A/N: Well, here it be, the end of the trail. The muses are sulking and the bunnies are telling them to stop being babies, there will be future stories, future reviews. In the mean-time, they bow in humble gratitude for the reviews received.

Ch. 13

Dawn's Early Light

Ronon was true to his word. As soon as John was allowed to sit upright and take liquid meals, he pulled up a stool and stared at his team leader in a contest of wills he already had won.

"You look like crap, Sheppard."

Sheppard, sipping dinner through a straw, flicked nervous eyes to and from the Satedan. It was as far as he went in terms of a response. It made Ronon even less happy than before. "Why the hell do you do this to yourself? Do you think yourself the only one grieving? Do you think yourself the only one at fault? Beckett was our friend as well."

Pain flickered sharp in Sheppard's eyes and the pale lips tightened on the straw. Ronon could have sworn the man was collapsing into himself. Anger, anger was the key. Sheppard needed an outlet, an opportunity to explode in a way that would keep him together rather than tear him apart.

Ronon smirked. "I never took you for a quitter, Sheppard. Since when have you ever given up?"

Sheppard pulled his mouth from the straw to stare vacantly at some point on the wall of flimsy cloth undulating in a draft. The curtains separated Sheppard's space, but they did not make for true privacy.

The look in Sheppard's eyes Ronon liked even less than the lack of response. John seemed to be considering, honestly considering, an accusation that should have had him bolting from the bed to feebly take Ronon down. Ronon didn't know quite what to say to make him stop, when Sheppard turned to look at him.

"Is that what I was doing?" It wasn't a return accusation, John truly wanted to know. He was begging to know – the large, moist eyes said as much.

Ronon gaped for a moment. "Seems like it," he ventured.

Sheppard turned away. "Explains a lot, then," and he returned to finishing his dinner.

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Most of any conversation with John was one-sided, tense, and over-loaded with small talk. Since the usual motivations garnered no progress, the team did not know what else to do. Well, Rodney seemed to, but Teyla was less certain of his methods this time around.

"He just needs to snap out of it," McKay argued. "Beckett was our friend, too. We were all hurting. Why the hell does he think he has to do it alone?"

Rodney made an excellent point. Teyla, however, had the sneaking suspicion that John's current state was not a matter of stubborn resolve to keep all emotions to himself. He seemed genuinely confused, and had his memory been missing it would have made sense. He was just so... lost. Lost and not quite able to find his way back. Yes, they were all mourning, but each in his or her own way, reacting by his or her own experiences. The only commonality was their sadness and love for Beckett.

All three stood at a safe enough distance from Sheppard's bed – no longer hidden behind the curtains – to watch him sleep as they talked. Ronon said little, the conversation being carried mostly by Rodney.

"It may not be that simple," Teyla said.

"How is that not simple?" Rodney hissed. "The man has been hiding all this from us the whole time, letting himself get whittled down by grief and guilt and who knows what else that he happily pretended didn't exist. We can't let him keep doing this, and you know he will. He'll just shove it all back into that over-stuffed head closet of his and start all over again. And this time it'll be worse thanks to Atar's Saw type intervention."

Teyla winced. Rodney just had to bring up the movie that had made her question the sanity of Earth culture. But she supposed it was fitting enough. He also had yet another point. "I just think that we need to be cautious. We must be there for him, but not in a manner that will push him away. Sometimes... at times... I must wonder if he even knows how to grieve."

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Not push him away. How the hell is slapping a verbal wake-up call in the man's face pushing him away? Besides, if it meant keeping Sheppard from starving himself, then push away Rodney will. Although he rather it didn't come down to that. Friends were a commodity, and of course it took the death of one for that to really hit home.

Really, really hit home.

Keller, for all her innocent little front, was a pit bull standing between visitors and her patients. Teyla could talk to him just fine, but Ronon and Rodney were walled off for the supposed reputation of having a way of getting John unnecessarily upset. Plus Sheppard didn't do anything else beyond eating and sleeping. Rodney never even had a chance to get him unnecessarily upset.

Not even when John was finally released. The pilot made himself scarce and was actually being good about it this time. But Rodney had persistence that could erode mountains within weeks. He let John have his privacy the first few days when he was confined in his room resting. After that, with an LSD in hand and Ronon doing a little reconnaissance, he finally cornered Sheppard on the west pier.

Not so much cornered, just found, sitting close to the edge with his knees pulled up and lanky arms draped loose over them – the picture of contemplative serenity, swallowed up in a too-loose gray sweater pressed against his flank by the wind, molding into his ribs. He didn't look any better than when he was in the infirmary.

Rodney settled down next to him, and what was probably a feat for him, stayed quiet. Teyla had said not to push, so Rodney wouldn't push... not yet. Quite yet. Probably eventually since this was a bunch of crap. It was the kind of situation ripe for group therapy under Heightmeyer's watchful gaze: lots of bonding, sharing feelings, and public crying. Rodney shuddered.

It was getting harder to stay quiet by the second. He couldn't let Sheppard do this to himself, let that bastard Atar win. Dead people weren't supposed to win, dead computer hologram people especially. Holographic and dead people, who could twist memories of the kind already bad enough to not really need anything added on, could make memories not meant to be relived in such intricate glory…

Sheppard's recollections, even manipulated, had struck Rodney as just as unpleasant even when not skewed.

