A/N: Ah dessert…chilled monkeys' brains…slurp them up, yum! The bunnies and muses have strange tastes. However, they do love the reviews!

Chapter 12

Monday, Monday…No Guarantees

Rodney wanted Carson to be there when Sheppard woke up. Because, whatever had happened, Atar probably had given the Colonel a double mind whammy. He was still getting over his own demons. Carson's face on that maniac…unforgivable. Rodney sat in his bed, next to Ronon, and across from Teyla, stewing and waiting for Dr. Keller to come out and give the prognosis that Carson would have given…and the fact he was not here…well, it hurt…a lot.

Sheppard was hidden away behind partitions as they did yet another round of tests. It would probably come out the same as the five rounds before it-- coma. At least, he was breathing on his own. At least, they had not lost him too. At least…at least…at LEAST.

Rodney was scraping the bottom of the false hope barrel just so they could have a modicum of positive energy flowing through the room, even if it was against his very nature. He was the doomsayer, the harbinger of cynicism, the rainer on the parade…

Rodney McKay liked to look at every angle-- good, bad, ugly, indifferent, cold, light, hard, soft-- until it drove everyone around him to yell, "Shut up!" He prided himself on it actually. One could not get to where he was by sucking-up all of the time. No one seemed to understand that until now.

Until he was part of this mismatched team of wackos did anyone seem to understand his reasoning. He loathed and loved every minute of it. On the flip side, he had learned a few things from his time in Siberia and in Antarctica. He had learned to play in the sandbox without throwing sand as his first reaction. It might be a third or fourth reaction, but not his first.

However, this was the time to loathe it because of the one member still not back with the team. He was still out of his mind on a little mental vacation. And there was not a damned thing Rodney could do about it right now…if ever. It highlighted his dependence on this group of wackos.

Radek had gone over every conceivable piece of data. Every minuscule algorithm that flashed as Sheppard was practically cast out of the infernal program. He had nothing to help or explain in any concrete way what had happened. Conjecture was all they had. Atar must have been destroyed. The computer registered the game being over, but the guiding force was gone and it shut down without doing it properly. The game stopped with Sheppard still in there. Beating Pondo into a senseless pulp had not helped either.

"Dr. McKay?" Teyla spoke softly from her bed with her IV dripping steadily. "Rodney, it will be all right. He was not left in there. His mind is in his…" She stopped for a moment searching for a word to describe--

"His head? I know Teyla, but getting ejected so suddenly must have just overloaded his brain. It shut down to protect him. It's just that it might not want to restart," Rodney said.

"His neglect of his own needs seems to have caught up with him. He has not taken regular meals; he has not exercised as he usually does; he has not been sleeping well…" She looked down at her hands and exhaled softly. "He has withdrawn and we let him, because we were all grieving too."

"Since Beckett died," interrupted Ronon. He sat up in his bed with his IV dripping steadily. "I plan on making him aware of it once he wakes up. And he will wake up." Ronon glared at the curtains. "We have not done our duty to make sure that all members of the team are functioning properly. Weakness creates bad things."

"Eloquently put as usual, Conan." Rodney slouched against the propped up pillows. "We've all been trying to distract ourselves." Everything was not all right and it sucked in stereo. All of them had been harboring certain fears that they had had to face within the computer. All of them would have to work it out in anyway possible. They all had to support each other and while he was still getting use to that sensation, it did not feel as foreign as it would have a few years ago.

Dr. Keller's voice broke the somber mood. "Col. Sheppard? Col. Sheppard can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can."

A few minutes passed before the partition slid on the floor, interrupting their intense stare at the area. Dr Keller walked out with that very determined 'I'm not going to give anything away' look on her face. She failed. No change. Rodney could already hear it now-- no change.

"He's progressed to a vegetative state," she said looking at each of them in turn.

"What does that mean? He's gone from a bag of sand to a sack of turnips?"

"It means he's not in a coma, Dr. McKay." She gave a tight-lipped frown, shoved her hands in her pockets, and looked at her shoes.

"You said progressed. That means better, correct?" asked Teyla. She was searching for that silver lining. Rodney knew better.

"He's responding to certain stimuli. His eyes will open and close. He may even track something moving with his eyes, but he's not cognizant of it. His brain is still...I think it's just protecting itself. All we have is the waiting game." She looked at each of them again and her expression softened. "And I know…you're not good at waiting."

Ronon snorted and Rodney mumbled, "Yeah, well…yeah."

He flopped half-heartedly back into his bead…and waited.

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Teyla was the first to sit with John the following day. She caught him up on the goings on around the base. She gossiped about some of the latest Marines, scientists, and doctors that had arrived right before they left to go on the mission.

