xoxoxoxo xoxoxoxo xoxoxox
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"Thanks for the wordy e-mail, Chewie," John muttered as he read through the brief message from his friend. He was in the rec room using the one computer that was available for patient use. Since most of their patients were elderly there wasn't much call for high technology. This was only the second time he'd used it since, up until recently, his motor skills hadn't been advanced enough.
Although after this morning, he even wondered about that. He'd been allowed to take his own showers starting last week, once he'd proved he could transfer himself from the wheelchair into the 'shower chair' that was kept in the bathroom. He'd put extra effort into that feat since he was still deathly embarrassed whenever Lisa and Mary had to do it for him. But during this morning's clean up he'd dropped just about everything he'd tried to use. He reached up and touched his chin where he'd gone and cut himself shaving.
He looked back at Ronon's e-mail which didn't say much more than everyone missed him and that it sucked that he wasn't there. He opened up the three e-mails from Rodney and sighed. Contrary to Ronon's letter, Rodney's letters went on and on in vivid detail about all the technical projects he was working on and how Zalenka and the rest of the science team were all scheming to drive him to insanity by screwing them all up.
Teyla only had one e-mail but it was fairly long. She reported on several of the trade agreements that were currently being negotiated, the status of the Coalition and current reports on the movement of the Wraith. She then informed him that Rodney was driving Woolsey crazy with unnecessary demands. Lorne was doing a fine job with the troops but that many of the people missed having him around Atlantis, she and Torren among them. She then thanked John for the tricycle for Torren's birthday even though they had not given it to him yet. They would on his actual date of birth.
John thought for a second to what the actual date was and realized today was Torren's birthday. He took in a deep breath and it escaped fairly shaky, giving away the intensity of his emotions. He should be there right now, in Atlantis. Having cake and ice cream, blowing up balloons, shaking noisemakers and presenting Torren with his new tricycle and teaching him how to ride it. But he wasn't there. He was here. Spending the few minutes he had between his last therapy and lunch checking for any snippets of news from Atlantis.
At John's deep sigh, Lisa looked over from where she was sitting, catching up on paperwork. "Everything okay, Colonel?"
John put his hand up and pointed to the computer. "They're still sending me the menu for the base mess hall." He gave a slight chuckle then shook his head. "But they're having tuna casserole for dinner tonight. T.J. hates tuna casserole. If I were there I would have made sure they had meatloaf."
John's raised his eyes in remembrance and a small grin appeared. "God, can that kid eat meatloaf and mashed potatoes and gravy. It usually takes Teyla and me almost an hour to rinse it off him." John chuckled again then his eyes grew dark. "I should have made sure they had meatloaf today."
Lisa was surprised at the Colonel's words. He never actually talked about the people in the pictures on his dresser. He'd mentioned who they were but he was a very private person and seemed reluctant to share anything more. Hearing about his boy and how much he loved meatloaf, made him more real for Lisa and somehow that made her sad.
She leaned forward and reminded him, "You haven't been there for six weeks, Colonel, and you were in bad shape when you left. What's so important about today's menu?"
John's head turned toward Lisa like he had just realized he was actually talking to someone. He was somewhat embarrassed at his little Memory Lane trip that she'd witnessed but took another deep breath and answered, "It's T.J.'s birthday today. He's two now."
He looked away from Lisa and focused back on the computer.
"I'm so sorry, Colonel," Lisa said softly and put her hand on his shoulder for support.
He nodded his head and said, "Thanks, I'm uh …just gonna read these last few e-mails then head to my room for lunch."
Lisa sat back with her files and John opened up the last e-mail of importance, the one from Major Lorne. He'd sent a few earlier ones that John had read last week but this one was dated just a few days ago, so it was newer than anything anyone else had sent. John started reading and he could feel himself growing hot with anger at the contents. Lorne's earlier e-mails had been filled with lots of information regarding the activities and missions that had been going on during John's absence. But this one was short and to the point.
The SGC had decided that since John's absence was long term it was best to send a replacement instead of allowing Lorne to temporarily assume the role of Military CO. Lorne was under strict orders from the new guy, a Colonel Jeff Armstrong, that he was not to send Sheppard any more information regarding the base. If it was necessary, and John could read between the lines that Armstrong did not think it would be, Armstrong himself would send the e-mails. Lorne apologized extensively and told Sheppard to get better soon.
John calmly logged out and reset the browser. He could feel his breath going in and out heavier than normal and the anger in him grow bigger and bigger until it finally exploded. He pounded his fist down on the keyboard and growled, "Damn it!"
More than a few heads turned in his direction and the embarrassment he felt at causing the attention to turn to him, cooled his anger briefly. He rolled away from the computer, his head down and muttered, "Sorry."
Lisa's eyes were wide as she looked at the Colonel's face, now hard as granite. She'd seen him sad and embarrassed and in physical pain but she'd never seen him like this. The overly polite, oh-so-accommodating military man now looked almost dangerous.
He took another deep breath, schooled his features to soften his face slightly and informed her, "I'll be in my room."
