He stumbled in the darkness, boots skittering and tripping over the uneven ground. John flailed, arms wheeling for balance and he lurched forward ungracefully. Keep running; don't stop. His shirt was glued to his body with sweat, the underground cavern miserably hot, and he mopped his brow with the back of his hand. Panting for breath, he scanned the inky blackness for a way out, his heart banging out of his chest.
He longed for the familiar grip of his P-90, but his vest and weapons were missing, and if he stopped, they were bound to find him. His legs screamed with fatigue, threatening to buckle with each clumsy step. Despite the lactic acid burning up his muscles and the exhaustion leeching his strength, he wrung ever drop of stamina from his body to keep running. Dizzy and unable to recall his last meal, he stumbled right into a wall and fell on his ass.
Pressing his forehead to his knees, he caught his breath, burning eyes making out the large slab of earth in front of him. He blinked, suddenly realizing he was at an intersection, both directions swallowed up by darkness.
"Which way will you go, John Sheppard?" Todd slithered from seemingly out of nowhere and sat next to him, his eyes glinting with curiosity.
Licking cracked lips, John considered his options, finding both to be equally crappy. "I don't know."
"You are running out of time and then it will be too late."
But both corridors could've been one-way tickets to nowhere. He ran his fingers through his spiky damp hair. "Got any advice?"
The Wraith's teeth gleamed in the darkness, his face a ghoulish mask. "It is not up to me." The toothy grin faded. "You must hurry."
John used the rocky slab for support, standing on wobbly legs, resting the side of his face on the cool stone. He knew he was out of time, could feel it in his bones, churning in his gut. Pushing off the wall, he gazed up the steep incline to destinations unknown. With a laugh born of desperation, he found a few footholds with the toes of his boots, his fingertips gripping the tiny crevices, and started climbing.
"What are you doing?" Todd's voice reverberated.
"Don't...like...my choices," John huffed with exertion. "Gonna see where this takes me."
"You don't know where it goes."
No, John didn't, but going up had been his choice.
John woke to a spinning tiled ceiling, slowly peeling open gritty eyes and slamming them shut when the dizziness became too much. He must've made a noise, because he flinched when someone touched his shoulder, the motion setting off an explosion of fireworks.
"I'm sorry, John."
Riding out the agony stole his breath, the edges of his vision blurring gray. Counting to ten, his body eased from its tight coil, and he slowly opened his eyes to the frightened face of his ex-wife.
"Hey," he croaked, unable to salivate enough to moisten his mouth.
"Hey," she echoed, hovering over him, reaching out for a pitcher. "You scared me." Pouring water into a plastic cup, she stuck in a striped bendy straw and held it to his lips.
He stared dumbly at it, realized his right arm was in a soft blue sling, and that his brain had forgotten how to make the left one move. Taking the plastic into his mouth, he allowed the cold water to coat his raw throat. The drops barely put a dent in his ravenous thirst before it was removed. Lying perfectly still, he waited for the room to stop spinning and gazed up at Nancy, who had aged years before his eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned at the dark circles under her eyes and a rumpled blouse and pants that seemed slept in.
"Me?" Nancy flopped ungracefully into a plastic chair. "I'm sleep deprived, but... yeah. I'm fine. It's you...I mean, God, John." Rubbing vigorously at the corners of her eyes, she curled her fingers around the rail. "I really should get one of the doctors. Tell them you're awake and lucid."
"Wait. Just..." It was hard focusing when there were two of her and he dug a trembling palm into his temple. "Damn. How many drugs am I on?"
"A lot."
Her frank answer only unsettled him more. The last day or two were hazy at best, his chest constricting when pieces collided into a giant jigsaw. "Is everyone alright? What happened to Todd?"
Equipment started beeping incessantly and Nancy bent over him. "Hey, it's okay. The Wraith is in custody and your team is safe. Ronon was released the other night and Lieutenant Harper is recovering from his injuries."
Her words soothed the panicked urgency that had set all his nerves on edge and John allowed the news to alleviate his hypervigilance. "Ronon was released the other night? How long..." He took a drag on his nasal cannula, wincing at how it hurt his nostrils. "How long have I been here?"
"Three days," she sighed. "You've been heavily medicated since surgery."
That would explain why he felt like a reheated dinner that had been tossed out a car window and run over. "Where are we?"
"In the Navy hospital at Pendleton. When you're stable enough you'll be transferred to Cheyenne."
Talking drained him, the seriousness of the situation a heavy weight to bear, his memories of the events like faded photographs. "My knee gave out," he blurted. "Would've been dead if it hadn't."
"Then I'll thank Ronon for not holding back when you two worked out last week." Nancy rose to her feet, her face haggard from lack of sleep, but slightly more composed. "I really should let the staff know you're awake."
"Why don't you tell me what's wrong with me?" John was having difficulty staying awake and didn't want to wait to find out when he woke up again. "I'd rather hear it from you."
Nancy tapped the railing with her fingernails. "You're hurt pretty bad, John. If it wasn't for your vest..." She trailed off, then her posture got straighter, her tone even as if reading a daily briefing. "You were shot in your right shoulder and some of your ribs are cracked; I don't recall how many." Her eyes lingered on all the wires and tubes and her voice faltered. "You lost a lot of blood and they said your liver was lacerated."
John was a soldier in the field, shutting off the valve to his emotions, but he wasn't occupied by fighting now. "But I'm going to be okay?" Damn his voice for drying out.
Nancy grabbed his wrist, careful of the IV. "I'm so sorry. Yes, they repaired all the damage. You're going to be okay. Eventually. It's just been...it's been a rough couple of days."
John released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and she gave his bicep a squeeze. "It'll be a long, hard road, John. Major Lorne's preliminary report said bullet ricochets struck your left leg. The surgical team were worried your femur was broken."
His eyes grew large. His surgical team? He had needed more than one doc. "But, it's not?"
