A: Sheppard! You're home, boy! But no sudden miraculous recoveries for you. Now to tie up some loose ends.

Ch. 11

Epilogue: Home

It was like Sheppard was on display. No one could get enough of seeing him, as though not being able to see him meant that he might vanish and that his presence had just been one mass hallucination.

And it's not like he's a real pretty sight to look at. Still, even McKay couldn't avoid veering to the infirmary, even if the simple act of 'veering' involved many detours along his route just to happenstance pass by.

Well, I'm here, might as well drop in. Who am I kidding? But McKay wasn't going to deny it if asked. Just like with everyone else, he needed John's presence – alive and on the road to wellness – burned into his head.

That wellness road was going to be a long one.

The moment Rodney had laid eyes on John after he'd tumbled through the gate, his gut had started to churn. When Carson had removed the Major's jacket, intending to follow suit with a shirt that wasn't there to attach monitoring equipment, Rodney had nearly lost his lunch.

Sheppard's body was a mottled mess of dark bruises, cuts, scabs, and deep gashes, and he was so thin that X-rays didn't seem necessary.

I can count how many freakin' ribs the man's got from half-way across the room! Even with a scrub on him! Needless to say, it brought no end of shock to Rodney. John had a broken leg, broken arm, broken ribs – the man was just plain... broken. He was fighting a fever, had a severe infection in his lungs that had him coughing up blood, was malnourished, dehydrated, exhausted – deteriorated.

And what the hell is that mark around his neck!

But he was alive.

Yes, McKay was very glad for that. But there was something about seeing Sheppard in his skeletal, scarecrow-like state that made him uncomfortable and a little nauseas. It wasn't that it was gross or anything, just... not right. That was the only way Rodney knew how to put it. A weak, helpless, muted Sheppard was as unnatural as a fish that didn't need water, and – sometimes – it was hard to look at.

McKay made himself watch, though. During a visit, whenever John began trembling because he was cold even with so many blankets on, coughing out blood, or moaning because he hurt and didn't have the energy to even writhe, Rodney just stared. Anyone observing might have considered it an act of morbid fascination. However, he wasn't the only one doing it. Ford, Teyla, Dr. Weir, even Beckett, they all just stared no matter how bad what they were watching got (of course, Beckett was normally working to remedy the problem while observing).

They didn't dare look away.

We looked away once, and lost him. He fell while our backs were turned. Never again, though. To turn away would have felt like a metaphorical slap to John's face, an act of self-preservation to avoid the pity and stabbing heartache of watching someone – a friend someone – suffering so much.

Serves us right anyways. McKay had a feeling the others shared the sentiment. They were never turning their backs on Sheppard again, not even to walk out of the infirmary.

SGSGSGSGSG

" Doc, I'd like to lodge a formal complaint against the chef," John murmured hoarsely in the act of setting the glass of liquid 'food' (that instant breakfast crap or something like it) on the small metal table next to his bed. His hand was a little slow about moving since it was mainly occupied with trying not to let the glass slip from his unsteady fingers. The nurse took it from him before he got it over the floor between the bed and table.

" Thanks," he whispered, and coughed. It hurt to cough in every possible way, in every bone and muscle, but at least the annoying itch in his lungs was only that – an annoyance not requiring full-blown lung-hacks. What was even more annoying was the little breathing apparatus in his nose that was supposedly 'aiding' him in getting enough oxygen.

Like hell it is.

Carson, who was looking over Sheppard's recent chest X-ray, quirked the corner of his mouth up in a grin. " That would be me then. I'm the one who slapped that little beauty of a concoction together. And it's all you'll be digestin' until your stomach becomes re-accustomed to proper food. If you haven't already noticed, you seemed to have had a little run in with near-starvation."

John tilted his head back against the pillow of the upturned upper-part of his bed. " Kind of hard to miss, doc." He closed his eyes for a moment.

" You tired John?"

John sighed. " Yeah, kind of." He opened one eye and rolled it in Carson's direction. " How's it look?"

Beckett grimaced, sucking air through his teeth with a hiss. " Hard to say. Looks about the same, but with all the crap that you're body's been through, it's going to take a little more time for your bones to heal, I think. That's why you need to get the nutrients back in you to help speed things up a bit."

John re-closed his eyes and nodded very slightly. That led weight feeling was pulling his mind down, and images began flitting through his brain fast and brief.

Hole, rocks, sand, big trees, big birds, Dino-folk, dino-kids, Junior, Junior carrying him, Junior and bullies, mutant vultures...

Tell us, John...

