John was not about to go to sleep, not again. He was not going to rest until he had located Rodney and had a good talk with him. He would tie him down and hold him at knifepoint if that's what it took to get him to listen to his apology. He was simply not going to allow Rodney to believe...whatever it was that he believed right now. That John had hurt him on purpose. That he didn't care. That he wasn't really John.
It was a good thing Teyla was gone, because John couldn't exactly track down Rodney from bed, and he doubted she would be very happy with him wandering around Atlantis at this point. In fact, as important as this was, John himself wasn't even very happy with the idea of wandering around Atlantis at this point. As much as he wanted to be fine, he...wasn't. Coming back from the brink of starvation had left him weak and exhausted. The cocktail of drugs Carson was pumping into his veins was more or less keeping the pain at bay, but only if he kept from moving his shoulder too much. Otherwise, it made itself known with a vengeance. He hadn't yet walked farther than the distance to the bathroom and back, and even that left him shaky and gasping for breath. He wasn't at all sure how his damaged body was going to take this.
John took a steadying breath, steeled himself, and ripped the IV out of his arm. He wished he knew more about medicine, because he hadn't even the faintest idea how long the painkillers were going to stay in his bloodstream. Still, he figured there was nothing to be lost by working quickly.
Within five seconds of pulling the tubing out, a faint beeping started up. Another reason to hurry this process along. He figured he didn't have much time at all to get out of the room before Carson or one of the nurses noticed he was gone, although he supposed the quiet chirping was much better than the blaring alarm he'd half been expecting.
John shoved the blankets off, letting them pool on the floor. The hospital scrubs he was wearing underneath would certainly mark him as an escaped patient, but at this point he figured most of Atlantis knew what had happened, and he would have to mostly rely on not being seen by anyone anyways. At least the scrubs covered everything. He wouldn't have wanted to parade around in one of those open-backed gowns he had sometimes been made to wear on Earth.
John didn't let himself think too hard about standing up. He had to catch himself on the bed as soon as his legs took his weight - they threatened to buckle and send him spilling.
Carefully, he took the first step, his left hand braced against the wall. His legs trembled, still weak from his long confinement and his convalescence.
John gritted his teeth and continued walking. His shoulder and his ribs cried out in protest as he hobbled out of the infirmary, but he resolutely endured the pain. He'd been through far worse, and this was important.
At long last, John made it to the hallway. Without a second thought, he pointed himself towards Rodney's lab. Teyla had said he'd left, but John knew Rodney. The second that the scientist thought Teyla would stop bothering him, he'd have returned to the lab. That was where he felt safe.
John felt a sudden twinge of guilt, whether about violating Rodney's safe haven or about no longer being welcome there, he wasn't sure. Either way, he was betraying McKay's trust. Just one more thing that he should apologize for, he supposed.
John didn't even make it halfway to Rodney's lab before he had to stop for a break. His broken ribs were preventing him from taking in a full breath, and that combined with the pervading exhaustion were really beginning to sap his energy. Luckily, it was the middle of the night, and barely anyone was up and about.
He needed to hurry, before Rodney decided to join the rest of Atlantis and get some sleep. John pushed himself off the wall, swaying slightly as he caught his balance. He continued shuffling down the hallway, each step an excruciating exercise in endurance. He wasn't about to give up. John was going to find Rodney, and they were going to talk, and John was going to find a way to put this horrible sick feeling to rest.
It took Rodney longer than he'd expected to lose Teyla. The Athosian had followed him to the mess hall, to Zelenka's lab, and finally to his quarters, where he'd closed the door in her face. Really, she was almost as bad as Ford.
Finally, Rodney managed to evade her. As soon as she was gone, Rodney made a beeline for his lab. He could think much clearer there, and maybe he'd actually figure out what to do about the Sheppard situation. Soon enough, he was stepping inside, already mentally planning what he was going to work on.
"McKay."
Rodney definitely didn't squeal. Whatever sound he made - if he made a sound at all - was closer to a manly yell. Without really processing what was happening, he found himself flattened against the wall, blinking frantically at a shape that was quickly resolving itself into Sheppard, perched awkwardly in a chair.