"No, but a bullet cracked your fibula. So, you have a cast and lots of PT ahead, but no setting off airport metal detectors," she said with a small wry smile.
It was overwhelming. His head pounded and he felt gritty and the need of a shower. His right shoulder was wrapped with large bandages all around and bound tightly, his sling preventing any range of motion. His leg was numb and heavy as if encased in a vat of cement all the way to his groin. It was probably a good thing he couldn't feel a damn thing.
A few days before, his biggest worry had been choosing the next path in his career. Now a moot point when he was such a mess physically. Thank goodness for all the narcotics coursing through his veins.
He turned his head, the only part of his body that felt connected. "Thanks for being here."
"It was my turn." Nancy sighed at his furrowed brow. "When I flew in I got added to the rotation. Each member of your team has sat with you since you were wheeled out of surgery. And when it wasn't your team, it was Major Lorne, or a member of the strike force."
He blamed the drugs for the way that made him feel.
"You should see all the notes and e-mails sent from everyone at the SGC." Nancy reached for her purse and pulled out a small stuffed bear in Marine fatigues." I found this little guy especially cute. I had the rest of your well wishes bundled up in a box at the nurse's station."
John wasn't sure what to think about all that. He lacked the energy to question the validity of so many notes written without being under duress and his eyes fluttered closed.
The problem with the really good drugs was, when you asked your doctor to be weaned off them, you missed their sweet 'I'm on cloud nine' effects. Not being constantly dizzy or nauseous was great, but his pain threshold was being sorely tested, making him almost reconsider the request. But, it was the price he was willing to pay to hold a coherent conversation for more than ten minutes.
Richard Woolsey stood at the foot of his bed in an expensive charcoal suit, despite the vacant chair next to the bed.
"I know we have had several discussions about this, but before you make a formal request, I thought we should analyze it further."
For a bureaucrat, Woolsey had the posture of a soldier and John waited for his shoulders to lose some of their tension before cutting to the chase. "I think while Todd is on Earth and in our custody, we should try to..." he worked his jaw. "To work with him more."
"Working as in together," Woolsey repeated, clearing his throat and raising his eyebrows.
John shifted further up in the bed, an athletic feat considering one of his legs was immobile and his right arm was trapped. Wiggling around set off mini tsunamis of pain and he fisted his blanket and tried breathing like Teyla had taught him when his whole body seized up. "Not like on a project, or anything. More like we should treat him like a-"
"Guest?"
"No!" John snapped.
Woolsey eyed his pain dispensing machine like he might press the button for him, but John got control of himself. "I'm just saying... if we're stuck with him for the duration, maybe we should try a less hostile approach. Create an atmosphere of mutual cooperation."
Woolsey finally took the damn chair, fidgeting uncomfortably. "You're suggesting giving him more freedom."
"No. I mean, yes. Kind of." This wasn't going the way he had rehearsed. He braced his ribs to take a deeper breath. "I think we can attract more with honey. We keep him locked up, under the same amount of security, but we give him something to do. A focus other than being a prisoner." He could tell the topic was a political hornet's nest so he went for a more reasoned track. "Todd could have escaped. He had the opportunity."
"Yes, according to your report, this is what he told you. He also manipulated you with his mental abilities," Woolsey reminded him.
"And if he hadn't, there would have been a lot more dead bodies at the shipyard," John countered, not admitting his true feelings about that matter. "They stunned him and kept him unconscious most of the time. And when awake long enough to think, he turned on his own Wraith signal for us to follow." He grit his teeth as his body tensed. "He used it for us to find him, knowing if he got discovered that those holding him would be forced to cut it out of him. The transmitter is part of him. Removing it could've killed him."
"Someone has leaked the preliminary report to you." Woolsey raised an eyebrow as John sunk back into bed. But Woolsey had been moved by the argument, his face contemplative. "Todd had that tracker installed as a safeguard against us removing it because he knew, we have always been at his mercy for something and would never risk killing him." Sighing, Woolsey wiped at his glasses with a handkerchief and put them back on. "Regardless. Todd has been a constant topic of discussion. Especially given the unknown status of Atlantis. But there have been other voices echoing yours. Since you are considered a foremost expert on the Wraith threat, and given your military status, your proposal will carry a lot of weight."
It was relief Woolsey wasn't going to argue the matter more; John wasn't sure if he was up for a lengthy debate. He was hurting, stiff, and had to fight the urge to fall asleep. Yet, the nursing staff wanted him to get up and move around later today. They were sadists, all of them.
"Colonel?"
John shook his head, realizing he had drifted off. "Yeah, I'm awake."
"I'm sorry." Woolsey shifted in his chair, his features softening "I um... read you physician's report regarding your recovery. Six to ten weeks leaves a lot of gray area. And with the ceremony just a couple weeks away... I hate bringing this up, but I wondered if we should consider postponing it."
"No. I just want to get it over with."
Clearly John's hasty reply took Woolsey aback. "Colonel. John. I know you're uncomfortable with the prospect of the spotlight, but the event is going to take place and it involves a lot of important people with complicated schedules. I..." Again, Woolsey paused, considering his words. "You like to shoot from the hip. We're talking about the highest-ranking military officers and politicians despite the non-public venue. No one wants to force you into something when you're not able to-"
"I'll be fine," John interrupted, sick of the whole matter. "I want...I need it be over with."
Any further discussion ended when Ronon entered the room and spotted someone who wasn't a staff member or part of the military. He crossed his arms across his chest and just stood there. It didn't matter that Woolsey wasn't just any stuffed suit, but the big guy took anyone not there to help John get better as an obstacle to intimidate.
"I have meeting to attend to," their former boss said as an excuse. He cast a final appraising look at John. "I hear you're being transferred very soon. It'll be good to have you home."
John noticed the tightness around Ronon's jaw at those parting words and the two of them shared a silent understanding.
Earth wasn't home.
And the fight to return to where they all belonged was going to be longer and harder than John's struggle to get back on his feet.
