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Back to Pt. 9
Rodney watched Sheppard, having nothing better to do, and refused to let the man out of his sight for more than a minute – which was easy enough with Sheppard in the infirmary bed next to his. Rodney, it seemed, was suffering from exhaustion, mild dehydration, and low blood-sugar from not consuming those Power Bars he'd stuffed into his pockets. All of it was being remedied by a single I.V. and a bag of saline and glucose.
Sheppard was suffering malnutrition, dehydration, two busted ribs that had somehow managed not to puncture his lung (the doctors thought Second Bad-guy must have had most of his weight on the wrong area but enough still on the right area to cause extreme pain and suffocation), a lung infection, and, of course, withdrawal. Sheppard was too weak to thrash around properly as Rodney had during his own withdrawal, but sweat had plastered the man's gravity-defying hair to his skull, and his head rocked methodically from side to side as though unable to get comfortable. Rodney could hear his labored breathing above the rapid cardiac monitor, all wet and wheezing, and see the rapid pulsation of his struggling chest. The nasal cannula was giving him oxygen that apparently wasn't enough. He was pale to be almost gray, and the shadows under his eyes made them look bruised. Sheppard moaned, sometimes grunted, sometimes whimpered – a small and frightened sound.
This was supposedly day two of the Daedalus dropping in per Lam's request to save the day after the fact (the phone call had gotten through after all, and it was hard to ignore the frantic shouts of three men and the shriek of mutilated metal). Rodney had slept through most of day one, waking in the early hours of day two just in time to hear all about Lam's little discovery.
Not so little, actually. More like gut-clenchingly big – a cornucopia cocktail of drugs in Sheppard's system ranging from the known to the completely unknown - until Carolyn had done some digging, comparing her find with Carson's iratus/retro-virus research. What she discovered gave her the suspicion that whoever had been holding Sheppard had been doing so in order to recreate Carson's project, or something like it, using the so-dormant-it-might-as-well-be-dead iratus DNA in Sheppard's body. Everything not unknown was a wide variety of hallucinogens and the usual medications given to those with an unstable brain chemistry (more likely than not for show). All of it had joined forces to do some very nasty things to Sheppard's health – mental and physical.
The hospital was being investigated, questions being asked, people being interrogated. But the bottom line was – it was likely, highly likely, that Sheppard never was, and never had been, insane. It was all too much of a coincidence for it to be anything else.
And it would have been figured out a lot sooner if they'd just brought Sheppard to the SGC.
“Dr. McKay. Glad to see you're finally awake.”
Rodney pulled his gaze away from Sheppard to General Landry heading toward him, all smiles that was contradictory to the setting and situation, and it pissed Rodney off. However, when Landry's gaze darted to the agitated Sheppard, though the smile remained, it was a lot more sobered.
“I'm told he has a rough road ahead,” said Landry. “But knowing him, he'll fight it tooth and nail.”
Rodney's lip twitched, longing to sneer and accuse that Landry didn't know jack about Sheppard – except for the lieutenant colonel's stubborn streak. That Landry had gotten a first hand account of, and Rodney had overheard – from Weir repeating what Landry had said or from Landry himself over a live feed, he couldn't remember – something about Sheppard's stubborn personality making a donkey jealous. Or maybe it had been mule. So as much as Rodney hated to admit it even to himself, Landry was right – Sheppard would fight it. The pilot was too tenacious to let a few drugs and infection kick his ass.
And, yet, it still didn't make it any easier. Even in sleep, Sheppard looked painfully worn to a frayed thread.
The general sat himself down on the corner edge of the bed, giving Rodney his space.
“I've been chomping at the bit to sit down and get your side of things,” Landry said. “Oh, and to let you in on this – those two men you three effectively subdued on the ground? Surprise, surprise, they're not talking. The man you winged - Daniel told me about that one. Good aim, by the way...”
“Actually,” Rodney muttered. “I missed.” Actually, he hadn't really been aiming; he'd just wanted the creep to stop hurting Sheppard.
Landry shrugged. “Any hit that incapacitates is a good hit in my book. It's not about killing; it's about preventing something bad from happening.”
Rodney grunted, pretending not to care.
“But I digress,” Landry continued. “The man you winged keeps insisting that he's nothing more than hired muscle. The other man – if he gets any more tightlipped he'll lose circulation in his mouth. The son of a bitch won't even give us a name. Not that he has to. We've found ourselves plenty from the hospital who are willing to sing – staff who’ve been paid off to keep quiet and look the other way. The doctor in charge of Sheppard was supposed to be a specialist brought in from a sister facility on the other side of the States.” Landry's smile turned grim. “Except that man never came. In fact, he told us when we contacted him that immediately after he was asked to come in, he received an email telling him not to bother. As for the doctor pretending to be him, needless to say, he's vanished. That's all we have so far, but the investigation continues, and it's only a matter of time before something or someone gives.”
Rodney puckered his brow, irritated because, so far, what he was hearing was registering more as conciliatory bull than progress. If it was progress, they'd have more answers. If it was progress, more than two men would have been apprehended.
“But you still don't know who did this,” Rodney stated, laying the accusation on thick.
“Oh, we have our theories,” Landry said, unperturbed. “Mainly one. This was too well organized and executed for it to be some amateur organization. And there's only one organization with the resources, not to mention an obsessive enough interest, to hold Sheppard while experimenting on him right under our noses.”
Rodney lowered his eyebrows in an angry slant. “Let me guess – the Trust.”
Landry inclined his head. “The Trust.”
“Goody,” Rodney spat. “No one to bring to justice, then.”
“Sadly, when it comes to the Trust, sometimes you have to settle for less. The fact that they no longer have Colonel Sheppard is the real victory, and we have two of their own in custody. I also doubt they accomplished anything with this little plot of their's. Carolyn insists that what she found in Sheppard's blood wasn't enough to alter a fly's DNA, let alone a human’s.”
“It did something to him,” Rodney said, looking back at Sheppard.
