THE WHITE ROOM...part 18
He didn't want to eat. Eating made him feel weak and stupid and ashamed. Eating meant trying to use a fork or a spoon, which he inevitably dropped, splattering whatever was on his plate. So he stopped eating two days ago. He knew Carson was upset with him, but he didn't care. It wasn't as if he were hungry anyway.
"Colonel?"
John resisted the urge to sigh. Carson was back, no doubt for another attempt at making him eat. John debated pretending to be asleep. Carson would believe it. It was all he seemed to do anyway. Sleep and sleep, then sleep some more. What frustrated John all the more was that Carson kept telling him that all the sleeping was good for him. But it didn't feel like it was helping. John still felt tired and weak.
"I know you're awake, son," Carson said softly.
So John rolled over, one trembling hand rubbing at his eyes. He blinked hard then focused on the red mug Carson was holding. Steam was wafting up from whatever was inside it. Even from a distance, the aroma was arresting.
Carson moved closer, setting the mug on the table tray and pushing it over John's lap. He then pulled a straw out of his pocket and peeled off the paper before plopping it into the mug. "I've brought you some chicken broth, thickened," Carson explained. "I want you to try drinking with the straw. It was Ronon's idea. I don't know if you remember how fascinated he was by straws when you first showed them to him." Carson was smiling as he spoke.
"I 'member," John replied, forcing out the words. He did remember that moment, and how funny it was watching Ronon trying to suck up everything through a straw. Even mashed potatoes.
"Give it a try then," Carson encouraged. "You can leave the mug on the tray and bend the straw towards you. It should work well enough to get soup and juice and protein shakes into you. Once you've got some nourishment in you, you're body will get stronger and you'll do better with utensils. Because by then you're motor skills will have improved as well."
John gave him a doubtful look at that, but he reached for the mug anyway, drawing it closer and leaning in to reach the tip of the bent straw. He was able to suck up some broth without incident, and that made him feel surprisingly good. Although the broth itself didn't sit well on his stomach. He knew he needed to eat, but he really wasn't the least bit hungry. "Thank...Ronon," he said quietly. Because it was a good idea, and he was grateful.
Carson nodded. "I will. Now drink a bit more."
"Later." John pushed the tray away.
"It's already later, Colonel," Carson countered, moving the tray back into place. "You've gone without anything in your stomach for two days, and you weren't eating all that much before that. You have a fair bit of weight to put back on and you need to start now." His tone of voice was stern, brooking no arguments.
But John was feeling in the mood to argue. He was tired of being told what to do. Tired of being told he was going to be fine when he didn't feel fine. Everything and everyone was too loud and too cold and too confusing. He knew who everyone was here, and yet it was hard to put a name with a face at times. And when he slept he would see faces in his dreams that seemed far too familiar, yet he knew they were gone and that troubled him.
The only constant was Atlantis. She was a warm and familiar and comforting hum in his head at all times. He knew everyone was trying to help him, but he wanted to be able to help himself. Sometimes he forgot things, and sometimes he felt overwhelmed by everything, but John knew who he was. He knew the man he had been and he was still that man. Inside. He just didn't know how to get him back out and Carson wasn't helping. No one was.
"Later!" John repeated, sharply, pushing the tray away again. He was getting frustrated because he really wasn't trying to be difficult. His stomach was churning and he knew he'd puke if he tried to swallow any more soup. But trying to explain that to Carson took more energy and time than John could expend at the moment. Fighting to say a few simple words, to make someone understand him, just left him feeling more frustrated.
"Colonel!" Carson was angry now and letting it show. He grabbed the tray table and was about to move it back over in front of John when Rodney suddenly appeared.
Looking between John and Carson, Rodney caught on to the tension quickly enough. "What's going on here?" he asked. "Food fight?"
Carson glared at Rodney, then shook his head at himself. "The Colonel and I are just having a wee bit of a disagreement. That's all."
"Over soup?" Rodney peered into the mug.
"He needs to eat," Carson stated, flatly.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "He knows that." He glanced over at John. "You know that, right?"
It amused John that Rodney was trying to play peace maker. It also pleased him, because he knew that Rodney was on his side. He knew that Rodney had been there all along, trying to help him. He remembered Azur as a warm and comforting presence through his time in hell. "Sick," John said, patting his stomach. Rodney seemed to catch on to his abbreviated comments and what he was trying to say, better than anyone else. Although Teyla was a fair interpreter as well.
"You'll blow chunks if you eat any more?" Rodney guessed, clarifying for Carson's sake.
"Yes." John was relieved that Rodney got it and explained it for him. Of course he could have tried harder himself instead of getting mad, but he got so frustrated and tired that it was almost easier to just get mad.
Carson's anger instantly deflated. "Why didn't you say so," he said to John, then he waved a hand at him. "Never mind, it doesn't matter now. Get some rest and we'll try the soup again later."
