunciated for her.

"Perhaps we should continue this at another time."

"No," he'd said as he walked over to the door, "Shrink everyone else and leave me the hell alone."

Sheppard scrubbed a hand through his hair. He regretted the way he had spoken to her, but he certainly didn't regret the sentiment.

"Would Colonel Sheppard please report to the infirmary?"

Sheppard sighed and got up.

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"You're late." Beckett said without even turning to him. He was holding an x-ray up to a light box and was inspecting it with an absorbed expression.

Sheppard walked over to his infirmary bed, hopped up onto it with forced enthusiasm and then started to pull his boots off, "Sorry." He dropped his boots onto the floor and leant back on the bed. He stared at Beckett's back for a further few minutes, sensing restrained anger and tension in his body language, "What you got there?"

Beckett turned off the light at the wall, placed the x-ray into a folder and walked over to him with an edge of fatigue, "It's Ronon's. He broke a couple of ribs fighting with the wraith he brought back and obviously he's been spending way too much time with you because he didn't tell me about it."

"What can I say? I'm a bad influence. Where is he?"

"His quarters. Resting I hope."

Silence passed between them, uncomfortable, heavy and Sheppard broke it.

"Have you spoken to Kate?" He wanted to ignore the whole issue but something told him that Beckett already knew.

"Aye."

"And?"

"She told me that you don't want to continue your therapy with her."

Sheppard nodded and held out his arm for Beckett to give him his next injection. The withdrawal was still noticeable. The closer it came to his injection the more tired and achy he felt. The nausea returned, the throbbing headache reappeared and the shaking in his hands became more pronounced.

"I said you'd go back and see her once your treatment was over."

"I'm not going back Carson," Sheppard informed him. He winced when the needle punctured his skin and made a similar face when it was retracted. Beckett placed a swab over the droplet of blood that surfaced.

"I can't force you," said Beckett. He placed both of his hands in his pocket and sighed heavily, "I'm going to go and catch some sleep. I'll be in my office if you need me." He started to walk away and it occurred to Sheppard that Beckett looked more than tired.

"Doc, you okay?"

Beckett chuckled softly and said with his back turned to him, "I wish I could ask you the same." He disappeared into his office, closing the door, shutting off the lines of communication.

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He felt suffocated. The air was thick and his lungs were ineffective in dragging in enough oxygen to breathe. Struggling was futile. He was locked in place, pain ebbing and flowing like the tides. He'd resurface long enough to get violently pulled back into the riptide. His heart was hammering on the inside of his ribcage, testing its construction, trying to claw its way out of his bruised and battered chest. He strained to get air, eyes blinking, watering, tears streaking down his face. The pain was too much, his life was draining away, his hands were bound, muscles reflexively tensing and aching. He couldn't move. He was choking. He needed air. Needed to breathe. The pain. Burning white hot pain that refused to let him go. God it hurt. Hurt to be alive, he needed to get out, to break free. Cold eyes staring at him. He had to get away, had to-

"Nooo!" Sheppard shot up in his bed, drenched in sweat, and clasped a hand over his mouth as a sudden nausea swelled in his gut.

He clambered out of the bed, twisted covers grasping onto him, pulling him back.

The riptide.

He staggered forward, dropped to his knees and found a basin put in front of his face just as he vomited violently.

He slammed his fist down onto the floor repeatedly, all the while cursing his continuing weakness. The drug was working slowly.

He just wanted everything to return to normal.

On hands and knees, sweat being cooled by the chilly air, he took in a choked breath that threatened to fuel new nausea. He dropped down onto his elbows and shoved his hands into his hair.

"Its okay," he heard the Scottish voice tell him and then pat him on the back.

Sheppard managed to lift his heavy head and look into Beckett's warm eyes.

"Do you all want me to break down?" he asked as he managed to recapture his breath.

Beckett narrowed his eyes, his mask of professionalism slipping as he looked at his friend.

"It's not going to happen," he forced out.

Beckett didn't know how to respond. He looked up at the light streaming into the infirmary, confirming that it was morning and removed the basin from under Sheppard. "It's time for your next dose."

Sheppard straightened up onto his knees and noted that he was still dressed in his uniform. It clung to his back and legs. He was insufferably hot again. Withdrawal was indeed a bitch.

"Bad dream?" Beckett asked as he helped Sheppard stand and wobble back over to the bed.

"You could say that," Sheppard said as he pulled himself back onto the bed. He leant back, exhaustion stealing his strength, and closed his eyes, "That damn wraith," he provided with a tentative shake of his head. It was one of those headaches that pulsed and throbbed. Not quite a hangover headache, but a sluggish, I slept too long headache.

"I don't think any of us have been sleeping that well," Beckett admitted. He ran a hand along the stubble of his chin.

Sheppard met his eyes and licked his lips, "I'm okay."