John snapped his eyes open with a gasp, and the heart-monitor by his bed took up a rapid beep.

" You all right lad?" Carson asked. Now he was changing the bag connected to the I.V. He finished up quickly, then moved over to John, pulling the layers of blankets up past his shoulders. " You're shakin', do you need more blankets?"

John rubbed the sling cradling his casted arm. " I need to talk."

Beckett's brow lined with confusion. " All right? Talk about what?"

" What happened to me." Now it was John doing the brow furrowing, and he looked at Beckett questioningly. " Did any of you ever ask me what happened? I'm mean, I'm not trying to accuse anyone of not asking, I – I just can't remember."

Beckett inclined his head in the affirmative. " Aye, a couple of times when we thought you were awake but – in fact – you weren't that lucid. I think I heard you mention something about... a Junior? Other than that, I kind of dismissed the questions for you. You needed rest, every minute of rest. Plus, the vast majority of the time someone came in to check on you, you were already out cold."

Disorientation began slinking up on John, scratching at the back of his mind, sending his thoughts into a whirl-wind of confusion. In all his relief and joy at being home, he had yet to ask a few questions of his own.

" Beckett... How – how long was I – you know – gone?"

At this, Carson's features melted into an expression of sympathy and worry. " Nearly two months, about a month and a half."

The news made John's heart jolt, which action was given away by the big-mouthed heart monitor. But, king of composure that he was, John managed to hold back any facial reaction.

" Oh. A m – month and a half. Okay, then. How long have I been in the infirmary?"

" Two weeks give or take a day. Your fever broke about two days ago and has been decreasing. You're on the mend, Major, even if it doesn't feel to be the case."

" Yeah, good."

The furrowed brow look returned. " You all right Major?"

John looked at Beckett, a little pleadingly, a little desperately, but he didn't care. He didn't even care anymore that he was so weak, practically frail even among other humans.

I've been the fragile little biped for almost two-months. I can take it for another two months if I have to. Physical limitations passed, bones healed, muscle-tone could be reestablished – it would take time, but he could regain what he had lost, and he would.

John removed his hand from beneath the blanket to touch his neck. He had other matters to occupy his mind, taking him miles from any notions of self-pity.

" I need to talk, with everyone," he said. Then smiled slightly. " While I'm still lucid."

Beckett nodded. " All right. I'll get the others." He turned to head from the infirmary, when John had an epiphany.

" Hey, doc, wait."

Beckett stopped and turned back. " Yes?"

" Could you give me some paper and a pen or marker or something? I – I want to do something."

Carson took a moment to consider this, then shrugged and altered his route to the small room he used as an office. " Sure."

John grinned.

SGSGSGSGSGSG

They were all there, all gathered in the infirmary – Weir, Rodney, Teyla, and Ford. And as Carson checked John's vitals and watched his patient with a hawk's eye for the slightest hint of fatigue, John told his story.

As excepted, he was met with wide-eyed, slack-jawed, incredulity.

" So that explains the strange yellow substance sticking to your back," Carson said, breaking the awkward silence. " I've been doin' some tests – remarkable stuff really. Great regenerative capabilities, though it does have a slightly unpleasant odor."

The awkward silence returned and lingered for a second.

" A -a pet?" Rodney said at last. John almost grinned. He knew it was going to be the first question. He pulled his hand from under the blanket and rubbed his marked throat.

" From a leash," he said.

Rodney blinked in horror. " Oh my gosh!"

John shrugged. " It wouldn't have been so bad if the food had been up to par and the kids weren't ten million times bigger than me. Junior – he took care of me, he really did. He saved my life."

" Junior," Weir said. " Your owner?"

" Yeah, that's what I called him. They didn't speak in words, just a lot of dolphin talk."

Now it was Ford who looked horrified. " So – those tracks I found – those must have been Junior's. Y-You weren't eaten."

John almost laughed at that, but the looks on everyone's face stopped the laugh from bursting out of his mouth. Something was wrong. The expected looks of shock, disbelief and horror were present, of course, but something else was lingering between the other three emotions.

Better not be pity. It seemed like pity, at first, or worry. Then, when Ford quickly averted his stricken gaze when John tried to meet his eyes, it finally hit Sheppard. The realization touched him, as well as infuriated him.

" Don't you even," he said in low, dangerous tones.

Ford looked back at John, startled, and even a little afraid. " W-what?"

John flicked his eyes to each person. " Don't you dare feel guilty about leaving me behind."

McKay's jaw practically did the proverbial drop to the floor. " What? Guilty?" Then he deflated some. " How – how did you... I mean, we did. We did leave you behind. It's pretty obvious that we did."

