THE WHITE ROOM - Part 19

John tried to open his eyes, but it felt like they were glued shut. He moved his hand to rub away the crust that had his eyelashes bound together, but had trouble getting his fingers to the right place. He settled for scrubbing his whole face in an effort to remove the offending crud. Seconds after waking, he found himself frustrated at the difficulty of performing such a simple task.

Blinking heavily, he shifted in the bed and then stopped, lying still. Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon sat on the adjacent bed watching him. He suddenly felt like a bug under a microscope, causing him to squirm under the covers. "Ohe!"

Ronon and Teyla frowned and looked at him strangely. John cringed and rubbed his head, thinking. He finally dropped his hand and looked back up at them. "Uh, hey."

Teyla smiled and nodded. "I'm glad you are awake."

Ronon slid off the bed and clasped his hands together. "It's moving day, Sheppard."

John had a moment of panic, trying to figure out what Ronon was talking about. His expression must have given him away, because Rodney stood and stepped over to stand beside him. "We fixed up a suite of rooms for the team to stay in, remember? Carson says we can take you there as long we abide by his New York telephone book size list of rules. We've got everything ready to move you in."

The conversation with Rodney finally surfaced in John's memory and he gave a slight nod. "I 'member," he said neutrally.

Teyla looked at Ronon and then Rodney before looking back at John. She walked over and put her hand on his. "Do you want to go with us?"

John looked at her hand on his for several moments. What he really wanted was to be left completely alone until his mind and body worked again. Every waking minute was humiliation, frustration, and embarrassment for him. He hated it more than anything he could remember. He felt slow and stupid most of the time. But when he looked up into Teyla's eyes, he didn't see pity. He saw compassion.

"Carson says that you will get better, John. It will not always be like this. But it will take hard work and support. As your team, we would like to help you with that if you will let us."

John looked from Teyla to Rodney and then to Ronon. He saw the same look in each face. They were his team. He nodded and flashed them a weak smile.

Rodney clapped him on the shoulder. "Good, now that the mushy stuff is over, I'll get the wheelchair. Better yet, Ronon, you get the wheelchair. You're the muscle in this group."

Ronon gave a small, non-threatening growl and then went to get a wheelchair. He returned a minute later with Carson in tow.

"Colonel, I see your team is trying to sneak you out without a final check. I'm afraid you're corrupting them, lad."

John did his best to look indignant. "Not my . . . idea," he stammered.

Carson smirked as he pulled out his stethoscope. "Aye, likely story. Just let me have a listen to your heart and lungs." John sat silent and still as Carson did his thing. When finished, the doctor stood up and looked at him silently for a moment. He then placed his hand on John's forehead. "Are you feeling all right?"

John gave a short nod. In truth, his head hurt a little, but then it almost always did any more. He had come to think of that as normal. "I'm 'kay."

Carson frowned and continued to study John, making him nervous. "You feel a might warm and you haven't been eating lately. Maybe we should postpone this move for a day or two."

John didn't want to be in the infirmary any more. He felt like he was on display, everyone stopping by to see the brain damaged colonel who couldn't even feed himself without making a mess. He was tired of the whispers and the sad looks. "No. Go," he pleaded, not caring how pathetic he sounded.

Carson sighed and crossed his arms. He finally nodded. "All right, you can go. But I'll be keeping a close check." He smiled as he relaxed his arms and let them drop to his sides. "After all, I wouldn't want you to be starting any trouble."

John's mouth twitched into a shaky smile. "No trouble."

Carson stepped aside so that Rodney and Ronon could help John out of bed and into the wheelchair. Teyla picked up the blanket and draped it over the Colonel's lap, tucking it in around the edges until he weakly tried to push her hand away. "Not a baby," he mumbled.

Teyla arched one eyebrow as she straightened, but didn't say anything. She moved to one side so that Ronon could push the wheelchair out of the infirmary. Elizabeth met them in the hall on the way to the transporter, Carson and his medical bag bringing up the rear of the parade.

"Good, I made it in time," she said as she joined the group. "John, are you excited about moving out of the infirmary?"

John nodded as they stopped by the transporter. He stared down at his hands self-consciously, wishing he could hide somewhere. With words either eluding him completely or getting mixed up, he was always afraid to say much. Sometimes he seemed to have very little control over his thoughts or his speech. He looked up at the gentle touch on his shoulder to see Elizabeth looking at him with a small smile.

"Hang in there. My mother used to tell us this too will pass when things weren't going well, and they always did. We'll do everything we can to make it go faster and easier."