“She agrees. Whatever it was, she's sure it was temporary. It's leaving his system even now --”
“Hence the withdrawal,” Rodney finished. His anger lingered a while longer at its boiling point – anger at the lack of justice, lack of real resolve, anger at everyone for not having seen this and stopped this sooner, and anger at himself for – well – everything else. He'd given in, maybe not entirely but still too much in his opinion, to the fake doctor's insistence that Sheppard really had lost it. He'd bought the pseudo insanity and chalked Sheppard's experimentation claims up to that insanity because... because it had just been easier; it had been easier than dealing with the fact that he'd been right all along – Sheppard was nuts against his will – and it had still been left up to Sheppard to save his own ass.
And, yet, ironically enough Rodney had shared in Sheppard's paranoia that no one could be trusted, letting it build so that even when permission was granted by Sheppard himself to be taken in, Rodney had monumentally hesitated.
How screwed-up was that?
“I should have just called you guys, brought him to you... something,” he said out loud. He'd been doing that a lot, lately – thinking out loud without meaning to. “Saved us all the grief.”
Landry gave him a long, studious stare. “Why didn't you?”
“Didn't Jackson fill you in on that part?”
“He did,” the general said. “But as I said when I walked in, I've been wanting to get your side of things.”
Rodney returned the general's stare, just as studious if marred by apprehension. “Is he – Jackson, I mean. Well, Jackson and Lam – are they going to get in trouble for this? Because, really, it's all my fault they were involved. I needed a little help, wanted some advice then one thing led to another --”
Landry's raised hand halted him.
“No,” he said. “You were all within your rights to protect someone who you knew was being mistreated, as well as how you saw fit to protect him. Although, why you had to include the SGC in your list of ‘those not to be trusted’ still boggles me. Jackson's explanation was rather... how shall I say... not unlike someone justifying a conspiracy theory. Although I personally wouldn't hold it past the IOA to be on the inconsiderate side of Sheppard's needs. A 'presumably' unstable man in a top secret facility I don't think would have set well with them – not that I would have cared, but they're an excruciating thorn in the side who really know how to roll out the red tape.”
Rodney sat straighter, perking up at that. “Exactly! And they would have insisted he go to another facility, one where the Trust would have had access to him....”
“That's a lot of ifs,” Landry cut in. “Besides, I wouldn't have let the IOA have that much leeway, not with Sheppard's safety at stake.”
Rodney deflated, slumping, guilt poking at him for not having considered that. “I just....” he stammered, feeling the need for an explanation, not so much for Landry but for himself as well. There was a time when all his reasons for doing what he did to keep Sheppard safe had made perfect sense. Then they hadn't, and he didn't even recall if the shift had been gradual or sudden. All that he did recall was having had some reason for doing what he did, and that, once upon a time, they had been valid.
“It's just... I... it didn't feel right. It didn't... feel right.”
Crap, that was lame. Rodney slumped even lower hoping the bed would open up and swallow him out of existence. He'd been stumbling from the start when the answers had been so glaringly bright before him. It made him feel... less like a genius.
Landry simply nodded. “It didn't feel right.”
“Yeah, it didn't. I think, mostly, because Sheppard asked me not to. But, yeah, it also didn't feel right.”
The general took a long, deep breath, held it, then slowly released it. “Well, I always say you're a fool if you don't listen to reason and an idiot if you don't listen to your gut.” After patting Rodney's foot under the blanket, he stood. “Get some rest, Dr. McKay,” he said and left Rodney to ponder his words.
Rodney decided to reserve his energy by not pondering at all. He couldn't for the life of him figure how things could have been much worse if he'd just called the SGC. After all, that had been as much of a gut instinct as not calling them. Yes, maybe a little weaker than the latter, but still.
Or maybe it wouldn't have mattered either way. The whole thing had been FUBAR from the start, a lot of making-it-up-on-the-go as Daniel had put it. Maybe it didn't matter how they'd proceeded; something still would have gone wrong every step of the way.
Or maybe Rodney was just trying to placate himself. He should have just called. He couldn't imagine how much worse it could have been.
The thought continued to plague him even when Lam released him to his temporary quarters later in the day for more rest. Not that he stayed, spending most of his time including mealtime in the infirmary. Lam said nothing about it except for the occasional dropped hint or two that Rodney would rest better in his quarters which was a bunch of crap. Rodney had tried to nap in his sterile, metal box of a room, but the moment he closed his eyes, he saw Second Bad-guy kneeling with his knee on Sheppard, crushing the life out of him.
Yet as it turned out, Rodney's hovering wasn't such a bad thing when Sheppard's withdrawal hit its all-time severest. The colonel started hallucinating, forgetting where he was and panicking, thinking he was back at that hospital with those people.
And Rodney was around to witness the remnant of the terror those bastards had dumped on Sheppard. Sheppard thrashed, fought, screamed in weak but feral rage that deteriorated into timid horror when he saw a needle approach his arm. Lam and the nurses were just trying to draw blood, that was all, but the way Sheppard was acting one would think the needle a syringe full of cyanide. The fear turned Sheppard into a curled-up and trembling mass begging for mercy.
“No, no, no, please, no, please, you don't need to do this, please stop, just stop...”
Up until the pleading, Rodney stood there, staring, sick with his own horror over a side of Sheppard he'd never seen before and hoped to never see again. After the begging began, anger stomped fear because Sheppard was supposed to be safe in a place where he shouldn't have to be afraid. Rodney surged forward, shoving useless nurses aside who were doing nothing more than adding to Sheppard's stress by holding him down. Taking Sheppard's face, he yanked his head around, forcing eye-contact. Sheppard, gulping in lungfuls, tried to pull away.
“Sheppard. Sheppard! Sheppard, relax, it's me, McKay! Look at me, Sheppard. You're safe, do you hear me? You're not at that hospital; you're at the SGC. They're not giving you drugs; they're taking blood to see if the drugs are gone. They're trying to help you. They're not them, Sheppard. They're not them.”
Sheppard's breathing slowed, but his glassy eyes, though confused, still registered terror.
“I almost killed a man for you, Sheppard,” Rodney said. “Do you know what kind of damage that would have done to my psyche? Do you honestly think I'd let you back in the hands of those sadistic idiots after everything I did to save your scrawny and delusional ass? The least you can do in return is make this easy on everyone.”
