Thanks again for all the reviews, and I'm delighted you enjoyed the whump! Now its onto the recovery - How is John?

DAMAGED

CHAPTER 13

It was raining, but Carson didn't mind a bit of the wet stuff. He was a Scot and knew that a wee drop of water didn't hurt anyone. Besides, the cold shower chilling his skin revitalised him, and helped relieve the stiffness he felt after having spent so many hours in surgery.

Carson stretched out his aching back and gingerly twisted his head from side to side, trying to work out the kinks. He longed to retreat into the relative sanctuary of his quarters where a dram of single malt would have gone down a treat, except he couldn't imbibe, in case the colonel needed him. So instead, he contented himself with the strong coffee cooling in his mug, and the fresh Atlantis breeze chasing away the cobwebs from his brain.

It was a dreach day, reminiscent of the typical wet summers at home, and Carson felt it getting colder by the minute. He pulled up his collar and rubbed his arms, trying to get some warmth, but his skin still felt numb, a feeling he wished could pervade deep into his senses, but the cold could only reach so far. The rawness he felt, caused by rage, disgust, nausea, all jostling for precedence in his jumbled emotions, was so acute because he couldn't comprehend the evil in a man's mind that would make someone inflict the injuries caused to his friend.

Carson was neither a violent nor a lazy man, and couldn't understand why someone had persecuted John just because they had been forced to work for a living. His mother had brought up all four of her children to pay their way, and often used to say, "Monies round to go round." Her meaning clear…share what you have not just with family or friends, but also with those who weren't as fortunate. She was a good woman his mum, the best, still living, but lost to him since the son she knew had died years ago in an explosion. He missed her sorely, especially her warm smile when he'd come home at the end of the day, and a comforting hug after a hellish one…like today.

John had coded on the table, right in the middle of debriding his back, and Carson could still visualise the blood dripping onto the floor as they turned him to begin resuscitations. He'd brought him back again, just like the time on the jumper after the Iratus bug attack, then again after John had volunteered to test that bloody drug. It was becoming a regular occurrence, bringing Sheppard back from the dead, too regular in fact, and Carson was starting to wonder just how many lives the colonel actually had.

Still, John was alive - just, but critical at best, something he would need to tell his team as soon as he finished his coffee. Though in no rush, as Carson was reluctant to tell them what he was struggling to come to terms with himself - the horrific knowledge that apart from being brutally whipped, Lt Colonel John Sheppard had also been tortured.

ooooOoooo

Richard waited until all the usual suspects were gathered around the table, and despite the presence of Ronon, Teyla, Rodney and Lorne, he noticed that the typical lively banter present before any meeting was absent, as the conference room remained unusually quiet. There wasn't even a snark from Dr McKay as he sat silently staring into his laptop, although the absence of clacking keys made it obvious, at least to him, no actual work was getting done. It was clear Rodney was just using the screen to hide behind, but the prop didn't work, as it was plain to see from the worry etched into his strained expression, the scientist was upset by the condition of his friend.

Privately, he'd always thought of Sheppard's team as being a bit of an odd bunch. There was Ronon, who had impressed him with his courage during Michael's invasion, but was in Richard's opinion rather taciturn, and his reports, or lack thereof, had caused him numerous headaches since he'd arrived. Beside him sat Teyla, the lady of the group, who in his view appeared to be den mother to all three men, but behind her serene exterior hid the soul of a warrior…and then there was McKay. Richard had a great deal of professional respect for the brilliant scientist, but personally, he considered him a rather condescending and irritating man. It was a curiosity to him why Sheppard had not only chosen the whinging scientist to be part of his crew, but also seemed to genuinely like him. Still, as Richard would freely admit, despite their diverse make-up, or maybe even because of it, they were the best on base. It was clear that their loyalty to the man himself was unwavering, as they supported him through thick and thin, yet, as he'd seen for himself on several occasions, they weren't averse to challenging his opinions either, if not his ultimate authority. When he'd asked Sheppard about it once, John had told him that he valued their honesty, plus he couldn't stand those who brown nosed, never having been one to blindly obey without question himself.

Out the corner of his eye, he watched as Beckett arrived and took his place at the table. The Scot looked apprehensive, and his exhaustion was evident in the slouch of his shoulders, and the deep lines etched into his face. His expression was worryingly grim.

