36. Turn and Face the Strain

John woke up to the overly-familiar noises and sounds of a hospital. After blinking a few times in the low lighting and glancing around, he realized it was not a hospital but the infirmary on Atlantis, probably early morning between 3 and 5am. It was a testament to his life over the past six months that he could tell time by the nurses’ schedules.

He knew from fairly recent experience that doing anything that required movement was a bad idea, but he tipped his head around to figure out if he was intensive care or just languishing on a bed, taking up space. He had an IV pumping fluids into him, and his left foot was wearing something that was not quite a cast.

And Rodney Fucking McKay was propped up awkwardly in a chair, tipped to one side and snoring, his hands loose in his lap.

John’s bed was not all the way reclined, so he rested his head back onto the pillow while still keeping his head turned towards McKay. The man looked exhausted even in sleep, and while it was obvious he had showered and changed clothes at some point, dirt was still caked under his nails and his boots were covered in grime. Relaxed, with his receding hairline and strangely lopsided mouth, McKay looked more like a dork than a menacing super-genius who ruined John’s life. John tried to muster some hostility but he was too zoned out to care, which tipped him off to the fact that the IV probably contained some form of painkiller or muscle relaxer. John didn’t really care which, and was far past the need he used to have to macho it out through the pain. Everyone knew he was a basket case, so it was not like he had anything to prove by being stoic and brave in the face of physical agony.

As he started drifting back to sleep, John stared at McKay and felt a surge of something sweep up over him like a warm blanket. He knew McKay was ruthless but on the Hive ship, when it mattered, he had not run out of the bridge to leave John to fly the thing in alone.

It was something, anyway; something more than John had felt in a long, long time. Sleep embraced him.

When he woke up again later, it was to the deep brown eyes of the Emmagen. He had to search his brain for a minute to remember her name. “Teyla.”

She nodded, a bright smile lighting up her face. “Yes, Sheppard. I am glad to see you well.”

“John. Call me John.”

She frowned a little. “Your people have too many names.”

John laughed, because he had suffered enough nicknames over the years to agree with her.

“Sheppard,” Ronon said, stepping into John’s line of sight.

“Hey, Big Guy. How are you doing?”

Ronon shrugged. “Back hurts. I’m too old for this.”

“Not getting any sympathy from me for that, buddy,” John snorted. Ronon grinned back at him and Teyla seemed trying to hide a smile. John fussed with the sheets on the bed self-consciously. “So how’d the evacuation go?”

Ronon nodded to suggest it went well, then cut his eyes over to Teyla. She smiled again. “It goes well, John.” She paused, trying out his name, before continuing. “Many people insisted to be taken back to their homeworlds immediately. The gate was dialing for 20 of your hours straight to get people home. Some found barren worlds, and returned.” She sighed. “Nonetheless, there were happy stories of people reunited with their people—”

“Some had been in that fucking ship for up to ten years,” McKay said by way of joining the conversation, walking in without looking up from the tablet he was poking at. Ronon gave him an almost fond grin and moved aside to make room for him at John’s bedside. “Are you better? Lucid? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Just this one,” John answered, flipping him the bird.

Ronon tilted his head. “I see that a lot. What does it mean?”

“Ask Carson,” McKay said, and John had to fight not to laugh.

“How long was I out?”

“Not long. Mostly you were exhausted, dehydrated and physically stressed by the amount of pain you were in. Carson knocked you out for a while. It’s been about thirty hours since you made an impression on Elizabeth. On her shoes, to be exact.”

“Mer,” Teyla scolded, although she seemed more amused than upset.

“Hey! Major Sheppard!” Ford bounced in. John was so used to seeing him looking angry and annoyed that he almost didn’t recognize the young lieutenant. The use of his former rank dampened John’s mood, though.

“Drop the ‘major’, Lieutenant. I was dishonorably discharged.” John suddenly wanted everyone to just get the hell out and leave him alone to rest. He leaned back and carefully crossed his arms. His body was aching a little, but the IV was gone and he felt better than he had before he puked on Dr. Weir.

Ford was giving a pained look at McKay, who was glaring back at him. “Uh, I guess you didn’t tell him yet, Doc?”

“I just walked in here!” McKay squawked. John could tell that McKay was still running ragged simply by the undignified, familiar way he was acting. “Okay, never mind. Sheppard, Dr. Weir requested that your rank be reinstated for the interim. Lorne signed the paperwork while you were unconscious.”

John’s mouth went dry. “They can’t do that.”

McKay turned back “on” in an instant, his posture straightening and his expression closing up. “I think you’ll find Weir can do pretty much any damn thing she wants. If she nominated you for president, you’d be in the Oval Office tomorrow. So don’t argue with her, just nod and say thank you and be fucking grateful that she was impressed enough with your stupid heroics to do this in the first place.”

“I’m broken, and I’m not officer material. And you know why.”

Ford shook his head. “Yeah, we know why, and yeah, you can’t meet the physical requirements. SGC would wash you out in a heartbeat. But Dr. Weir thinks we need you in the military chain of command, and as the Doc said, what Weir wants, she gets.”

Teyla nodded. “She is a formidable statesman.”

Ronon hit the metal railing of the hospital bed with his hand, making it ring. “The High Commander Doctor has ordered it, Sheppard. Are you military or not? Because a soldier knows to follow orders.”

John looked into the eyes of a man who had lived in hell for years, who was so much older than John would ever be no matter how long he lived. A man who swore his life to Weir for reasons John couldn’t even guess, and who had somehow become part of John’s world in a way he could not explain.

“It wasn’t in my plans,” John evaded.

“Join the fucking club, Sheppard. It’s Pegasus: nothing ever goes to plan.” McKay rolled his eyes, completely unsympathetic to the way John’s whole world was sliding uncertainly under his feet. “Look, no one’s forgotten your little stunt with the command chair, but between saving our home world from a Wraith invasion and then rescuing an entire Hive ship worth of Wraith food, you’re getting some special dispensations here. Don’t shit in the hand that feeds you, Sheppard.”

Ford grinned all the way through McKay’s tirade then turned to John. “So, Major, I was just stopping by to let you know that Col. Lorne says you have the rest of the day off, but expects you in his office tomorrow at 0800.” Ford went to leave, then stopped and turned back, his expression somber. “You saved us all. You saved me and the Doc and our team, along with thousands of Pegasus natives. I just wanted to thank you for that, sir. Thank you.” He saluted and stood at attention until John remembered what to do. He gave a stiff, unfamiliar salute back. Smiling, Ford bounced out of the room.

“I don’t remember him being quite that…enthusiastic.”

“He doesn’t become really annoying until you get to know him,” McKay complained. Teyla laughed.

Carson showed up then and chased John’s visitors out, threatening everyone with large bore needles when Ronon gave him the finger and asked what it meant. John was sorry to see them go, but part of him needed to regroup from the multiple shocks to his system. Once again, his life had changed overnight and John was scrambling to keep up.