But John wasn't ready to go back to sleep yet. He reached out and gripped Carson's wrist, stopping him from fiddling with the blankets. His grip was loose and his hand trembled, but he didn't let go. "Shower," John stated, because Carson had promised him last night that he could take one today.
"I said you could, didn't I?" Carson countered, looking unhappy. "A promise is a promise, Colonel," he allowed, but he shook a finger when John smiled at him. "But you can't do it alone. You can't stand up that long and you know it. I'll let you shower but I go with you."
John scowled, because he was tired of Carson being an ever-hovering presence over him. "I'll...be..." John had to search for the word he wanted, getting angry when it wouldn't come. He slammed a weak fist into the mattress, then it hit him and he mumbled, "...fine."
Carson heaved a tired sigh. "But you're not fine, son. Not yet, and you know it. You go in a wheel chair and I'll help you wash up, then it's back to bed. But I'll let you wear your own clothes, if that'll help. Sweats and a t-shirt instead of scrubs."
It would help, but John had planned on asking for that anyway. He was so tired of being confronted with how weak and helpless he was that he was pretty much ready to just forgo the shower, even though he'd been dying for one for the past two days. Sponge baths just didn't cut it, and he hated being treated like an invalid by the nurses. And what made things even worse was that everything seemed so very clear and obvious and logical in his head, but when he tried to say things or do things, nothing worked right. Not his mind, or voice or body. It made him frustrated enough to want to scream.
"I'll help him with his shower," Rodney interjected, speaking almost too loudly. He winced and lowered his voice to add, "Carson you can send someone for the sweats and the Colonel and I will handle the rest." Rodney turned his head and winked at John as he spoke.
Which gave John hope, which he was in dire need of at the moment. He knew that Rodney would let him do this on his own. Rodney was helping him but wouldn't smother him and John was grateful. So he looked at Carson and was ready to find the words needed to beg.
But Carson was nodding. "Fine, that'll be fine then. If the Colonel agrees."
"Yes," John whispered, smiling again.
So a few minutes later he found himself in a wheel chair and being pushed to the bathroom by Rodney. To his relief, Rodney babbled all the way about all kinds of things. John didn't really follow much of it, as his own thoughts were meandering around. They flitted back and forth between his present and the other's past and it was giving him a bit of a headache.
But he didn't mind. The babble kept him better focused over all, and distracted him enough during the process of getting out of the chair and undressed and in the shower on wobbling legs. But he did it on his own and he was proud of himself.
"I'll be right outside!" Rodney shouted to him. "Call if you need me. Okay?"
"'Kay!" John called back, after a moment of silence. During which he had to figure out to reply in English, not Ancient. Ancient seemed to come more readily to him. Elizabeth might understand him, maybe Rodney a little, but he couldn't communicate with anyone else that way.
A muffled knocking sound on the door then Rodney was saying, "Carson just brought your clothes, so get washed and then we'll get you back to bed.
John knew it was Rodney's way of telling him to do what he had to do but do it fast before he wasn't able to get it done on his own. Wise words, because what little strength John had mustered was already fading fast. In fact, just soaping himself up, which took a while to coordinate as it was, left him panting and leaning against the warm, tiled, wall. Which ended up being a good thing. He could feel Atlantis humming to him. She was always with him, but he could connect to her more by touch.
His connect with her gave John the energy burst he needed to rinse off. Getting the soap out of his hair took the longest. His hair was way too long now, but he'd worry about that later. Right now he knew that getting out, dried off and dressed was going to be a chore.
Not so surprisingly, Rodney was right there when John opened the door to the shower. He had a towel ready and he was all babbling and business as he got John dried and dressed. It was done so quickly and efficiently that John didn't even have time to be upset at the fact that he was being handled as if he were a toddler. All he cared about right now was getting back to bed. He was pretty sure he dozed off in the wheel chair ride from the bathroom to his bed.
"Sleep, Sheppard," Rodney was saying.
He was so tired that falling asleep would be a simple matter of closing his eyes. But he was tired of feeling so weak and useless and stupid and confused. He wanted some control back over himself and his life. So just to prove that he wasn't weak and a baby, John kept his eyes open and shook his head. Not a smart thing to do, since the movement sent spikes of pain through his temples and the headache that had been more of an annoyance than anything, became a full blown pain in the head.
"Sheppard?" Rodney was leaning over him, his eyes filled with worry, which was reflected in his tone. "You okay?"
"Siev," John mumbled, then cursed himself. He searched his aching brain for the English word. "S-sure," he stuttered, then he had to close his eyes and breathe through the sudden nausea that was roiling in his stomach.
Rodney, apparently, didn't believe him because he was stepping away and calling for Carson.
John couldn't find the words to stop him. Then Beckett was there and there was a pinch in his arm and soothing coolness and John wanted to weep in relief as the pain faded away. He tried to thank Carson, but the words would just thick sounds in his mouth, then everything faded to black.
