Time Slips Away
Chapter 2: I Still Remain
The sudden hug took Sheppard by surprise. Once before, he had received a similar response to another miraculous return from a near-death experience during the Wraith siege on the city. As had happened then, he now felt not only strangely humbled and comforted, but also mildly embarrassed. For all his outward bravura, he had never been comfortable with expressing his deepest emotions. It was easier to hide behind a devil-may-care attitude than let the people he cared most about see his true feelings. Thus, he felt slightly insecure while he stood awkwardly within Elizabeth's warm embrace, not quite sure how to react. He hugged her back in his typical, stiff-armed fashion. Secretly though, he wished he could hold her tighter and never let her go.
Elizabeth wasn't sure if it was a sense of the soldier's guarded demeanor echoing through his touch, the flustered throat clearing of her chief medical officer, the disconcerted, wide-eyed glare from her head scientist, or Major Lorne's slightly amused look as he entered the rear compartment from the cockpit that brought her to her senses. She suddenly pulled away and took a deep breath in an effort to regain her composure before she confronted her staff. Her confusion was evident as she assessed her second-in-command. Before her eyes was not the grey-haired, aged man she expected to return, but the strong, boyish Air Force officer with tousled dark hair who was so familiar to her. Although he looked slightly disheveled, he appeared curiously unharmed from his harrowing experience.
Her confusion evident on her face, Elizabeth looked back at Shepard, then over to Carson. "I don't understand. We saw the Wraith feed. Don't take this the wrong way, John…but why aren't you old or even dead?"
The officer simply shrugged as he replied with his familiar dry wit. "Must be my good genes."
Still confused by his appearance, she looked back to Dr. Beckett for answers. "Carson, how is this possible?"
"I don't right completely understand it myself, but the Colonel told us the Wraith reversed all the damage from the feedings." Carson answered while still accessing Sheppard with a wary eye, wondering about what took place on the planet prior to his rescue. "I'd definitely like to run some scans to see for myself if there are any residual side effects. We have no idea what we're dealing with regarding any biochemical processes."
"Look, doc. I feel fine. Better than fine, actually." Sheppard replied as Carson tried to lead him out the jumper. "Although I wasn't kidding about being hungry."
"Aye, so you're a medical doctor now, are you? I think I'll be the judge of how fine you are after I check you out in the infirmary, Colonel."
"Carson's right, John. We can debrief after he's examined you and after you've had a chance to eat and rest. I'll meet you down there once he's given you a thorough going over, and no arguments on this." Elizabeth gave him a hard, don't-fight-me-on-this stare and she gripped his arm and directed him to go with the doctor.
"Aye, here we go. Come with me, Colonel" Carson prompted as he turned to head to towards the transporter that would take them the quickest way to the medical wing.
"Fine. But, I'm telling you I have never felt better or had more energy. Whatever Todd did, it's better than slugging down a dozen Red Bulls." Shepherd shrugged in resignation to his fate and followed Beckett to exit out the rear hatch.
"Todd? Who's Todd? Oh, I see. Did you truly feel the need to go naming Wraiths again? First there was Steve, then Bob. Where will it end, I ask? Seriously Sheppard, a Wraith by any name is still a Wraith, and we are just a tasty snack to them." A split second passed before Rodney had the good grace to appear slightly mortified by his last statement, considering what his team leader had just gone through.
Sheppard blanched ever so slightly as he looked back to Rodney, but said nothing in return. He offered a slight roll of his eyes to Rodney's foot-in-mouth moment before turning back to walk with Carson.
"Um, regardless, I truly can't wait to hear the rest of this story." Rodney stuttered slightly as he grabbed his ever-present tablet and backpack from the rear bench in the jumper's cargo bay and trailed out after them.
Watching her flagship team depart the jumper bay, Elizabeth turned to Major Lorne who still had a look of mild bemusement on his face as he began to gather up the remaining gear and weapons to take back to the armory. "I look forward to hearing your report about what happened on the planet, Major. It should be an interesting tale to say the least."
