I must apologise for not posting this sooner. Real life events overwhelmed me, as I met a certain Mr. Joe Flanigan recently. Suffice it to say, I've recovered from my momentary fangirlie squeeing – just about, and am now back on track with my writing! I blame Joe for everything!!!

Thanks go to Kodiak for her swift and thorough betaing!

Chapter 8.

"Carson. Is it okay for me to come in?"

Elizabeth's concerned and querying voice interrupted the doctor, who looked up from his painstaking work. Carson waved a slightly bloodied, gloved hand at Atlantis' leader, and smiled.

"Aye, lass. As you can see, I'm just finishing up here," he explained, as he tied off the last suture, snipped the thread, and dumped the suturing materials on a tray to the side of him, before snapping off his gloves and turning to the nurse assisting him.

"Can you dress this hand as well, Sarah?" he asked politely, as he pushed his chair back and stood, turning to face Elizabeth.

"I didn't mean to interrupt, I was a little anxious to see how John is," she apologised, a little sheepishly.

Carson patted Elizabeth on the arm affectionately and smiled sadly, knowing how difficult all of this was for everyone who cared about John. Ronon had been prowling around the infirmary, as had Rodney and Teyla before he'd sent them all away.

"You weren't interrupting, and I was just coming to find you anyway," Carson informed Elizabeth, as he gently led her to the bottom of John's bed, leaving Sarah ample room to wrap John's badly bruised and damaged hand.

Elizabeth studied John's prone form carefully. The sleeping man was pale, too pale, Elizabeth thought. His hair was stuck to his damp forehead, yet still managed to stick up at right angles to his head; its ebony a stark contrast to the alabaster of John's slack face. His features looked even more youthful than usual, and Elizabeth thought John looked innocent – untouched. A deep bruise was starting to form around the lump in the middle of his forehead. A nasal cannula was present under John's nose, and blankets covered him up to his armpits. His right hand was lying on a pad, covered with drips and smears of blood, waiting for Sarah to bandage it. His left hand lay to his other side and had been placed on a pillow to elevate the bandaged appendage. An IV snaked into the crook of John's left elbow, and Elizabeth saw the heart monitor to John's left side, reassuringly chirping regularly to let everyone know John was still alive. Her eyes followed the leads from the monitor up to where they disappeared underneath John's white scrub top. Of most concern to Elizabeth was that John was lying deathly still, except for the somewhat erratic movements of his chest as he breathed.

All in all, John looked like hell.

"I'm almost afraid to ask you how he is," Elizabeth whispered in a small, shaky voice.

Carson's eyebrows rose, and he tutted before answering the anxious woman next to him.

"Aye, I can't say I'm surprised," he answered soothingly. "He's a bit of a mess physically, and I can't even begin to guess how he is mentally, though he did seem pretty lucid right before he tried to bolt and Ronon shot him."

Elizabeth found her eyes wandering to John's hands, and she winced as she watched Sarah carefully lifting John's damaged hand. Elizabeth looked on as the nurse placed dressings carefully across John's sutured knuckles, before starting to wind a bandage carefully over the abused fist.

"What about his hands?" she asked quietly.

"They're going to hurt like hell tomorrow, I can tell you that much. I think the colonel will be regretting his little foray into boxing," Carson informed Elizabeth, with a hint of disapproval in his voice. "He managed to crack three bones in his left hand, but fortunately none in his right. He has multiple lacerations, and needed quite a few sutures in wounds that weren't easy to close. He has extensive bruising, not surprisingly. However, everything should heal nicely, all being well."

Elizabeth nodded distantly, as she continued to stare in fascination at the nurse's careful ministrations.

"What else?" she asked, as Sarah swept up the pad from underneath John's raised arm and gently laid the injured hand across his chest.

Carson exhaled and wearily massaged the back of his neck.

"He has a nasty bump on his head, and a moderate concussion, which makes it difficult for me to assess his present condition, as he's still out cold from the stunning he received. The combination of the two has me a little concerned, as we like to wake patients with concussions regularly, and I haven't been able to rouse the colonel yet. His scans are clear, but he needs careful monitoring," Carson explained, frustration showing in his voice. "He was badly dehydrated, which we're taking care of now, and his temp was a little down. His heart rate and BP were both pretty high when we first brought him here, though that's not surprising considering what the stupid lad had been doing."

Carson smiled as Sarah walked by him pushing a trolley with the used supplies on them. "Go and get yourself some coffee, love. I'll sit with Colonel Sheppard until you come back," he ordered kindly.

"Is he going to be okay?" Elizabeth asked as Sarah headed off.

"Aye, he should be, physically at least - barring any complications. His breathing's still a little erratic, probably down to exhaustion and Ronon's marksmanship. Obviously we'll have to wait until he wakes up to assess his mental condition. Who knows what effect watching those videos had on him? Poor lad, all by himself like that. Did Rodney tell you they found where he'd been hiding?" Elizabeth nodded without speaking. "He'd watched all three files, and had thrown up. I can't imagine why he wanted to look at the feedings," Carson uttered in disbelief.