"Good morning, everyone." Richard's gaze took in everyone round the table, including Beckett, who was preparing to speak. "There are a few items on the agenda this morning, however, I am sure you will all want to receive an update on Colonel Sheppard's condition first. Doctor Beckett…"

Carson made as if to stand, then appeared to think better of it, and satisfied himself with leaning back against the chair instead. "Thank you, Mr Woolsey. Now as all of you are aware, Dr Keller and I spent the best part of last night with the colonel in surgery, and while he isn't out of the woods yet, I am pleased to report he has remained stable overnight. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial, but if he comes though that, we hope to begin skin grafts in the next few days."

"Does he really have to go through that…weren't you able to patch him up?" Rodney's voice sounded sharper than usual as he peered over his laptop cringing, a tone Richard recognised as a sign the good doctor was upset.

Beckett slowly shook his head, and sighed, "I'm afraid not, Rodney…there was nothing left to patch, as any skin that was left on his back, was so badly damaged it had to be removed," he replied. "One small mercy is with artificial skin now available, we can use allografts to begin with while we culture the colonel's own skin in the lab. Though you should be aware that during this process visitation will be strictly limited."

At the sound of muttering from the team, Richard intervened. "Carry on, Doctor."

Beckett leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. "Look, people, I know you all want to be with him, but to decrease the chance of infection, Colonel Sheppard will have to remain in isolation, so infection protocols have been put in place. In other words, there will only be one visitor allowed at any time, and masks, gloves and gowns must be donned before entering the unit," Beckett explained, and Richard watched as Carson's hand shook slightly as he reached for a glass of water, then took a long draught. "However, apart from his back, there is another serious concern I need to inform you about. His other injuries - cracked ribs, deep bruising over most of his body, welts over his torso and legs plus burns - are all indicative of one thing…he was tortured. From what I can tell, the abuse was systematic and unrelenting over a prolonged period, although for the life of me…I can't begin to understand why."

Richard thought that Beckett seemed to mumble that last part to himself, before the doctor looked up mildly surprised to see the others watching him, then appeared to give himself a metal shake before he continued. "I'm sorry…what I meant by that remark is by all the accounts we've received from Etraska, it would appear that when he arrived there Colonel Sheppard had lost his memory, and apparently, he'd only just started getting bits and pieces of it back before we found him. Therefore, on that basis, I don't see how he could have given them any information about Atlantis," Carson said. "Of course, none of this can be confirmed until the colonel regains consciousness, but honestly, Mr Woolsey, under those circumstances, I really don't believe there is a security risk."

"Is there any evidence of permanent brain damage, Doctor Beckett?" Teyla asked, her voice cracking slightly.

"No, lass, that was one of the first things I checked for, although it is a well know fact that head injuries, even minor ones, combined with extreme stress can cause memory loss. So, given the fact we know he had already sustained a concussion the day before he went to Pallonia, I'm of the opinion that the colonel has been without his memory since he underwent that bloody test of courage…sorry, Mr Woolsey, I apologise for the language." Carson's face flushed beet red, as he looked over apologetically.

"Don't worry about it, Doctor," Richard answered with a smile, hoping he reassured the man, as although he wasn't allowed to express it himself, he privately agreed with Carson's sentiments.

"So what's the prognosis, Carson? Is Sheppard ever going to be Sheppard again?" Rodney piped up, clearly anxious.

Beckett put his palms in the air and shrugged. "I don't know, Rodney. Medical science can only do so much, and right now, the colonel is getting the best possible care, but as for the future there are too many variables to be sure. Once we assess his cognitive abilities and the resultant mental trauma caused by his treatment there, then we'll know better what we're up against." Beckett went silent for a moment, then lifted his eyes to meet everyone around the room. "What I do know is, if John gets through the next few days, he's going to need each and every one of you to support him in the weeks and even months ahead. A side effect of head trauma, especially one resulting in amnesia would most likely have left him severely depressed, so I can only imagine how low the poor bugger must have felt, as he had been both mentally and physically oppressed by his situation. At this stage, it's hard to tell whether he'll be able to completely recover from his ordeal. Let's just say I wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't some change in the man, but we'll just have to wait and see."