"Fuck…. Rodney, wait…." Sheppard levered himself out of the chair one-handed, his right arm tucked tight against his body in a sling. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."
John took a step towards Rodney. Rodney didn't move, neither approaching nor retreating from John. He was still trying to process what was actually happening. John was...here, in his lab? Teyla had made it sound as if he was so injured still he could barely keep his eyes open, and yet he had somehow made it all the way across Atlantis to find himself sitting in Rodney's chair.
Rodney had the decency to feel ashamed for his first instinct, which was to cringe away. Not just because he was surprised by a presence in his lab, because he was startled, but because it was Sheppard.
Back to finish the job. That had been his first thought, as horrifying as it was, and suddenly he was finding John a little hard to look at.
"McKay..." John took another half-step forward. His right leg buckled beneath him the second he put weight on it, and he barely managed to catch himself on one of Rodney's tables to keep himself from crashing to the floor. Rodney heard his sharp intake of breath - it was clear he was in a lot of pain still.
"Please, say something," John whispered, and Rodney realized he was still doing nothing but staring at his friend in horror. John took his hand off the table and took another step, swaying so alarmingly that Rodney was sure he would have fallen if he hadn't surged forward to catch him.
"You idiot!" Rodney exclaimed. "Everyone...everyone makes it sound like you're a bad turn away from literally dying, and you're...wandering around Atlantis? On your own? Does Teyla know you're here? Does Beckett?"
Rodney caught a glimpse of alarm and confusion on John's face, but he ignored it in favor of forcefully manhandling him into a chair. John's weight made his arm twinge in pain, the pressure too much for his still-healing wrist, but he ignored that too. "Now stay there."
"Mckay..."
"What are you doing here?" Rodney demanded.
"I...just came to talk to you," John said weakly, still looking rather overwhelmed. Now that he was sitting, Rodney could see how desperately pale he was, the bruises on his face standing out in stark relief against skin as white as milk. There was a tremor in his hands, and his breathing was fast and shallow. He really did look as Teyla had made him sound, actually. Like someone who should certainly be horizontal in a hospital bed, at the very least.
"Why?" Rodney asked crossly. "You should obviously be in bed."
John looked at Rodney through half-lidded eyes, his gaze oddly evasive.
"I know. Teyla said-" John tailed off suddenly, looking ill. Too late, Rodney realized what Teyla must have said, and he felt almost as sick as John looked.
John cleared his throat and began again. "This is important," he mumbled.
"Listen, I'm sorry I didn't stop by," Rodney began. "I've been busy-"
"McKay."
Even with a quarter of its usual volume, John's voice cut through Rodney's babble and Rodney cut himself off, looking at John uncertainly. John took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, staring directly at Rodney this time.
"I'm sorry, McKay. Really sorry. When you found me, I...I didn't really know what was happening. I thought...I was dreaming, or something."
Rodney had not expected this. Yes, he'd thought that it would be nice if Sheppard addressed what had happened, but he hadn't actually expected the man to apologize, much less to drag himself all the way across Atlantis to do so.
John paused, grimaced, and continued.
"I didn't think...I thought you guys couldn't find me. We gated offworld, and…didn't think anyone was coming."
Rodney had no idea how to respond to this. He'd never seen this side of John before, and if he was honest, he hadn't actually realized that it existed. Sheppard always took everything with a smile and a shrug, and Rodney had assumed that there wasn't anything more there than that.
But John sounded...upset. Rodney guessed that he was on fairly high doses of pain medication, which allowed for the disjointed, scattered thoughts, but it didn't explain the agitation he saw in John's eyes, or heard at the edges of his voice.
"Rodney?"
John's voice was small, and a bit uncertain, and Rodney realized with a sudden jolt that he'd gone back to staring blankly at Sheppard.
"I understand," he said quickly. And he did, or at least he thought so. It was obviously a mistake, he'd known that all along, but Sheppard cared sufficiently about his well-being to drag himself across the city. Rodney began to have a sinking feeling that perhaps he'd been acting a bit unfairly.
"I broke your arm," John mumbled, head drooping slightly as the tension seemed to drain from him. "Sorry."
"Well, you hardly meant to, did you?" Rodney asked, slightly waspishly.