A large chunk of fear melted out of Sheppard's eyes. Of course, by then, during the distraction, the blood had finally been drawn. Rodney released Sheppard's face to step back and let him see the return of his personal space.
Shivering, Sheppard pressed himself into the bed as if hoping to sink into it. Rodney tugged the covers higher up the colonel's chest and hoped it wasn't becoming a habit. He then patted Sheppard's sweat-soaked shoulder.
“You're safe, Sheppard,” he said, meaning to sound irritated but still not unkindly.
It sank in, thankfully: Sheppard nodding and the exhaustion the product of his terror and struggling pulling his eyelids down. He slid into an easy sleep, the cardiac monitor going normal and steady for once.
Rodney backed away until his legs hit the bed behind him, and he dropped onto it, watching Lam take vitals.
“Having you stick around has its advantages after all,” Carolyn said. She looked at him and smiled. “You did good.”
Rodney sighed. “I've had practice.”
“I hate to imagine what it would have been like if you'd brought him in too soon,” she said.
“You would have been able to help him,” Rodney said.
“Yes, but the level of agitation it might have caused could have resulted in some serious setbacks, not to mention complications. Not a certainty, but very much a possibility.”
Rodney squinted, wondering if she was just trying to make him feel better. She had turned back to Sheppard, regarding him so thoughtfully it had her forehead lined.
“He may have ended up hurting himself,” she said.
Which had happened anyway, albeit not so much Sheppard hurting himself as someone else hurting him.
“So, what, I was right to keep him from you people as long as I could?” Rodney asked, a little on the tetchy side but he didn't care. The what-ifs were driving him crazy, and he was getting desperate for a solid answer.
What he got was a noncommittal shrug from the doctor.
Deciding to beat a hasty retreat before mounting frustration got the better of him, Rodney stiffly excused himself and headed out for an early lunch. His intent was to eat alone, and he took his tray to the farthest, remotest corner of the barely-occupied mess in hopes that the location would give others the hint of that intent.
Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect when Daniel joined him.
“McKay,” he said by way of a neutral greeting.
McKay stayed quiet, stabbing his fork into the brown lump of meat that was supposed to be meatloaf, hoping both actions read loud and clear for Daniel to either not talk or go away.
Instead, “You all right?”
Rodney scowled, prepping words that would, hopefully, send Daniel away. What came out of his mouth was entirely something else.
“Why can't people see fit to just give me a straight friggin' answer for once in their lives?”
Daniel blinked. “Huh?”
“People, answers, straight.” Rodney tossed his fork down, metal clattering against plastic and spattering ketchup on the table. Looking up, he glared into Daniel's eyes. “We should have brought Sheppard in. Called the SGC. Called someone. Don't deny it; you know I'm right.”
Daniel blinked again. “Probably, I guess.”
“There's no probably about it!” Rodney shrilled, tossing his hands up. “If we'd kept him at my house a moment longer, those people – Trust, whoever they were – would have come barging in and shot us down. However, had we brought Sheppard in, then we could have avoided your car getting smashed, your brains nearly being blown out of the back of your skull, the same nearly happening to me, and Sheppard nearly being taken again.”
Resting his elbows on the table, Daniel pressed his fists together like a small stand to rest his chin on. “Nearly McKay. Nearly. It didn't happen.”
“Nearly's close enough,” McKay muttered, grabbing his fork and impaling the meat without bringing any to his mouth. “Too close, in fact. And I almost killed a man, and you and Sheppard almost died. All of it preventable if we'd just gone sooner.”
The archaeologist sighed – long and calm and tired – reminding Rodney a little of both Carson and Elizabeth who used to do the same, and so adding yet another load of regret and pain to what was already weighing on his chest. Crap, he missed them, so bad he couldn't bring the meatloaf to his mouth, knowing he wouldn't be able to swallow it. They would have known what to say, would have had the answers.
For that same reason, he felt a pang of longing for Teyla's presence, who always knew what to say, who always seemed to have the answers and the calm needed to deliver them when Rodney tried to argue. Which reminded him – he needed to contact them, her and Ronon. He'd been meaning to but... he still didn't know what to say.
We were right. Sheppard was insane against his will, but I didn't do a damn thing about it until after the fact and almost got Sheppard killed because I'm a selfish bastard.
“McKay-- Rodney... No one can give you a straight, direct answer because I really don't think there is one,” said Daniel.
Rodney stabbed harder. “How can there not be one? I would think it painfully obvious in light of what nearly happened that the answer had been whispering in our ears the entire time.”
“Yes, but I was talking to Carolyn yesterday, about withdrawal and everything that comes with it. She feels that, given the circumstances, it's possible bringing Sheppard in too soon could have been a bad thing.”
Rodney nodded rigidly. “Been there, heard that. I think she's just trying to 'lighten the load' so to speak. You know, make us feel better?”
“No, I think she's considering all the facts. Keeping Sheppard where he was, letting him know he was safe and letting him call the shots helped calm him down. It let him know who he could trust. It grounded him, which, she feels, wouldn't have happened if he'd been brought in against his will. Then, of course, there's our whole finding out that everything he'd told us was the truth. Believe me when I say nothing's more stressful than being drugged out of your mind, helpless, and no one believing you because they think you're insane. It... has a way of making you feel like you don't really exist. Like you're just this no-named stranger being coddled so you can be shoved out of the way as quickly as possible.”
Daniel's hands lowered to the table, his gaze with them, and he stated quickly as though anxious to get rid of the words, “It makes you feel alone.”
McKay mimicked, eyes dropping to the mutilated meat. He knew. Damn it, he knew: knew how words couldn't describe that black-hole of an existence, where everyone around you seemed dead set against you, making you feel like the last rational and sane man on Earth, and how laughably ironic that was, all things considered.
But the difference between Rodney and Sheppard was that Rodney had been wrong. The world hadn't been against him. Carson hadn't been holding back on him.
“Except you aren't alone,” Daniel said. “You just don't realize it.”
And that was what all three of them had in common.