He wheeled away and Lisa watched him go. She made sure he got on the elevator then took the stairs herself just to make sure he got where he was going. As she watched the wheelchair turn at the end of the hall into his room, she wondered what was in that last e-mail he'd read. The reaction he'd had made her think it was a bit more than missing his kid's birthday.
John rolled into his room and over near the bed. He picked up the phone from the bedside table and dialed his brother's work number, hoping Dave had a minute to talk. He wasn't surprised when the secretary told him that Dave was currently out of the office at a meeting. He left a message saying he really needed to talk to him and could he come visit that night.
He hung up the phone gently, even though what he really wanted to do was pull the damn thing out of the wall and throw it across the room, preferably at Dave's head. He knew he shouldn't be mad at Dave. He hadn't sent some Marine Colonel to replace him. But Dave had brought him here because he wanted him close by. That's what he'd said anyway. But John was beginning to wonder. Dave was definitely one for appearances and how would it look to everyone if the altruistic businessman, who gave so generously of his time and money to so many worth causes, allowed his own brother to be put in a menial VA hospital. Okay, maybe he wasn't being fair; after all he was in a really pissy mood right now. But he'd been in this place for almost six weeks and Dave had barely come to visit half a dozen times.
He had to admit that Dave had gone above and beyond when John had gotten pneumonia. The staff had told him his brother had stayed by his side all night, not that he remembered much of that. But that had been over two weeks ago and Dave had only been by once since then.
A young man walked in and quietly put a tray of food on the rolling bed table. He wasn't very hungry now but knew he'd need something to get him through this afternoon's PT. At least he didn't need to have anyone feeding him like a baby anymore but it was still embarrassing how messy he got sometimes when eating. He'd been pushing himself pretty hard lately and his muscles were sore and shaky, so he decided to get in bed to eat, that way he could just relax afterwards.
It took him a bit longer than normal to get into the bed by himself, probably because of those sore, shaky muscles. When he'd gotten settled and moved the head of the bed up to a comfortable eating position, he looked down at his sneakers. They'd come untied again, no surprise. His fingers had gotten nimble enough to press down on the piano keys to make recognizable music but trying to get them to perform the very intricate task of wrapping laces around each other to form a bow was still eluding him.
He attempted to just toe-off the sneakers but the feet still had no desire to do much more than wiggle back and forth. He reached down, grabbed the shoes and tossed them near his wheelchair. He'd worry about how to get them later. Actually, he knew Lisa would do it for him, so why worry at all.
He reached over and grabbed the tray table and pulled it toward him. Soup…big surprise! Although this stuff actually looked like it had noodles in it. Next to it was applesauce, yogurt and jello. He desperately needed something substantial to eat. If he lost any more weight they'd have to take in the elastic waist of all his workout pants. He really could go for that meatloaf and mashed potatoes he'd mentioned earlier.
That thought just brought back the fact that it was Torren's birthday today and he couldn't be there. Depressed, he ate the applesauce and the jello then figured the soup should be cooled enough to attempt. It wasn't bad and John enjoyed the feel of chewing the noodles. Unfortunately there weren't much more than a few and John was left trying to fill up on broth.
His hand shook as he moved the spoon up to his mouth and he was disgusted that after six weeks he still couldn't eat like a normal adult. Wouldn't the guys at the base get a hoot out of their CO dribbling food down his face like a two year old? Like Torren who was now officially two years old. And how old would he be when John managed to get back there? If Beckett was right, Torren would be turning three. Would John miss that birthday as well? Would he even be allowed back?
Maybe this Colonel Armstrong would be exactly what Atlantis needed, at least the SGC and IOA version of what Atlantis needed. There was no doubt in John's mind that there were people in both the IOA and the SGC who though he was completely unfit for command. Luckily he'd always had the support of people like Weir and Carter and even General O'Neill who really liked him for some odd reason. John had read enough about O'Neill's days in SG-1 to know that he was a fairly unorthodox leader, too. And an Air Force pilot to boot. Maybe it was the similarity.
But maybe after a year of Armstrong's way of doing things even Carter and O'Neill could be persuaded that John's usefulness was at an end. And then what would he do? Lead an off-world SG team out of the SGC? Be put in an office job pushing papers around all day? The USAir Force was very stringent on the physical requirements needed for active duty. Everett had found that out the hard way.
Would John even recover fully from this disabling event? He'd definitely made improvements from his first day of no speech or movement whatsoever. And his therapists here thought he was progressing at an unprecedented pace. All that had given John hope and motivation to work hard. But what if some of his muscles were permanently damaged? What if he could go only so far and no further, no matter how hard he pushed himself?
He'd get an honorable discharge from the Air Force but then what? He was a career military pilot and commander. Not much call for that in the non-military world. And if he wasn't fully recovered, he'd probably never be allowed to fly again. That thought brought panic crawling up John's insides. So much so that the shaking got worse and he spilled soup down the front of his white t-shirt.
"Shit!" he cursed and dropped the spoon into the bowl causing more broth to splash out onto him. He grabbed the pitiful excuse for a napkin that was on the tray and attempted to wipe the broth off his shirt.
