A/N: All reviewers rock. I'm loving the feedback folks. Last chapter. Fast, huh? Actually, I had intended this to be a one-shot, but the muses wouldn't have it, and they're the boss when it comes to the fics.
Also, after careful deliberations because I was bored, I have come to the conclusion that Sheppard would be an Animaniacs fan, especially of the Goodfeathers, and Pinky and the Brain.
Part three
John snapped his eyes open with a quiet gasp and a full body jerk that had him knocking his back into the rail of his bed. He gritted and hissed against the pain of impact, straightening rather than arching since arching just made his chest hurt. When the throbbing, burning pain dulled to a throbbing, burning annoyance, the tension leaked out of John's body leaving him limp as a dead fish. Cold crept over him like a veil of frosty air, making him shiver, and forcing his languid arm to take action and pull the blankets up to his jaw.
And still he shivered, no matter how he curled, and no matter how many blankets were piled over him. Carson had said something about it being a part of the aftermath of his fever and with so much weight lost. John just took his word for it, and pleaded with him to do something about it. John had been doing a lot of begging lately. It was pathetic, and he despised himself for it, but seemed unable to help it.
He was at everyone's mercy. It was an odd thing to feel let alone think in terms of the people who he saw beyond friends as being family, thus making him even more pathetic than the begging. He couldn't explain it, and hated himself for it. Every time he closed his eyes returning to the black nothing behind his eyelids, with no Ford, Sumner, his mother, or Teer to interrupt it, the cold pressed harder and the world around him expanded until he felt too small and in too deep to find his way back out of the darkness. He couldn't move except to curl tighter trying to shrink out of existence, and wait. Something always happened when he was in the darkness, or at least was supposed to happen. The last time he was in the darkness, something had happened. Of course, neither had he been alone.
He was alone now. No one to warn him against waking. No choice to be made. He'd made his choice, had been right in making it, or thought he had been. Yet the darkness kept coming back, and he kept waiting for what was supposed to come next. It was supposed to be over. He'd made his choice... It was supposed to be over...
" Colonel Sheppard?"
John jolted, flipping from his side to his back and wincing at the pressure against his wounds. He pushed his hand into the mattress attempting to haul himself upright and relieve the pressure. A hand on his shoulder made him flinch a second time.
" Easy Colonel, easy son. Just calm yourself, I'll take care of this."
John looked up at Carson, watched as the Highland doc injected something into the IV port with a syringe, then turned back to the bed and raised the head. He helped John ease upright a little, pulling him by one arm then adjusting the pillows to support him. He pulled the blankets up and tucked them around John's shoulders until he was sure they wouldn't slip back down.
" Better?" Beckett asked. John nodded. The burning and pain weren't even an annoyance now.
" Another dream?" Carson asked next.
John lifted one shoulder in a shrug, rustling the sheets. A hand settled on his shoulder, and he flinched for a third time when his reality momentarily tilted. The drugs, and constant interrupted sleep, kept disorienting him. He hadn't been comfortable with touching since... well... since he was mutilated by the pseudo-Nazis.
Instead of removing his hand, Beckett squeezed John's sharp shoulder in understanding and to ground him a little more in reality. " I can give ya somethin' to help ya sleep after your exam."
John shook his head. " No. Not yet." It would have been laughably ironic had he been in a better mood, but he was tired of sleep.
Carson nodded soberly. " All right. Lean forward a bit, then."
John complied, and flicked his tongue over his dry lips, keeping the tip of his tongue above the pin-prick holes around his mouth. But the moment his tongue was back in his mouth, it roved over the exit holes as though trying to smooth them away.
Carson untied the gown and lowered it below John's chest along with the blankets. Cold air caressed his back when the tape was pulled away taking the pad covering the marks with it. He started shivering until his teeth chattered. He cringed when Carson touched his back; an unconscious, involuntary reaction to an otherwise harmless action. John was so tired that he didn't even care he'd done it, though he knew the shame would come eventually. Most of his conscious actions were being delayed.
" It's all right, lad," Carson assured. " Looks like the wounds are holding well. Guess I didn't remove the sutures too early after all. And no signs of recurring infection..."
Carson recovered the wounds with gauze pads and adhesive, then put on his stethoscope and placed the other end to John's ribs. Carson listened to his lungs, having him breathe in and out, then his heart. When finished, he retied the gown and helped John ease back against the pillows. Once more, he made sure the blankets were secure around John's shoulders.
" Ya still cold, lad?"
