A/N: Thank you for the comments - I'm glad people are having fun with this!! 'Cuz I'm having a blast writing it!! Now, onto the next installment...

Chapter 4

John immediately knew he was in a hospital when he started to wake up – that was another smell that was hard to forget. He was lying on his back on something relatively soft, and he kept his eyes shut as he took stock of the various aches and pains he could feel. His left forearm was burning and he could feel a knot between his shoulders that ached like a sonuvabitch. He also had sore spots on his lower back and right butt cheek that felt like deep bruises, and for some reason his scalp even hurt.

Then his stomach knotted painfully. He groaned, his hands went to his gut, and he curled up on his side as sweat broke out all over. He didn't know how long it lasted, but when the wave ended he was panting and his throat felt tight. John cracked open his eyes and could see a pair of legs in khaki right at nose level. He lifted his head and his breath caught momentarily. Oh, great, he thought. Here he was, gazing up at probably one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen in his life, and he was about to …. "Garbage …," he said thickly, then couldn't say any more because he had to swallow, hard, a few times before he could continue. He closed his eyes briefly so he missed the woman's sudden frown of utter disgust. "…Can. Now," he finished and waved weakly at the one he could see on the floor just to her right. When she still just stood there and stared at him with that offended frown he thought oh fuck as another cramp wracked his gut and he projectile vomited right on her.

Now she decides to move, he thought as she backed up quickly and he hung his head over the side of the bed. Then another pair of khaki covered legs darted into view, someone grabbed the garbage can, and held it under him. As John brought up another wave of stomach acid and bile he heard a very amused male voice say, "Och, that's gonna stain." Then a soft chuckle.

Chaya held her hands up and stared down in horror at the splatters that covered her from mid-stomach to damn near her knees. She was making odd little strangled sounds in the back of her throat, until Keller stepped up and calmly offered her a box of tissues.

"You should have handed him the garbage can," Keller said with a shrug. "Just sayin'."

Chaya shrieked in pure outrage.

John flinched on top of his dry heaves.

Chaya whirled and stomped off. The two guards Kolya assigned to keep an eye on her glanced between themselves and started to follow. Chaya stopped and spun on them, and the expression on her face stopped the two soldiers dead in their tracks. "Don't follow me, you idiots," she hissed. She pointed at Sheppard. "Stay and keep an eye on it."

The expressions on their faces were beyond relieved when she turned and stormed out of the infirmary. They moved back to their original spots near the foot of Sheppard's bed, close but not too close, their P90's dangling but still in a ready grip.

Carson put a hand on John's back and glanced at Keller. His dimples were in their full glory as he chuckled at the younger doctor. "Jennifer, lass – could you fetch me ten ml of Compazine?"

She flashed her own dimples as she sat the box of tissues on the neighboring vacant bed. "Right away," she replied.

Carson looked down and saw the man's heaving was slowing up. "Oh, and a bottle of water and a washcloth." He could hear her moving off, and a moment later John flopped back on the bed and put a hand over his eyes. "Are yae done, lad?" he asked.

"I think so," John replied between pants, his voice rough. Then he dropped his hand down to his mouth. "Uh, nope." Then he was hanging over the edge again and the smell of what little he'd already left in the garbage brought on another bout of dry heaves. As he felt a warm hand settle on his back again, he was certain his colon was trying to come out of his nose. He decided right then that whatever god created dry heaving was one malicious, vindictive son of a bitch. This wave died a lot faster than the other, but it was still too long in his opinion, and he fell back against the pillow again and held a shaky hand back to his forehead. He had a killer headache and was shivering but drenched in sweat, and he swore he could feel his pulse under his fingers as he squeezed his temples. "Where am I?" he croaked out. He barely recognized his own voice, and the smell of his breath was just … god awful. He put his hand over his mouth.

"You're in the infirmary," Carson replied as he sat the garbage can down out of the way. "I wouldn't be surprised if you're having a reaction to …." His word's died when he saw John's eyes snap open, dilate, and he tensed all over.