"Yeah, that'll work," John scoffed. He pushed the tray away slightly and leaned over to his left thinking maybe he could just open his dresser drawer from here and get a clean shirt. He pulled on the handle and the drawer cracked open a tiny bit then got stuck. He leaned a bit more but misjudged the distance and fell right off the bed. He landed on the floor but not before he'd hit his head on the corner of the dresser.
"Jesus! What the…" John yelled as he put a hand up to his left temple and pulled it away, seeing blood on his hand. He swore a few more times, then opened the drawer, grabbed a clean t-shirt and threw it onto the bed. He sat up a bit more and forcefully slammed the drawer shut, causing both pictures on top to fall over.
"Aaahhhh!" exploded out of John's mouth and he felt like kicking something. Oh, but that's right, I can't because my freakin' legs don't work. He used his arms to manipulate himself closer to the bed where he grabbed hold of the side railing and attempted to pull himself up. It took three tries before he managed to get himself completely on the bed, legs and all. He was breathing heavy and lying at a weird angle so he pushed his arms against the bed to try and move. He shifted his position only slightly but enough to bump the food tray, spilling the rest of the soup all over the bed and himself.
"Are you kidding me?" he roared as all the pent up frustration finally took control. He wasn't sure where it came from but he just didn't have the strength to hold it back anymore.
His hands swung across the top of the bed table throwing everything on the floor. But that wasn't enough; the fire inside him was still at a boiling point so he pushed at the table. It only rolled a few feet away which was far from satisfying, so he lunged and managed to knock it over completely, sending a crashing noise across the room. Unfortunately the momentum of his lunge carried John right off the edge of the bed to land half on the prone table.
It should have knocked some sense into him but it only seemed to enrage him more. What good was all this hard work if he ended up out of a job, away from all the people he loved?
Helen came rushing in exclaiming when she saw the mess. "Colonel, what happened?"
John was having a meltdown, he knew it, but was completely unable to stop it. And here was Helen, who had never been anything but nice to him, in front of his runaway train.
His eyes opened in panic and he yelled through gritted teeth, "No! Go away!"
She stopped for a second, confused, but clearly wanting to help. But John knew there was no help for him now. She moved closer to the bed, seeing him lying on the floor behind it.
"Colonel!" she cried in alarm.
John couldn't let her come any closer. He mustered all the anger he could, and there was plenty, and roared, "Get the hell out of here!"
Helen froze and actually took a few steps back before she stopped once more. She would have moved forward again except John's eyes, so filled with pain, looked up at her and roughly pleaded, "Please! Go!"
Helen knew better than to try and deal with this situation on her own so she backed out of the room and went in search of Lisa.
John watched her go; relief and regret mixing together inside his gut. He pushed himself upright and shoved the fallen table even further away from him. Surveying the damage he'd done should have made him ashamed and embarrassed but he still had this burning desire to cause destruction.
He turned his body and grabbed his wheelchair, sending it flying into the bedside table. The impact sent the vase of flowers that Julia had sent crashing to the floor. Glass and water flew everywhere but John didn't care. The hand piece of the phone was knocked off the cradle so John followed through on his earlier desire to rip it out of the wall. Dave's head wasn't handy so he tossed it toward the toppled bed table, the resounding crash giving John some satisfaction.
John picked up the tray that had held his lunch, thinking this could do some damage. He whacked it against the back of the wheelchair and felt the vibration ripple along his arms. He was in the middle of his next swing when both Lisa and Helen showed up at the door.
He finished the swing, hearing the resulting crack echo through the room.
Lisa inched closer, softly reasoning, "We just want to help you, Colonel. What can we do?"
The eyes he turned on her were icy cold. He lifted the tray again and beat it repeatedly against the chair with his barked words punctuated in between. "I … don't … want … any … fuckin' … help!"
His overworked muscles rebelled at this point and the tray dropped from his hands. He crumpled onto his sides breathing harshly as he growled quietly but dangerously, "Get out!"
Lisa and Helen had already moved to the door, tears running down their cheeks.
"I don't know what set this off," choked Helen softly.
Lisa nodded. "He was upset earlier anyway. It's T.J.'s birthday today. But then he read some work e-mail and he got even more upset. He calmed himself down right away but immediately went back to his room.
"His brother," Helen snapped, "we should call his brother."
"He gave me his card," Lisa said. "I'll go do it now," and she ran off towards the nurses' station.
Helen stayed by the door. She couldn't really see much as the Colonel was on the floor on the other side of the bed but she felt like someone should keep watch. Lisa came back a few minutes later, disappointment in her eyes.
"He was away from the office in a meeting and there was no answer on his cell phone."
Helen looked torn. She had other duties she needed to perform but couldn't bring herself to leave the Colonel when he was so desperately in need. Lisa understood her dilemma.
"Go," she instructed. "It's my job to keep an eye out for him. You go do what you have to. I'll keep you informed."
Helen nodded and walked back up the hall passing Dr. Turner on her way. He stopped in the doorway and asked Lisa, "What's going on? One of the nurses said the Colonel was causing a ruckus."