OoO
Ten hours passed before he woke up. His head still ached but he didn't mention it when Carson came bustling over to his bed and began fussing. He accepted help to the bathroom without saying a word, letting himself be tucked back into bed. He took a sip of water but refused a mug of soup or any other food. He wasn't hungry. He wanted to be left alone in his misery. None of them could understand what he felt like, how hard it was to be so weak and alone. No one but Atlantis, who wrapped her warm comfort around him like a blanket. She understood him like no one else could. John clung to her, not missing the fact that he was like a child holding tight to his mother. He had to hold on tight. If he lost her, he would be lost himself.
OoO
Rodney listened as Carson updated Elizabeth and the usual suspects on Sheppard's condition. He knew the Colonel wasn't doing well, that he had retreated into himself. It frustrated Rodney as much as it made him angry. He wanted his friend back. But he knew they couldn't snap their fingers and make it happen. Still, he hated feeling like they were doing nothing and said as much. "Enough with the mumbo jumbo, Carson. We know what's wrong with Sheppard. What we don't know is how to fix him."
"He's not a broken toy, Rodney," Carson shot back, looking vexed. "It's not that simple."
"Make it that simple!" Rodney snapped. "What you've been doing isn't helping. He's getting worse. So let's change what we can."
Elizabeth looked intrigued. "What do you have in mind, Rodney?" she prompted.
He was glad she asked. "How about putting him in a new environment? He has to be sick of the infirmary. For one thing, he's prominently on display there and we all know he hates being the center of attention." Rodney knew, better than anyone, how much Sheppard hated being the focus of people. He liked to blend in with them instead. So he would do what he could to that end.
But Carson was shaking his head. "He needs full time supervision, Rodney. Developmentally he likes a toddler right now."
"We can take care of him," Teyla spoke up. Because she and Rodney and Ronon had discussed this before hand. She gestured to the three of them now. "We are his team, we will watch over him."
"You don't understand what's involved," Carson protested.
But Rodney shut him down. "He'd do it for us," he pointed out, which appeared to hit home with Beckett.
Heaving a sigh, Carson nodded. "Aye, that he would. But you're going to have to be with him at all times. At least one of you."
"I know." Rodney was way ahead of Beckett. "Ronon found the perfect place and it's just a transporter ride away from the infirmary so you'd have easy access to him if needed." Rodney turned to Elizabeth. "Don't take this personally, but we've already moved ourselves in. It's a huge suite of rooms on the sixth level and I've set it up so we can be self sufficient in every way. Sheppard won't want for anything. I've even made up a schedule so that the Colonel will have someone with him at all times." Which he meant in a very general way. He knew Sheppard would want to be alone at times and they would give him his space, while being close enough to take care of him if needed.
"You should have cleared this with me first," Elizabeth scolded, but she was smiling. "But I'll let it pass this time. How soon could you move Sheppard in?"
Rodney shrugged. "Right now, if Beckett approves it."
They all looked to Carson who looked a bit stunned. But he shook it off and slowly nodded. "All right, but I'm going to send some basic equipment over for monitoring and a nurse will be checking in on the Colonel every eight hours, at least for a while."
"Fair enough," Rodney agreed, trying to be nonchalant. Because, truth be told, he hadn't really figured on either Elizabeth or Carson approving the move. He rose from his chair, fighting a huge grin. "I'll go tell Sheppard." Then he was gone, practically skipping out the door. Once in the transporter he let his smile out even as he sagged against the wall in relief. Rodney was positive that getting Sheppard out of the infirmary would be a step in the right direction. He didn't need medicine to fix him right now. All he needed was his friends.
OoO
John dreamed about Kolya invading Atlantis, but the Genii commander morphed into a man called Eleeis. A soldier in some other army from long ago. John killed him, blood staining his hands and robes, only it wasn't him, it was someone else. But the memory of it and the smell of blood was so fresh that John startled awake, shaking and staring at his hands. They were clean but the scent of blood clung to his nostrils and he felt sick to his stomach.
"Sheppard?"
He tried to ease his ragged breathing as he turned his head to find Rodney standing there. "Wa-ter," John requested. He let Azur, no - Rodney- hold it for him. He felt better after a few sips and he settled back against the pillows, trying not to shiver as the cold sweat dried on his skin.
But Rodney noticed. "You okay?"
John managed to nod appropriately, after a moment.
"I have some good news," Rodney said, then he blurted everything out about moving from the infirmary and into a set of rooms with Rodney, Ronon and Teyla.
It was supposed to be good news, John knew that, but he felt nothing. He knew Rodney was trying to help him, but he also knew it wasn't enough. There was nothing to be done, nothing they could do. From the corner of his eye he saw Carson approaching, then a heavy hand was pressed to his forehead.
"Are you feeling all right, Colonel?" Carson queried.
John's response was to roll onto his side, his back to them. He closed his eyes and waited for them to leave him alone. He heard them step away, but then they were talking in hushed voices. He didn't even try to listen, even though he heard his name. Instead he reached out to Atlantis, letting her soothe him back into slumber.
He embraced the quiet darkness.
THE END..of part 18
Top of Form
Bottom of Form