"Ma'am, you have no idea." Lorne replied as he shouldered his gear, gave her a nod in way of a salute, and strode out to catch up with the rest of his team.
Left alone in the now empty jumper bay, Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief that the rescue mission was a success and everyone was back in one piece. She was still confused at the turn of events, but happy that Shepherd had once again looked death in the face and knocked the grim reaper on his ass. Allowing herself a small smile of satisfaction and gratitude, she too headed back out intending to stop by her office to give Beckett time to complete his medical assessment of the colonel's physical condition before she joined them in the infirmary. And if she were honest with herself, it would also give her a chance to collect her emotions before facing John again.
To say Carson Beckett was perplexed would be an understatement. The doctor sat down in front of his computer as he reviewed the results from toxicology screenings and blood work-up he had just performed on the Air Force officer.
By all accounts, the colonel was hearty and hale with only a slight red mark remaining on his chest from the recent Wraith feedings. Even that faint blemish was fading rapidly as the minutes passed, leaving no trace of the gaping wound that had once been there. Shepherd's body showed no signs of organ failure, arthritis, hypertension, a compromised immune system, wrinkled skin, grey hair, or dementia that normally would be associated with the aging process. It was confounding to say the least.
Becket, like the rest of the Atlantis team, had seen firsthand the effects on Shepherd each time Koyla had allowed the Wraith to feed, and watched him wither before their eyes as years were taken from him. Koyla made sure they all were witnesses to the torture by sending them a play-by-play of the proceedings on that video transmission. The last time Carson had seen Shepherd during Koyla's final broadcast, he had had the appearance of a seventy-year-old man. Yet, upon finding him during his rescue on the planet, he displayed no signs of that previous infirmity.
Frankly, Carson was at a loss to explain it. Shepherd said the Wraith undid all the damage just before the team arrived. According to the colonel, he had told the Wraith — whom he named Todd — to finish it, thinking he was a dead man walking anyway. Instead of draining the last of Shepherd's lifeforce, however, the Wraith somehow reversed the procedure and gave the colonel all his energy and vitality back. To look at Shepherd now, it appeared he had never been fed on at all. The only hint of anything amiss was an elevated level of the adrenaline still in his system, which probably accounted for the colonel's current overabundant energy. He had fidgeted throughout the entire exam as if he was on a caffeinated high.
"So, what's the word, Doc?" Shepherd asked he tugged the black T-shirt over his head. It would feel good to finally change into some clean clothes following his physical. He also was looking forward to a hot shower that would hopefully get rid the vestiges of the dank dungeon smell that seemed to permeate his skin and hair along with his uniform. Two days locked up in a prison cell as Koyla's hostage had him smelling rank.
"Well, Colonel, you appear to be fine, but we still don't know what we're dealing with here. The multiple feedings you experienced would have put a huge strain on your body. This reverse feeding process could have any number of unexpected side effects. You most likely received a high dosage of the Wraith enzyme at the very least. Even without that, your adrenaline level is still at a peak and once it abates, you'll feel the crash. I would prefer to keep you here overnight for observation, but I'm releasing you to your own quarters. Against my better judgement I might add. Though you need to have a solid meal and get at least eight hours of sleep. Then I want you back here tomorrow for a follow-up… Doctor's orders." Beckett admonished before Shepherd could voice any argument or whine about him being a mother hen.
"Copy that. Food and sleep. But first, there's a shower with my name on it that's waiting for me." Shepherd sniffed his shirt sleeve with a grimace of distaste, then hopped off the scanner table where he had been sitting. He was preparing to make his escape from the doctor's clutches when Elizabeth walked into the exam room.
"Carson, I see you're releasing the colonel. How is he?"
"He's right here, and is just fine like I said before." Shepherd interjected before Carson could reply to Elizabeth's inquiry, looking slightly annoyed they were talking about him as if he weren't even in the room.
Elizabeth just quirked an eyebrow and gave him a nod before turning back to Carson to see if the doctor verified this assessment.