"Something set him off," Lisa supplied. "I'm not sure what but I'd give him some time to cool down."
Dr. Turner peeked into the room and saw the destruction. His eyes turned angry and he stomped in. "Colonel Sheppard! What's the meaning of all this?"
John was in no mood to deal with this pompous windbag so he grabbed the sneaker that was by his hand and hurled it toward the door. It missed Turner by a few inches but got the man to halt his approach.
"What the heck?" Turner snapped. "Colonel, you can't just go around throwing things at people."
John answered this by flinging the now empty soup bowl across the room.
"Colonel!" Turner demanded, "What is it that you want?"
John hefted the yogurt container and snarled through clenched teeth, "I want you to leave me the hell alone!"
Turner didn't budge until he saw John's hand start to move. He'd barely reached the door when he heard the yogurt container splat against it. He slipped into the hallway, turned around and saw yogurt sliding down the door just a short distance from where he'd been standing.
"I've already left a message for his brother," Lisa said. "Hopefully he'll call back soon."
For the first time Lisa saw Dr. Turner's usually jovial mood turn sour. "I've never had a patient actually throw something at me. This one threw three." He marched off down the hallway muttering.
Over the next hour or so, several other therapists, doctors and even the center's psychologist made an appearance. Each time, Sheppard growled at them to go away and threw something. Now there was an assortment of silverware, cups, sneakers, and even a bedpan scattered on the floor near the hallway.
Lisa kept telling everyone to just give the man some time. But no one listened to her and they barely gave him five minutes before the next siege came.
Dr. Lambert, the psychologist, claimed he must be reliving some battle memory. Lisa knew that probably wasn't the case. Much of it was he was missing his little boy and as the mother of two boys herself she could completely understand. She might joke about getting six weeks away from them but reality was, if she couldn't see her boys for that length of time, she'd go over the edge, too.
As Dr. Lambert was prattling on, trying to get Sheppard to respond in some positive way, Roy Stanton appeared, obviously concerned about the brother of one of their biggest benefactors.
"I've left a few more messages for David," Stanton boasted, making sure no one missed that he was on a first name basis with the very well-known businessman.
He walked into the room, alongside Lambert, and announced, "Colonel Sheppard, I'm Roy Stanton. I met you on your first day here. I'm a friend of your brother's. I'm the one who arranged all this."
John had just about had it with the parade of people all wanting to help him. He picked up the phone, hand piece and cradle, and sat up as best he could. He gave fair warning with, "I don't give a shit who you are, just get the fuck out of here!"
And with that he chucked the phone right between the two puffed up egotists. They ran from the room, indignant that anyone would treat them that way.
Lisa just stayed at her post, leaning against the door frame, tears still leaking from her eyes. Couldn't they see that this man was in pain? She watched as John pulled himself along the floor, heading for the window. He stopped a few times, she couldn't tell what for, but finally pulled himself up and propped himself in the corner of the window bump out. He leaned against the wall and stared outside.
John was so tired he wasn't sure how he was still moving. But this was emotional exhaustion more than physical. He pulled himself along the floor, dragging the useless pieces of flesh he called legs, and reached the window.
The view was really nice from here. It was mostly trees with a small view of the tiny pond and the path that led down to it. He hadn't actually gotten anywhere near that pond during his stay.
He felt a twinge in his hand that brought his attention away from the serene scene. He looked down and realized he had a broken piece of vase in each hand. He didn't even remember picking these up, but he must have, subconsciously. He squeezed the broken shards harder in each hand and felt the physical pain each one brought.
Yeah, he could deal with this, this physical pain. So many people claimed he had a tolerance for pain. He knew that wasn't the real truth. As he continued to clutch the glass tighter in his hands, he could feel the pressure in his stomach and around his heart start to ease. This was his little secret. The discomfort of the physical pain overshadowed the emotional pain and made it easier to deal with.
He'd always been that way. He'd fall off a horse and hurt himself or break a bone playing some sport way too rough. He never meant to do it, but it always seemed to take his mind off the fact that his Dad didn't have time to play with him or that his Mom was slowly dying.
So maybe he hadn't changed all that much. As his mind went back to his earlier thought of not seeing Atlantis again or his 'family' there, he moved the glass around again. He stared at the blood dripping between his closed fingers with a sort of detachment. He moved one hand along the other, allowing the sharp edges to continue its assault along the pad of his thumb, his wrist and even a short distance up his arm.
He didn't dig the glass in too deep, just deep enough to leave a small trail of crimson in its wake. He watched fascinated for what seemed like hours but was probably nowhere near that amount of time.
John looked outside again and noticed the sun getting lower in the sky. He'd called his brother earlier today, seeking help. That obviously wasn't coming.
The anger rose inside him again, before he even realized it had somewhat receded. He clenched his fist tighter and pounded it down on his inert leg. He almost chuckled when he felt the pain in his thigh from the glass in his fist. Most paralytics couldn't move their legs but they also had no sensation in them. He was just lucky. He couldn't move the worthless appendages but he got the pain just fine. John's right fist continued to pound up and down rhythmically as his breathing settled into a pattern. His eyes glossed over and his mind started to clear, but his hand never stopped its movement in time.