John shook his head. "Never hurt you on purpose."
And it was, in the end, that simple. What Rodney had known all along, but hadn't quite been able to articulate to himself, was that John would never hurt him on purpose. He had made a mistake, and it was a mistake that had hurt Rodney, but that didn't make it something other than what it was. While it might be hard to remember while his arm was in a cast, Rodney could rest assured in the fact that John would never hurt him intentionally, and he would not hold it against him. For the first time since they had rescued him, Rodney felt ready to move forward.
There was something in John's bowed head, in the softness of his voice, that made it impossible not to.
"I know that," Rodney said.
John looked up at him then. His eyes were glassy with drugs, and he blinked rapidly at Rodney a few times, seemingly trying to form words but finding himself unable to. Finally, he nodded slightly.
"It'll heal up you know," Rodney said. "Beckett said it would heal just fine. I only have to keep this on for another two weeks. Doesn't hurt much anymore."
John nodded again.
"So it's really alright. Sometimes…." Rodney trailed off, unsure what it sometimes was. But John seemed to understand, because the smallest of smiles twisted the sides of his mouth.
"Let's get you back to the infirmary. You're going to scare everyone half to death. You really shouldn't be up and wandering around, you know."
"I know," John said, and there was just a hint of petulance, in a way that felt so much like John that Rodney truly couldn't even imagine being angry with him.
Rodney carefully lifted John out of the chair, giving him a few seconds to gather his trembling legs beneath him before trying to move him forward. Rodney wrapped his uninjured arm securely around John's waist, trying to take as much of his weight as he could. Rodney hadn't realized it, not with John spending most of the last week lying asleep in a hospital bed, but he had lost a good deal of weight. Rodney could feel his ribs, the sharp angles of his shoulders. He felt...fragile, in a way that was a little frightening but also made a strange surge of protectiveness run through Rodney. He knew John had hurt him, but right now, when he was shaking lightly and too weak to even hold his head up, it was honestly hard to imagine.
"How did you even make it here?" Rodney asked, genuinely curious. Rodney could feel each of John's shuddering breaths, and it was difficult to imagine him having the strength necessary to make it all the way to the lab.
John's good shoulder quivered in a shrug.
"Walked," he mumbled.
Rodney sighed. "Thank you, Captain Obvious," he said, but without the sting he might have usually given the words.
"I'm a Major." Somehow, even as quiet as the words were, John managed to pack in a world of falsely wounded pride.
Despite himself, Rodney laughed and dragged John another half-step. John stumbled along beside him, legs trembling almost too much to take his weight.
"Well, Major, I'd watch my tone if I were you. I could always just leave you here and call Beckett."
Joh's bony shoulder went rigid, and Rodney felt John's hair scrape at his neck as John shook his head emphatically.
"Don't," John whispered, sounding almost scared. For the hundredth time that night, Rodney felt an uncomfortable quiver of guilt deep inside his stomach.
"Don't worry," Rodney said softly. "Of course I won't."
"Good," John murmured, and Rodney found himself taking all of Sheppard's weight as the Major relaxed and sagged against him. He staggered for a moment, adjusting to the sudden increase in weight, but after a moment's struggle he got John situated and continued down the hallway. Really, he knew that he should probably call Beckett. Even with the weight loss, John was heavy, and he seemed to be all limbs. Rodney was a little worried that he was going to drop him, or something else equally unfortunate.
But John had sounded distressed enough by the prospect of being left to Carson that Rodney wasn't about to abandon him here. Rodney hauled John's left arm a little more firmly over his shoulders and took another step.
Everything had gone a little fuzzy. John had held it together long enough to make it to Rodney's lab, long enough to talk to Rodney. He'd held on until the wary look had left Rodney's eyes.
After that, everything that he'd been resolutely pushing away made itself known. His broken ribs were like a vise, shooting stabbing pains across his chest every time he tried to take a breath. Even strapped down as it was, his right shoulder was throbbing in time to every stuttered breath, and his legs were having trouble holding his weight.
It was a good thing that Rodney was there, John thought dimly. The world had turned fairly blurry at the edges, and John was no longer quite sure where he was, but he could feel Rodney's arm around his waist, holding him upright.