"I've found nothing that some food, hydration, and a good night's rest won't cure. But, I will want to do a follow-up tomorrow morning to make sure he's not experiencing any side effects."
"Good to hear. John, I will debrief with you in the morning so as to give you time to follow Carson's orders. Try to get some rest. It's been a long, stressful couple of days for everyone. We can pick this up and gather the details for your report in my office at 8:00 AM tomorrow." Elizabeth looked the colonel over as if still trying to understand how he could be alive and well after the feedings she herself had witnessed.
"Well, to paraphrase Bugs Bunny, if that's all, Doc, I'll be off to my quarters. See you both tomorrow." Grabbing his jacket off the chair next to the exam table, the Lt. Colonel made a hasty retreat before Beckett changed his mind and insisted that he spend a night in the infirmary under medical watch.
Sheppard could hardly contain his pent-up energy and wanted to be anywhere but there under Carson's and Elizabeth's intense scrutiny. He could understand their concern and even confusion about his ordeal, but right now he needed to be somewhere alone where he could come to terms with the emotions roiling inside him. Somewhere he could release a little of the anger, anxiety, and shame that threatened to suddenly engulf him. Anger at his nemesis Koyla for obvious reasons and at himself for not killing the Genii commander when he had the chance on Dagan. Anxiety from the adrenaline still flooding his system and the aftereffects of the past two days of captivity. Shame from knowing his team along with Elizabeth witnessed his torture as Koyla had the Wraith feed on him again and again. It was his job to be the strong one and protect all of his colleagues and friends, not be a sideshow in Koyla's depraved video broadcast.
He strode down the corridors, making a beeline to the safety and solitude of his quarters. As if sensing his need, the doors slid open promptly on his mental command as he neared the entrance to the suite of rooms that he called his own. Once he stepped inside and the door snicked closed behind him, he tossed his jacket on the bed and started pulling off his T-shirt as he headed in the bathroom. Taking advantage of his ATA gene once again, he activated the shower controls with a thought, turning the water temperature up to just under scalding hot. The steam began to build up in the small room, fogging up the mirror in front of him. For a split second as the mist on the glass faded over his reflection, Sheppard imagined the Wraith was standing behind him. Momentarily jolted by the vision, he jumped back and spun around, ready to fight off the next feeding, only to see the space empty of anyone else.
"Geez, John. Get a grip." He muttered to himself as he turned back to again face the mirror. Wiping off the condensation that had accumulated, he looked at the red mark on his chest, the lingering handprint that the Wraith branded him with during the feeding process. Rubbing his fingers over the still-healing skin, he tried not to remember the agony he felt when his lifeforce was being sucked out from this very spot. Although no longer bloody and raw, the fading wound was a vivid reminder of what he had been forced to endure. He had never experienced pain as intense and all-encompassing as what he felt during that feeding, and he hoped to never feel it again.
Shuddering slightly, he shook his head as to clear both the reflection and memory from his mind. Discarding the rest of his filthy clothes into a trash receptacle — no amount of detergent would ever wash away the stink of death lingering on the fabric — he stepped into the shower, hoping the hot water pounding onto his head and shoulders and rinsing away the sweat, blood, and tears would help him forget. Putting his head under the spray, he let the hot water sluice down over his tense back and shoulders as he scrubbed off the grime, staying under the forceful flow long after the soap was rinsed away and the water grew cold.
Sheppard wasn't sure if the sudden frigidity he felt was due to the iciness of the water or the adrenaline crash that set his teeth to chattering. Suddenly, it was if all the warmth had been sucked from the room, leaving a mind-numbing chill in its place. Grabbing a towel, he hurriedly dried himself off and threw on a clean set of clothes. Since he was technically off duty, he also took a fleece hoodie out of the closet and put that one to help ward off the persistent cold feeling that invaded his muscles and bones and headed out to the commissary to find a bite to eat and a cup of hot coffee to wash it down.