He was pretty sure that the occupancy level of his room didn't allow the number of people crowding around him. Teyla and Ronon stood out of the way in the far corner, Rodney paced back and forth on his cell phone, reading one of his minions the riot act about something. He'd received no less than half a dozen searing glares from the staff for the offending item, but it went on unnoticed. Granted, John wasn't in the ICU anymore, but he'd broken the bank on charity for his laptop and unprecedented number of visitors outside the proper hours.
The nurses finished disconnecting leads and wires from around his bed, although his IV and other tubing were still in place. "I can go in a wheelchair," he offered again.
"It's easier this way, Colonel," one of them replied. John gave the hulking six four giant his best glare, but the guy snorted. "I've had every SEAL, Ranger, and even an Admiral give me that same look. It doesn't work on me. You're staying in your nice comfy bed, so just enjoy the lift to your next care facility."
It wasn't often that John sulked, but he was over being a patient already.
"It will be nice for you to be in more familiar surroundings," Teyla soothed when his room emptied out of most of the staff.
If one called the SGC infirmary more familiar. No sooner had John been stepped down to a normal room from the ICU, then the request had been made for him to be flown to Colorado. His physician had been less than enthused, but signed on the dotted line. He'd been given an injection to help deal with the bumpy ride and all his annoyance was fading to a soft muted buzz.
Rodney was a blur of energy, slapping his cell off and bouncing on his heels. "Are we leaving yet?"
"We are waiting for the orderlies to wheel John to the landing pad," Teyla explained calmly.
"Can't we do that ourselves?" Rodney's eyes bounced from the gurney to the hall.
"Why are you so hot to leave?" Ronon grumbled.
Rodney chortled. "Seriously. Hot to leave? You've been watching too much TV." Quickly walking to stand next to Teyla, he matched Ronon's stare. "I'm tired of conference calls and stupid virtual meetings. Just in case you forgot, we had a catastrophic breach of security and, of course, people are looking to me for answers."
"And do you have any?" Ronon challenged.
"Well, no, but I can't do much good from here, now can I?"
"McKay's right," John interrupted their bickering. "We need to figure out who was involved and..." his train of thought drifted gently off its track. "I...think I forgot what I was saying."
He was pretty sure Ronon snorted in amusement.
"There will be plenty of time to investigate what occurred, but we are not at the SGC right now." Teyla stood over John and unnecessarily began pulling up his blankets. "We are waiting for the pilot to get ready. There is no rush." Once the linens had been rearranged, she peered down at him. "How are you feeling?"
"Right now? Never better," he smiled sloppily.
"At least someone is going to enjoy the ride," Rodney huffed.
Teyla shot him a look, but John said nothing. They all knew McKay had done his share of sneaking into his room 'after hours,' talking to him or offering reassurances that everything was fine when John had been lost between paranoid, drug laden layers of reality.
Two orderlies finally arrived and started wheeling him toward the landing pad, Rodney snapping at them anytime the gurney jostled too much or took a corner too fast. "Hey, VIP here. Do you want to get busted down to counting inventory or scrubbing toilets? Although how any of that is worse than bedpans is beyond me."
Despite feeling sorry for them, Rodney's belittlement of the hospital staff on his behalf made John grin. By the time they were loaded inside the chopper and began taking off, he fell asleep to the familiarity of being airborne.
No sooner had the medical staff gotten him settled in the back of the infirmary, had Nelson, John's aide, shown up with a cardboard box of stuff. "I have your laptop with a collection of movies already loaded and, of course, your music from your Ipod." The kid proceeded to set his computer on a small table and rolled it closer to the bed. Then he pulled out a small stack of books, a yellow notepad and pen, and finally a green leafy potted plant. Nelson smiled after arranging them in what had to be some manner of feng shui. "This will add some color and oxygen."
"Hello, it's a hospital," Rodney snapped. "They have oxygen."
With a nervous sidestep, the petty officer almost collided into Ronon, but with an amazing feat of footwork dodged and weaved out of the way. It impressed the big guy enough that he just glared while Teyla suppressed a giggle. Recovering, Nelson pulled out a Blackberry and turned toward John. "There have been a number of requests to see you, sir, but seeing as you've just arrived, I turned them all down on your behalf."
John was at a loss for words and gave a simple 'um thanks.' Looking around at his living arrangements, he attempted to sit up higher and failed miserably. His leg throbbed from his ankle to his hip, matching the growing stabbing sensation in his side. The remote for his bed was curled around the right railing and when he reached for it, he cursed, forgetting about his injured, immobile shoulder.
"I'll get that for you, sir," Nelson said, reaching for it.
Rodney snagged the remote and pointed at the curtain divider. "Alright, Radar, time to go."
"But, I need to-
"Gentlemen." Keller pulled back the fabric barrier. "Do I need to remind everyone where we are?"
Rodney and Nelson both had the good sense to shuffle their feet and act admonished. Ronon took that moment to stand next to the petty officer, thus towering over him. The kid squared his shoulders, but knew when to retreat. "If you need anything, sir, just IM me."
Rubbing at his temples, John sighed after Nelson made his exit. "Leave my aide alone, McKay. He knows what I like for dinner."
"Yeah, because not just anyone can order take-out," Rodney grumbled.
"Last I checked, there were no fast-food places around here that delivered," Keller reminded him, hiding a mischievous grin when Rodney folded his arms in a huff. Pulling out a PDA, her expression turned professional. "As you know, Dr Lam is the CMO here, but I've been granted privileges to be your acting physician, Colonel, since I've been your primary caregiver the last two years."
"Sounds great," John said with all sincerity about dealing with a friendly face for once.
"Yeah, well. If you don't mind." She glanced at his team. "I'd like to perform my own examination."
"We'll return later, John." Teyla smiled and led the way out, Ronon and Rodney shuffling after her.
"Expecting problems?"
Keller quirked an eyebrow. "With you? Let's just say, I want to be well prepared." Rolling down the blanket, and pushing up his gown, she exposed the incision across his abdomen. "You gave Dr Reshmi fits with the recent scar tissue near the site of your injury."