Rodney regarded Sheppard out of the corner of his eye. That Holland guy, he'd been someone real, a friend. Sheppard had probably lost quite a few friends in battle. And wouldn't that just suck – making one friend, losing him. Make another friend and lose him next. Over and over again like a repetitive beating until, like an over-kicked dog, rather than put up with the pain Sheppard would retreat cringing into some dark corner. Or, in the more appropriate human scenario, the remotest place on earth.

Then what? He gets tossed into another galaxy to do it all over again, with no place to run.

Rodney's heart stuttered and he balked.

No, Sheppard wasn't a quitter. He was human with human limits. So, maybe, he wasn't quitting, or running away, or giving up. Maybe, just maybe, he was trying not to. Or, also just maybe, he had no idea what the hell to do, how to grieve right just as Teyla had supposed. Some people didn't and Rodney doubted Sheppard had been visited by his own little Carson ghost-of-Christmas-past to help him figure it out.

Oh, wait, he did. Except that Carson apparition number two had kicked John a couple of times when he was already down.

It was no wonder he was having a hard time getting back up.

So the problem was – what the hell do you say to that?

Maybe nothing, which was just fine because Rodney had no clue what to say without it coming out wrong. Chew Sheppard a new one for not taking better care of himself, for trying to hide away, which would probably escalate into chasing him off until he hid somewhere else. Then Rodney would have to chase him down all over again, continue the same argument, chase him off, chase him down, until something finally clicked.

If there was a way around all that, McKay would prefer it. Maybe if it could all be done the first time around... but John had seen Carson die twice, and that adds a whole new floor to the tower of screwed.

But as minutes ticked by long as hours, Rodney's tongue itched to say something, anything. Okay, not anything, something comforting. He wanted to be the comforting one for once, because that's what friends were supposed to do, right?

Rodney looked over at Sheppard. The serenity had been a front. Tendons stood out against the pale skin of John's neck and his throat bobbed in constant swallowing, probably working against tightened muscles forming lumps in the esophagus. His throat had to be aching according to the lines creased in the corner of John's eyes. A little longer and closer scrutiny revealed vibrating shoulders – John was shaking.

Topping it all was the brighter reflection of amber light flashing off liquid in his eyes. Sometimes, there was no holding it in, no matter how you fought, because the longer you did the more it hurt. Rodney knew well enough. It didn't go away. It curled up cozy in the back of the mind, pricking it, flicking the heart-strings in aching vibrations, eating you alive until it was too big to ignore.

Sheppard probably blamed himself. It was inevitable. They all blamed themselves. So how does one convey that without it morphing into a verbal spar?

The vibrations in the shoulders ascended to a full body shudder that descended back to quaking. Rodney nervously cleared his throat. If John kept this up, he was going to exhaust himself, and he still wasn't one-hundred percent yet. Why didn't he just let it happen?

"Um," McKay stuttered. "Shep... uh, John? You know... it's okay to cry... sometimes. I cried. And if you want I can leave. It's just... it, it... it'll help, a lot. And it's okay, that's the important thing. It's okay because he was your friend, too and... and..."

John blinked once and two tears tracked flashing gold sunlight down his cheeks. The growing knot in Rodney's chest untied letting him breathe out in relief. He placed his hand on Sheppard's upper back in an awkward pat. "I miss him, too."

They resumed their silent vigil of the lapping, gold-splashed water in silence, and this time it wasn't so bad.

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Stomach full with the most he'd eaten in a while, John crawled into his bed, curling up beneath the covers. It was early for him but he didn't have the energy to go another two hours of fighting sleep. He didn't remember when he had ever felt this drained.

His body ached, his mind wouldn't quiet. Images of Carson danced in his head, then Holland, Mitch, Dex, but mostly Carson. Sheppard had been right, it hadn't really hit him, and when it finally did, it had struck with the power of ten sledgehammers – a wake-up call that had nearly killed him.

He missed Carson. The man saving his life over and over was a given. Beckett being the reason he was here, the catalyst that shoved something he didn't even think possible into his hands, packed a hell of a lot more punch. Thinking back, John wasn't really sure if he had ever thanked Carson for that, for making a mistake that gave him a home, a purpose, a family.

No, John hadn't thanked him, but wished beyond anything else he'd wanted that he had.

For the tenth time that day, John's throat tightened until he could barely breathe.

I'm sorry, Carson, I'm so sorry.

He closed his eyes squeezing tight against the sting of moisture that slid through the lids down his face.

Thank you, thank you so much.

You're welcome, lad.

For the first time in so long a time he thought he'd forgotten how, he wept in earnest, and something in him quieted until he slipped into sleep without dreaming.

The end

A/N: So it ends (sniffle!). Thanks be to all you who have journeyed with us, leaving goodies in the form of reviews. The muses and bunnies have devoured them greedily, leaving them fat and happy. Will there be future stories? That depends on yon muses and bunnies... who are now surrounding a table... heads bent, discussing something, making notes. Is that a look of wicked glee on their faces? Yep, who knows.

Drufan peeks over their shoulders and hopes for something good! Thanks everyone!