John nodded. "Gratiae . . . uh, thanks." John was grateful when Ronon pushed the wheelchair into the transporter. They arrived at the rooms a few minutes later. John was surprised at how homey the place looked. They entered a central area that had been set up as a living room, complete with a green battered couch and matching chair that looked like they'd been rescued from a yard sale. John almost laughed at the mismatch of furniture and crate end tables.

"Who . . . dec . . . dec . . . "

"Decorated?" asked Rodney.

John nodded.

Elizabeth chuckled. "Why, do you like it? We could redo your quarters when you move back."

"We call it early outer galaxy hodgepodge," said Rodney. "And don't be insulting it. I had to give all my chocolate and half my special dark roast coffee stash for the couch. Just remember not to sit on it unless there's someone here to help you get up. And I'm not just talking to Sheppard. This thing will seriously suck you in."

"I like it," said Ronon, grinning as he plopped down and sank into the deep cushions.

"You would," muttered Rodney.

John grinned, his defenses dropping as he felt himself relaxing. It seemed so normal for a moment. He scanned the room to see what appeared to be a small kitchen and eating area directly across from the door. The Ancient version of a sink and cupboards were against the wall and a table with chairs sat on the floor in front of the area. He assumed the hall to the left of the kitchen led off to the bedrooms.

Carson kneeled in front of him, getting his attention. "How are you doing, Colonel? Do you feel like eating or would you rather lie down?"

John was tired, but not sleepy. Looking toward the kitchen, he decided he was hungry. "Eat," he said. He didn't relish the idea of struggling with utensils, but better in front of his friends than an endless parade of people he barely knew. He was further pleased with his decision when Carson practically beamed at him.

"Good. I have Kelly bringing some soup in a minute, just in case you were hungry."

John grunted. He should have figured.

"What about the rest of us?" asked Rodney. "Did you send out for food for us too?"

Carson sighed and shook his head. "I'm not running a bloody catering service, Rodney. Your legs are fine. Walk to the mess hall. Actually, the exercise would be good for you."

Rodney rolled his eyes dramatically, making sure John could see. "You know, a simple no would have sufficed. Someone got up on the wrong side of his bedside manner."

Carson looked relieved at a knock on the door and went to answer it. Kelly brought in a mug of soup and a small bowl of pudding and set them on the table. Carson thanked her and then walked over to the counter, pulling a straw from a package. He placed it in the mug and moved it to sit in front of John, who had been pushed up to the table by Ronon.

"I don't think it's too hot to drink, Colonel, but you should be careful." John nodded and leaned forward, taking the straw between his lips. He slowly took a sip, the warmth feeling good as it slid down his throat. He looked up to find Carson and the whole team watching him and quickly looked down at the table. How pathetic were you when drinking soup from a straw became a spectator sport.

John's reaction caused the others to realize they had been staring and everyone quickly averted their eyes and began moving around to break the awkward silence. Rodney walked up to the cabinets and began browsing through them. "Did we stock anything in here besides junk food?"

"Nope," said Ronon. "You said junk food was the most important food group."

Carson rolled his eyes. "Rodney, are you trying to get your whole team to die from sugar or salt poisoning?"

"Hey, we're doing just fine, thank you very much." He narrowed his eyes and leaned slightly to see around Carson. "Sheppard is starting to list."

John winced. Caught. He knew he'd been leaning increasingly to one side, but he just didn't have the strength to right himself. Ronon came up behind him and almost lifted him from the chair, setting him back upright. His faced flushed slightly. "Sorry."

Carson noted that the soup was almost gone. "Do you need some more soup?"

John's stomach felt almost overly full. No way it was holding more without making him sick. "No."

Carson nodded. "You did well, lad. What about the pudding?"

John looked at the small bowl. He wanted the pudding, but he knew better than to eat it now. He looked up at Carson. "Later?"

Carson nodded. "We'll save it for later then." He noticed Rodney looking at the pudding and pulled the bowl closer to him. "Rodney, this is not for you. Colonel Sheppard needs to eat and you'll not be stealing his food."

Rodney huffed. "I have my own junk food, Carson, I don't need to resort to taking Sheppard's."

"Good to hear." Carson looked down to find John already starting to lean to one side again. "Colonel, I think it's time to get you in bed."

"Not . . . sleepy." John wasn't sleepy. He hadn't even been awake very long and he was sick of sleeping all the time. The problem was that he was already incredibly tired. His energy reserves got used up almost instantly. He was back to feeling weak and useless. Buck up and quit whining, Sheppard.

"You don't have to go to sleep, but you don't need to overdo it. It's amazing how much energy it takes just to sit in a wheelchair when you've been ill for an extended period. I know you want to get better and I know you want it to go faster than it is. But the truth is, it's going to take time. You're body's been traumatized . . . and your brain as well. You have to give yourself time to heal."

