How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on when in your heart, you begin to understand – there is no going back…
The Lord of the Rings, Return of the King
Sheppard didn't wake up at once, but rather in short, uncontrolled bursts. His hearing was the first to return. He heard the beeping of monitors, and the gentle rhythm of people moving about. Next, he became aware of his body. A muted soreness pervaded every inch, with localized discomfort in his shoulders and his head. The last step was to open his eyes.
When he did, the first thing he saw was McKay. He was sitting in a wheelchair, head resting on the palm of one hand, which was propped on the armrest of the chair. He seemed to be dozing.
"Mc-Kay," he called. His throat was sore, and talking wasn't easy.
The slumped figure responded instantly; the arm dropped and the head jerked up.
"Major!"
"We made it -" he broke off, unable to continue. He lifted a tired hand towards the pitcher of water resting on a tray table to the side of his bed, and next to McKay's wheelchair.
McKay pushed at the wheels, navigating his knee under the tray so he could reach, and poured a glass, spilling only a small amount because of the awkward angle. He wheeled back, and handed Sheppard the cup.
"Thanks," said Sheppard, after drinking it down in one long gulp. He pointed at McKay's thickly bandaged knee. "How is it?"
"Ask me again tomorrow," said McKay wryly.
Sheppard bunched his eyebrows, "Why?"
"Physical therapy."
"Oh."
Sheppard didn't know what else to say. They'd made it back, and now they'd have to endure the process of getting back their health. He settled for not saying anything, and simply watched McKay, who had become momentarily distracted by a nurse fiddling with something over at what Sheppard guessed was McKay's bed. Sheppard didn't think McKay looked too good.
"What's wrong?" he finally asked.
McKay shrugged, turning his attention back to Sheppard, and trying to pretend it was nothing at all, but Sheppard wasn't fooled. "McKay -"
"Time to change the dressing," he admitted, grimacing.
That explained that, still…
Sheppard waved his own hand covered in tape, which was securing the IV needle, "I'd offer to help you escape, but -"
"No offense," replied McKay. "But after the week on that planet, I can't think of any place I'd rather be than here."
Sheppard didn't get a chance to say anything else, because the nurse had already covered the distance and was reaching for the handles on McKay's wheelchair, smiling and murmuring to him that it was time to do something, he couldn't catch the last part, because she'd already begun to spin McKay around.
He couldn't shake the feeling that something was bothering McKay, and it wasn't the prospect of his bandages being changed.
As he watched McKay, and the nurse, his eyes began to feel heavy, and he felt them drifting shut. He felt…distant…detached almost, from his body, probably a result of the drugs he was getting through the IV. He didn't fight it. He was tired of fighting, and it felt good to just go with what his body was telling him.
When he next woke up, a faster process than before, he was surprised to see Elizabeth waiting this time. She had a book open, and was concentrating on the page.
He didn't say anything. He didn't want to disturb her. Instead, he was content to simply watch, and relish in a simple act that he'd begun to believe he'd never do again – watch Elizabeth Weir.
She turned the page, and as she did so, glanced up from her book and towards him. He figured she'd probably been doing it for a while, judging from the flicker of delight that crossed her face for just a moment, before it was subdued, but her warm smile stayed.
"You're awake."
He grinned easily. "For a while."
She folded the corner of her page, and shut the book, sliding forward in her seat. "How do you feel?"
"Tired," he admitted. "But good."
She touched her forehead, up towards the corner, where Sheppard had bashed his in the crash. "Headache?" she asked.
"A little, but not so much." Whatever Beckett was giving him was doing the trick; of course, he didn't know how long he'd been here either. Could be it was the old adage of time heals all wounds, more than anything.
"You gave us all quite a scare," she admitted.
Sheppard noticed the dark shadows under her eyes, and the fine lines of strain etched around her mouth.
"Sorry," he whispered softly, wishing he could take away the past week of hell for all of them.
She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. We couldn't come for you, John. We tried -"
"I know," he interrupted. "We hoped you'd figure it out before losing anyone else."
Elizabeth didn't seem less guilty for his reply. Guilt. Everyone had more than their fair share, for one reason or another, but he didn't want Elizabeth or McKay holding it close over this – and suddenly he knew that was behind McKay's earlier 'offness' that he'd sensed, but hadn't been able to put a finger on.
"You could've died," she said. "You almost did."
"But I didn't." He said the only thing that he could. He'd known they were close to the end. He'd felt it. But he'd felt something else, also. "I wasn't afraid, Elizabeth."
She frowned at his words, trying to puzzle out his meaning. "What do you mean?"
"Of dying," he clarified. "No regrets."
She seemed to accept it, even to understand. The serious face was broken by another, new, tentative smile. "I would."
Now it was Sheppard's turn to puzzle at her.
"Regrets," she explained casually. "You promised to teach me how to surf."
"Ah," he nodded solemnly. "You're right." He lowered his voice in mock seriousness, "That'd be criminal if you never learned how to surf."
Sheppard found the conversation had quickly drained whatever reserve of strength he'd managed to gain. He fought against the tidal wave of sleep that threatened to overtake him. Elizabeth's smile faded, but the warmth stayed.