"He wanted control, Carson. Just to watch them alone, in his own way, on his own terms," Elizabeth supplied.

"That sounds like him. What on Earth made him think punching his hands to shreds would solve anything?" Carson asked in confusion.

Elizabeth smiled and looked across fondly at John again.

"I think that was Ronon's doing, in a matter of speaking. He told me that John had asked him what he'd do if he were in John's position, and I think Ronon stated in no uncertain terms, that he'd beat the crap out of something, suck it up and move on," Elizabeth explained in a slightly amused voice. "Only, Ronon said that's what he'd do, not that John should do that – he was quite clear to tell me that." Elizabeth looked back at Carson and shrugged. "You never know, maybe this will have helped him – eased his frustration, helped him to come to terms with everything?"

Carson snorted before grabbing a pillow from the bed next to John's. Moving over to his patient, he gently lifted John's right hand and placed the pillow underneath it, to the side of the unconscious man.

"Maybe. But, he's made a mess of himself in the process. He and Ronon make a right bloody macho pair."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement, and started to walk away.

"You're not wrong there. Keep me informed, and Carson," Elizabeth paused and waited for the doctor to return her intense stare, "get some rest. You look exhausted."

Carson lowered himself into the chair next to John's bed, and smiled tiredly.

"I will in a little while, love."

Carson studied the monitors by John's bed and noted the readings.

"You're a daft bugger, aren't you, son?" he muttered affectionately. "Let's hope when you wake up your boxing bout has helped purge your demons some."

-oOo-

As soon as John opened his heavy eyes he wished he hadn't. The room was blurry, unfocused and bright, and as the second shapes started to become sharper, to take form, everything spun wildly in John's line of vision. Nausea instantly overwhelmed him, and he found himself groaning, swallowing convulsively and shutting his eyes to try and ease his vertigo.

Closing his eyes merely compounded the wild spinning, and John managed a soft groan as his nausea intensified. His head pounded as the vertigo consumed him, making John feel as if he were falling. As bile started to rise up his oesophagus, he tried to sit, but his body didn't seem to want to co-operate. Trying to roll onto his side, John let out another soft moan as he banged his right hand on the rail, and a whole new wave of pain washed over him. What the hell was wrong now? He swallowed again to try and quell the nausea that seemed determined to engulf him.

John gave up fighting the inevitable, and he found himself starting to curl in on himself as the pain from his head and hands competed for dominance. Just as he started to heave, strong hands lifted him, and something was thrust under his chin, barely in time to catch the acrid liquid which burned its way up his throat and out through his mouth.

After what seemed like an eternity to John, his heaving subsided, and he was carefully lowered back onto his pillows. He felt a cool cloth wipe his face, but as hard as he tried to thank who ever had helped him, he couldn't manage to form a coherent sentence.

"It's all right, Colonel. Don't try and talk. Just take a few deep breaths."

John instantly recognised Carson's soft, lilting brogue.

"I know you're feeling pretty rough at the moment, lad, but I need to do a few obs, and ask you a few questions, then I'll give you a little something for the pain and you can go back to sleep. Okay?"

John managed to feebly nod his head, but doing so seemed to inflame the jackhammer pounding away at his skull. Groaning, John turned his head towards the doctor, and tried again to open his eyes. Managing to open them to slits, John squinted as he tried to make out the doctor's blurred features.

"Doc?" he finally managed to whisper.

"Ah, there you are, Colonel. I'm sorry, but this is probably going to be a little uncomfortable," Carson apologised, as he pulled back John's right eyelid and shone his trusty penlight into sluggish eyes. John flinched and grunted as the light pierced his delicate pupil. Carson tutted, and repeated the same process on the other eye.

"Hmmm, still a wee bit sluggish for my liking," he mumbled. "I'm sorry, son, but I'm going to have to hold off on the good painkillers for a while longer. I'm not happy with your reactions, so it's Tylenol for now," he explained, as John felt a tug on his IV line.

John didn't answer immediately, his muddled brain trying to understand Carson's words, as well as trying to figure out what could possibly have happened to have him feeling so bad.

"Wh't h'ppn'd?" John managed to slur. The painkiller was starting to take the edge off the pain in John's head, but his hands were still throbbing wildly.

John heard Carson's soft, yet exasperated exhale, and realised whatever had transpired the good doctor obviously was pissed.

"You decided to go AWOL from my infirmary, Colonel. You stole the recordings of the transmissions sent to us by Kolya, then decided that the Ronon approach to psychology was the best way forward," Carson said reproachfully. "Next, after I very politely asked you to come with me, slugged me good and proper, and tried to run off again – obviously failing, hence your present incarceration back here."

John groaned as he remembered the events Carson described in vivid flashbacks.

"Sorry, Doc. You okay?" John asked, concerned, as he remembered hitting Carson firmly across the jaw.

"I'm fine, Colonel. Though annoyed at myself for letting someone who, to all intents and purposes, was dead on his feet and as weak as a new born lamb, deck me," Carson replied with a little levity in his voice. "Do you want to know what you've done to yourself this time?" he asked, and again John noticed reproach, yet sympathy in the doctor's voice.