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xoxoxoxo xoxoxoxox xoxoxoxox
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Man it's been a long day! Dave Sheppard thought as he made his way up to his office mid-afternoon. He'd been in a meeting regarding a possible acquisition all day and it had been brutal. But he'd needed to be at the top of his game and make sure he took in every minute detail, or it would be a mistake he'd likely regret. He really just wanted to check in with Mrs. Tucker and head home for a cold beer and if he was lucky, the warm arms of Julia.
More than likely she'd be waiting for him at the house. She'd been slowly moving her things in, getting a jumpstart on their marriage in a little over four months. He'd never complain though. Having Julia in his life was one of the best decisions he'd ever made.
He checked the few text messages she'd sent today which reminded him that John had called earlier and left a message. He had wanted to talk to Dave and could he possibly stop by tonight. Dave groaned at the thought of driving over to the rehab center. It really wasn't that far but just enough out of the way to make it inconvenient. He could visit John tomorrow night, couldn't he? Whatever he needed to talk about could wait one more day, he was sure.
He was hoping to just slip in and out of his office without a big fuss but he got cornered by two of his department heads on the way. They each took turns outlining some problems they were having and did Dave have any input for them. He was about to tell them to come see him tomorrow when Mrs. Tucker spotted him and hustled over.
"Mr. Sheppard, you received quite a few calls from Meadowgreen. I don't know exactly what happened but they're saying John got really violent and wrecked the place."
A look of confusion crossed his face as he tried to comprehend what she'd just said. He gave a huge sigh and instructed, "Give them a call and tell them I'm on my way."
He strode away from the two men who had mercifully stopped trying to get his attention and headed back down to his car. As he started it up and drove down the street he realized he'd never even made it into his office.
He made the thirty minute drive in twenty-two, parked his car and headed into the building. They said John had become violent and destroyed things. He was hoping much of this was exaggeration. John and their Dad had been involved in their share of fights and most of them could resister on the Richter scale but words were all that had ever been thrown around. Of course those had been enough and had done more than their share of damage.
The second floor was buzzing when he got off the elevator but when he started down the hall the silence was deafening and all eyes were on him.
Lisa was leaning against the door frame, a very sad expression on her face.
"Lisa," Dave greeted gruffly, "What's going on? They said John went nuts."
Lisa nodded and started, "He was upset earlier because it was T.J.'s birthday today then …"
Dave never let her finish because he'd taken a look inside the room and noticed the devastation his brother had caused. His first clue was the yogurt on the door. The pile of shoes, utensils and dinnerware, as well as the sheets half off the bed, told Dave that indeed his brother had gotten violent and trashed the place. The question was, why?
Dave spotted John sitting by the window, vacantly staring outside while his right fist pounded out a beat on his thigh.
.
John heard talking at the door and thought, okay, here we go, round two. They'd bombarded him with people for over an hour but then had thankfully left him alone for quite a while. He should have known it wouldn't last. He didn't bother to look up when he heard footsteps approach; he just growled softly, "Get out!"
Dave paused briefly when he heard John speak. There was a danger and emotion in John's voice that he'd never experienced before with his brother. The stony set of his face and the distant, angry stare of his eyes, made Dave look twice at John. It was very believable that this man in front of him had killed sixty men by himself. He'd never been able to rationalize the deed with his brother before.
Dave moved around the bed and saw even more of the mess he'd created. The toppled table, food on the floor, the broken vase with the water and flowers strewn all over, brought to light exactly how much damage his brother had caused. He thought of what it would cost to replace and clean all this and his temperature began to rise.
"John!" Dave demanded hotly. "What the hell happened here?"
John looked up in surprise that his brother had actually shown up. But one look at David's livid face had John knowing Dave hadn't shown up because of his phone call. He'd shown up because of theirs.
John looked back out the window at the sun setting in the distance and commented emotionlessly, "Guess now I know what I have to do to make you come see me."
"Is that what this is about?" accused Dave. "You were mad that I didn't call you back so you decided to destroy the place."
As John had no idea why he'd done what he'd done, he remained silent.
The silence just seemed to drive Dave further into a rage. "I can't believe you did this!" he ranted. "Look at all this destruction. What could you possibly have been thinking?"
John's eyes flicked briefly to Dave. "You don't care what I think. Not enough to spend any time here."
"I happen to be very busy working so I can pay for all this," Dave defended. "Do you know what I had to do to get you in here? I had to call in favors to get you moved to the top of the waiting list. And for a private room, no less."
Dave took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. He was beginning to understand why his father would get so upset when dealing with John. He looked back at the unresponsive face of his brother and continued his lecture. "You know this place costs an indecent amount of money. The daily therapies are all extra, not to mention the private nurse I hired who, God knows, may never come back after your behavior today."
John's blood began to boil at Dave's use of the word 'behavior'. He felt like he was a little kid again being disciplined by his father. Several memories floated to the surface as Dave rambled on.
