Author's note:- many apologies for the prolonged absence but I've been concentrating on writing the story that I promised as an auction donation. Here finally is chapter 4 I hope you enjoy .
Quick recap Sheppard has been found in his quarters, blood pouring from his self inflicted neck wound. He is convinced he has become one of Michael's blue Iratus/human hybrid monsters. All the others see is a very distressed Sheppard. Is he losing his mind or is there more to it?
Chapter 4 : Stop me
"Teyla please," Sheppard was begging. Sheppard never begged. "Please just leave. I don't want you to see me like this, to remember me like this." She moved to touch his arm, and he jerked it away from her as much as the restraints would allow. He didn't want her to touch the hard blue coating on the clawed appendage, it didn't even seem like an arm any more and the ugly clawed ending was most definitely not a hand. How could she stand to look at him, to touch him? "Don't," he said plaintively
Teyla pulled her own hand away, tears clearly forming and holding on the edge of large brown eyes. She had never seen John like this, never seen him emotional like this, not when he had been dying with a bug clamped to his throat, not when the retrovirus had been slowly and inevitably turning him into a wraith like creature, not even when he was tied down by Kolya and his life was being drained from him by a wraith. Even facing that he had remained strong, stoic, but now. . . .? Whatever was happening to him, it was tearing him apart and the worst part of it was that she did not know what or why, and if she did not know she could not help.
No one could.
"John," she tried to meet his gaze but he looked away with what she could only interpret as embarrassment. "You need to tell us what is wrong. If you do not we cannot help you."
There was something about the question, the way she had phrased it. 'tell us what is wrong,' but that was glaringly obvious, wasn't it?
Wasn't it?
He dismissed the question, confusion seemed a natural state, not that he could deny any longer what had happened to him. He turned to meet her gaze for the briefest of moments, but he couldn't take the sincerity, the compassion. Despite what she knew he'd become, she still wanted to help him. They still wanted to help him.
Hell of course they did. This was his team, his base, never give up, never say die. They had survived more times than any one group of people had a right to expect against impossible odds, and as for his own personal track record on miracles, they'd already seen him nearly turn into a wraith, and he'd come back from that, come back from a feeding. Why wouldn't they expect the impossible, expect a miracle. He shook his head, not this time.
This time was different Michael was the only one who knew how his genetic experiment worked, and if it was reversible, which he doubted. Only Michael would have any hope of knowing what to do and John was pretty sure that he'd pissed him off enough that even if they found him he would die before helping. Beckett had been able to reverse his own experiment by virtue of knowing so much about it. Even he would not be able to fix what Michael had done and he wasn't around to even try.
John Sheppard knew that he was screwed this time. Now he just had to convince the others before he did something that would hurt one of them. He had to get them to understand that they needed to kill him, sooner rather than later, had to convince Teyla to give up on him. "Teyla," he held his hand out to her. There wasn't even a hesitation before she placed her hand in his. "You, have to realize that I'm dangerous." As he spoke he began to squeeze her hand, increasing the pressure to the point where he knew he was causing pain. He hoped that she'd forgive him, that she'd understand once he was gone that this was necessary. It didn't make it any easier to go through with. He bit his lip, steeling himself to do what he could never do under normal circumstances.
But this was not normal circumstances, and it was the only way. He had to believe it was the only way.
"John," she gasped as the bones began to grind together. "Stop, please you're hurting me."
John held her gaze this time, he didn't know what his new alien eyes looked like but he hoped they had the necessary intensity. He forced himself to continue increasing the pressure. If he didn't really hurt her then his message wouldn't be conveyed, and better a bruised and sore hand than something much worse, but no matter how much he justified his actions to himself it didn't ease the guilt as he looked into pained eyes, and he almost let go, almost released her.
No! He didn't know how much longer he would stay in control, stay lucid, to him the physical transformation looked to already be complete, his psyche couldn't be far behind. He didn't want to maim or kill. He needed to stop Teyla from seeing him as a victim who could be saved and start seeing him as the threat that he was. He kept squeezing. "You have to stay away from me. Tell everyone."
He was fighting himself now, fighting his own instincts; he could feel the tears forming in alien eyes. He had to convince her, had to press harder, had to forget what he was doing and who he was doing it to, because squeezing harder was his only hope now. He closed his eyes shut off his emotions. He had to. . .