Because of the lateness of the hour, the softly lit hallways were empty since at this time of night only late-shift staff were manning duty stations. As soon as he got to the cafeteria, he grabbed a pre-made sandwich and poured a mug of black coffee from the dispenser before sitting down at a table away from the inquisitive eyes of the staff on hand. The table he selected usually would have afforded him a view out a large window of the ocean vista beyond the city's walls. He never tired looking at the wide expanse of blue water that continued out past the distant horizon during daylight hours. But at this moment during the evening hours, the view was one of liquid blackness dimly lit only by the stars dotting the night sky and the lights from the city's towers.
Today, a slight breeze caused a rippling of waves to roll across the sea's surface where they undoubtedly broke against the perimeter of the city's lower levels. Watching them, Sheppard considered requisitioning a surfboard to be delivered on the Daedalus's next supply run to Atlantis and finding a secluded beach on the mainland to hang ten. Sipping his coffee, he put the thought aside. It wasn't likely he could convince the brass over at Cheyenne Mountain that a surfboard was a necessary piece of equipment to ship over, and it was even more unlikely he would find the time to indulge in such a pastime. The constant threat from the Wraith and search for allies in the Pegasus galaxy left little time in his schedule for fun.
Just the momentary thought of the Wraith had him almost choking on his drink as his throat knotted up and his stomach clenched in dread. Suddenly he lost his appetite for the rest of the half-eaten sandwich still on his plate. Pushing the unfinished meal aside, he decided he needed some physical activity even more than food to calm the unsettled feeling in his gut that had been slowly building up since he left the infirmary. Maybe a run, practice with some banto sticks, or better yet, a session at a punching bag in the gym would help to release the tension that seemed to infiltrate every fiber of his being. He needed something…anything to keep his body moving and his mind off his recent ordeal. Tossing the remains of his meal in the trash, he left the cafeteria and headed out to the gym to work out his frustrations.
Though most people would be in bed or at least retired to their quarters at this time of night, he was not surprised to find Ronan also still awake and taking out his own restlessness and pent-up emotions on a poor defenseless sparring mannequin. Dubbed Stoic Stan by a group of marines with a sense of humor, the mannequin was currently taking a hell of a beating at the hands of the Satedan soldier. It was obvious that Ronon's mood currently matched his own.
Hearing the sound of the gym door as it slid closed behind Shepherd, Ronon stopped as he was about to throw a roundhouse punch and looked up as his team leader approached before delivering a final blow on Stan's abused midsection.
"Hey big guy, what did Stan ever do to you? Shepherd quipped just as the mannequin took a topple to the floor in response to Ronon's punishing hit.
"Nothing. Working off some frustration." Ronon gave the downed dummy a final kick to the head before setting him right again.
"I hear ya. Came down here planning to do the same. I figured pretending old Stan is a Wraith or better yet a Genji should give me a good workout." Sheppard replied as he walked over to the lockers against the far wall of the gym to get some gear.
"So, you couldn't sleep either." Ronon sat down on the nearby bench and chugged water from the bottle he had left there.
"Well, being locked in a prison cell and fed on by a Wraith does tend to throw off your sleep cycle." Sheppard replied as he grabbed some bantos fighting sticks.
Giving one a twirl in his hand, he asked the Satedan, "Wanna go a few rounds?"
Ronon took one last swig from his bottle before getting up to grab another set of sticks. "Sure, if you think you're up for it."
Sheppard moved over to the gym floor and assumed a battle-ready position. "Bring it on."
Ronon stepped onto the mat, spinning his sticks in preparation for the bout ahead. Usually, he went all in during these practice sessions, giving no quarter to his opponent since an enemy combatant would not hold back in a real fight. In his mind, to truly be prepared to survive and win on the battlefield, you had to practice and hone your skills as if your life depended on it. In his experience, it always did.
But today had been anything but normal. Eyeing his team leader, Ronin tried to assess Sheppard's mental and physical status while simultaneously wondering whether to take it easy on him or go all in during their workout. By all appearances, Sheppard looked fine, but Ronin's fine-tuned senses honed by years in survival mode as a runner from the Wraith told him something was amiss. Sheppard jokingly referred to Ronin's ability to discern impending danger as his 'spidey sense', but the Satedan learned to trust his gut instinct in all matters. Right now, something about Sheppard's seemed off. Though if asked, Ronin couldn't quite articulate what it was.