"I don't know how I'll ever be able to look Roy Stanton in the face again after this fiasco," Dave agonized. "I have a reputation in this community and …"
John couldn't take it any longer. The apathy that had been on his face, disappeared in a flash, to be replaced with fury and resentment. "Is that all you care about, your damn reputation?" John spat out. "You care so freakin' much about your important connections and you care so much about your precious money! That's all you care about!"
Dave took a step closer to John, his own outrage spilling over. "What is it you want from me, John?" he sneered as he waved his hand around the room. "I gave you all this. Arranged for all this. Huh? What is it you want me to care about?"
John's agonized eyes met his brother's as he choked out the word, "Me." John turned back toward the window lowering his head as he finished, barely above a whisper, "I just want you to care about me."
Dave heard the break in John's voice at the last whispered word and all his anger and frustration seemed to evaporate like so much steam.
John was now leaning against the window, eyes closed, a few shuddering breaths causing his body to quiver. Dave felt himself deflate as he realized how unfair he'd been coming into the room like gangbusters and demanding answers. He should have been more concerned why John had acted the way he had. That would have made much more sense. But in typical David Sheppard fashion, his first thought had been on how things would affect him.
He moved through the water and glass on the floor to kneel down next to John. He tentatively touched his brother's shoulder and faltered, "Oh, God! I'm …I'm so sorry, John."
The deep regret and emotion inside him caused his voice to come out almost breathless. It was that tone that made John look up and amazement filled him when he saw his brother's eyes gleaming with moisture. A similar affliction took hold of John but he was rendered speechless by the intense feelings coursing through him.
Dave also seemed to be searching for the right words. "I do care about you, John, very much," he insisted. "I'm sorry if I ever gave you the impression that I didn't."
Dave sat down on the floor right in front of John and continued, "Being the selfish bastard that I am, I only ever thought about myself when it came to visiting you. You've always been such an active person and it kills me to see you stuck in a wheelchair struggling just to do daily tasks."
Dave tilted his head up and his gaze roved over the ceiling. "I never really thought about the fact that it would be a hundred times worse for you."
John appreciated his brother's truthfulness and figured Dave had earned some from him as well. "Sometimes," John gulped, "I just need you here."
John was embarrassed at the catch in his voice that he couldn't quite control. The wetness in Dave's eyes seemed to increase in intensity and he reached down to take one of John's hands. Those same eyes widened in horror when they noticed there was blood dripping out between John's fingers and onto the front of his shirt.
He quickly grabbed both his hands and unclenched the fists. "What?" was all Dave could get out when he saw the shards of glass and the damage they had done. John was staring at his hands in confusion like he couldn't remember how this had happened. And that frightened Dave more than anything. He quickly grabbed the sharp objects and tossed them aside.
"Stay here, John," he softly directed. "I'm just going to get something to clean these up, okay?"
John gave a brief nod so Dave quickly ran to the bathroom, wet a couple of facecloths and returned to his brother's side.
Dave grew more concerned when he saw that John was still staring at his hands in bewilderment. Dave made quick work wiping the blood off John's fingers and palms, but was dismayed to see the cut that ran across the pad of one thumb, down to his wrist and even a short distance up his arm.
Had John been so distressed that he had contemplated slitting his own wrist? The thought made Dave cringe. He'd been standing here, yelling at his brother while John could have been slowly bleeding to death. He truly hated himself sometimes.
The cuts in the middle of John's palms and on his fingers were quite deep but Dave felt that getting John calm and feeling cared for and supported was more important at the moment. As he applied pressure on the facecloths covering the wounds, Dave could see John starting to wilt. The commotion of the day was beginning to take its toll on John's already afflicted body so Dave leaned back against the window, encouraging John to relax against him. Surprisingly, there was no resistance.
John knew he should feel weird leaning against his brother like a pathetic little kid. But he didn't. Dave's arms around him, holding the facecloths firmly against his bleeding cuts, felt reassuring. It had been a long time since anyone had gone quite so far to reassure him.
But Dave had done this before, a very long time ago. They had been out camping as a family in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. John had just celebrated his tenth birthday and Dave was almost twelve. Their parents had instructed them to stay close to the camp as they cleaned up the dinner that they'd cooked over the fire. But John couldn't resist the temptation to go out exploring.
He'd read that there were actually moose and bears up here. He'd convinced Dave that he'd found some moose tracks and was planning to follow them. He told him he didn't need to worry about getting lost because he could always follow them back.
Dave had gone cautiously behind, attempting to get John to turn around and go back every few minutes. John just plowed ahead forcing Dave to almost run to keep up. Of course ten year old John had a plan, but it didn't include getting lost or having the sun start to go down behind the tall trees, casting everything into shadow.
When Dave had finally gotten close enough to John to grab a hold of him, he insisted they go back. John had been getting kind of bored with just tree after tree, so he agreed. They turned around and started to go back but soon discovered they had no idea which way to go. They hadn't been following any path and most of the trees looked alike.
As the sun set lower, John had gotten a brilliant idea. He would climb one of these trees, find the campground and they would head in that direction. Dave had his doubts but John had scampered up a nearby tree before Dave could voice an objection. He kept climbing higher and higher trying to find any sign of people. The higher John went, the more worried Dave got.