"Wait," John said suddenly as the world seemed to shift faintly under his feet.
"What is it?" Rodney asked.
"Can we...stop for a second?" The pain had all of a sudden gone from bad to worse, and even the slightest movement was making him so lightheaded he was worried he was going to either pass out or vomit.
Rodney didn't say anything. He was clearly too focused on easing John down. John barely had to do any work at all as he felt himself lowered to the floor. It didn't feel...pleasant, but that seemed to be simply because he was so injured and sick. It was no fault of Rodney's. Rodney was almost impossibly gentle with him now, so gentle it was almost strange. John felt a hand on his shoulder, leaning him back against the wall, and then one on the back of his skull, putting his head between his knees.
The stillness helped some. John felt the worst of the dizziness recede, although the pain was no better. He knew he had to get back to the infirmary, preferably yesterday. Whatever drugs Carson had given him seemed to have mostly worn off, and John knew if he didn't want Rodney to have to call a med team to come collect him, he needed to take advantage of the rapidly shrinking window in which he could move.
"We should get going," Rodney said after a moment of silence. "Otherwise...someone's going to find us here, Beckett, or Teyla. They won't be very happy if they do."
John nodded slightly, and managed to keep from groaning as Rodney tugged him to his feet. He had a vaguely remembered that Rodney's arm was still broken, and a pang of guilt shot through John like nausea. He tried to take some of his own weight, to keep from hurting Rodney more, but his legs were weak and shaky beneath him and Rodney wouldn't let go.
They made their way back to the infirmary without John actually needing to sit down again, although it was a close thing. By the time they were walking through the last hallway, John was reeling against Rodney's side, barely aware of which way was up.
"Come on, Sheppard," he was vaguely aware of Rodney mumbling. "Just a little bit farther. Oh god, I'm going to end up in so much trouble…."
John dimly thought that he was going to be the one that would end up in trouble. He had a horrifying image of both Teyla and Carson lecturing him, no doubt with Weir standing behind them, looking equally disappointed. He grimaced.
"Beckett is going to kill me, you know," Rodney informed him. John smiled slightly and tuned the rest of Rodney's diatribe out. At this point, he was relieved just to be hearing Rodney complain.
Sheppard was almost entirely deadweight now. It was a good thing that they were back at the infirmary, because Rodney didn't think that he could go on for much longer. Well, a good thing in some ways.
Rodney paused outside the door, steeling himself to face Beckett's wrath. It probably wasn't a good idea to piss off the head of medicine, especially not considering how often Rodney found himself sitting in Carson's office. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to have much of a choice.
Cautiously, Rodney pushed the door open. Much to his surprise, Beckett didn't immediately leap out, spitting a stream of incomprehensible Scottish curses. Rodney readjusted John's limp body and edged slowly into the infirmary.
He was greeted by a soft beeping, coming from an empty bed at the far end of the room. The sheets were pushed off onto the floor, and wires had been strewn haphazardly across the mattress. It appeared that John's escape had somehow gone unnoticed.
As quietly as he could, Rodney began the laborious process of dragging John across the room. He let John slump into the bed, then retrieved the blankets. He hesitated for a moment, and then piled them back on top of John. He looked awfully cold.
Upon the addition of the blankets, John stirred. His eyes opened sleepily, and he blinked up at Rodney.
"'M I in trouble?"
"Not if we play our cards right," Rodney said grimly.
"Where's Beckett?" John murmured, through a yawn.
As if John had summoned him, the Scotsman appeared in the door of his office, stifling a yawn of his own. His eyes scanned the room, narrowing as they fell on Rodney.
"Rodney? What are you doing here?" Carson advanced across the room towards them, beginning to glare daggers as the beeping made itself known. "Major, why isn't your IV in?"
John's eyes went vaguely panicked, and Rodney interrupted smoothly before he could answer.
"My fault, I'm afraid. He needed to get to the bathroom, and I couldn't find you, and what did you expect me to do exactly-"
Carson cut him off with a weary wave of the hand, and Rodney subsided with no small amount of relief. "Next time it happens, call me. He's still weak, and he's not really supposed to be walking around just yet. We have a nurse with a wheelchair for just this purpose."