Teyla tried hard to suppress the cry, as John twisted her wrist and pressed harder. She might have been able to stop him, if she'd been prepared to hurt him, but. . . "Aagh, John!" She felt the bone snap, a white flash of pain traveled up her arm, and her senses wiped for a moment. When the world returned to focus, Rodney was holding her in his arms, and a dangerous looking Ronan held Sheppard's hand twisted in his, his gun aimed at Sheppard's head.
"Sheppard what the hell. . .?" Rodney started, but he had no real idea where to go with the question.
John's own thoughts had whited out with the cry of pain and he was full of remorse and regret long before the Satedan grabbed his hand and forced the release of an already limp grip. He stared up into Ronan's eyes. Ronan would understand, if not now then in the future. More importantly Ronan would act. He would do something now before things went any further.
John hated himself, but he knew it was inevitable, a forerunner to the coming madness. "You need to stay away from me, keep everyone away from me." He stated. "Lock me up, or kill me before I hurt someone."
"You just did," Ronan stated, his gun unwavering from Sheppard's temple.
"Then pull the trigger," Sheppard said hopefully, at least that would end the nightmare, at least everyone would be safe.
"It's set to kill not stun," Ronan stated, because he needed to know the reaction to his lie.
"Good," Sheppard stated and closed his eyes.
There was a moment of electric tension, the room set in a memorable tableau, an image that burned into everyone's memory as though they were an observer and not a participant.
Ronan lowered his arm, holstered his weapon and without looking back strode out of the cubicle.
Sheppard didn't see him but he felt the disturbance of air that accompanied the tall man's movements. He opened his eyes and watched his one hope of a swift end leaving. "No," he shouted out, he'd gone further than he intended, really hurt Teyla, that should be enough, they had to stop him. He was losing control, they had to. . . . Muscles strained against the restraints as he tried to get up, tried to follow. "No, come back! You have to end this!" He pulled harder as anger and frustration took over. He didn't want to, he couldn't live like this. He had to. . "No, Teyla, Rodney, make him come back, make him. . . ." He looked down at the padded leather straps holding his wrists, pulling on them, flexing the hideous claws.
Rodney was still holding Teyla in an uncharacteristic protective embrace. She cradled her hand, both of them watched Sheppard, unsure of how to react to this Sheppard. He was afraid and angry and frustrated and, more importantly, all of those emotions were on clear view. They wanted, needed to help him, but how?
"You need to leave now." Neither of them had noticed Dr. Keller coming up behind them
Teyla moved, shifted out of Rodney's arms as they both turned to look at the doctor.
Dr Keller was doing her best to hold it together, this was her job now, and her first responsibility was to look after Sheppard.
"But. . ." Teyla began, she didn't want to believe that there wasn't something she could do to ease her friend's pain.
"Go, Please, I'll be out in a minute." She glanced across at the bed. "I need to help him."
Both Teyla and Rodney followed the glance with one of their own. It was enough to stop any further protests. Rodney, whose hands hadn't really moved despite the fact that he was no longer holding Teyla dropped them and pointed with both towards the exit. He was torn between being grateful for the escape and wanting desperately to help Sheppard get back to normal, and then there was the guilt for wanting to escape when Sheppard so clearly needed. . . "We'll er. . .go," he said awkwardly.
Dr Keller gave them an encouraging smile before moving to the drugs cabinet. She needed to calm her patient and quickly, because he was already in danger of ripping out recently applied stitches not to mention the damage he could do, even with the padding on the restraints.
She approached the bed cautiously, Sheppard was still pulling against the restraints. He stopped and watched as she lifted up the IV line to administer the injection.
"No, please," he said plaintively. "You have to stop me."
"It's all right Colonel," Keller said soothingly, pushing the dose of sedative to mix with the IV fluids. "Everything's going to be all right."
"Please," John tried again, his system giving into the drugs as he melted back onto the bed. "Stop me." He said as his eyes drifted closed.
Only then did Dr Keller feel confident enough to gently brush sweat soaked hair back from Sheppard's face. Her fingers lingering for a moment as her hand drifted down the pale skin of his cheek. "But what do you want me to stop you from doing?"
TO BE CONTINUED. . . .