Morbidly curious, he stole a look at the grotesque line of stitching. "What did Indy say about age and road miles?"
"It's been a while since I've seen Raiders, Colonel." Keller rubbed her fingers to make them warm before palpating the area. "You ready?"
A little poking and prodding was a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of things. "Sure thing, Doc."
The world wasn't put on hold because John couldn't take part in daily activities. The military was an efficient machine; when it lost a cog, it found a way to function without it. Lorne completed the inspection of the 302's, and along with Captain Cutler, they had begun training pilots on Wraith dart engagements. Major Teldy had stepped up to help with paperwork while Lorne juggled a heavier involvement in prepping for the upcoming Senate hearings on the status of Atlantis.
Meanwhile, John dictated notes into a digital recorder and with the help of voice recognition software, it enabled him to be partially productive and contribute somewhat while the well-oiled machine chugged along around him.
"Why do you push yourself so hard?" Teyla asked him during her morning visit.
John didn't have the breath to answer, hissing and grunting as she took more of his weight. His left arm was hooked over her strong shoulders as she helped him across the room in a walking cast. Since his right shoulder couldn't tolerate any weight or movement, crutches were out of the question, but he needed to get out of bed for brief periods of time. He slumped in a chair, nearly toppling over when the rest of his body became unbalanced. Righting himself, he trembled with fatigue, each strenuous draw of oxygen aggravating his ribs.
Teyla took a seat opposite him on the bed, folding her hands. "Would you like something to drink?"
"I'll get it," he rasped, reaching for the pitcher, stopping when she pinned him with the same incredulous expression reserved for small children. The water sat inches beyond his grasp and required him to stand, which would more than likely result in him flat on his face. "Do you think you could pass that to me?"
"All you have to do is ask. And that applies to more than pouring you a glass of water." Teyla filled the cup and walked over. "Strength is found from the helping hands of others, but you must accept them."
"I know." He really did, but he felt like the little Dutch boy trying to plug the holes of a leaking dam.
"When my people were missing, I felt helpless. Lost. I thought it was my battle to bear alone." Teyla took away the cup and crouched in front of him. "I was wrong, John. "
He was in the midst of a free fall, unsure how far down it was until he hit the bottom. But he trusted Teyla, trusted her when he could few else. "I don't know where I'm headed," he admitted.
The future had always been an unknown, he'd never minded; growing up he learned that those who planned ahead set themselves up for disappointment. It was easier to leave things up to chance, like the flip of a coin. But this was the first time he was truly terrified by not having a set course.
"When I was a little girl, I woke up every morning, glad that I had slept through the night and was able to greet the sunrise. When I became leader of my people, I had to find the fortitude to carry on day after day, not knowing if the next sunrise would bring the Wraith. But I was able to face that fear because I was not alone." Taking his free hand with both of hers, she rubbed the tops of his knuckles with her thumbs. "I drew strength from family and friends. You will do the same."
Despite how crappy he felt, the corners of his mouth curved. "Thank you for the reminder." And to prove that he meant it, he waved at his bed. "Um, do you think you could help me? You know?"
Rising to her feet, she squeezed his hand. "Of course. I would be glad to assist you."
Dreams were supposed to be the link to the conscious and unconscious, kind of an inept messenger. John imagined being stuck on an island with miles and miles of black ocean, hand clutching a map to freedom. Except when he unrolled the piece of paper, it was his military walking papers. Waking up left him slightly breathless before he could push the dream far away with the rest of his nightmares.
John knew Ronon had been in the room with him, but he couldn't recall for how long. "Are you going to leave Earth?" he mumbled, still reeling from the strange imagery.
"Yeah," Ronon answered like it was no big deal.
John figured as much; it was hard to stay put when you didn't fit in. He knew all about escaping, never settling down anywhere long enough to get comfortable. "I understand."
"Sheppard." When John didn't answer, Ronon leaned over him. "I'm not going without you. When Atlantis returns, we're all leaving. Together."
John licked chapped lips and rubbed a trembling hand over his brow. "Right, yeah. I knew that's what you meant."
Ronon fidgeted and John stared at the ceiling, wanting nothing more than to shed out of his skin and leave it behind like a snake. Sweat beaded across his forehead and he barely had the strength to wipe it away. All his bones ached, all the way down his spine. "What's wrong with me?"
Ronon slumped in his chair, adjusting his long limbs. "You're sick."
"Thought I was getting better?"
"You do things the hard way."
The curtain swooshed aside and Keller strode in. "How are you doing, Colonel?"
"I don't know. Maybe you should tell me."
Keller shared a glance with Ronon who shrugged and she plastered on a smile. "An infection originating in one of the wounds on your thigh caused you to spike a nasty fever last night, but we're keeping it under control. Does any of this sound familiar?"
"No," and John didn't mention how unnerving that was.
"Every time he falls asleep, I have to repeat myself," Ronon added.
"That's understandable with temps over 103," Keller remarked. "It's not uncommon for an infection to develop near the incision site a week or more after surgery. Your body is fighting multiple traumas and your immune system is having trouble keeping up." She pulled out a syringe from her lab coat and injected the contents into his IV. "I gave you a slight sedative. We'll allow it a few minutes to take effect before we debride the wound again."
"That sounds pleasant," he rasped, not keen on the idea of alcohol, disinfectant or whatever they used to be poured into his hot aching leg.
"Hopefully, you won't be very aware of it." Keller studied the monitors over his bed. "Cellulitis isn't a lot of fun, but I think after a few more days, we'll have you back on the mend."
A warm syrupy feeling drained away all his tension, leaving behind limbs of taffy and a brain of mush. Everything became a muted, distant echo. Ronon still sat there, his breathing a comforting blanket.
"I was offered a command," John muttered with rubbery lips. "A ship. Like in Star Trek."
"Cool."