" We gave up on you sir," Ford said apologetically.

" No!" John snapped. " No you did not! I know you all of you. You wouldn't have done that, you..." He rolled his eyes in frustration. " Listen, let me tell you something. The whole time I was down in that underworld, I had a lot of time to think. Mostly, I was thinking about what I was seeing, what was going on, and trying to figure out a way to get home. You know what I didn't think about, or ask myself? Why you people didn't save my butt. You know why? Because I knew you couldn't. I knew, because if you had been able to, you would have. You want me to list all the times you've pulled my carcass out of the fire even when the odds were practically trying to rip your throats out? Do you? Because I will. I never once, the entire time I was tied to that leash, pondered why you hadn't come barreling into the caves with a jumper, searching me out. You tried, I know you tried, it's what you do. None of you – know how – to give up. You tried – then, you accepted the inevitable. I mean, come on, how the hell were you supposed to consider that I might have been picked up to be a pet? How many times have you heard about something like that happening? You did not fail me."

" You didn't fail me, and apparently you didn't give up on me. If you had, I wouldn't be here right now. If you had, you wouldn't have let a man you thought was dead back through the gate. So don't you dare think you failed, just because you didn't know any better."

No one spoke, but they didn't need to. Body-language was saying enough. Ford relaxed, McKay started in surprise, Teyla smiled some, and moisture threatened to cascade from Weir's eyes.

Beckett nodded approval. " You're good, lad."

John sighed, feeling slightly spent. " It's the truth. You can't deny the truth."

" Thank you, Major Sheppard," Teyla said. John waved his limpid hand dismissively.

" Whatever. I just don't want to put up with a bunch of broody team-mates. Crap happens, you know that. Don't dwell on it."

" So does exhaustion," Beckett said. " You said your peace, Major. Now for peace and quiet. You rest more, and things should start coming up roses more."

John dropped his head back against the pillow. " Yeah, that'd be great."

The others took the hint, and began to leave, all with small smiles that weren't there moments ago.

" When your brain's not skipping about in drug-induced happy-land," McKay said before departing, " I'd like to discuss this underworld a little more. Maybe get a better description of these dino-things?"

John pointed at him. " Maybe I can do you one better."

" What, bring one back?"

John yawned. " You'll see."

" Not Dune/Tremor worms, right?"

" Not even close."

Rodney smiled, nodded, then left, the last one to leave.

" Sleep up, lad," Carson said, patting John's shoulder. He turned, heading off to deal with other medical matters. After all, not everything medical on Atlantis centered around John.

When Beckett was gone, John reached under the blankets and pulled out several sheets of paper marked up with sketches. He had a small flare for the artistic, very small, but enough to make his sketches portray the general physiological idea of the dino-folk. He Flipped through them, surveying his work to make sure it was satisfactory, until he came to the one he'd been searching for.

He pulled it from the others, setting the stack on the table for Rodney to find, without taking his eyes off his favorite. He chuckled softly at the picture of a stick-figure self, riding a stick figure Junior – leash (reluctantly) included.

The end.

A/N: That's all folks! I would ask if you had enjoyed this story, but from all the awesome reviews I received, I already know that you did. And I'm so happy! You are all so awesome! Imaginary cakes for all! I would also like to thank everyone for their contributions toward saving Sheppard. As you can see, he has been saved and is on the mend. You know our boy'll be back to himself in no time, and the adventures will continue. And John, you're free to go now. Sorry about the abuse.

All questions concerning the dino-folk, their ways, why they took John back to the gate, why they didn't identify him sooner as one of the strange bipeds that had crash-landed in the caves, will be left up to the imagination. Someone made mention of the creatures being mentioned in the archives. Chances are, they probably were, but under a strange name. Still, now that McKay knows what to look for, they'll be able to find a little extra info on them, mayhap.

FYI: I am planning on doing another SGA fic. My piranha muse is at it again, chewing the crap out of my leg, with the pirate backing it up by keeping me tied to the mast (curse ye twin of Jack Sparrow!) You SGA writers are also to blame (Drufan, Titan5, to name a few) for your own wonderful stories that have been spawning ideas in my head. I've been toying with a particular idea, and it's almost ready. As for Junior making future appearances – definitely not in my upcoming tale, but who knows what the future holds for our young giant quadruped.

Also, I am granting permission for stories being done involving one or more of the ten worlds on the list that had led the team to Junior's planet. Make up what you'd like. You can also have some tie-ins to Leash if you wish. I'll give you whatever info you need. No Junior involvement, though. He's all mine.