Carson asked. John didn't look at him. He was too tired to try and make eye contact, so stared vacantly at his covered feet.
" Sometimes," he mumbled.
He heard Carson snort derisively. " Don't give me that, lad, I can see ya shiverin'. I was gonna give ya the good news of puttin' ya in scrubs, but I think I'll up it to somethin' long sleeved, along with some sweats and socks. If that doesn't work, then I'm optin' for a warming blanket. Or maybe I'll just set ya loose in your quarters so you can fiddle with the temperature to your heart's content, make it swealterin' if ya want."
John glanced at Carson, saw him grin, but couldn't respond in kind. He should have been happy to hear it, yet for some reason, his heart thudded in trepidation. It seemed too soon. Wasn't it to soon? It felt too soon.
But what other reason would he have for staying?
" John?" Carson said. His smile had pulled into a small frown.
" Yeah, that's all right," John said, and it felt like a blatant lie.
Maybe it was. Carson was looking troubled. " All right, then. I'll send someone to fetch ya some clothes."
Carson turned and started moving away. John stiffened, his heart lurching, then slamming harder and faster. Carson's start at departure hit John with an inexplicable sense of terror that came out of nowhere, squeezing him with blind panic so that he reacted without thinking, reaching out to snag the doctor's lab-coat.
" Doc?" John's voice cracked. He was pleading again, and winced. Beckett turned, and all panic washed out of John so utter shame could take it's place.
" Aye?"
Sheppard thought, frantic and fast. " Um... I'm... A little thirsty..."
Carson, brow furrowed, nodded once. " All right." He poured water from a plastic pitcher on the bed-side table into a plastic cup, and handed it over to John. As John sipped, taking his sweet time about it, Carson contacted Rodney over the radio asking him to bring the needed clothes from John's quarters.
John continued to deliberately drink until enough anger accumulated over this childish action to allow him to pull away from it and hand the cup back. Beckett took it and set it on the table.
" Listen John," he said. " I'm just going to fetch ya somethin' that'll help ya sleep, then I'll be right back."
He knew. Carson knew. John was being that freakin' obvious. Swallowing tightly, John nodded, and watched as Carson headed toward the medicine cabinet.
What is wrong with me! John had never despised himself more then he did at that moment. He didn't understand any of it.
Or perhaps he did and refused to acknowledge it.
Don't want to be alone. Gee, I wonder why? Ford, think you could answer that one? There came no reply in his mind, and John found it depressing, both because he had been hoping for a reply from a hallucination, and because none came. Strange how a hallucination had made him feel less empty.
Rodney arrived with the clothes and dumped them into Carson's arms.
" Here. You honestly couldn't have asked Teyla or Ronon to do this? Or Lorne, or any other marine for that matter?"
" I don't think Sheppard's men would have felt comfortable rummagin' through their CO's drawers, or Colonel Sheppard feel comfortable knowing that Teyla was doin' the rummagin'. And Ronon might not have understood what to look for. He still hasn't quite grasped the difference between BDUs and blue jeans," Carson said, setting the clothes within John's reach.
" Need any help, lad?" Carson asked.
John shook his head, then unburied himself from beneath the blankets to reach for the clothes.
Carson stepped back. " Right then." He pulled the privacy curtain shut.
The shivering resumed when the blankets were pushed away, and stuck with him through the arduous process of removing the sling and gown, and slipping on the boxers, sweats, and sweat shirt one-handed without getting out of bed.
" Am I to assume normal clothes a sign of improvement?" Rodney asked, and John could have sworn he caught a hopeful note in the usually irate man's tone. The conversation was low, as though the two men actually believed that Sheppard couldn't hear them.
" Well," said Carson, " I'm considerin' releasin' him to his quarters seein' as how he is improvin'. But I'm a mite concerned about him always feelin' cold. It's easy enough to explain. Sheppard's so bloody thin were he in California durin' summer he'd still be wearin' a sweater. But... I don't know. It's just somethin' that's got me worried. Even with blankets piled he's still shiverin', and without them he's freezin'. Not to mention his skin gets ice-cold to the touch. Could be some sort of delayed shock reaction... I just hope it's got nothin' to do with his heart. His heart sounds fine when I listen, then again there might be something there I'm not catchin'."
John doubted it had anything to do with his heart. As far as he was concerned, his heart felt fine, beating as it should be.
The act of dressing had taken more out of John than he knew it should have, and slowed his progress in getting back under the covers. Carson either had bat ears or was some kind of psychic after all. He stepped through the curtains and helped John nestle back beneath the layer of blankets, pulling them up to the Colonel's neck when he was situated.