“Lam thinks that what we did may have helped Sheppard to realize that,” he continued. Then he laughed a little bitterly. “Yes, very damned if you do, damned if you don't if you ask me. I keep wondering what we could – should – have done differently, but I think that's just inevitable. I've never stopped wondering that about everything I've ever done – every mission I've ever been on... everything that's ever happened. But,” he shrugged, “I don't think you can call yourself a real human being if you don't regret and wonder. At least we're still alive. And, personally, if it helps, I do feel that, maybe, we did do something right by Sheppard. Seeing as how he's also still alive.”
Rodney scooped meat onto his fork and shoved it into his mouth. He couldn't argue with that though that didn't stop his brain from trying.
-------------------------------------
Sheppard's delirium became an unpredictable constant. For that reason Lam finally relented to allowing Rodney to practically live in the infirmary. Rodney's presence calmed Sheppard faster, far more preferable to holding him down and resorting to restraints which would have only made matters worse.
It took four days for the withdrawal to dissipate and for Sheppard's blood to be declared clean of foreign substances. There had been a lot in there, Lam had said, so she wasn't surprised by the length of time it had taken for some of the chemicals to be flushed from his system.
That left the lung infection which would be just as slow to clear up. Sheppard's fight against the withdrawal had left him worn and weak, but the congestion had yet to become severe so some good fortune there. Sheppard slept mostly. So much so that Rodney missed the majority of the short-lived moments Sheppard had been awake. Not that being there would have made a difference according to Lam. Sheppard was barely coherent each time and lasted, at most, five minutes – long enough to get a little broth into him. He had lost five more pounds, and Lam was anxious to rectify it as soon as possible.
During those days with little to do other than wait, Rodney finally sent a message to Ronon and Teyla... at the SGC's behest – to placate Ronon, of all things, who Rodney had the sneaking the suspicion was making Stargate Command nervous with his constant demands for updates on John. Rodney was asked specifically to pack his reiteration of events with plenty of reassurances that Sheppard was safe and on the mend. Rodney did as told, for Ronon's and Teyla's benefit, not the SGC's. It must have worked. Ronon had yet to stun his way onto the base.
It was five days after Sheppard's blood had been declared drug free that his waking periods were extended, balancing out the length of time he was asleep, and Rodney was there for them.
It wasn't much of a change, Sheppard's eyes being open or not. The lieutenant colonel was oddly quiet, subdued, and though Lam claimed the cause as being possibly related to lingering exhaustion, even she didn't seem so sure.
Rodney had a feeling it was more than just exhaustion. On day two of Sheppard being lucid, Rodney sat on the edge of the bed next to the colonel, staring at him as Sheppard stared with languid eyes at the wall across from him – a wall decorated with a lighting board and pictures of X-rays: chest X-rays, and with Sheppard currently the only occupant of the infirmary, it was safe to assume Sheppard's chest.
“You better not be feeling guilty about coming to me for help,” Rodney said. He wasn't being perceptive; he was just guessing. But a good enough guess as far as he was concerned. It was the only other thing Sheppard had agonized over out loud.
Sheppard's eyes rolled his way, brow lining in a scowl, then rolled back to the X-rays with the scowl still firmly in place. “I think I'm entitled to it.”
Rodney glared back. “As much as I would like to agree in order to prolong the guilt for all the hell you put me through, I can't. There's absolutely nothing wrong with going to others for help once in a while, Sheppard.”
“There is if it puts them in harm's way,” countered John.
“My choice,” Rodney snapped. “I could have called the SGC at any time. You even said it was okay if I did at one point. But I didn't so what happened is my fault, not yours. You did what you had to. There's nothing wrong with that.”
Sheppard turned his face away, hiding whatever expression he was wearing now. Anger prickled up and down Rodney's spine.
“Damn it, Sheppard! Okay, okay, I admit it. I'd wished, more than once, that you hadn't shown up on my doorstep. I'm a selfish bastard – I know it, you know it. I hated myself for thinking it, but think it I did, because that's just the kind of guy I am. I felt like I was in over my head, and it was making me just a tad resentful. But here's the kicker – I don't regret it, and if I had to do it again, I would. Maybe I would have done it a little differently, yes, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”
Rodney swallowed. “I'm glad you came to me, Sheppard. I'm glad I was the one who got to save your skinny ass, and no one else – and Daniel doesn't count because he more or less saved my ass – because I'm a selfish, stubborn bastard like that... just like you.”
Sheppard's head rolled, putting his gaze on the ceiling, the tension and worry in his expression familiar to Rodney. It was the only expression that ever betrayed what went on in the colonel's head, letting Rodney in on the emotional battle taking place within the man. It was rare, so rare as to be unforgettable the few times it occurred, which was why Rodney would know it anywhere.
“I'd do it again,” Rodney stressed. “Even if you told me not to, I would totally do it again.” And, damn it, he would. As hard as it had been, as scared stupid as it had made him, Rodney would do it again.
He then cleared his throat. “Besides... Ronon would kick my ass if I didn't. Teyla, too, probably.”
Sheppard's head lolled in his direction. He stared at Rodney, his visage unreadable, until a weary yet sincere and warm smile broke out on his thin face, all the way up to his sleepy hazel eyes.
“We are stubborn,” he whispered, “aren't we?”
“And selfish,” Rodney added. “Can't forget selfish. But in a good way, I would think.”
Sheppard nodded then perked up with an arched eyebrow. “Chess?”
Rodney arched an eyebrow back. “You sure? You're awake but obviously not that awake.”
“Then now would be the time if you want to win for once.”
With a huff, Rodney hopped off the bed. “Please. I don't need you an invalid to beat you down... figuratively speaking.”
Sheppard's smile broadened into a smirk. “Then prove it.”
Rodney lifted his chin. “I will.”
He ended up winning two games in four moves and Sheppard three games in two before it was time to call it quits when Sheppard nodded off. Rodney would have been more frustrated except he'd missed this; he really had. He set his pride aside long enough to bask in the comfort of having his friend back.
Besides, he planned to challenge Sheppard to a rematch later.
TBC...
On to Epilogue
Rodney watched Sheppard, having nothing better to do, and refused to let the man out of his sight for more than a minute – which was easy enough with Sheppard in the infirmary bed next to his. Rodney, it seemed, was suffering from exhaustion, mild dehydration, and low blood-sugar from not consuming those Power Bars he'd stuffed into his pockets. All of it was being remedied by a single I.V. and a bag of saline and glucose.