Beckett didn't believe him. It was obvious, but he didn't have the energy to convince him. He'd managed to maintain control even when the situation looked dire. He thought back to the iratus bug, his conversion into one of those bugs, the number of times he had been faced with certain death. He was fine. Why couldn't they see it?

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Elizabeth closed the door to her office and returned to sit behind her desk. She leant forward, clasped her hands together, and waited for Heightmeyer to speak. Beckett was sitting back in his own chair.

"I wanted to talk to you both because I'm concerned about Colonel Sheppard," Heightmeyer stated in an even voice.

"You don't think he's ready to return to duty?" Elizabeth asked sharing a look with Beckett.

"No," she said, "He has been unwilling to talk about what happened to him."

"The Colonel's going through a tough time," Beckett defended. He knew that Sheppard had to talk, he just wasn't so sure that pushing him into doing so was now such a good idea.

"It's not healthy for him to continue to evade what happened."

"But he was attending your sessions?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes. I can't tell you too much of what happened, but I can tell you that his focus wasn't on himself. In fact, each session I had with him centred on your reactions, rather than his own feelings."

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Sheppard walked into the gate room for the first time since coming back and cast his eyes over the work stations and personnel situated behind them. He didn't know if he was being unduly paranoid, but it felt as though all eyes were locked onto him. He chewed his lip and tried to look as though he hadn't noticed.

He smiled as he walked over to one of the gate technicians and leant against the work station casually, "Hey, so…what have I missed?"

The gate technician, who he thought was called Chuck, looked up at him with wide eyes, "Uh, not much….Sir," he said and returned his eyes back down to his work quickly as if he was sporting two heads.

"Right. Nothing exciting," Sheppard asked.

"Nope."

"Okay," said Sheppard and he took a step back.

Surreptitious glances were directed at him and he was beginning to feel a bit like a bug under a microscope.

He looked over to the wall where he knew the transmission would have come through and realised that everybody in this room would have witnessed his torture. It filled with a sudden sense of dread and he found his breathing increasing. The gate technician would have seen it and it explained his odd behaviour towards him.

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"I'm worried, that if he doesn't talk about this, he'll have some kind of breakdown," Heightmeyer clarified for them.

"John, doesn't usually talk about what's bothering him," Elizabeth admitted, "Perhaps we should give him some time." She was fraught with an inexplicable guilt and was beginning to feel uncomfortable about discussing Sheppard without him knowing. It felt like she was betraying him.

"What if this trauma manifests itself later on down the line? When he's on a mission? He could endanger his team's lives. Post traumatic stress shouldn't be ruled out at this point."

"The Colonel would never endanger his team." Beckett said, shooting Elizabeth a look.

"I agree," said Elizabeth.

"If the SGC find out that he hasn't sought sufficient treatment, they might be forced to recall him and enforce their own line of questioning. I don't want to subject him to that. Colonel Sheppard has proven himself to be strong but…this time I'm not so sure if he can just brush this off."

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The quick breathing and dizziness felt awfully like an anxiety attack and Sheppard had to reach out for a console to steady himself. His deteriorating state was drawing even more attention now and he tried to fasten a smile onto his face, tried to look as casual as he possibly could.

He walked over to the screen where the transmission would have come in and focused his attention on it.

The wraith moved his hand over his chest, sought out eye contact, looked over to Kolya for confirmation that he could feed.

Sheppard swallowed against bile.

The initial impact of the hand on his chest was as clear as when it happened. Excruciating pain.

"Sir, are you okay?" he heard somebody ask him. The voice sounded distant.

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"I'm starting to think that forcing him to speak isn't such a good idea," Beckett said.

Heightmeyer turned to him and narrowed her eyes.

"Because that's what we're doing," he said with a sigh, "And if I was in his position, I'd probably want some time to deal with it on my own."

"You agreed before that he needed to talk," said Heightmeyer.

"I know. But having witnessed his deteriorating health since he started talking to you. I think we should leave him to deal with it alone. If it becomes apparent that he's not dealing with it, then we can intervene."

Heightmeyer turned back to Elizabeth. "Doctor Weir?"

Elizabeth shook her head and pushed a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, "I really don't know."

"I don't think we made the right decision," said Beckett.

"His physical illness could be the manifestation of psychological illness. Talking might help."

"He's ill because of the withdrawal from the Enzyme," said Beckett.

"I really don't-"

The sound of commotion forced Heightmeyer to stop speaking and whatever she was about to say died on her tongue. She whipped her head around to the door as Beckett and Elizabeth jumped out of their seats and saw what was going on beyond the confines of the office.

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"I'm fine," Sheppard near screamed, "Just leave me alone."

He held his hand out and stood straighter and watched as Beckett and Elizabeth barrelled out of her office and towards him.

Elizabeth was first to reach him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and speaking in a soothing voice, "John, maybe you should come and sit in my office where we can talk."