" Better?" Carson asked.
John nodded. It was better, slightly better, especially when he curled up. The curtains had opened up enough for John to see Rodney standing two beds away. He looked uncomfortable, almost pale, as though torn between wanting to approach or turn tail and run. Their eyes met, John's locking onto Rodney's, and once again John found himself begging but without words. He wanted Rodney to stay, just until Carson's sleepy-juice kicked in, and tried to convey as much through sight alone.
It apparently worked. Rodney started heading toward the bed, only to be intercepted by Carson.
" Sorry lad. I just gave Sheppard somethin' that's going to knock him out for a while."
" Well can't I stay until it does?"
John never heard the answer. He didn't even have a chance to fight. The sedative rushed warm through his veins, and pulled him deep under.
ssssssssssssssssssssssss
John's eyes didn't snap open when his body bolted upright. He heaved breaths that sent saliva flying from his mouth, and searched his eyes and his lips for the stitches.
No stitches, just their marks, and John's eyes still wouldn't open.
" Come on, come on," he pleaded, then pried one eyelid apart with his fingers when pleading didn't work. The absence of resistance against his eyelid sent a jolt of surprise through his tired body, and got the other eye to open on its own accord. His mouth didn't need any coaxing.
John remained upright in his bed, in what was supposed to be his warm quarters, gasping in air until his ribs throbbed and his heart finally realized it wasn't being deprived of oxygen. He shook with adrenaline, confusion, fright, and cold. The damn cold wouldn't leave him. Clammy, wet, clinging cold, as though the arctic air of the cave dungeon had grown on him like moss on a tree.
The dark and the cold had followed him home. His eyes were adjusting to the dark, except John didn't want them to. He didn't want to see shapes within the darkness. Hell, childish as it seemed, he didn't want to be in the dark. It was too damn quiet, too clinging. But John was so tired.
John's heart resumed pounding. He had no idea what to do. Go to Carson, get a sedative perhaps – John didn't even care if Carson insisted he stay the night in the infirmary. Darkness was never so absolute in there, and there was always someone around...
John squeezed his eyes shut and touched his fingers to his forehead. This was bad, really bad, screwed up so he needed to be booted in Heightmeyer's direction cracked in the head kind of bad. He was afraid of the dark, afraid of solitude, and couldn't close his eyes or mouth for more than two minutes before phantom pains leaked into his sleep-deprived brain.
He snapped his eyes open when they began to ache.
There was a chance he could get over this. A good chance since it wasn't Post Traumatic Stress's first attempt at trying to move into his psyche. There were no cures, just loads of denial, struggling, fighting, and tenacious resolve that left him too exhausted to dream anymore. And in that kind of a war, there were no victories, only truces.
The thought of that struggle, already running its course after being triggered by the first 'you'll need to see Heightmeyer' that wouldn't be the last, made John exhausted. He believed, with every fiber of his being, that if he could just sleep without the aid of a sedative, it would be the kick in the head victory that would make the rest of this war go downhill. It was always the dreams that set him back. Stupid, pointless dreams. He hadn't even been awake for the torture, seen what was being done, and in a twisted sort of way hadn't even been alone. But no Ford, Sumner, Mom, and Teer to pull him out of anything now. No one to wrangle the dreams, so he would just have to live with them until some new nightmare shoved them aside.
It was always when he reached the point of no nightmares, or no dreams, that he knew he was going to be okay. He just needed to sleep, uninterrupted and warm. That's all. And even if it wasn't all, it would at least help.
So how does one accomplish the perfect sleep without using drugs?
John couldn't answer that, and he knew there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. After the initial nightmare, the rest of his night would be spent snapping awake when the phantom pains heralding the dreams slunk in like rats. Agitation kept him company as the night wore on, leaving him both exhausted and wired when morning crept in gray and cold. Then his day was passed in bed between sleep and awake, not really dreaming but not really coherent either.
Three days of this had gone by since being released, and John was sick of it. The throbbing head, muscle aches, dizziness, nausea and lack of appetite because of the nausea – it was ridiculous. Just a vicious cycle of misery with the easiest cure.
Just get over it!
Yeah, tell me how and I will.
John's body hummed with increasing agitation, and he was starting to shiver again.