Sheppard was suffering malnutrition, dehydration, two busted ribs that had somehow managed not to puncture his lung (the doctors thought Second Bad-guy must have had most of his weight on the wrong area but enough still on the right area to cause extreme pain and suffocation), a lung infection, and, of course, withdrawal. Sheppard was too weak to thrash around properly as Rodney had during his own withdrawal, but sweat had plastered the man's gravity-defying hair to his skull, and his head rocked methodically from side to side as though unable to get comfortable. Rodney could hear his labored breathing above the rapid cardiac monitor, all wet and wheezing, and see the rapid pulsation of his struggling chest. The nasal cannula was giving him oxygen that apparently wasn't enough. He was pale to be almost gray, and the shadows under his eyes made them look bruised. Sheppard moaned, sometimes grunted, sometimes whimpered – a small and frightened sound.
This was supposedly day two of the Daedalus dropping in per Lam's request to save the day after the fact (the phone call had gotten through after all, and it was hard to ignore the frantic shouts of three men and the shriek of mutilated metal). Rodney had slept through most of day one, waking in the early hours of day two just in time to hear all about Lam's little discovery.
Not so little, actually. More like gut-clenchingly big – a cornucopia cocktail of drugs in Sheppard's system ranging from the known to the completely unknown - until Carolyn had done some digging, comparing her find with Carson's iratus/retro-virus research. What she discovered gave her the suspicion that whoever had been holding Sheppard had been doing so in order to recreate Carson's project, or something like it, using the so-dormant-it-might-as-well-be-dead iratus DNA in Sheppard's body. Everything not unknown was a wide variety of hallucinogens and the usual medications given to those with an unstable brain chemistry (more likely than not for show). All of it had joined forces to do some very nasty things to Sheppard's health – mental and physical.
The hospital was being investigated, questions being asked, people being interrogated. But the bottom line was – it was likely, highly likely, that Sheppard never was, and never had been, insane. It was all too much of a coincidence for it to be anything else.
And it would have been figured out a lot sooner if they'd just brought Sheppard to the SGC.
“Dr. McKay. Glad to see you're finally awake.”
Rodney pulled his gaze away from Sheppard to General Landry heading toward him, all smiles that was contradictory to the setting and situation, and it pissed Rodney off. However, when Landry's gaze darted to the agitated Sheppard, though the smile remained, it was a lot more sobered.
“I'm told he has a rough road ahead,” said Landry. “But knowing him, he'll fight it tooth and nail.”
Rodney's lip twitched, longing to sneer and accuse that Landry didn't know jack about Sheppard – except for the lieutenant colonel's stubborn streak. That Landry had gotten a first hand account of, and Rodney had overheard – from Weir repeating what Landry had said or from Landry himself over a live feed, he couldn't remember – something about Sheppard's stubborn personality making a donkey jealous. Or maybe it had been mule. So as much as Rodney hated to admit it even to himself, Landry was right – Sheppard would fight it. The pilot was too tenacious to let a few drugs and infection kick his ass.
And, yet, it still didn't make it any easier. Even in sleep, Sheppard looked painfully worn to a frayed thread.
The general sat himself down on the corner edge of the bed, giving Rodney his space.
“I've been chomping at the bit to sit down and get your side of things,” Landry said. “Oh, and to let you in on this – those two men you three effectively subdued on the ground? Surprise, surprise, they're not talking. The man you winged - Daniel told me about that one. Good aim, by the way...”
“Actually,” Rodney muttered. “I missed.” Actually, he hadn't really been aiming; he'd just wanted the creep to stop hurting Sheppard.
Landry shrugged. “Any hit that incapacitates is a good hit in my book. It's not about killing; it's about preventing something bad from happening.”
Rodney grunted, pretending not to care.
“But I digress,” Landry continued. “The man you winged keeps insisting that he's nothing more than hired muscle. The other man – if he gets any more tightlipped he'll lose circulation in his mouth. The son of a bitch won't even give us a name. Not that he has to. We've found ourselves plenty from the hospital who are willing to sing – staff who’ve been paid off to keep quiet and look the other way. The doctor in charge of Sheppard was supposed to be a specialist brought in from a sister facility on the other side of the States.” Landry's smile turned grim. “Except that man never came. In fact, he told us when we contacted him that immediately after he was asked to come in, he received an email telling him not to bother. As for the doctor pretending to be him, needless to say, he's vanished. That's all we have so far, but the investigation continues, and it's only a matter of time before something or someone gives.”
Rodney puckered his brow, irritated because, so far, what he was hearing was registering more as conciliatory bull than progress. If it was progress, they'd have more answers. If it was progress, more than two men would have been apprehended.
“But you still don't know who did this,” Rodney stated, laying the accusation on thick.
“Oh, we have our theories,” Landry said, unperturbed. “Mainly one. This was too well organized and executed for it to be some amateur organization. And there's only one organization with the resources, not to mention an obsessive enough interest, to hold Sheppard while experimenting on him right under our noses.”
Rodney lowered his eyebrows in an angry slant. “Let me guess – the Trust.”
Landry inclined his head. “The Trust.”
“Goody,” Rodney spat. “No one to bring to justice, then.”
“Sadly, when it comes to the Trust, sometimes you have to settle for less. The fact that they no longer have Colonel Sheppard is the real victory, and we have two of their own in custody. I also doubt they accomplished anything with this little plot of their's. Carolyn insists that what she found in Sheppard's blood wasn't enough to alter a fly's DNA, let alone a human’s.”
“It did something to him,” Rodney said, looking back at Sheppard.
“She agrees. Whatever it was, she's sure it was temporary. It's leaving his system even now --”
“Hence the withdrawal,” Rodney finished. His anger lingered a while longer at its boiling point – anger at the lack of justice, lack of real resolve, anger at everyone for not having seen this and stopped this sooner, and anger at himself for – well – everything else. He'd given in, maybe not entirely but still too much in his opinion, to the fake doctor's insistence that Sheppard really had lost it. He'd bought the pseudo insanity and chalked Sheppard's experimentation claims up to that insanity because... because it had just been easier; it had been easier than dealing with the fact that he'd been right all along – Sheppard was nuts against his will – and it had still been left up to Sheppard to save his own ass.