John considered Carson's words, as he inwardly did an inventory of his hurts. Head pounding, nausea, dizziness - concussion, John concluded. Body generally hurting everywhere, being limp and unresponsive. Well, John had no idea what had caused that, but guessed he had overdone something or other. Hands throbbing relentlessly? Hmmm, what had he done to those?

"Why not?" he asked insouciantly.

John heard the rustle of paper, and looked across to see a blurry Carson opening a file.

"Three fractures in the bones in your left hand, multiple deep bruising to both, as well as lacerations to your knuckles, requiring suturing. A moderate concussion, exhaustion, dehydration…do I need to continue?"

"No," John answered concisely. "Did Ronon shoot me again?" he asked a little indignantly, as John suddenly was assaulted by memories of a red flash and darkness engulfing him.

Carson sighed and John heard him returning the file to a nearby table.

"Aye. Quite frankly that was the last thing you needed, and it's had me fretting over you somewhat." John heard the anxiety in his friend's voice. "I've been unable to wake you for the past ten hours, which has been a bit worrying, considering your concussion."

"I'm fine," John answered automatically.

"No, you're not," Carson answered sternly. "You're anything but fine. Physically, you're a mess, and considering what your body is already recovering from, I'm far from happy about that." Carson paused and John made out the doctor's blurry form standing over him. "And mentally? I have no idea how you are…what the hell were you thinking, taking those files like that?" Carson demanded, though concern was evident in his voice.

"I…I wasn't thinking. I just had to watch the videos. I needed to do that alone…didn't want Kate pulling everything to pieces," John ground out breathlessly. "At first I was repulsed by the thought of watching those files, but then Ronon said something that made me realise that I needed to face what had happened to me…" John paused and squeezed his eyes tightly shut as a wave of pain assaulted his head.

Carson sighed, and John felt a cool cloth on his bruised forehead. Involuntarily, he quietly sighed as the soothing cold penetrated bruised flesh and bone.

"You were completely reckless doing that. Anything could have happened to you, and we'd never have found you in time…" Carson's voice trailed off, and John inwardly winced at the worry and fear in the doctor's voice.

John took a deep breath, and turned his head slowly towards Carson. Opening heavy eyes, he squinted as he tried to focus on Carson's blurry features.

"I'm sorry, Doc. Didn't mean to worry you…I needed to do this, and it's helped," John whispered shakily.

Carson tutted and removed the cool cloth, dipping it a bowl next to John, wringing it out and then replacing it on John's tender head.

"Do you want to explain to me why you thought it'd be a good idea to pulverise your hands?"

John sighed, and swallowed trying to settle his complaining stomach.

"I was angry…so angry. When I saw the videos I was…scared. Then repulsed…but then I could see I'd been strong – defiant. I hadn't crumbled or begged, I'd just accepted everything, but retained my dignity." John paused and closed his blurry eyes, as his head pounded ruthlessly away. Clearing his throat softly, John pried his eyes open again, and blinked lazily, trying to focus on Carson's face.

"Kolya was inhumane, Doc. He used me, and enjoyed it in a perverse sort of way. Half of him loathes the wraith, and sort of admires me, the other half hates me for what happened during the storm, and he wanted payback…I…I felt myself losing it, so I thought 'what'd Ronon do?' and he told me he'd beat someone up…so…"

John paused again, and grimaced as a tickle began to form in his dry throat. He desperately tried to clear his throat, but the harder he tried, the more he coughed, until he found himself curled up desperately trying not to be sick again.

He sensed Carson walking away, only for the doctor to return a minute later. John felt himself gently hauled upright, and then Carson's soothing voice permeated John's pain.

Carson gently patted John's back, and he felt cool ice touch his dry lips. He opened his mouth and let the frozen water melt and trickle down his raw and abused throat. The cool liquid tasted like nectar, and John's protesting throat was quickly soothed.

"Thanks," he whispered, as he breathed in shallow pants, trying to ease the relentless throbbing in his head, which had been aggravated by his paroxysm.

"Better?" Carson asked softly.

"Yeah, thanks," John replied shakily, as he found himself being lowered back down. John felt the back of his bed rise slightly, and he sighed as he relaxed into his soft pillows.

"So, you thought you'd beat the crap out of the punching bag, and that it would be cathartic somehow?" Carson asked sceptically.

John managed a small chuckle.

"Yeah. I do feel better, Doc, honestly. Though if it's any consolation, I'm beginning to think it was a dumb idea right about now," he answered honestly, as he looked dejectedly at his throbbing, bandaged hands.

Carson squeezed John's nearest shoulder compassionately, and grimaced.

"I'd imagine you are, Colonel…I think that's enough for now, son," Carson said gently, as he studied John's pained and tired face. "Try and get some sleep. I'll be waking you up again soon enough, I'm sorry to say, and you won't be too happy when I do," Carson added; sympathy and warning both present in his soft voice.

John nodded almost imperceptibly, and for the first time in days, felt a sense of peace wash over him, as he let sleep pull him in.

Tbc.