Rodney's eyes widened at the idea of John in a wheelchair, and he wondered briefly if Carson was insane. John would rather sneak out of the infirmary every time he had to use the bathroom then consent to a wheelchair.
Rodney also fought back a sudden pang of guilt. He had known John was in bad shape still, but he truly had not realized he was so weak he needed a wheelchair to go to the bathroom. If he had known that, Rodney would like to think he would have come visit John when Teyla had initially asked him to, in an attempt to mitigate the exact situation that had just happened.
He'd like to think he would have. In reality, he knew he hadn't thought John cared enough about him to traipse across Atlantis with a fever and injured shoulder just to apologize.
He looked very small now, rehooked up to all the tubes and wires he had pulled out to escape, wrapped in so many blankets Rodney could only see his pale face and tuft of dark hair. Rodney desperately hoped he hadn't done any permanent damage to himself through all that walking. Knowing the stupid Major, it didn't seem out of the realm of possibility.
Carson cleared his throat slightly, making Rodney jump. He realized that he had been standing there for...longer than was probably appropriate, just looking down at John.
"I think the lad's asleep," Carson said gently. "He might be out for a while."
"Oh," Rodney said. "Right."
Rodney started to leave, resolving to come back later that day, if only to prove to Teyla that he had, and she didn't need to bother him anymore.
"Rodney?" Carson asked as he was exiting. Rodney paused.
"It was...good of you to visit," Carson said. "He-"
Carson trailed off. Rodney nodded slightly. He understood. Despite everything, he was not planning on leaving John alone again.
But for now, John needed to sleep. So Rodney left as quietly as he could, feeling better than he had in days.
Teyla hadn't managed to find Rodney. Eventually, she had grown so weary that she forced herself to return to her room, just to catch a few hours of sleep. If she had found Rodney then, she was slightly worried about what she might have done.
She woke up feeling refreshed, and decided to visit John before she went looking for Rodney again. Outside the infirmary, she paused, hearing voices from within. One of them sounded suspiciously like….
"Rodney?"
Rodney looked up from where he was seated next to John's bed, playing what seemed to be some sort of card game with John. Surprisingly, Ford was there too, looking somewhat more relaxed than he had for the past few days.
"Teyla," Rodney said, a little awkwardly.
John, propped up on pillows and looking slightly less loopy, gave Teyla a goofy smile. "Came to see me last night."
Rodney cleared his throat, apparently finding his cards very interesting.
"Yes, well," he mumbled. "I, uhh, I suppose you got through to me."
John grinned and shot Rodney a conspiratory look that did not go unnoticed in the slightest by Teyla. But whatever reckless/ill-advised/downright stupid thing the two of them had done, it seemed to have brought them back to normal. In Teyla's book, that was worth it.
Teyla smiled softly and pulled up a third chair beside John's bed. "What are you playing?"
"Poker," John said happily. "McKay is losing."
Rodney sniffed angrily. "It might be easier to concentrate if I had the use of both of my arms. Not to mention the pain medication that Carson gave me earlier…."
Teyla tensed, glancing towards John, wondering how he'd take the - in her opinion - rather tasteless comment.
She needn't have worried. John merely glanced down at his own arm, still strapped across his chest, then back up at Rodney. He raised an eyebrow.
"Ah, yes, McKay. Only having one hand. That must be horrible. I can't imagine."
Ford spluttered into laughter, and Rodney turned slightly red-faced in manufactured indignation.
Teyla smiled again and pulled her chair closer. "I would like to play. Will you 'deal me in?'"
"Fuck, she's gonna clean us out," John said under his breath to Rodney and Ford.
"I'm about to stage a comeback," Rodney said stiffly, and John quirked an eyebrow again. Predictably, Rodney began to loudly defend his poker playing skills, and Ford challenged him. John just watched the two of them, a smile growing on his face.
Teyla collected her cards and watched John watching them. For the first time since they'd found him in that cave, she felt like she could breathe properly again. The haunted look had left John's eyes, and things were finally getting back to normal.
"Let's play already," John said impatiently. "McKay, Teyla's gonna kick your ass."
Teyla grinned and sat back in her chair, enjoying the feeling of her team around her.