And, yet, ironically enough Rodney had shared in Sheppard's paranoia that no one could be trusted, letting it build so that even when permission was granted by Sheppard himself to be taken in, Rodney had monumentally hesitated.
How screwed-up was that?
“I should have just called you guys, brought him to you... something,” he said out loud. He'd been doing that a lot, lately – thinking out loud without meaning to. “Saved us all the grief.”
Landry gave him a long, studious stare. “Why didn't you?”
“Didn't Jackson fill you in on that part?”
“He did,” the general said. “But as I said when I walked in, I've been wanting to get your side of things.”
Rodney returned the general's stare, just as studious if marred by apprehension. “Is he – Jackson, I mean. Well, Jackson and Lam – are they going to get in trouble for this? Because, really, it's all my fault they were involved. I needed a little help, wanted some advice then one thing led to another --”
Landry's raised hand halted him.
“No,” he said. “You were all within your rights to protect someone who you knew was being mistreated, as well as how you saw fit to protect him. Although, why you had to include the SGC in your list of ‘those not to be trusted’ still boggles me. Jackson's explanation was rather... how shall I say... not unlike someone justifying a conspiracy theory. Although I personally wouldn't hold it past the IOA to be on the inconsiderate side of Sheppard's needs. A 'presumably' unstable man in a top secret facility I don't think would have set well with them – not that I would have cared, but they're an excruciating thorn in the side who really know how to roll out the red tape.”
Rodney sat straighter, perking up at that. “Exactly! And they would have insisted he go to another facility, one where the Trust would have had access to him....”
“That's a lot of ifs,” Landry cut in. “Besides, I wouldn't have let the IOA have that much leeway, not with Sheppard's safety at stake.”
Rodney deflated, slumping, guilt poking at him for not having considered that. “I just....” he stammered, feeling the need for an explanation, not so much for Landry but for himself as well. There was a time when all his reasons for doing what he did to keep Sheppard safe had made perfect sense. Then they hadn't, and he didn't even recall if the shift had been gradual or sudden. All that he did recall was having had some reason for doing what he did, and that, once upon a time, they had been valid.
“It's just... I... it didn't feel right. It didn't... feel right.”
Crap, that was lame. Rodney slumped even lower hoping the bed would open up and swallow him out of existence. He'd been stumbling from the start when the answers had been so glaringly bright before him. It made him feel... less like a genius.
Landry simply nodded. “It didn't feel right.”
“Yeah, it didn't. I think, mostly, because Sheppard asked me not to. But, yeah, it also didn't feel right.”
The general took a long, deep breath, held it, then slowly released it. “Well, I always say you're a fool if you don't listen to reason and an idiot if you don't listen to your gut.” After patting Rodney's foot under the blanket, he stood. “Get some rest, Dr. McKay,” he said and left Rodney to ponder his words.
Rodney decided to reserve his energy by not pondering at all. He couldn't for the life of him figure how things could have been much worse if he'd just called the SGC. After all, that had been as much of a gut instinct as not calling them. Yes, maybe a little weaker than the latter, but still.
Or maybe it wouldn't have mattered either way. The whole thing had been FUBAR from the start, a lot of making-it-up-on-the-go as Daniel had put it. Maybe it didn't matter how they'd proceeded; something still would have gone wrong every step of the way.
Or maybe Rodney was just trying to placate himself. He should have just called. He couldn't imagine how much worse it could have been.
The thought continued to plague him even when Lam released him to his temporary quarters later in the day for more rest. Not that he stayed, spending most of his time including mealtime in the infirmary. Lam said nothing about it except for the occasional dropped hint or two that Rodney would rest better in his quarters which was a bunch of crap. Rodney had tried to nap in his sterile, metal box of a room, but the moment he closed his eyes, he saw Second Bad-guy kneeling with his knee on Sheppard, crushing the life out of him.
Yet as it turned out, Rodney's hovering wasn't such a bad thing when Sheppard's withdrawal hit its all-time severest. The colonel started hallucinating, forgetting where he was and panicking, thinking he was back at that hospital with those people.
And Rodney was around to witness the remnant of the terror those bastards had dumped on Sheppard. Sheppard thrashed, fought, screamed in weak but feral rage that deteriorated into timid horror when he saw a needle approach his arm. Lam and the nurses were just trying to draw blood, that was all, but the way Sheppard was acting one would think the needle a syringe full of cyanide. The fear turned Sheppard into a curled-up and trembling mass begging for mercy.
“No, no, no, please, no, please, you don't need to do this, please stop, just stop...”
Up until the pleading, Rodney stood there, staring, sick with his own horror over a side of Sheppard he'd never seen before and hoped to never see again. After the begging began, anger stomped fear because Sheppard was supposed to be safe in a place where he shouldn't have to be afraid. Rodney surged forward, shoving useless nurses aside who were doing nothing more than adding to Sheppard's stress by holding him down. Taking Sheppard's face, he yanked his head around, forcing eye-contact. Sheppard, gulping in lungfuls, tried to pull away.
“Sheppard. Sheppard! Sheppard, relax, it's me, McKay! Look at me, Sheppard. You're safe, do you hear me? You're not at that hospital; you're at the SGC. They're not giving you drugs; they're taking blood to see if the drugs are gone. They're trying to help you. They're not them, Sheppard. They're not them.”
Sheppard's breathing slowed, but his glassy eyes, though confused, still registered terror.
“I almost killed a man for you, Sheppard,” Rodney said. “Do you know what kind of damage that would have done to my psyche? Do you honestly think I'd let you back in the hands of those sadistic idiots after everything I did to save your scrawny and delusional ass? The least you can do in return is make this easy on everyone.”
A large chunk of fear melted out of Sheppard's eyes. Of course, by then, during the distraction, the blood had finally been drawn. Rodney released Sheppard's face to step back and let him see the return of his personal space.
Shivering, Sheppard pressed himself into the bed as if hoping to sink into it. Rodney tugged the covers higher up the colonel's chest and hoped it wasn't becoming a habit. He then patted Sheppard's sweat-soaked shoulder.
“You're safe, Sheppard,” he said, meaning to sound irritated but still not unkindly.