John nodded, knowing the doctor was right. He winced, the movement making the pain in his head sharpen. Carson noticed. "Ronon, would you help me get him to bed?"

Ronon nodded and came up behind Carson as he wheeled John down the hall and into the first bedroom. Rodney and Teyla followed. Carson put the wheelchair next to the bed and he and Ronon helped John up and into the bed. Carson arranged the pillows behind John so that he was sitting when he leaned back against them.

"All right, Colonel, I've got to get back to the infirmary now, but someone will be by in a few hours to check on you."

John looked up at Carson and gave a small nod. "Thanks."

Carson nodded. "If you need something before then or begin to feel poorly, let one of them know and they can call me. I'm going to leave you some Tylenol for that headache."

After a brief nod, Teyla and Ronon left with Carson and Rodney pulled up a chair. "So, you said you weren't sleepy. Feel like working on your reading skills?"

John's eyebrows rose. "Reading?"

"Yep. Carson said you've already been working on the letters, but you're having trouble putting them together in words. I have a little something to help with that." He opened his hand to reveal a stack of index cards. Rodney reached out to grab a rolling tray table like the ones in the infirmary and adjusted the height so that it fit over John's lap. He then pulled the rubber band from around the stack of cards and set the first one on the table. Someone had written a word in block letters with marker. "Okay, first, what are the letters?"

John looked at them, concentrating. "C – A – T."

Rodney nodded. "Good. And C-A-T spells cat."

John stared down at the card. "Cat." He couldn't come up with the word himself, but now that Rodney had told him, it sounded right. He drilled the letters and the word into his mind, trying to make it stick. Rodney set another card on top.

"Okay, now this one."

"C-A-N."

"Right. And C-A-N spells can. See the difference. Cat. Can."

John moved the top card over a little so he could see them both at once. "Cat. Can."

"Good. Now try this," he said as he set out another card. They continued for another thirty minutes before John began to feel himself drift. He jerked his head up when he suddenly realized he'd drifted off and let his chin slide to his chest. Rodney was sitting in the chair grinning at him. "Quidnam?" What?

"Nothing. Just thinking it's time for you to rest before you give yourself a pain in the neck instead of just being one."

Rodney was insulting him and it felt good. It felt normal. He didn't delude himself into thinking that anything was actually normal, but the banter at least gave him a tiny moment of relief from the overwhelming sense of tragedy. He was worn enough not to argue. And despite the pain reliever Beckett had left, the intense concentration of the past half hour had left his head pounding.

John allowed Rodney to rearrange his pillows so he could lie back, but was thankful when the scientist didn't try to adjust his covers. He was barely horizontal when he let the pull of sleep overcome him.

oOo

He was running through a forest, his lungs burning in his chest as he fought to keep his feet underneath him.

"Wraith!"

Seeing movement in his side vision, he turned to his right and immediately fired at the advancing Wraith, along with the people around him. A few of them fell, but there were so many that they were overtaken almost immediately. Pain exploded as he was hurled several yards through the air to land awkwardly on a stump. He heard the snap of bone at the same time he felt the bone in his back give way. Dark spots danced in his vision as he fought to breathe through the fire that raced up his back. Oblivious to everything but the pain, he fought to stay conscious. He didn't know how long it lasted, but suddenly everything was quiet. He lifted his head to see nothing but misty fog swirling near the ground in the dim moonlight. When he tried to get up, he was dismayed to find he couldn't seem to get going. It took several times before he realized the problem. He couldn't feel or move his legs.

He lay panting in fear for a long time, afraid to cry out for fear of bringing Wraith instead of help. But after a while, he no longer cared. He wasn't walking out of here and he didn't want to lay here and die alone. "Help? Can anyone hear me?" No one answered. There was no sound except for the sound of his heavy breathing. It occurred to him that everyone was dead or gone and he'd been left alone, his back broken, leaving him unable to move. He would die here. . . eventually.

"Adjuvare . . . placere adjuvare." Please help.

He jerked as something touched his arm and opened his eyes. Teyla's wide eyes looked down at him in worry. She was rubbing his arm gently. "John, are you awake now?"

He looked up at her, his frantic breaths beginning to slow as he realized he was back in Atlantis and safe. He closed his eyes and tried to swallow, but his mouth was incredibly dry. "I'm . . . kay." He kicked at the covers, his shirt stuck to his torso with sweat and his hair plastered to his head. "Hot."

Teyla gave a small smile, but she still looked worried. She got up from her position of sitting on the side of the bed and returned a few seconds later with a glass of water and a straw. He didn't fight as she helped him sit up and handed him the glass, keeping a steadying hand underneath his. He drank the cool water and relished how good it tasted, at how soothing it felt sliding down his throat. When he was finished, she set it on the table beside the bed and helped him lay back down.