"Maj. Lorne is keeping them inline waiting for you to get back. He does not like the paperwork. Col. Caldwell has not stepped in yet. He's waiting to see how long you remain this way. He has changed since our first meeting." She looked around at the infirmary. "There is talk of…" She took a deep breath. "…sending you to Earth if this state continues. But it is too early for such talk." She gently patted his hand. "So let us continue with the crush Rodney has on Dr. Brown. I believe there shall be another try at dinner."

His eyes moved to look at her, but they did not stay there. They moved back to center and he seemed to nod off for a nice little nap like he did on movie night. Usually, he was the one asleep by the end of the movie. He was the one they had to nudge awake to go back to his quarters in order to go to bed. She wanted to nudge him awake and say everything was all right. Rodney was correct, everything was not all right. He had let himself get away with not letting Carson's death hit him. So it sneakily took from him a bite at a time.

"Carson would not have wanted this," she had leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Carson loved life…don't let his death wear you down." She squeezed his hand.

Ronon walking in the door on the other side of the infirmary distracted her for a moment. It was a welcomed diversion. She smiled and nodded at him in greeting. John chose this moment to return her squeeze. Her head whipped back around to look down at the long fingers wrapped around hers. The squeeze continued and the eyes opened. He looked directly at her. The machines connected to him changed their rhythm as the grasp strengthened. She felt her waning hope surge anew and quickly called, "Nurse!"

The nurse ran over practically shoving past her. Ronon ran the rest of the way and stopped at the foot of the bed. "What's going on?"

"I do not know…I was talking to him and then…" She nodded towards her hand.

Dr Keller ran over followed by Dr. Cole. "What do we have?" She looked to those already at the bedside.

"He's showing signs of consciousness…" The nurse reported.

"Col. Sheppard, do you hear me?" Dr. Keller started with checking his eyes and asking more questions of him and those around him. All the while, he clutched Teyla's hand in his-- the grip growing stronger and stronger. It was starting to hurt.

"Teyla, Ronon, could you step out?" Dr. Cole asked as she joined the group.

"He will not let go of my hand." Teyla tried to pull away and the eyes snapped over to her. He inhaled loudly and began to writhe under the sheets. He brought his knees up and dropped them over and over. His back arched off the bed to create a nice bridge, muscle and bone stretched to the point of complete extension or contraction. His eyes clenched shut and he groaned very quietly. He still did not let go of her hand.

"Usually, a patient wakes up slower than this, but then this situation is a little different," observed Dr. Keller. "Col. Sheppard, I need you to calm down."

John's eyes snapped to attention right on her face. The gaze lasted too long there and then his breathing picked up. Slow, thick tears slid out of the corner of his eyes and down onto the pillow. Teyla realized that it was hitting him at one of the worst possible times. That he was waking-up expecting to see Carson and for the first time since coming to Atlantis, Carson would not be the one to welcome him back. She squeezed his hand harder.

"We are here, John," Teyla whispered.

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Waking wasn't so bad either.

He had been dreaming of nothing in particular if he had been dreaming of anything at all. He felt very heavy, like he was going to put a hole in whatever he was lying on, or at least a John Sheppard shaped indention in the surface. Then, slowly, he started to hear background noises that were familiar, yet foreign to the peaceful bliss. Without warning, the bliss and noises turned into vivid images of a man in a doctor's coat. The name flitted out of reach for an eternity only to watch the man incinerate with John standing right there…

But a hand grasped his firmly, flesh on flesh. He needed the touch to face the flaming human torch before him, who he could not save. He could not save this man and now this man was gone…All of them had been gone from one moment to the next. The memories were a jumbled up mess. Real with imagined combined to confuse and frighten him.

Another voice talked to him, but he could not find where it was coming from in the intermittent darkness. The voice grounded him and made an inroad into his jumbled mess of a brain. Then light threaded through and another woman stood next to the familiar one. The woman in white was taking the torch's place and then the loss hit him. He had not let that particular pain touch him like the hand that he would not let go of. He could not let go because he was afraid that he would slip back to where he had been. While nice and comfortable, it was not where he was needed. It was not where he wanted to be.

The remnants of the fire licked at his nerves and sent his brain into make-it-stop mode. The accumulation of pains from his last mission, real or imagined, spiked and he could hardly think straight, which was not happening anyway. Confusion warred with remembrance and he let the tears flow because he hurt so badly from everything, emotional included. His friend was dead and this woman should not be the asking questions and taking vitals. He should be.

He should be.

Not this woman.

Their voices faded into background again. Darkness slid across his vision and he wanted to punch someone, because he hated feeling this vulnerable. He hated feeling this exposed. As he looked at the woman holding his hand, he knew that, at least, he was among family.

TBC…