It sank in, thankfully: Sheppard nodding and the exhaustion the product of his terror and struggling pulling his eyelids down. He slid into an easy sleep, the cardiac monitor going normal and steady for once.
Rodney backed away until his legs hit the bed behind him, and he dropped onto it, watching Lam take vitals.
“Having you stick around has its advantages after all,” Carolyn said. She looked at him and smiled. “You did good.”
Rodney sighed. “I've had practice.”
“I hate to imagine what it would have been like if you'd brought him in too soon,” she said.
“You would have been able to help him,” Rodney said.
“Yes, but the level of agitation it might have caused could have resulted in some serious setbacks, not to mention complications. Not a certainty, but very much a possibility.”
Rodney squinted, wondering if she was just trying to make him feel better. She had turned back to Sheppard, regarding him so thoughtfully it had her forehead lined.
“He may have ended up hurting himself,” she said.
Which had happened anyway, albeit not so much Sheppard hurting himself as someone else hurting him.
“So, what, I was right to keep him from you people as long as I could?” Rodney asked, a little on the tetchy side but he didn't care. The what-ifs were driving him crazy, and he was getting desperate for a solid answer.
What he got was a noncommittal shrug from the doctor.
Deciding to beat a hasty retreat before mounting frustration got the better of him, Rodney stiffly excused himself and headed out for an early lunch. His intent was to eat alone, and he took his tray to the farthest, remotest corner of the barely-occupied mess in hopes that the location would give others the hint of that intent.
Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect when Daniel joined him.
“McKay,” he said by way of a neutral greeting.
McKay stayed quiet, stabbing his fork into the brown lump of meat that was supposed to be meatloaf, hoping both actions read loud and clear for Daniel to either not talk or go away.
Instead, “You all right?”
Rodney scowled, prepping words that would, hopefully, send Daniel away. What came out of his mouth was entirely something else.
“Why can't people see fit to just give me a straight friggin' answer for once in their lives?”
Daniel blinked. “Huh?”
“People, answers, straight.” Rodney tossed his fork down, metal clattering against plastic and spattering ketchup on the table. Looking up, he glared into Daniel's eyes. “We should have brought Sheppard in. Called the SGC. Called someone. Don't deny it; you know I'm right.”
Daniel blinked again. “Probably, I guess.”
“There's no probably about it!” Rodney shrilled, tossing his hands up. “If we'd kept him at my house a moment longer, those people – Trust, whoever they were – would have come barging in and shot us down. However, had we brought Sheppard in, then we could have avoided your car getting smashed, your brains nearly being blown out of the back of your skull, the same nearly happening to me, and Sheppard nearly being taken again.”
Resting his elbows on the table, Daniel pressed his fists together like a small stand to rest his chin on. “Nearly McKay. Nearly. It didn't happen.”
“Nearly's close enough,” McKay muttered, grabbing his fork and impaling the meat without bringing any to his mouth. “Too close, in fact. And I almost killed a man, and you and Sheppard almost died. All of it preventable if we'd just gone sooner.”
The archaeologist sighed – long and calm and tired – reminding Rodney a little of both Carson and Elizabeth who used to do the same, and so adding yet another load of regret and pain to what was already weighing on his chest. Crap, he missed them, so bad he couldn't bring the meatloaf to his mouth, knowing he wouldn't be able to swallow it. They would have known what to say, would have had the answers.
For that same reason, he felt a pang of longing for Teyla's presence, who always knew what to say, who always seemed to have the answers and the calm needed to deliver them when Rodney tried to argue. Which reminded him – he needed to contact them, her and Ronon. He'd been meaning to but... he still didn't know what to say.
We were right. Sheppard was insane against his will, but I didn't do a damn thing about it until after the fact and almost got Sheppard killed because I'm a selfish bastard.
“McKay-- Rodney... No one can give you a straight, direct answer because I really don't think there is one,” said Daniel.
Rodney stabbed harder. “How can there not be one? I would think it painfully obvious in light of what nearly happened that the answer had been whispering in our ears the entire time.”
“Yes, but I was talking to Carolyn yesterday, about withdrawal and everything that comes with it. She feels that, given the circumstances, it's possible bringing Sheppard in too soon could have been a bad thing.”
Rodney nodded rigidly. “Been there, heard that. I think she's just trying to 'lighten the load' so to speak. You know, make us feel better?”
“No, I think she's considering all the facts. Keeping Sheppard where he was, letting him know he was safe and letting him call the shots helped calm him down. It let him know who he could trust. It grounded him, which, she feels, wouldn't have happened if he'd been brought in against his will. Then, of course, there's our whole finding out that everything he'd told us was the truth. Believe me when I say nothing's more stressful than being drugged out of your mind, helpless, and no one believing you because they think you're insane. It... has a way of making you feel like you don't really exist. Like you're just this no-named stranger being coddled so you can be shoved out of the way as quickly as possible.”
Daniel's hands lowered to the table, his gaze with them, and he stated quickly as though anxious to get rid of the words, “It makes you feel alone.”
McKay mimicked, eyes dropping to the mutilated meat. He knew. Damn it, he knew: knew how words couldn't describe that black-hole of an existence, where everyone around you seemed dead set against you, making you feel like the last rational and sane man on Earth, and how laughably ironic that was, all things considered.
But the difference between Rodney and Sheppard was that Rodney had been wrong. The world hadn't been against him. Carson hadn't been holding back on him.
“Except you aren't alone,” Daniel said. “You just don't realize it.”
And that was what all three of them had in common.
“Lam thinks that what we did may have helped Sheppard to realize that,” he continued. Then he laughed a little bitterly. “Yes, very damned if you do, damned if you don't if you ask me. I keep wondering what we could – should – have done differently, but I think that's just inevitable. I've never stopped wondering that about everything I've ever done – every mission I've ever been on... everything that's ever happened. But,” he shrugged, “I don't think you can call yourself a real human being if you don't regret and wonder. At least we're still alive. And, personally, if it helps, I do feel that, maybe, we did do something right by Sheppard. Seeing as how he's also still alive.”
Rodney scooped meat onto his fork and shoved it into his mouth. He couldn't argue with that though that didn't stop his brain from trying.