"Was gonna take you with me...if I took it. And Rodney. Teyla." John pictured the helm overseeing a sea of swirling stars. "We were gonna hunt Wraith," he slurred.
"I could get behind that."
His liquid smile flattened into a line. "Wouldn't work though. Don't think Rodney would go. And...you know...ship's no place for raising a kid."
"Sheppard." A firm hand gripped his shoulder. "Hey."
Forcing his lids open, John stared up at Ronon's hovering face. "Yeah?"
"Stop thinking so much."
John laughed at the simplicity of the advice, realizing the genius behind it.
Who knew the havoc an infection could create, chopping down whole forests of time in the blink of an eye and leaving him wrung out. Technically, he was out of the woods, his liver function back to normal, the fever gone. His leg however looked like a mangled hunk of roadkill. His walking cast ended above his knee and rows of stitches crisscrossed his thigh, the skin various shades of pink.
John sat upright in bed since getting up to move into a chair was too much of a chore. He reminded himself he was lucky to be alive. According to the investigation at the cargo depot, his vest had stopped nearly twenty bullets and only the exposed areas of his body got the brunt of the punishment. Scanning the report for a third time gleaned few results about the bad guys. Most of the dead'd had their fingerprints burned off and the French General's corpse was beyond identification thanks to being fed on.
"Have you tried osmosis?" Rodney wandered in, setting down his $ is the square root of evil mug next to John's laptop. "I hear that's the new rage when faced with a problem that has no chance of being solved with the data at hand."
"Hello to you too, McKay," John groused, laying the papers down on his lap. "But since you asked, no, I haven't. What about the first patrol that went after us when we arrived? We used non-lethal force with them."
"Lee found a way to resurrect the grooves of their epidermis, thus providing us with fingerprints." Taking a sip of his coffee, Rodney wrinkled his nose. "I knew my minions brewed it too weak."
"And?"
"And what?"
"What happened when Lee ran the prints?"
Shrugging, Rodney gave the empty plastic chair a look, but remained standing. "Nothing. We have the names of a few low-ranking grunts washed out or discharged from various countries' militaries. You know, your typical adrenaline junkies searching for a Rambo fix and a large paycheck."
John blew out an irritated breath and scratched at the stubble on his chin. "They're still not talking?"
"A few starting singing like canaries, but," Rodney held out a finger. "They don't know anything useful."
"Like how a shadow group managed to break into one of the most secure places on Earth and break out a Wraith under everyone's noses." Or why. What were they going to do with Todd? It was a nightmare. All personnel would need to be re-vetted and put under a microscope and a complete overhaul done to base security. For once, he was glad that was someone else's job. Landry must be having kittens. "Have offworld operations resumed?"
"Why, do you plan on taking a field trip?"
"Yeah, just me and my wheelchair," John snarked back. With a loud sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Just wondering if the stargate has been deemed secured."
"They are and it is. Satellites have also been restored. I've been tracing Kavanaugh's hacks and figured out he cut power and communications briefly near the holding area long enough for whoever to snatch Todd. It was simple, to be honest. He only took out communications and camera feeds for sixty seconds on each level, presumably while Todd was being transported outside. How they got inside the Mountain in the first place and how they got Todd out once they were on the grounds is anyone's guess."
"Great," John muttered.
"Hey, you should be happy." Rodney bounced on his toes and heels, hands clasped behind his back. "I hear you're being sprung by the weekend."
"Two days and counting," John answered. Then weeks of mandatory rest and grueling PT, but he didn't bitch about that out loud. He watched Rodney look nervously about and overheard voices outside his curtain. "Something going on?"
With a glance over his shoulder, Rodney flapped his hand. "Yeah, speaking of off world teams, one of them ran into a...um...a flock of flying monkey things that enjoyed flinging mud. At least I hope it was mud… Anyway, it isn't a pretty sight."
"O-kay." John watched multiple shadows move around and overheard a few curses. Post-mission check-ups were conducted much further away and with previous breaches of security he couldn't stow his paranoia. "Maybe you should see what's going on."
Rodney stepped in front of him, blocking his view. "Told you, another screwball encounter with non friendly primitive life forms."
Call it a hunch, but there was too much commotion going on for his taste. He heard a few choice curses and low throaty commands out of earshot. John pulled aside his blankets, eying the IV next.
"What are you doing? Are you nuts? Wait, don't answer that," Rodney was on him, pulling the sheets back up. "You're supposed to be on complete bed rest. No overdoing things, like I don't know. Walking around."
"Then bring over the wheelchair."
"Don't growl at me," Rodney snapped. "I'm not your aide, and I meant it about the whole not overdoing it. You have a very big day next week. Like the biggest day of your life complete with three-ring circus and-"
"McKay!" John interrupted. "I don't want a huge ruckus made about it."
Rodney stared at John like he'd just proposed that Newton's' Third Law was incorrect. "But it is a big deal. I'm not in the military and even I know all about the relevance and prestige of it."
"I know. Perhaps a little too much." Words failed John at the enormity of it all. The history and sacred honor he wasn't sure he deserved to be a part of. Not with all the mistakes and death on his shoulders.
"John," Rodney said, his voice serious, eyes drilling into him. "Forget all those doubts and what-ifs floating around that coconut you call a brain and listen to me. You deserve it. Hell, you deserve it for a lot of other things."
John's throat got suddenly dry and he swiftly looked away.
Lorne popped his head around the curtain, saving them both from further embarrassment. "Hey, McKay. We're ready."
"Oh, thank God," Rodney exclaimed. "I am not good with improv, you know." Before he turned around, he gave John a half smile then launched into a tirade of complaints.
The tension breaker was a relief and John sat back as Rodney disappeared and returned with Lorne by his side. "Alright, let's get this show on the road, chop-chop."
Lorne rolled his eyes while moving the wheelchair closer and activating the brake. "Do you need some help, sir?"
"No, I..." John allowed Teyla's words from days before to wash over him. Getting out of bed was a challenge he hadn't mastered alone without a lot of pain and swearing. "On second thought, yeah. If you don't mind."