"Dream?"

John nodded. "Bad . . . like memories . . . but . . . not mine."

Teyla took his hand and held it. "Rodney says that the information that was downloaded into your mind included some personal memories of some of the Ancestors. Many of them were soldiers. Many of them suffered horrible things."

John frowned and rubbed the side of his head. "Take . . . " He floundered for a moment, searching for the word. "Take out."

Teyla looked down at his hand briefly before making eye contact again. "Rodney and Carson say that cannot be done. They feel that, in time, you will be able to manage the new information and the memories."

John looked away and closed his eyes. His head throbbed and he felt like he was suffocating. That was not what he had wanted to hear. He decided all this lying in bed was taking a heavy toll because his whole body felt achy.

A noise at the door had them both looking up to see Rodney and Carson enter. "See, I told you he'd be awake," said Rodney.

Teyla stood as Carson came over to sit on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling, Colonel?"

John shifted over a bit to give Carson more room. "Hot."

Carson took in the damp shirt and hair, along with the beads of sweat on his patient's face. "I can see that."

"I believe John was having a nightmare," said Teyla.

Carson took John's pulse, blood pressure, and temperature before breaking out his stethoscope. When finished, he sat looking at John for a moment. "You still have the headache?"

"Yeah. Tired."

Carson nodded. "You're running a bit of fever. Your lungs are clear so far, thank goodness. With you being down so long and not getting proper nutrition, I'm afraid your immune system isn't what it should be. I suspected you were headed this direction when you felt a bit warm earlier, so I came prepared. We'll get you started on some antibiotics and hopefully this won't get any worse, but you'll probably still feel under the weather for a few days."

John shifted in the bed, trying to find a comfortable position, but didn't say anything. What was there to say? He wasn't even surprised.

Carson stood and patted him on the shoulder. "It's not so bad, just a mild infection. Let's just be sure we keep it that way. I'll just get your medication and be right back. Rodney said you made good progress with the words. I think as you work on it, the reading will come back to you." He grabbed the empty glass on the table, taking it with him.

Carson returned in a few minutes with a refilled glass of water and some pills. "Here you go, your antibiotic and some Tylenol for the fever and aches."

John went to put all three pills in his mouth, but managed to drop one. When he tried to pick it up, he spilled the water and dropped the other two pills. Angry and frustrated, he threw the half-empty glass across the room. Thankfully it was plastic, so it didn't shatter. For one brief second, when the cup connected with the wall, he felt a splash of satisfaction. Then he looked up at Carson's stern face and felt foolish.

"Feel better?"

John just dropped his head and stared at the wet spot on his blanket. "Nulla." No, he just felt stupid.

Carson picked up the three pills and set them on the table. "I'll get you some more water and then we'll get your blankets changed." After reclaiming the cup from the floor, he left the room. John sulked, wishing he had the strength to crawl out of bed and hide. Now he was having temper tantrums like a five year old. He almost smiled. At least that fit his ability level. If he was going to be five, he might as well act five.

"All right, Colonel, let's try this again, but more slowly." Carson strolled over to the bed and handed John one pill and the cup. John sighed. And now he was being treated like he was five. He supposed he deserved it. Concentrating, he managed to get the pill to his mouth without dropping it. He repeated the performance two more times until he'd taken all his medicine like a good little boy. Carson took the now empty cup. "Good job, Colonel."

John looked up at him petulantly. "No . . . s-s-s-sticker?"

Carson smiled and shook his head. "Not until you learn not to throw your cup. I don't blame you for being frustrated, you know. I would be. I'm just thankful for plastic."

John averted his eyes back down to the bed. "Sorry."

"I know you are, lad. And I'm sorry we let you get in this state in the first place. But we'll muddle through. Now, let's get you a dry blanket." Carson pulled the blanket off the bed and was happy to see it was the only thing wet. He pulled a new one from the inset shelves on one side of the room and spread it over the bed. John just pushed them off, making a sour face.

"Hot."

Carson nodded as he folded the blanket back to the foot of the bed. "I know you are now, but you may be cold after while if your fever breaks. I want this to be in easy reach."

"Kay."

Carson arranged the pillows so that John was sitting up more. "There. I think Rodney has gone to get a movie for you to watch. They're making a place for you up there so you can all watch the movie together. And if you eat well at supper, there is a surprise for dessert. Rodney found some ice cream and don't ask me where. It may be better that we don't know."

John's eyes went wide. "Ice cream?"

Carson laughed at John's reaction. "Aye, ice cream."

John smiled and nodded. "Feel better."

Carson put his hands on his hips. "So all this time, the only medicine we really needed was ice cream. Who knew?"

TBC