Screw this. John tossed back the covers and slid out of bed, then grabbed his covers and struggled one handed to get the blanket around his shoulders. He held the blanket in place at his neck and padded quietly but swiftly – barefoot – from his room and down the blue-black Atlantis corridors. The rec room wasn't that far, so no late night patrols to encounter. Once in the rec room, he sifted through the rack of movies until he found the copy of Animaniacs he'd bought the last time he was on earth. Cartoons usually helped him relax, the complete lack of reality giving him respite from reality. He set the movie up and plopped himself onto the large couch brought in by the Daedalus courtesy of those tired of trying to squeeze groups into the smaller couch that had once occupied this spot.
The cartoons began with the intro song John had memorized and liked to hum just to bug McKay. Cold soaked into John's bare feet to creep up into his legs. He tried sitting Indian style so the blanket could cover all of him, but there were still drafts. So he relented irritably, and pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them with one arm to keep the blanket closed. Drafts still worked their way through unseen chinks, with nothing John could do about them. They didn't make him shiver, just shudder periodically. His back was also starting to itch again. John rested his chin on his knees, and sighed in defeat.
John's dry eyes wandered around the empty rec room. The bright colors of the cartoon didn't do much against the bruise-like shadows around him and the inky-darkness hovering beyond the threshold of the room. He saw shapes within the darkness that were making him nervous.
" Ford?" He said the name as a joke, and instead felt a stab of regret when no hallucination manifested or distant voice responded. John suddenly felt absolutely, indescribably alone. Not just on that couch or in that room, but as though the entire city had suddenly emptied of life except for him.
Not true, not true, not true. He was a hair's breadth away from bolting off the couch in search of someone, anyone, to prove himself wrong and stop the pathetic reactions of self-pity. Except giving into his fear would be just as pathetic, and probably piss off whoever he woke up.
Live with it, Sheppard, just live with it. None of it was true. He wasn't alone and the city wasn't empty. He was being ridiculous, so wrapped the blanket tighter and tried to focus his wandering mind on the cartoon. The Goodfeathers his favorite.
John shuddered. He was so tired...
SGA
Teyla moved with practiced silence down the corridors from the mess hall making her way back to her quarters, with a cup of Frun root tea warming the palms of her hands. She had dreamed again, of Sheppard's face mutilated by bruises and stitches, and his trapped voice trying to scream. She normally had the tea before bed since it helped against the dreams, but she had forgotten after sparring with Ronon that left her weary to the point that she had barely remembered to bathe.
She had also forgotten to offer some to Colonel Sheppard. She had overheard Beckett speaking to Dr. Weir about John's sleeping troubles. She had also not seen the Colonel since delivering him his lunch, and he had seemed to be asleep then. She hadn't seen much of him since he'd been released to his quarters.
She felt like she was avoiding him, though she knew she wasn't. Sheppard needed rest, and she was just trying not to disturb him from that rest.
Teyla slowed when she saw the flickering lights spilling from the door of the recreational room. Natural curiosity steered her toward the room and the chattering voices that became clearer the closer she got. She saw the movie before she saw who was watching it. One of those 'animated' films Sheppard had called 'cartoons', this one about three bird creatures.
Teyla stayed within the shadows of the hall as she looked within the room to see Colonel Sheppard huddled beneath a blanket staring at the cartoon with wide, bloodshot eyes, barely blinking as though closing his eyes meant they would never open again. The pale light of the cartoon cast a gray pallor on his face, deepening the shadows of his eyes, darkening them like the sockets of a skull, the more vivid suture marks around his lips giving his mouth the appearance of the teeth of a skull. Teyla's stomach twisted and she almost looked away.
Even wrapped tight in a blanket, John was shaking. Teyla couldn't help to think it – try as she might not to – but John was looking small, and lost, as though he wasn't supposed to be where he was yet had no where else to go. Teyla wanted to go to him, offer him the tea, and was about to, but watching him shivering under the blanket was making her body cold and her heart clench out of sorrow in what she couldn't stop herself from seeing as more suffering.
Why is he alone? He should not be alone.
Teyla pulled away from the sight and hurried down the hall to her room. On the way she passed Rodney's quarters, stopped, backed up and knocked.
" Dr. McKay?"
She waited a few moments, then palmed open the door to see Rodney sitting at his desk with his head down on his folded arms before his laptop. Smiling, Teyla entered the rest of the way and set her hand gently on the physicist's shoulder. Rodney snorted and started awake, quickly wiping the drool from the side of his face.
" Huh? Teyla?" He squinted up at her. " What...?"
" Dr. McKay. I am sorry to disturb you, but I need your assistance."