-------------------------------------
Sheppard's delirium became an unpredictable constant. For that reason Lam finally relented to allowing Rodney to practically live in the infirmary. Rodney's presence calmed Sheppard faster, far more preferable to holding him down and resorting to restraints which would have only made matters worse.
It took four days for the withdrawal to dissipate and for Sheppard's blood to be declared clean of foreign substances. There had been a lot in there, Lam had said, so she wasn't surprised by the length of time it had taken for some of the chemicals to be flushed from his system.
That left the lung infection which would be just as slow to clear up. Sheppard's fight against the withdrawal had left him worn and weak, but the congestion had yet to become severe so some good fortune there. Sheppard slept mostly. So much so that Rodney missed the majority of the short-lived moments Sheppard had been awake. Not that being there would have made a difference according to Lam. Sheppard was barely coherent each time and lasted, at most, five minutes – long enough to get a little broth into him. He had lost five more pounds, and Lam was anxious to rectify it as soon as possible.
During those days with little to do other than wait, Rodney finally sent a message to Ronon and Teyla... at the SGC's behest – to placate Ronon, of all things, who Rodney had the sneaking the suspicion was making Stargate Command nervous with his constant demands for updates on John. Rodney was asked specifically to pack his reiteration of events with plenty of reassurances that Sheppard was safe and on the mend. Rodney did as told, for Ronon's and Teyla's benefit, not the SGC's. It must have worked. Ronon had yet to stun his way onto the base.
It was five days after Sheppard's blood had been declared drug free that his waking periods were extended, balancing out the length of time he was asleep, and Rodney was there for them.
It wasn't much of a change, Sheppard's eyes being open or not. The lieutenant colonel was oddly quiet, subdued, and though Lam claimed the cause as being possibly related to lingering exhaustion, even she didn't seem so sure.
Rodney had a feeling it was more than just exhaustion. On day two of Sheppard being lucid, Rodney sat on the edge of the bed next to the colonel, staring at him as Sheppard stared with languid eyes at the wall across from him – a wall decorated with a lighting board and pictures of X-rays: chest X-rays, and with Sheppard currently the only occupant of the infirmary, it was safe to assume Sheppard's chest.
“You better not be feeling guilty about coming to me for help,” Rodney said. He wasn't being perceptive; he was just guessing. But a good enough guess as far as he was concerned. It was the only other thing Sheppard had agonized over out loud.
Sheppard's eyes rolled his way, brow lining in a scowl, then rolled back to the X-rays with the scowl still firmly in place. “I think I'm entitled to it.”
Rodney glared back. “As much as I would like to agree in order to prolong the guilt for all the hell you put me through, I can't. There's absolutely nothing wrong with going to others for help once in a while, Sheppard.”
“There is if it puts them in harm's way,” countered John.
“My choice,” Rodney snapped. “I could have called the SGC at any time. You even said it was okay if I did at one point. But I didn't so what happened is my fault, not yours. You did what you had to. There's nothing wrong with that.”
Sheppard turned his face away, hiding whatever expression he was wearing now. Anger prickled up and down Rodney's spine.
“Damn it, Sheppard! Okay, okay, I admit it. I'd wished, more than once, that you hadn't shown up on my doorstep. I'm a selfish bastard – I know it, you know it. I hated myself for thinking it, but think it I did, because that's just the kind of guy I am. I felt like I was in over my head, and it was making me just a tad resentful. But here's the kicker – I don't regret it, and if I had to do it again, I would. Maybe I would have done it a little differently, yes, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”
Rodney swallowed. “I'm glad you came to me, Sheppard. I'm glad I was the one who got to save your skinny ass, and no one else – and Daniel doesn't count because he more or less saved my ass – because I'm a selfish, stubborn bastard like that... just like you.”
Sheppard's head rolled, putting his gaze on the ceiling, the tension and worry in his expression familiar to Rodney. It was the only expression that ever betrayed what went on in the colonel's head, letting Rodney in on the emotional battle taking place within the man. It was rare, so rare as to be unforgettable the few times it occurred, which was why Rodney would know it anywhere.
“I'd do it again,” Rodney stressed. “Even if you told me not to, I would totally do it again.” And, damn it, he would. As hard as it had been, as scared stupid as it had made him, Rodney would do it again.
He then cleared his throat. “Besides... Ronon would kick my ass if I didn't. Teyla, too, probably.”
Sheppard's head lolled in his direction. He stared at Rodney, his visage unreadable, until a weary yet sincere and warm smile broke out on his thin face, all the way up to his sleepy hazel eyes.
“We are stubborn,” he whispered, “aren't we?”
“And selfish,” Rodney added. “Can't forget selfish. But in a good way, I would think.”
Sheppard nodded then perked up with an arched eyebrow. “Chess?”
Rodney arched an eyebrow back. “You sure? You're awake but obviously not that awake.”
“Then now would be the time if you want to win for once.”
With a huff, Rodney hopped off the bed. “Please. I don't need you an invalid to beat you down... figuratively speaking.”
Sheppard's smile broadened into a smirk. “Then prove it.”
Rodney lifted his chin. “I will.”
He ended up winning two games in four moves and Sheppard three games in two before it was time to call it quits when Sheppard nodded off. Rodney would have been more frustrated except he'd missed this; he really had. He set his pride aside long enough to bask in the comfort of having his friend back.
Besides, he planned to challenge Sheppard to a rematch later.
TBC...
On to Epilogue
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-06-17 05:43 am (UTC)From:You've done such a wonderful job mixing Daniel into John and Rodney's little crisis, and Lam too. WONDERFUL!!
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Date: 2008-06-18 12:29 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-06-18 08:48 pm (UTC)From:Loved teh idea he had to write his messages carefuly to Teyla and Ronon so they wouldn't come there themselves!
no subject
Date: 2008-06-19 06:19 am (UTC)From:Awesome story.
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Date: 2008-06-23 02:34 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-08 05:53 am (UTC)From:Rodney, wants straight answers, but that's not how life is. Life is definitely gray. It can be light gray, dark gray; sometimes so light to look white, and so dark to look black, but its just different shades of gray. (Is that a song?)
On to the epilogue...