Lorne helped in silence, taking John's weight with a shoulder, supporting him while he wrangled his bad leg out of bed and sucked in a breath when his side and shoulder pinched healing flesh and muscle. He was literally shaking once he was settled in the chair, hugging his chest and arm.
Maybe Woolsey had been right about postponing the ceremony, which was, jeeesh. Next week already.
"Where am I going?" he asked as a way of distraction.
"Just a little field trip," Lorne answered, dodging the question while attaching the saline bag to the pole.
Rodney followed alongside him and John quirked a suspicious eyebrow when he saw them headed for the isolation room. "McKay. You sure there's something you're not telling me?"
"Don't get your boxers in a bunch. This was a compromise. The quacks didn't want you to be out of stabbing range of their syringes and we needed the space."
Rodney punched a code into the keypad and the door slid open to the aroma of barbeque and an enthusiastic announcer's voice booming from a very large plasma television. John was stunned as Lorne wheeled him into the center of the party. The room was filled with sofas and chairs and a lot of enthusiastic soldiers and civilians he recognized. He spotted Ronon and Teyla chatting with Sergeant Jameson and members of the strike force were hanging out by a table with a punch bowl. Major Davis of all people was by the grill, flipping burgers, wearing a t-shirt and jeans with a ridiculous chef's hat.
"I don't understand," John finally managed.
"Seriously? I mean it's not the World Cup, but you don't recognize a Super Bowl party?" Rodney waved at various parts of the room. "Let's see, cooking out. Check. Alcohol, none for you by the way. Check. An overpriced 1080 progressive scan neo plasma display TV and surround sound. Check."
John sported a huge grin. "How did...I mean, this is really great."
"Yeah, well as much as I hate to admit it, this wasn't my idea. It was hers."
Following Rodney's finger, John spotted his ex wife another woman, both their backs to him. "This was Nancy's idea?"
Rodney chuckled. "Actually it was Dr. Sullivan's."
As if equipped with radar, both women turned their heads and with a little prodding on Nancy's part, Sullivan seemed to excuse herself and made her way over. "Hello."
"Hey, Doc," he stammered.
"I thought we agreed to use our first names?"
With a half smile he nodded. "Forgot. Things have been kind of crazy of late. I um, didn't recognize you with your hair down."
"Oh, yeah," she pointed at the long strands of hair that framed her face and came down to her shoulders. "You know, dress code regulations."
"Right." John suddenly felt very exposed. He'd been given a set of scrubs a few days before with one of the pant legs cut open to allow his cast, but compared to everyone else he was sitting in what he'd wear to bed.
"You know, I bet it's chilly in here for you. Maybe I could find you a robe," she said, turning to leave.
"Hey, wait." Sullivan stopped and John cleared his throat. "So, this whole thing was your idea?"
Her cheeks reddened and she gave him an embarrassed smile. "When I heard you'd be stuck in the infirmary during the big game, I thought you might want to watch it." Relaxing a little, she took a sip of beer. "But who wants to watch the Super Bowl alone? Then, one thing led to another. And voila."
Taking in all the excitement around him, John allowed the energy to lift his spirits. "I think a party would do a lot of good for everyone." He gave her a cocky grin. "Not bad for a..." She shot him a daring look and John laughed. "Not badly planned for a linguistics hotshot."
"Hey, I was embedded in Iraq for two years. I know my way around an op." Her face sobered for a moment and she lowered her voice. "In fact, that's the reason why I was medically discharged from Naval Intelligence. It was an IED… I was riding with a team to meet up with a CIA informant."
"I'm sorry to hear that," John apologized, feeling guilty for all the lame Navy jokes.
"Nothing to be sorry for. I had a job to do and I did it well. I'd go right back out there if they allowed me to." Sullivan's eyes gleamed. "Just like I know you're going to get right back on that horse. I might hate all the working out I have to do, but it's a small price to pay to keep my strength. I might not be on the front lines in Iraq, but I've got a new effort to fight for."
"And we're glad to have you." There was a momentary lull of silence, but she was smiling gratefully at him. John cleared his throat, eyes checking out her red and white t-shirt. "Rooting for the Cardinals, huh?"
"Kurt Warner all the way," she declared.
"What happened to the Ravens? Or do you just like teams with bird mascots?"
"No, I'm a fan of teams with winning records. Baltimore made it to the wild card, but the Colts won out. And who knows... maybe I'm a fan of things that fly."
His cheeks glowed hot. "Well, I haven't seen the Steelers in a while, but if they still have a running game, I don't think Arizona stands a chance."
"Are you a betting man?" she teased.
"Sometimes a little too much," he admitted ruefully.
"You know what they say about gambling?"
"It's the root of all evil?" John offered.
"You'll always miss 100% of the shots you don't take."
John cocked his head. "Chinese proverb?"
"Wayne Gretzky," she winked.
"Point taken," he admitted with a chuckle, his thoughts drifting on his past choices. "But maybe it's a sign of reckless desperation."
Locking onto his gaze, she bent down to his eye level. "I dunno. I think people who take great risks have a lot of hope."
John didn't have a witty reply, taken aback by the sheer sincerity of her answer.
"I think your friends want to talk to you," Sullivan said smoothly, indicating Teyla who was waving them over. "I'm going to see about that robe."
He was still a bit dumbfounded, her words turning his worldview upside down. Realizing that he was simply sitting there with a befuddled expression on his face, he started to wheel toward his friends when he realized there was no way he could do it on his own. Suddenly, the room moved on its own accord and he craned his neck around to see Rodney had taken on the task.
"Thanks, McKay."
"Did you really think I'd leave you stranded without a paddle?"
"Depends. Are there any whales chasing us?"
"Keep it up. I'll just wheel you right into a broom closet."
John was grinning ear to ear when they reached the blue plush sofa both his other friends were lazing around on. Teyla stood and hugged his neck. Ronon clapped him on his good shoulder.