Rodney rubbed the side of his face with one hand. " Help? Uh... Yeah, sure. What with?"
" Just to help me carry some things. It should not take long."
Rodney nodded while yawning. He stood, stretched until he back popped, and followed Teyla from the room out into the hall. They were heading to her room when she passed Ronon's quarters. Once again she stopped and knocked.
" Ronon?"
Teyla started in alarm when the door rushed immediately open with the Satedan on the other side, still fully dressed in his sleeveless shirt and leather pants.
" Yeah?" he drawled.
Teyla smiled. " If you are not busy, I could use your help."
Ronon shrugged. " Sure. I'm not busy."
Then they were off again, and finally reached Teyla's quarters. She set down her tea on her bedside table, and gathered the woven blankets she kept in a basket for when the days grew colder. She had Rodney carry the blankets, and had Ronon carry her pillow, and his when they passed his room, Rodney's when they passed his, then stopped at Sheppard's quarters for his pillow. All the while, Teyla continued carrying the now luke-warm tea. In the long run, the temperature of the tea didn't matter, just it's purpose.
SGA
It was getting harder for John to keep his eyes open. Every blink made them hurt, and all he wanted to do was close them and drop onto his side, although the impact to his healing ribs would hurt like hell if he did. John's attempt at focus had been futile. The last he recalled, he'd been watching The Goodfeathers, now it was Pinky and the Brain, which he knew to be after Rita and Runt on this particular video.
An unexpected increase of weight around his shoulders made him start to almost go flying off the couch. Two hands planted themselves firmly but gently on his shoulders, and he instinctively tried to pull away.
" Colonel Sheppard!" One hand moved away to be planted on his face and pull his head to the side. His eyes met the worried brown eyes of Teyla, and the fight washed from him, leaving him shaking and panting.
" Teyla?"
The worry shifted into apology in Teyla's gaze. " I am sorry, John, I did not mean to startle you." She adjusted the colorful blanket around John over his bland blanket.
" You looked cold," she said.
" And like hell."
John pulled his eyes away from Teyla to look up at McKay holding a pile of Athosian woven blankets in his arms. " Food, sleep, ever heard of them? Known to do wonders for a guy's complexion."
John curled one corner of his mouth in a small, brief smile. He knew McKay didn't mean anything by it. He was just talking for the sake of it, testing the situation to see if the mood could be lightened at all. And it could, just a fraction.
" I'm trying, McKay," John replied. Rodney didn't respond, just nod slightly. He knew John was.
John wavered, almost dropping to his side he was so tired.
" Perhaps you should lie down," Teyla said. She reached out to the small table beside the couch and brought forward a small cup full of a pungent smelling liquid. " But drink this first. It will help you to relax." She took John's hand to put the cup in it, stating he had no choice but to drink. John did, taking a tentative sip. The smell wasn't all that great, but the spicy taste was tolerable.
Rodney and Ronon settled themselves on the floor against the couch with their pillows cushioning their backs. Teyla prodded John to finish all the tea, and when he did, prodded him until he was laying down with his head on his pillow and his pillow in Teyla's lap.
" I'll fall asleep," John protested nervously.
Teyla adjusted the two blankets already covering him, then covered him with a third. " Then I will wake you if you begin to dream." She draped her arm over him as if to hold him in place. John stared at the backs of Ronon's and Rodney's heads. He realized then that it felt like forever since he'd talked to his team.
" Everyone all right?" he mumbled. Rodney shot a petulant look over his shoulder.
" Of course we're all right. Why wouldn't we be?"
John shrugged. " Been a bad couple of weeks."
" We are well," Teyla said.
" Speak for yourself," Rodney grouched. " I fell asleep on my desk again and now I've got a crick in my neck."
" Stop sleeping on your desk," Ronon countered.
" Gee, really Conan? I haven't thought of that. Sleep comes when it comes for me. I have absolutely no control over it."
" Then stop working at night."
" Why? That's the only time I can get anything done what with all the crap that goes on during the day..."
John grinned wearily, and snaked out a shaky hand to pat Rodney on the head. " There, there Rodney..."
Rodney shoved his hand away. " Ha, ha, flyboy. Keep your sardonic pity to yourself. We need snacks, I think I'll go grab some snacks."
" Get some of that crunchy stuff," Ronon said and Rodney struggled to stand.
" Caramel popcorn or trail mix?"
" The first stuff."
Rodney moved at a small jog to the door. John lifted his head to see him.
