Waking up feels like swimming in quicksand with a lead suit on. Everything is sluggish and he has to fight sleep every step of the way.
When his eyes finally cooperate with him, he notices a woman tinkering with something in the far corner of the room and the only thing that keeps him lying on the bed is the fact that he feels like crap. The light hurts his eyes, his stomach may rebel at any moment and the world's largest orchestra is playing in his head – off tune.
All things considered, Connor wishes he had stayed asleep.
The woman finally takes note of him when his stomach won its battle all over the floor and damn if that doesn't make him feel worse. The bile burns his throat and the smell makes him puke again which hurts his throat and the cycle starts all over again.
By the end of it, tears are running down his cheeks, he's struggling to breathe and Connor is convinced he's dying.
More people appear in the room and the woman, nurse his mind supplies; is rubbing his back in soothing circles.
"You're having a reaction to the sedatives," she calmly states, "You're fine, you're okay. Slow breaths now."
She wouldn't be so calm if her insides were trying to leave through her mouth, but she does turn out to be right.
"We can't give you anything for the nausea until all of the sedative is out of your system," she informs him and Connor decides right then that he is going to kill whoever it was that drugged him in the first place.
As soon as he could move.
He curls up in misery despite the nurse's attempts to make him lay straight. He hasn't felt this bad since… well; he's never felt this bad.
"My name is Roosevelt," Connor doesn't care, "Do you think you could sip this for me?" Connor moves enough to squint at the cup in her hand.
"You can wash your mouth out," she cajoles, holding the cup to his mouth. He rinses his mouth out, spitting the water out in the basin she holds out.
She offers another cup and Connor follows her instructions, sipping slowly and succeeds in keeping the lukewarm water down. Roosevelt manages to convince him to straighten out and wipes his face with a wet cloth.
He blinks miserably up at her as a man in a white jacket comes up next to her.
"I'm Doctor Carson Beckett. How are you feeling?"
How do you think I feel? Connor thinks irritably and from the amused look on the Doctor's face, he assumes he must have said it aloud.
"Not too good, I'd imagine," Beckett concludes, glancing to the side where one of the aides is cleaning up the mess on the floor, "But I'd rather you told me."
"Everything hurts," Connor rasps because there was nothing on his body that didn't.
Beckett hums sympathetically at that and proceeds to shine a light in his eyes causing Connor to cringe and turn his head away.
"Can you tell me your name?"
"It's Connor," he grumps.
"Just Conner?" Beckett asks, seemingly making idle conversation as he grips Connor's chin and tries the penlight again.
"Connor Sheppard," he answers absentmindedly. Beckett finally turns the light off and takes a step back.
"Where are you from, Mr. Sheppard?"
Connor shrugs and curls up muttering, "Here and there."
Beckett hums again and leaves Roosevelt to once again convince Connor that that position was not good for his injuries no matter how fast he heals.
Carson's staff was well trained and didn't need him looking over their shoulders. He goes back into his office, where he once again stares incredulously at the results on his screen.
When Colonel Shepard had made his request, they had all thought he was crazy. Even after he had explained about his nephew's disappearance and shown them the photo, they had all just assumed it was wishful thinking.
However, the results of the DNA test had proven that their Military Commander and the boy in his infirmary were closely related and the boy had just confirmed his name.
The only questions left unanswered were how he had gotten here and who experimented on him. The samples taken from Connor were sent through the Gate earlier that day and it was now in the SGC's hands to investigate.
Now how was he going to tell the Colonel?
John pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh, trying to starve off a headache, one year later and David's video still gets to him. He really wanted to be the one to tell his brother that the man's son was still alive but hours after they've sent the blood sample back to Earth and Beckett went to run the DNA test, John is starting to feel a little silly.
Maybe he was wrong, after all the likelihood of his nephew and the guy in the infirmary being on in the same was next to nil.
His communicator chirps, pulling him from his reverie.
"Sheppard," he listens for a moment before thanking the person on the other end. Rubbing his palms over his face, John tries to think. Beckett had been straightforward in his statement but John wants to refute it.
"The results came back, Colonel. You are apart of his immediate family."
So, as much as he wants to tell his brother that his son is alive, the circumstances are deplorable because it means someone took a member of his family, did things to them, hurt them, and left them in another galaxy to be hunted.
It makes something in his chest squeeze tight and John immediately recognizes the first sign of the famous Shepard fury start to kindle because dammit! This sort of thing didn't happen to people of Earth. Perhaps it was arrogant of him but the thought of aliens actually succeeding in attacking Earth was never a possibility. They will always save Earth. But yet here Connor was. A boy from Earth, taken without any suspicion on the SGC's part.
John doesn't know Connor and his relationship with the rest of his family is questionable but they are still his family. You may not always like them but that doesn't meant you don't love them.
He's done things in the past that he never would have thought himself capable of in the defense of Atlantis and his people. John doesn't want to think about what he'll do if - when – he catches the people this but he knows it will get done.
Happy Holidays Everyone!