Hiding his concern, but remaining alert for any unforeseen problems, Ronin prepared to make his opening move. As he lunged forward ready to strike the first blow with his bantos stick, Sheppard nimbly stepped out of range while simultaneously thrusting his own weapon out to deflect the charge. Ronin spun quickly, ready to swing again at his opponent, only to find once again Sheppard had moved faster and blocked his second attempt.
"Not bad, Sheppard." Ronon grunted in surprise at his team leader's speed and agility.
They continued to weave and dodge, parrying each other's attacks as their bantos sticks clacked together again and again. Neither one gave ground in their mock fight as they circled round and round, advancing and defending without letup as the minutes passed.
Though Sheppard was no slouch when it came to hand-to-hand combat, the Satedan usually bested him more times than not. Not this time. Considering all Sheppard had endured over the past few days, Ronon expected his reflexes to be slower due to stress and fatigue. Instead, Ronon was the one becoming breathless and weary. Momentarily distracted by his thoughts, Ronon was caught unaware and Sheppard's stick came crashing down forcefully against his, knocking it from his grasp.
"I'm done. You win." Ronon told Sheppard as he reached down to pick up the dropped fighting staff.
"Well, you're giving up fast." The Lieutenant Colonel replied, twirling his own Bantos stick like a ninja with nunchucks while watching his teammate leave the sparring zone to walk back to the bench and sit down.
"Yeah, I am. I'm done. What's with you anyways?" Ronan asked before taking a drink from the water bottle he had left on the bench.
He noticed Sheppard hadn't even worked up a sweat and didn't appear to be the least winded despite their recent exertions. Ronon, on the other hand, was slightly out of breath and ready to hit the showers though he was in peak physical condition.
"Nothing. I just need to blow off some steam after being couped up in a dungeon these past days." Sheppard stowed his Bantos stick and pointed over to the punching bag hanging across the room. "Care to spot me?"
"Sure. I've got nothing better to do." With a sigh, Ronon put down his water and moved over to the bag to join Sheppard where he already stood, putting protective tape over his knuckles.
"Okay, Chewie. Ready when you are." Sheppard said as he stepped up to the bag, tapped his fists together, gathering himself to throw the first punch as Ronon stood behind the bag to steady it.
The force of the unrelenting barrage of blows hitting the bag caused Ronon to rock back on his heels as Sheppard continued to pound out his frustration and anger with each punch, propelling the heavy bag against the Satedan's hold on it. It was all Ronon could do to keep the bag from swinging up to hit the ceiling as Sheppard continued to pummel it over and over without stopping. Ronon at first just held onto the bag, absorbing the movement caused by Sheppard's tireless onslaught. After several minutes, Ronon knew he had to put a stop to it before Sheppard pounded his knuckles to a bloody pulp. Reaching around the bag, he grabbed the other man's hands before he could land another hit.
"Shep, enough!"
"Let go of me! That's an order!" Sheppard wrenched loose from Ronon's grip.
His eyes were alight with pent-up emotion and his face practically snarling in rage. He looked ready to pounce on Ronon in retaliation for the offense of making him stop striking the punching bag. As Sheppard stepped forward toward Ronon, he suddenly grimaced in pain and abruptly fell to his knees. Ronon started to reach out to assist him, but Sheppard pushed him away with one arm. Without warning, he clutched tightly at his chest, his eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed in a boneless heap on the floor.
Alarmed by his team leader's unexpected loss of consciousness, Ronon bent down to feel the pulse on Sheppard's neck. It was rapid and thready. Definitely not good. Tapping his comms link, he immediately called for help.
"We have a medical emergency in the gym. Sheppard's down."
TBC
Note: So it's been a minute since I posted here, but I always intended to complete this story. Well, better late than never. Here's the next installment. More to come. I hope you enjoy it.