She reached towards him, tugging the blanket back in place. "Rest some more, John."
He didn't want to sleep, just because he didn't want to leave her…leave the act of being awake and knowing they were home. But, he couldn't fight the force of gravity against his eyelids. As they began to close, he reached for her hand, and felt her clasp it tightly.
"You'll be here?" he whispered tiredly. "When I wake up?"
He had already lost the battle to stay awake by the time she'd managed to swallow the lump in her throat, and reply, "I will."
…and she was.
The days passed, and Sheppard regained the strength he'd lost, but not so easy as it'd gone. The switch to liquid, then solid food. Making muscles move that had gone slack after a week recuperating in bed.
He labored next to McKay, doing all-over body exercises while McKay did those, and his knee to boot. They sweated, and groaned, and inwardly they stewed over their experience.
Sheppard had tried to draw McKay into talking about what was bothering him. Why he was moody, and withdrawn, but so far he'd had no luck. He'd talked to Beckett. Carson had been more than forthcoming regarding their conditions - how close to death they'd been when the two had stumbled through the gate. But as to Rodney's mood, Carson could only theorize the brush with death had been a little too close for the physicists comfort.
But Sheppard knew it wasn't that. That would be selfish, and while on the surface McKay put on a good act, Sheppard knew better. He'd heard McKay urge him to leave him behind, more so than even McKay knew, because in McKay's drugged state towards the end, he'd said it more and more.
Sheppard cornered Beckett later that day on when they could expect to be released. Carson promised that if they passed a final physical, they could go before dinner tonight. Elated, Sheppard began to fine tune the plan growing in his mind…
oOo
"Where are we going?"
Sheppard smiled, and wheeled the blindfolded man through the corridor. "Just wait," he answered. "Patience, McKay."
"I've been patient," snapped Rodney. "You've been pushing me around Atlantis for so long now, I'm beginning to wonder if you aren't trying to ditch me in some isolated part of the city!"
The joke fell flat.
"I didn't mean -"
Sheppard pushed McKay's chair into position. "I know," he said dismissively. "You spend half the day putting your foot in your mouth, and the other half, pulling it back out."
McKay spluttered, "You should talk -"
But Sheppard pulled the blindfold off with a flourish, and cut him off, "Shush, the movie's on."
"Movie?" McKay blinked at the screen, as the lights dimmed in the room.
The view screen came to life, and the words in blazing fire, and heavy script, formed the title: The Lord of the Rings.
McKay snorted, but grinned in spite of himself. "I hope you brought lots of popcorn."
Sheppard held a large bowl aloft. "Settle in, McKay. I hear it's a long movie…"
oOo
Hours later, the ending credits rolled on Return of the King. Sheppard stared at the screen, surprised at the strength of emotions rising in his gut over the painful goodbye between Frodo and Sam. Even though he'd read the book, it was hitting too close to home. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea –
"Now you see what I mean?" asked McKay, looking over at him.
Sheppard nodded. "It was good." He stretched. They'd stopped for bathroom breaks, and that had been it. He glanced at his watch, over ten hours! "Long," he said.
"It took us a week," joked McKay. "What's ten hours compared to seven days?"
Sheppard chuckled, though there was an edge of weariness. "I think it took them more than ten hours."
They both fell quiet then, the haunting music playing softly in the background. Now that he was here, Sheppard didn't know how to open the dialogue to ease McKay's depression. To ease his guilt.
He didn't have to.
"You should've left me."
Sheppard looked at him, surprised that McKay was initiating it. "Why?" he asked. He wanted McKay to stop feeling, and think about it logically.
"Because you almost died, and if you'd left me, that never would've happened."
Sheppard was already shaking his head before McKay finished. "And then we both might've died."
McKay cocked his head at Sheppard. "How does leaving me cause you to die? You would've made it easily on your own."
"I made it because I had your life to save," said Sheppard. He was staring at McKay, and right then, all pretenses and walls dropped between them. He wasn't holding anything back. "I'm not out to find death, McKay, but I'm not scared of it either. But what scares me is letting you down – letting you die."
"Two-way street, Major." McKay felt an ache growing in his throat, along with the ache in his knee. He hated death. It was so permanent.
Sheppard knew they were pushing into new ground. You had to be careful when you did that. Lots of stumps and rocks to stumble over.
He stood up, and reached for McKay's chair, and recited softly, "Let's hear about Frodo, and the ring – he was one of the most courageous of hobbits."
McKay knew Sheppard was referring to how he'd stayed steady in the crisis, and how he'd helped Sheppard when Sheppard was losing ground, and the ability to function, but McKay also knew that he couldn't have done it alone.
McKay knew the dialogue in question very well. He finished Sheppard's thought, speaking matter-of-factly. "But I want to hear more about Sam. Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam -"
Sheppard stopped pushing McKay's chair, and looked down at the physicist. He sighed. "God help us, McKay." He tried to keep his voice steady, but it was hard. "God help us, when the day comes and one of us falls -"
McKay's answer said all there was left to say. "Then we better not fall -"
THE END.