Rodney fiddled and cursed, trying to engage the parking brake. "For the love of God. I'm the architect of the gate bridge, but I can't get this rusty bucket of bolts to work."
The fiddling and adjusting sent vibrations through the wheelchair and John gripped the armrest tightly. "Cut it out, McKay."
"Fine, it's not like you're on a hill or anything." Rodney leaned on the back of one of the sofas. "Why Lam doesn't keep a motorized version is anyone's guess."
"Golf carts," John grinned. "Dave and I used to soup up Dad's golf carts. Got 'em to forty miles an hour. With all the geeks around here, I bet they could outfit them to go at some cool speeds."
"Oh, no. Don't look at me. I'm not going to jerry-rig or pimp out any ride for you," Rodney protested when John sent him his most charming expression.
As if anticipating a round of verbal barbs, Teyla interrupted things before anything could get started. "So, this Super Bowl is the championship round of contests?"
"Yep, the accumulation of a whole season of wits, strategy and grid iron hits," John beamed, glancing at the highlight reel leading up to the game.
"They play in pads. Can't be that challenging."
"Some of these guys hit each other at the same force as a head-on collision," he defended. Ronon stared at him and John realized he needed to stop with the Earth references. "It's like being pummeled by a bad assed Wraith."
Ronon hmphed indifferently, eying the grill. "Gonna grab some food."
"Save some for the rest of us."
Ronon gave Rodney the middle finger and John basked in the camaraderie, thinking tonight might not be bad at all. His eyes roamed the room, searching for his target, hoping Sullivan wasn't on some wild robe goose chase. He spotted Nancy chatting up Davis and was happy for her at fitting in so easily with a base of mixed units. And he even silenced a nagging voice about the irony of it all considering the seeds of their divorce.
All heads turned to the front of the room and John gave a quizzical look in that direction, curious when Teyla mumbled, "Oh, no."
Colonel Cameron Mitchell entered with Vala Mal Doran by his side, her cat eyes scouting out the party.
"I can not get caught up in another two hour conversion with Ms. Mal Doran, John." Teyla whispered. "I do not wish to know any more details about her...adventures. It is worse than the three-day negotiations with the Fenbar. And since Dr. Jackson is not here to distract her, I prefer not to be her gossip companion for the duration." Taking Rodney's arm, she tugged him close. "Escort me, please."
With a yelp at the pressure around his bicep, Rodney looked at him. "Um...I have to-"
"I'll be fine," John said, waving them away.
"I will return shortly," Teyla promised, forcing a smile when she and McKay whisked past two of the stars of SG-1.
Vala's eyes lit up when she spotted John and Mitchell wrapped an arm around her waist, dipping close to her ear and whispering. Whatever magical words he used, a gigantic smile radiated from her face and she made a beeline towards Ronon.
Watching her saunter toward the big guy was amusing and John was still laughing on the inside while Mitchell snagged a beer by the punch bowl and came over to greet him. "Looks like a great party, Sheppard. You sure know how to liven up the place."
"Well, you know, any excuse for everyone to blow off some steam."
Mitchell took a seat on the sofa, sprawling out across two seats. Wearing a black t-shirt and denim jeans, he appeared to be a man in need of a break and seizing a moment to laze around. "Yeah, after the last few weeks, a little R&R would be nice."
"Rough time?" John inquired. He still hadn't been privy to SG-1's secret mission.
"Like riding a bull bareback." Mitchell gazed absently at the party and seemed to come back to himself, his eyes widening and sitting up. "Man, I'm sorry. Here I am rambling on and you guys managed to upstage some of our antics in record time." With a quick visual assessment of John, he shook his head. "You know, Sheppard, ducking out of the line of fire has been proven to be a great evasive tactic."
John shrugged his good shoulder. "Maybe I needed reminding that I'm better in the air than the ground."
"You've been hanging with too many jarheads."
"Kind of hard not to. Being as we're inside a mountain." It was hard to be in the air while miles underground. A little man was tap dancing on his leg with iron shoes and John tried finding a more comfortable position in the confines of his chair. "Is Colonel Carter here?" he asked as a distraction.
"Yeah. After our mission debriefing with Landry, she stayed to go over the little security incident." Mitchell downed half his longneck with a few gulps. "Me, on the other hand. I'll read the report or settle for Teal'c's version which will be a helluva lot shorter."
"I bet Ronon will be glad to have him back as a sparring partner," John quipped, watching the big guy unsuccessfully pull himself away from Vala's attention. "You know, if your team is in need of some back-up-"
"I'm sure we could find a temporary place for him, although once the SERE brass get their claws into him, I might have a fight on my hands." Mitchell finished his beer and twirled the empty bottle. "Don't worry. I'll just keep his seat warm until you get your band back together."
John snorted in cynicism.
"Hey. You're going to bounce back from this. It's not gonna be fun, but you'll do it." Mitchell's voice dropped, his face inches from John's. "And I know a hell of a lot of people who'll be there every step of the way, whether you like it or not."
Maybe it was that gnawing ache in leg and side wearing away his bulletproof exterior, but John matched Mitchell's gravelly voice. "I trust my team to have my back. I'm not so sure about the SGC."
"You really have been burned, haven't you? Look. I don't know your whole story and we both know each other's files are filled with holes, but the one thing I can say, is that you have another team watching your six."
"My record has more than holes."
"I'm sure it has a few valleys, but it has some impressive mountains, too. And I think they overshadow everything else. Hell, have you see Sam's jacket? Or let's face it, O'Neill's?"
"No, but I have a pretty good idea."
"You have no idea." Mitchell sported the biggest I shit you not expression and he went from vehement to relaxed. "I know how you're feeling, Sheppard. I've been in your shoes. From that chair to that stage you'll be walking across next week. And you're scared to death."
John sat there, listening to his fears being spoken out loud.