He moved away from her, "I don't need to talk okay. That's all you want me to do and I don't want to talk about it." He rubbed at his face, "Look, I just want to get cleared for duty. I need to get back to work."

"John," Elizabeth said in a whisper. She was aware that people were staring.

"No," he said firmly, "I'm not going to talk to Heightmeyer. I'm not going to talk, full stop. Kolya used me to get Ladon. That's it. And yeah, I was fed on. Okay, hurt like a bitch, wasn't pleasant, but I'm okay now. The enzyme is working, I feel much better, So you can all stop trying to get me to talk."

"Colonel," Heightmeyer came to stand beside Elizabeth.

"Of all the times for you all to get concerned," he said with a put upon sigh, "I died before and I was fine, I got……turned into a mutated bug, I killed sixty genii soldiers, I gave the order to kill those wraith back on the planet," he shouted, "I've been through all of that and I'm fine. What makes you think that being fed on by a wraith is any different. I'm a soldier. I do what I have to do so that you.." he said sweeping his hand in the direction of the staring personnel, "all of you, can survive. That's why I'm here."

"But your not expendable," said Beckett.

"I am expendable."

"John."
"No, I'm going to get my last dose of the enzyme today and then I'm going to return to work. That's the end of it. If you still all have issues then talk to Kate."

He stormed out.

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Sheppard got back to his room and paced back and forth, arms crossed defensively and head down. Why couldn't they just understand that he didn't need to talk about these things? Why couldn't they understand that it was by not talking about certain things that he actually managed to get up in the morning? If he dwelt on every bad thing he had done or said he'd be a nervous bumbling wreck. He'd be in a white padded cell with a straight jacket. No, they just couldn't handle the fact that he was well adjusted, adept at locking away everything which might interfere with his job.

There was a knock at his door and he sighed before walking over to his bed and dropping onto it.

"Go away," he said in a flat voice.

"Colonel, open this door." It was Mckay.

"I don't want to see anybody right now," he shouted.

There was silence. He thought maybe Mckay had given up. But then his door slid open and Mckay and Beckett walked into his room.

"I just told you-"

Mckay sat down in the chair next to his bed, "Carson used his medical override."

Beckett leant against Sheppard's desk and gave him an apologetic look.

"What do you want?" Sheppard asked. He lay back onto his bed and draped his arm across his face to block out their stares and the light.

"Well, I hear you just went nuts in the gate room," Mckay provided. Sheppard could hear the crinkling of a wrapper and he pulled his arm up just enough to see that Mckay was eating a power bar. He smiled softly and then pushed himself up to sit.

"I didn't go nuts."

"Yeah right," Mckay snorted as he continued to eat, "What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Sheppard asked.

"Yes, what's wrong with you?" said Mckay as he popped the last bit of the bar into his mouth and chewed loudly.

"Guys, look. I don't know how to break it to you, but I'm actually okay." He looked between the two men and rested his elbows on his knees, palms open. He knew that he was conveying open body language and it wasn't by mistake. He wanted them to believe that he was fine.

"Colonel, you seem anything but fine," Beckett said in a quiet voice.

"You want me to talk?" Sheppard asked. He chewed his lip thoughtfully and then sighed, "Fine. I'll talk."

"Really?" Mckay said in a surprised tone.

"On one condition."

"What?" Beckett asked curiosity piqued.

"That you actually listen to what I have to say."

"We can do that," said Mckay with a wave of his hand.

Beckett walked over to Sheppard bed and sat on it as Sheppard pushed himself back to sit against the wall.

"Okay," Sheppard began. Again, palms showing, eyes connecting with theirs, unblinking, face neutral. "When Kolya captured me. When I was in that cell. I had a lot of time to think about my situation. To prepare myself for each feed."

He watched as Beckett and Mckay grew nervous, their demeanours changing.

"Being fed on was painful. Hurt like nothing you've ever experienced and-"

"Uh, I was shot in the ass by an arrow," Mckay said raising a finger pointedly, "Now that hurt."

"Rodney," Beckett warned.

"Oh, right. Sorry, do continue."

"Yeah I was angry, yeah I was shit scared at times but I always knew I'd get out of it. Dead or alive, you know?" He took a deep breath, "But I didn't give up hope that you would come and get me out. Okay, so you were a little late, but it's the thought that counts right? Thing is……..when all's said and done, I was given another chance by that wraith, I don't know why or how, but I got it."

"Yeah and years younger by the look of it," Mckay snarked.

"I just don't want to think about what happened to me okay. I am truly fine. I got my second chance, I don't want to spend the next year thinking about what could have happened."

Beckett nodded and took to fidgeting his hands.

"I'm okay. Now what's bothering me more is this enzyme treatment. I mean, I'm essentially addicted to wraith."