" Coming back, right?" he asked. He didn't know why. It was a stupid question John had asked without thinking. Rodney stopped just outside the door and turned. He looked prepped with an irate response, then seemed to rethink it, and instead smiled reassuringly.
" Always," he said, and left.
John set his head back on the pillow. His fight to keep his eyes open was a losing one. He blinked a few times in a feeble attempt, then simply gave in and let them remain closed. A shudder of uneasy anticipation ran through him, sending a chill down his spine and through his skin, until he felt the shift of Teyla's arm, and felt her hand resting on his head.
A feeling of relief, like spreading sunlight warming him from the inside out, encompassed him so strongly he wanted to weep, and didn't know why. But it faltered at the prospect of dreaming, making him shiver with growing dread. The darkness, cold, and pain would come through the dreams that would shove him awake into more darkness, lingering like mocking laughter in the background, and wrapping his skin in arctic air. Focusing on the weight of Teyla's hand against his skull altered his perceptions to make the ghostly pain falter. But the moment when the weight left, the pain would rush him. John shuddered with a racing heart.
" Please don't go," he begged, and didn't care how pathetic it sounded.
" We are not going anywhere," he heard Teyla say.
" Not without you," said Ronon.
" We're out of caramel popcorn but I found some regular popcorn and sodas," said Rodney.
That was good enough for John, all of it, popcorn included. The relief surged back through him, rolling like a sun-heated wave.
" Save some for me," he muttered, then drifted away to the theme song of Animaniacs.
SGA
Carson stood just inside the doorway to the rec room with his hands in the pockets of his lab coat, his stethoscope around his neck, a small smile on his face, and his head shaking. He knew that eventually he would have to disturb the little scene he was a quiet witness to, but saw no reason to not allow it to drag on for as long as possible.
Sheppard's team were sitting against the couch – all three – with cases of cartoon DVDs scattered at their feet and a bugs bunny cartoon playing; like kids during an early Saturday morning. Behind them was stretched Colonel Sheppard buried up to his jaw in a mound of blankets. The only other part of him visible beside his pale face and dark hair was his pale hand hanging over the side of the couch clasped in both of Teyla's hands, her slender fingers massaging his thin ones whenever he stirred, settling him back into sleep. Ronon was positioned with one leg up, the other straightened, leaning back so his neck was resting on the cushions and the back of his head was touching John against his ribcage. Rodney had his arms on the couch, one elbow touching where John's leg would be, the other either draped over his foot or his ankle, Carson couldn't tell because of the blankets. Rodney kept his arms where they were even when he gestured as he explained the cartoon they were watching to Ronon and Teyla.
"... I would think it obvious that Elmer Fudd is no where near as scary as a wraith... or even scary as an angry kitten for that matter. But, yeah, I'll admit that Bugs and Sheppard do have a few similar qualities."
Ronon popped a handful of recently made popcorn into his mouth and spoke as he chewed. " Sort of like you and that coyote guy."
McKay's eyes narrowed darkly. " I thought I told you we weren't going there."
Sheppard stirred with a quiet moan, until Teyla rubbed the back of his hand and his fingers between hers, then he immediately quieted.
The only time Carson had seen John's face that slack in sleep for the past couple of weeks was when he'd been sedated. It was amazing what John's team could accomplish when they worked together – making discoveries, pulling off rescues, saving lives, fighting the bad guys, or simply finding a way for one of their own to get the rest he so desperately needed.
Carson moved quietly forward and lightly placed the back of his hand to John's forehead. Sheppard's skin was warm. Not fever warm, just warm compared to the ice it had been the past couple of days. John exhaled a quiet breath and burrowed deeper into the blankets, practically melting further into the couch. The Highland doctor smiled.
He heard Rodney mutter, " Lose the dreadlocks and you could be the twin of a certain Tasmanian Devil with anger management issues."
Very amazing.
The End
A/N: And another story bites the dust. Sorry to those hoping for a little revenge against the ones who had tortured John. Not all revenges can be meted out, and I didn't intend this story to be anything long. Whump and H/C, that was it. Thanks be to all who have reviewed. Feedback is always appreciated, as it let's me know that I am doing something right... Though Sheppard would say I'm not exactly doing right my him. Oh well. Here's a cool weapon, Shep, go shoot some wraith with it.
And for those who inquired. The link to my original fic is written in my bio. It's not my homepage link (when I said homepage I was referring to my bio, I just keep calling it a homepage for some reason). The link isn't really linked so I apologize for that. I have no idea how to get it to link and got tired of trying.