When he heard infirmary instead of hospital everything came back to John in a flash. Then he saw the two armed guards at the foot of the bed and before he even thought about it he launched from the bed, away from the doctor. There was another bed blocking his way, the guards brought their guns up, and when he heard the double clack of rounds being chambered he backed up and slammed against the wall. The sudden rush of adrenaline was making everything seem way too bright, and he partially crouched, palms flat to the wall and legs tensed and ready to push off at the first opportunity.

Carson could only stand there for a moment with his mouth open – he couldn't believe how fast the man had moved. Now there were guns raised in his infirmary, and he'd have absolutely none of that foolishness. He raised his hands towards the guards and said as calmly as possible, "Now, now, gentlemen. No need for that."

John's eyes flicked briefly towards the doctor as the man moved, and his brain finally started taking in details. The two guards were dressed in the same style tactical vests as the men who showed up at his cabin, but the clothes underneath were a dark blue-gray. They had side arms as well as the short machine guns that were currently pointing at him. The doctor was in a uniform, also – khaki pants and a jacket with two yellow triangular panels in the front, and a pale blue shirt underneath. There was a Scottish flag patch on his right arm – made sense considering the brogue, and a round patch on the other sleeve he couldn't quite identify. Then he saw a woman enter the room. She was young, dressed similar to the doctor, and was carrying a bottle of water wrapped in a cloth, and a syringe. Her jacket sleeve carried an American flag patch. She looked at the raised guns and actually went another step before they registered and she stopped with a startled yelp. Her eyes went wide as she glanced back at him, and then the doctor. "Where the fuck am I?" he growled through his teeth. He was starting to pant even harder and his legs were starting to shake.

"Please, lad – sit back down. We're not going to hurt you," Carson said reassuringly.

John laughed, and he had to admit – it sounded a little crazy to his own ears. The guards must have thought so, too, because they actually took a step forward. "Sorry, doc – I'm having a really hard time believing that right now," he said, never taking his eyes off of the two men. He was fairly sure that if he went in low he might be able to avoid getting shot. He crouched a little lower and actually braced one foot on the wall.

Carson exploded. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Will you two please lower those damn guns!" He didn't raise his voice all that much, but the tone hit like a slap and the guards cringed. "Please?" he repeated tightly as he slowly came around to the foot of the bed, one hand still raised to them. The two men did back up a few steps, but they still kept their weapons trained on John. Carson sighed heavily, then looked John straight in the eye. "What's your name, son?" His tone was softer than before, but still strained and a tiny bit weary.

John blinked at the doctor. Yeah, right, he thought. He was starting to feel really cold and the trembling was getting worse.

"My name is Carson, Carson Beckett. And I promise you, you will not be hurt while in my infirmary." And Carson stepped between the guns and John.

"Uh, doc?" one of the men said hesitantly.

When Carson actually shushed the man, John felt the corner of his mouth twitch. Got balls, that's for sure, he thought. A moment later the woman even pushed past the armed men. Her face was set, but her eyes were showing a little too much white as she stood next to the doctor. Heh, she's got balls, too.

Then another gut cramp hit and he doubled over. And the doctor was right there, heedless of the two guns pointing at his back. John was on his knees a moment later, one hand around his middle, the other braced against the floor, and he was glad that all he left on the floor was drool. But that wave finally passed, and Carson and the woman were helping him back up onto the bed. He noticed there was dirt and even a few pine needles on the pale green sheet covering it, and a quick glance down confirmed that yes, indeed, it was from him. He rolled onto his side, still too sore yet to straighten out completely, and squinted up at them both. "John," he croaked out and grimaced. He looked past them and saw the men still had their weapons ready, but had moved off to the side so they could aim past Carson.

Carson glanced that way as well, and frowned. But when he turned back to John it disappeared. "Well, John, let's see if we can get that nausea under control." He looked at Keller and she handed him the syringe and some alcohol swabs which he sat on the bed. "And this lovely young lass is Dr. Jennifer Keller." He reached past John and pulled a pair of latex gloves from a box on the stand between the beds.

"Hello, John," Keller said as she opened the bottle of water and poured some of it onto the washcloth. She handed it to him with a nice smile.

John took the cloth and wiped his face and mouth. The white came away brown. "Say, aren't you a little young to be a doctor?" he drawled rather weakly as he wiped more dirt away.