"That bothers you?" Mckay asked incredulously.

Sheppard shrugged.

At some point in the conversation, after they had been talking for hours, Beckett disappeared and returned with a bottle of malt whiskey.

"You know," said Sheppard in a slurred voice. He held his glass up high and liquid sloshed down the sides as he spoke, "I think you guys have a little issue with the whole thing." He nodded and took a swig of his drink.

Beckett who was leaning on his elbow on the bed and clutching the whiskey bottle to his chest nodded in agreement and with eyes closed he muttered, "Aye. Maybe…." He paused to drink out of the bottle, "….maybe we were projecting our feelings onto you. Forcing you to get treatment because we were the ones with the problem."

Sheppard nudged Beckett in the shoulder with his toe and laughed, "You have been spending too much time with Kate."

"No," said Mckay raising a finger and swaying in his seat. He'd since rotated the chair and was leaning on the back of it, holding his glass in one hand as he spoke, "No, I think he has a point."

"Really?" Sheppard mumbled.

"Yeah. Think about it Carson," Mckay slurred, "We all wanted him to get help and really we needed the help. We had to watch it and we couldn't do a thing. You know?"

"Aye, its true." Beckett hugged the bottle closer to his chest, "I don't know how we didn't see it."

"I mean, we were helpless."

"Couldn't help," Beckett mumbled.

"We had to watch it."

"And I was there," said Sheppard laughing low and gutturally.

"Exactly," said Mckay using his glass to point. Some of the whiskey splattered on the floor and he stared down at it with a morbid expression on his face.

"Honestly. I'm fine," said Sheppard swigging his drink, "You don't have to worry about me."

"And…." Beckett said with a smile, "You haven't had your last dose."

Sheppard jolted upright, "Shit," he said with a goofy smile on his face.

"Ah," Beckett waved a hand up, "Your previous injection was just a vitamin shot. You don't need them anymore."

Sheppard slapped Beckett on the back, "So you turned me into a pin cushion for longer than I needed to be a….cushion?"

"That….made no sense," said Mckay with a laugh, "No sense at all."

"Well, are you sure you're okay about…" Beckett held out his palm flat.

"Guys," Sheppard grabbed the whiskey bottle out of Becketts vice like grip and poured himself another glass, "I'm glad it was me that was taken and not Rodney. I can handle this stuff. I'm mentally prepared for torture and…." He swigged his drink. "…stuff."

"But you'll talk to Kate if you ever feel the need?" Beckett asked sleepily.

"No," Sheppard announced, "I'll talk to you two."

"I'll rec…rec..recom……..suggest that all of the staff that looked at the video, talk to Kate about it."

"And me?" asked Sheppard.

"You can go back to duty….light duty that is," he said. He pushed himself up onto the bed and stumbled up onto his feet, "Time for bed," he said.

"Me too," said Mckay getting up slowly and reaching for his discarded jacket.

Sheppard got up to walk them to the door.

"Well it was good to talk," said Mckay. He laughed and shook his head, "As if we were the ones with the problem." He laughed again and slapped Sheppard on the back.

"You're sure you're okay?" asked Beckett leaning on the door frame heavily.

"Yeah," said Sheppard, "I'm good."

"He's good," said Mckay as the door closed. He could hear their laughter filtering down the hallway as they got farther away and he realised despite feeling tipsy that he actually felt pretty good. He was glad that he had talked to them.

Still holding his glass of whiskey he reached into his pocket and pulled out the disc that he had swiped from Heightmeyer's office. He stumbled over to his computer and slipped into the slot, sipping his drink as he waited for it to load.

The disc loaded up and he pressed play.

He waited as the screen lit up and Kolya's face filled it.

"Bastard," Sheppard muttered as he held up his glass in a mock salute.

He watched the feeding, watched as he arched his back, as his eyes bulged and the tendons in his arms rippled. He watched himself physically age, the lines around his eyes and mouth growing deeper, his hair getting lighter. He swigged the whiskey and felt it burn his throat on the way down.

He stopped the recording just as the wraith had had its fill and then rewound it to start again.

He repeated this move three more times, each time, being careful to really study himself.

He rewound it one last time and stood up shakily to watch it. He downed the last of the whiskey and took a step backwards, knocking his chair over and not catching it in time. After that, he felt his knees buckle and he dropped to the floor, eyes all the while focused on that screen. He felt his throat burning from a combination of alcohol and bile, his vision danced and he felt the sting of tears as they prickled his eyes. He pulled his legs up to his chest and watched as his face morphed into an old man he hardly recognised.

He buried his head into his knees and if possible, cried without shedding tears.

Tonight he would wallow, tomorrow he would compartmentalise and bury.

He had lied to his friends to protect them. He would never tell them how his encounter with Kolya and the wraith had affected him. He never would, because he would always be there for them, protecting them.

THE END