"Just one more thing, Doc." A question came from Lorne this time. "Why couldn't we locate him with his transponder?"

Beckett snapped shut his laptop and looked up. "There was a crude incision over a large burn on his arm around the area where it should have been," he answered. "If you want my best guess, I would say it had probably been melted by the heat when he was branded, and then caused a subsequent infection that necessitated its removal at a later stage." Carson's face grew angry. "Although the bloody butcher who carved him open caused extensive muscle damage, which is something else I'll have to address at a later date."

Rodney's eyes flew open and he dropped his laptop onto the floor. "They branded him? He was already wearing chains, wasn't that enough?"

"You'd think so, son, wouldn't you…" Beckett said, his voice trailing away.

For a few minutes no one spoke, so Richard waited until the harassed medic left the room and McKay retrieved his computer, before turning to the next item of the agenda. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but he was also aware as commander of the base it was his job to get everyone back to business after the doctor's disturbing revelations. "Major Lorne," he turned to Sheppard's XO. "Would you brief us on the current situation on PX4 192 please?"

ooooOoooo

Little by little, John became aware of a weird thrum electrifying his senses, but it wasn't painful like static, and felt oddly reassuring. It almost seemed as if in a strange way it was welcoming him, almost as if the sensation was a living, breathing thing.

John wondered if this could be heaven, then realised he was just being dumb. For one thing, he reckoned he hadn't earned the admission fee, and for another, he was in pain, though not the searing, gut wrenching agony of before. This time, while he still felt raw, the ache was somehow more muted than before and there was a fuzzy feeling that he recognised as the presence of good drugs coursing though his veins…could he be home?

He felt himself shaking, and his cheeks wet, but was frightened to open his eyes, scared to look, in case he was wrong and awoke once more to see the gloomy, stone walls of the place without a heart. In the distance, he heard the soft beep that had been lurking in the background suddenly get louder, turning into a blaring insistent scream that filled him with terror…

"Colonel Sheppard…John. It's Doctor Beckett…Carson. Try to take it easy, son, everything is going to be alright now. You're home." John's eyes flew open to be immediately blinded by dazzling lights glaring from a blue ceiling. He didn't know where he was, but he remembered the voice, and when the world came into focus he recognised the wrinkled blue eyes from his visions. He knew this man, and there was something familiar about this place – he could feel it in his bones, but best of all…John knew he was finally free.

He started to cry and couldn't stop, his relief so overwhelming it was almost his undoing, as fierce sobs wracked his body sending him into agonising convulsions, making his body scream as fiery pain rippled across his back. "Arggh…" John struggled to breathe as wave upon wave of excruciating pain seared through him, until he felt the ice cold sensation of morphine seeping though his veins as it gradually doused the flames, and numbed the agony until it became a faint icy hot tingle.

"Better?" the familiar voice asked though a fog, and if he wasn't so darned beat, John would have told him it was.

Sleep was pulling him under, but John felt afraid, frightened that perhaps he was wrong and maybe this was only a dream, and he would awake once more to find himself still chained to the high beam. He couldn't go back there, wouldn't return to the hellish life he'd just left, so he started to fight, resisting the drugs and his desperate need for rest. Then, through his panic, he heard the one called Carson speak again. "Go to sleep, John, and rest easy. Don't worry, no one's going to hurt you here, and I'll be right by your side when you wake up."

"I'm…ho…me?" he asked, hoping he was right, but still unable to believe it could be true.

"Yes, you're home. Now you must be thirsty, so have a wee drop of water before you head for the land of nod." John felt the straw enter his mouth, but was too bushed to do more than take a sip of the fresh, cold liquid as it eased the fire in his aching throat.

"Thanx…Car…sun."

John could feel the darkness close in and his eyelids grow heavy, so he reckoned it must be his imagination when he heard a crack in the doctor's voice. "No thanks are necessary, Colonel, I'm just glad to have you back…"

ooooOoooo

TBC

Well John is back home, but the story isn't quite finished yet - the last chapter is up tomorrow. Hope you enjoyed this one though, and please review.

BTW, in case any of you were wondering, 'Dreach' is a Scots word for a cold, damp, miserable day.