She actually blushed a tiny bit and rolled her eyes. "I'm not that young," she replied, her tone pretty much indicating she'd heard that one way too many times all ready.

Carson cleared his throat and got John's attention. He held up the syringe. "I'm afraid you know where this has ta go." He offered an apologetic smile.

John's face fell. "Crap," he muttered.

"We really can't have you tryin' to turn yourself inside out every few minutes. So, if you could lower the britches."

"All right." John sat the cloth on the bed and rolled onto his back long enough to undo his jeans. Then he rolled back onto his side and pulled the waistband of his pants and boxers down far enough to give the doctor a target on his left cheek.

"Perfect!" Carson said and swabbed exposed flesh.

Keller was trying hard not to smile at the grimace on John's face. He noticed, and frowned at her. All it did was make her turn away, a hand over her mouth.

"Ow!" John jumped and glanced back. "Jesus – what size needle are you using back there, doc?" he snapped a bit more sharply than he intended as Carson pulled the thing in question free.

The two guards lifted their weapons at his tone. Carson caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and whirled to face them. "Oh, will you two bloidy idiots just settle? Go … go stand over there." He pointed to the far end of the room, by what looked like the only door.

John reacted to Carson's sudden movement, flinched away, and almost wound up going off the other side of the bed. Yeah, that would have been dignified, he thought as he grabbed his slipping pants and did them up again. Then his stomach started to get that cold, dense feeling, and sure enough a minute later he was heaving air into the washcloth and curling up with the force of every spasm. That episode was the shortest yet, but it still left him wiped. He was sprawled on his back, his arm over his eyes a few minutes later. "Please tell me that shit's going to kick in soon," he grated out.

"It should be," Keller said. "Drink some water – it'll be a little easier on you if you actually have something to bring up besides your liver."

John lifted his arm and squinted at her. She looked so serious as she held the bottle out to him that he accepted it with a faint, lopsided smile. He sat up carefully, and almost had the rest of the bottle down before the next wave hit. And as he hugged the garbage can that was now braced between his knees he thought, Yup, easier, but a whole lot noisier. But that did turn out to be his last full bout, and except for the shakes and feeling like one of the sides of beef Rocky used as a punching bag, he was actually starting to feel better.

Physically, anyway. Emotionally, he was still pissed as hell.

He stayed quiet while the two doctors checked his vitals and his various scrapes and bruises. The inside of his left forearm was one giant scrape, and still even held small chunks of bark from when he used the Ponderosa as a brake. Keller cleaned that and wrapped it up slick as can be. There was a bad bruise and cut between his shoulder blades just right of his spine from when he used the aforementioned trunk as an impromptu extractor. But Carson patched that up without comment on his methods. He balked at having blood drawn, however, until Carson calmly explained he only needed it to make sure the excessive amount of tranquilizers used on him was breaking down in his system adequately. John was impressed with the way the doctor said 'excessive' – it brought out dimples briefly and the man made it sound like a exotic and very obscene swear word.

Keller tried to coax a few words out of him as they worked, and even when he only answered with as few syllables as possible, it didn't seem to dissuade her. She kept at it until she did weasel his last name out of him. But by then, he couldn't help it – he'd always been good at reading 'vibes' off of people. Hell, it was part of his nature. Between her youthful energy and Carson's calm strength, his guard lowered a little. "Well, John Sheppard, it's a pleasure to meet you," she said and offered him a truly dazzling smile.

"Aye, lad," Carson said. His smile was tired, but no less genuine. "I just wish your introduction to Atlantis hadn't been so … startling."

John frowned faintly and drew his head back a fraction. "Did you say Atlantis?"

Carson nodded, and was about to say more when the sound of solid, sure footsteps coming into the infirmary distracted him. He glanced and was in time to see the guards snap to attention and salute Kolya. He turned back, leaned a bit closer to John, and pitched his voice very low. "Remember, John – whatever happens, you have two friends here." Keller's nod of agreement was barely discernable.

John glanced to the man approaching them, then met Carson's eyes. The fury he saw in the previously kind gaze made his guard snap back up to eleven in a heartbeat.

End Note: Poor John, just can't win...