And in true John Sheppard style, he'd fallen. At first he'd just slid down a few branches but the scrapes he'd gotten on his hands had made it difficult to hold on firmly. And he had tumbled past a few more branches until he'd hit the last one and crumpled on the ground at Dave's feet.
John's breath had been knocked out of him but he'd shaken it off and attempted to sit up. That's when he knew something was wrong. His arm gave out when he tried to put any weight on it and a sharp pain shot from his wrist to his shoulder.
John had insisted he was fine and that he could definitely walk. But Dave had put his foot down. Wandering around the woods would get them nowhere. He figured their parents would have started a search party by now and the best thing to do would be to just sit here and wait.
John didn't like the idea but Dave could tell his arm and other bruises were really beginning to hurt. Without the sun, the woods were cooling down so Dave sat with his back against a tree and had pulled John in front of him, holding his now throbbing arm.
Kind of like how they were sitting right now, John thought.
He remembered how scared he'd been thinking nobody would find them except maybe those bears he knew lived in these woods. But Dave kept talking to him, telling him they'd be fine and that he wouldn't let anything hurt John. Besides, Dave had added, John was way too skinny and wouldn't be worth the effort for any bear to eat him.
Even with the joke, John remembered more than a few tears falling as they waited through the darkening skies. When help did come, John made sure to wipe any tell tale signs of those tears so his father didn't see. His parents had been extremely angry, especially his father, but they were also relieved to find their missing boys.
The camping trip had ended and nothing more was said of the initial disobedience. John's punishment, they figured, was the cast he had to wear for the next eight weeks, essentially his whole summer vacation. No swimming, no running, no golf, no horseback riding, no sports of any kind was definitely more of a punishment than anything their father could have come up with.
As John thought back to that incident almost thirty years ago, he realized that some things never change. The physical pain he'd felt out in the woods had helped him get through by overshadowing the fear and anxiety the situation had caused. It was a good thing nobody from the Air Force could see him now or know his thoughts. They'd never let him near a military base again.
.
Dave looked down at John as the man became more relaxed in his arms. He could kick himself when he thought of his earlier actions. Why did everything have to come down to what other people would think? Dave had truly thought he was showing John how much he cared by bringing him here to this amazing establishment and providing him with the best equipment and doctors and therapists.
But John never cared about the material things and Dave knew that, deep down anyway. John wouldn't see the material stuff as caring. But it was how Patrick Sheppard had done things and really was the only way Dave knew how to show he cared. Money and power were important to Dave, even if he tried to deny it. But why did he think his brother's values were the same as his? And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he should be more like John.
He remembered the day last year when they'd met in San Francisco for lunch. John had gotten so much pleasure from just rolling around on the ground with Torren and holding the little boy close as he slept in his arms. He'd thought then that maybe John was on to something. But months back in the corporate world had made him forget the little lesson he'd learned that day.
Again wondering what had ignited John's rampage, Dave remembered Lisa's saying that John had been upset because it was T.J.'s birthday. John loved that little boy like his own and Dave now understood that John had been without him for six weeks. And he was celebrating his birthday today … without John.
He started to sense John's rhythmic breathing and knew he had fallen asleep. They should get him into bed but Dave didn't really want John waking up. They'd reached a tentative truce but he still didn't know the whole reason behind today's outburst. He looked toward the door and noticed Lisa was still leaning against the door frame. Dave lifted his chin and caught her eye indicating she should come over.
.
Lisa stood in the doorway knowing she should have gone home half an hour ago but she just couldn't. Not until she knew that the Colonel would be all right. She'd been aggravated earlier when everyone had tried to talk him down despite her protests that he just needed some time to calm himself down.
Then it had been quiet for a while until the brother had shown up. She was relieved that he was here, until he had gone in and started ranting away about money and his position in the community. But it had all worked out after the Colonel had yelled back a few things. She hadn't heard his last whispered response but whatever it was, it had done the trick. Mr. Sheppard had visibly drooped and moved to comfort his brother.
He'd tended some wounds the Colonel had gotten then gathered his brother in his arms. Her eyes had teared up again at this compassionate act. When Dr. Turner, Mr. Stanton and Dr. Lambert had each come by again, hearing that Dave Sheppard was now on the scene, Lisa had stood her ground. There was no way she was letting anyone near those two and messing up the tenuous bond being formed. She had sent them away saying she'd inform them when they were needed.
Helen had gotten off work at five also and had come to join her at the door. They didn't speak, just watched the tender moments pass between the brothers. Lisa smiled at the third person who had joined them, one she hadn't wanted to scare away. Dave Sheppard's fiancée had shown up about fifteen minutes ago concerned when she'd gotten word from the office that John had had some problems. Helen had briefly taken her into the hallway and given her a short synopsis.
Lisa now saw Dave Sheppard give her the eye. She slowly and quietly walked toward him in the darkening room. She stopped a few feet away, surveying the damage on this side of the room for the first time. She could see that the Colonel was out cold.