"You don't want to discuss it, because once you start thinking about all those other guys and their sacrifices, there's no way ours can compare, right? That somehow having your name added will tarnish those honored." Mitchell eyes went from a distant spot in the room to John's. "That's crap. There's no measuring tool when it comes to sacrifice. Thinking in those terms is what's disrespectful."
His jaw in rigor, John sat back and listened.
Mitchell stood, his bearing relaxing. "It's hard to take it all in, but you will. And all us will be there behind you. Good men are hard to find; true leaders are born naturally. But now, it's time for another beer."
Like ships crossing in the night, John looked up in time to find Nancy standing next to him bearing a plate of food. "I thought you might be hungry. Medium rare, ketchup on the side," she winked.
"Thank you." He took the plate with his free hand, balancing it on his right knee.
With nothing in her hands, she looked a little lost.
"You're a bit overdressed don't you think," John mentioned, eying her gray business suit.
"Actually, I have a web conference to attend. And while no one would notice if I was wearing pajamas and bunny slippers, I felt it appropriate."
"Or you could be comfortable," John countered.
"To be truthful, I haven't had time to change." Checking her watch, she let out a sigh. "I really should go."
"It's Sunday night. Must be important."
"Actually, it's early Monday morning and before you ask, I can't discuss the matter. I'm sorry."
"Been there. Done that," he told her with a ghost of a smile.
"Enjoy the fun, John. You deserve it," she said with a pat to his shoulder before making her exit.
For a party, it sure felt like he'd been navigating a minefield. Shaking his head, John tore into his burger and almost swallowed it whole, it was that damn good. Nothing like real food.
Kick-off was minutes away and everyone vied for a good spot near the TV, grabbing plates loaded with burgers and hotdogs and snagging cold ones. Ronon ambled over with Vala in tow, the two of them standing awkwardly while the rest of the room reached a fever pitch at the start of the game.
"You are looking well, Colonel Sheppard," Vala purred, though her eyes were all on Ronon.
"Thanks." John had to admit she was a very attractive woman, but he took pity on his big friend. "I heard Dr. Jackson was looking for you. Something about not caring about the game."
Ronon all but forgotten, Vala released her possessive grip. "Really? He was asking for me?"
"Colonel Mitchell informed me," John lied with a game smile.
"Hmmm, maybe I should wait. I am in the company of two very fine men."
It was really flattering and John knew the advances were superficial. "True, but the guys that really play hard to get are those worth pursuing."
Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Vala beamed. "You are a wise man, Colonel." Ruffling his hair, she set off on her search for Jackson and John hoped the guy understood the need for the ploy.
Ronon crossed his arms, watching the first running play on the giant plasma. "I like hockey. At least they use weapons."
"Don't let McKay hear you say that."
The big guy gave him a dirty look, but John didn't mind. This was the first time since their impromptu return that he felt just a little bit normal. It wasn't the game room on Atlantis with his people, but more like a visit with an extended family. He glanced up at Mitchell as he rolled a chair close by and the member of SG-1 held a brief stare down with Ronon before being allowed to join them.
"Think Roethlisberger can handle things?" Mitchell wondered.
"Don't know. Last time I paid attention to Pittsburgh he was a rookie." John shared a knowing look with Mitchell, his gaze going to Ronon and realizing the disconnect was even further. That no matter how out of sorts John felt, it paled in comparison to his friends.
Earth was John's home world, not his home, but it was this vast unknown to parts of his team. As their CO—as their friend- it was his job to be make things easier.
"Looks like the coast is clear."
He'd been zoning out, his eyes on the television, his brain elsewhere. But he glanced up as Rodney and Teyla returned, completing the circle.
"I brewed you a strong tea, John. It will help soothe muscle aches while keeping you alert."
"Yeah, you wouldn't want to conk out in the middle of your own party."
"I wasn't falling asleep, McKay." But Rodney was smiling. Accepting the spicy brew from Teyla, he didn't complain when she took his empty plate away. John sniffed at the concoction. "Is this the same thing that had me wired for two days straight on PX3-MX7 while I saw dancing Aztecs?"
"No it is not, but it has helped relieve your stress before without 'putting you out' as you like to say."
The cup smelled of an odd mix of cinnamon, cloves and dead wet leaves. "Since I'm banned from the rest of the festivities, I'm sure this will hit the spot." Sipping the stout drink, he forced the first swallow down without coughing. "Tastes great."
"Are you sure that's been approved by Jennifer? Last thing we need is the local celebrity to keel over from a toxic reaction," Rodney demanded, waving his hand over his nose.
"You know that I would not allow such a thing to happen," Teyla graciously dismissed the argument. "Speaking of which, where's Jennifer?"
"Finishing rounds. She's dropping by during the second half." Rodney spied Ronon's loaded plate of grub and rubbed his hands together in glee. "And now that I'm done helping people make daring escapes, it's time to eat."
The room erupted in cheers and boos and John watched a replay of a beautiful forty-yard Arizona pass.
"Told you. Kurt Warner all the way."
John grinned. "You have great timing."
Sullivan wandered over with a bundle of fabric. "Actually, I didn't mean to take this long, but I thought you might like this." She handed him an extra large Steelers' t-shirt along with a light blue robe. "I know you might not be able to change into it, but you could wave it around a lot."
"Do I want to know how you got this in the middle of a base?"
"Like I said. I know my way around special ops."
John grinned dumbly until he was gently elbowed. "Thank you. Um..." he risked a glance at Teyla who was looking anything but innocent and John cleared his throat. "Why don't you grab a chair? Watch the game with us."
"I don't want to intrude."
With three giant strides, Ronon grabbed an an empty loveseat and plopped it down. "Here."
Eyes widening, Sullivan quickly sat down.
"Oh, come on, I leave for three minutes and we're already playing musical chairs?" John watched Rodney try balancing a beer, a plate of burgers while hooking a chair with his leg. "Some help?"
Sipping his tea, John didn't think about promotions and choices, reports or his uncertain future. Not when he was perfectly happy right where he was and intended to enjoy every damn minute of it.