Dave looked up and whispered, "We need to get him in bed and clean up these cuts," he lifted his hands slightly which were still holding John's. "I don't know how he'll react if a whole bunch of people are suddenly here. Is there anything we can give him that will keep him asleep for a while?"
Lisa nodded and softly said, "Be right back."
She moved to the door and asked Helen to find Dr. Turner. "Let him know his expertise is now required."
A few minutes later Lisa and Helen moved smoothly across the room. Helen gently straightened John's arm while Lisa injected a needle into his vein. At the sharp penetration, John's eyes popped open and Helen strengthened her hold on his appendage. Lisa reassured him with her calming voice as she finished the injection. His expression was confused for only a few moments, then the sedative started to kick in and his eyes drifted closed again.
Lisa and Helen turned on the lights, quickly stripped the bed and added new sheets, allowing Dave and Dr. Turner to lift him and deposit him in the middle. Turner pulled off the blood stained cloths and examined the cuts. "The ones in the middle of his palms and some of his fingers are pretty deep. They'll need to be sutured."
Lisa turned to go get the required supplies and Helen announced, "I'll start cleaning up." She started with the glass on the floor.
"I can help, too," stated a voice from the doorway and Dave was astonished to see Julia, her business suit smart and proper, picking up the dirty utensils John had thrown around.
"When did you…?" Dave wondered aloud.
"About fifteen minutes ago. I heard what happened from your office and thought someone might need some support."
Dave smiled and said, "You're amazing!" then focused back on John as Lisa walked back into the room with the tray of supplies.
She insisted on removing John's soiled and bloody shirt before they started and noticed a few scratches from the glass on his abdomen as well as a cut on his forehead. She helped clean and bandage the cuts and lacerations when Dr. Turner was done stitching his right hand. When Turner started working on John's left, Lisa moved to John's right.
She moved the waist band of his pants down slightly to clean the scratches on his stomach and noticed the tears on his right pant leg. Looking closer she saw there were many tears in the fabric. She then remembered his fist pounding up and down on this very spot.
"Help me get these off," she directed Dave and his curiosity turned to horror when the pants were removed and a series of deep slashes could be seen on his thigh. Most of the blood had congealed but a few spots still had a liquid crimson substance. Turner put a few stitches in these and let Lisa clean and bandage the rest.
As they worked, Turner asked, "Do we know what set this off?"
Dave looked at Lisa and confirmed, "You said it was Torren's birthday today, right?"
"Torren?" Lisa repeated then said, "T.J., yeah. He'd been checking his e-mail and he seemed bothered by the fact that the base mess hall was serving tuna casserole and he said T.J. hates tuna casserole. He said he should have made sure they had meatloaf, T.J.'s favorite."
"Who's this T.J.?" Turner asked and Helen, who was just straightening the pictures on the dresser, held one up and said, "This little guy. His son."
Dave was about to correct her mistake when he realized he had no idea if John had actually told them that or not. He also thought back to all he'd seen and heard of John and Torren's relationship and knew the word 'son' may not have been true biologically but it was true in every other sense of the word.
"I don't think that was the only reason," Lisa deduced. "After the meatloaf comment he read another e-mail and that one made him really mad, swearing mad. He quickly apologized but then took off for his room for lunch. It may have been a bunch of things that all came to a head but that last e-mail was the spark that set it off."
Dave sighed and looked guilty. "I think that's about the time he called me. He said he needed to talk and I wasn't available. Damn it!"
Julia took that moment to add her opinion. "There's no sense in laying blame. He's calm for now and tomorrow's another day.
Once the stitches and bandages were done, Helen and Lisa got John into his white scrub pants and one of his many black t-shirts and said it was past time to head home. Dave thanked them profusely then pulled Julia to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. Turner picked up the last of the supplies and said, "I'll let the desk know they can call me if they have any more problems. But with the strong sedative I gave him, I don't imagine he'll be awake any time before morning. I'll also make sure they check on him every half hour."
Dave thanked the man then sat staring at his brother for a while. Julia sensed the guilt he was feeling and wished she could say something to make it better. She put her hands up and started rubbing Dave's back and shoulders trying to ease at least some of the tension. Dave let out a huge sigh and Julia leaned her head against his arm.
"Instead of sitting here blaming yourself, why don't you think of some way to help John cope somehow."
Dave paused then turned around to face his fiancée, "You are brilliant, you know that."
Julia nodded and said smugly, "It's the reason you love me so much."
Dave's eyes took on a mischievous glint and he responded, "Well, it's one of the reasons." And he reached up to frame her face with his hands and he kissed her thoroughly.
"David Sheppard!" she exclaimed. "Right in front of your brother. You're getting positively daring these days."
"It must be my brother's influence," he claimed. "John's always been the adventurous one. But you gave me an idea, a few actually. I need to make a phone call. Do you mind sitting with John?" he asked as he pulled a card out of his wallet and flipped open his cell phone.
He started dialing, "I'm just going to do this in the hallway."
Julia nodded and Dave put the phone to his ear as he moved around the bed toward the door. As he walked out, Julia heard him say, "Colonel Carter, it's David Sheppard. I'm glad I got you. I have a favor to ask.
.
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