Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters that belong to Stargate Atlantis – only the plot is mine.
A/N: Today's my birthday – and I felt like putting this up, even though it's still in the process of being written. I apologize for any mistakes, but I look forward to reviews!
Nightmares
He only knew that he was in a hurry. Where he was going or whom or what he was fleeing from, he didn't know. He was in a blue mustang, with plenty of horses under the hood for getting him to wherever he wanted to go. That was before he glanced in the review mirror and saw blue and red lights flash.
He knew he'd been going fast, but when he glanced down at his speedometer, he was surprised to find that he was only going five over the 35 mph speed limit. He flashed his blinker, signaling that he was pulling over, and came to a stop. He checked his review mirror again, and this time his heart paused for a moment. Something wasn't quite right.
He checked the car, nothing seemed out of place. He checked the police car, and that was when it hit him. The scrawled lettering on the car didn't match the normal letters that spelled Police, or even State Trooper. It was scrawled in some form of Ancient. Worse, how he recognized it, he didn't know, but his heart began to pump adrenaline. It was scrawled in Wraith.
Without thinking, and before the 'person' could even step out of the vehicle, John Sheppard hit the gas, lurching forward and leaving a black streak of rubber on the pavement. The vehicle quickly came up behind him, and within moments, the flashing lights of more than half a dozen police cars surrounded him.
Panicking, he punched the gas, letting loose and steering onto the highway. His adrenaline was pumping steadily, more so when he glanced to his left and found a police car already there. In the passenger seat sat a man whose white hair and creepy face was the exact image of a wraith. Suddenly the driver glanced over, and John lost control.
The car swerved and time dipped crazily...
John Sheppard sat up in his bed, sweat coating his entire body. He was panting, his adrenaline up and his eyes shone in horror. He had seen the passenger, but what spooked him more, had been the driver. It had been Colonel Sumner.
His exposed arms goose-bumped as cool air met them, and John shivered slightly. He was trembling, he could feel it, and he was hot. He flung back the covers, thinking the lights on and squinted when they did so. It had been a while since he had had any nightmares, the last one had been about that damned bug attached to his neck. Self-consciously he rubbed his neck, then gained control of himself once more.
He stood and paced in his room, but the dream seemed to replay itself repeatedly in his mind. Frustrated, John slammed his fist into his pillow, wincing as his wrist protested the violent action. With no incentive to sleep, John left the confines of his room, determined to find something better to do – despite the fact that it was only 2:08 AM.
He had pulled on sweatpants and a sweatshirt over his boxers and t-shirt, then wandered up and down the halls. He hadn't realized how quiet Atlantis was in the early morning hours. Of course, he usually got up early, but by then there was usually some amount of activity.
Goose-bumps appeared on his arms once more, and John shivered. He didn't like this, it seemed too quiet. And there were no distractions to keep his mind from replaying the dream. He shook his head to clear his mind as much as to say 'no' to thinking about his dream. He needed something to take his mind off things – other than going to see the shrink or waking up someone. He didn't need to talk about it, just needed to wear himself out so he could sleep peacefully.
With that in mind, he headed for the gym, figuring he needed to let out a little vexation. He stared at the emptiness of the gym, never had he seen it so vacant. Usually it was filled with two or three people when it was slow, and often times a dozen or more when busy. Trying not to think about it, and wondering instead if this was how Ronon felt when thinking about his past, John hesitantly approached a punching bag.
He smiled grimly when he saw that someone had taken it upon themselves to place a wraith mask on it. He turned and went to the second, non-decorated punching bag, and let his fist fly. It connected solidly, the punching bag sent swinging with the sudden violent attack. This felt better, John thought, and began to punch away, welcoming the exercise and concentration that comes from beating something up.
How long he had been concentrating on beating up the punching bag, he had no idea, until a firm hand suddenly descended on his shoulder.
"Feeling a wee bit violent?" Carson's voice checked the punch that John had been about to land on the swinging sack.
John whirled, having not expected anyone to appear for a while yet, and least of all in the gym.
"Why aren't you asleep?" John meant it to be a simple question, but it came out short and clipped.
"It's six-o-clock, colonel." Carson's tone was one of surprise. Suddenly his eyes glittered. "How long have you been here? Pummeling at that sack?"
John had to think about it for a moment.
"Two-ish," he muttered.
"Aye, well come on, let's get you to the infirmary and bandage up those wrists of yours." Carson never took his hand from John's shoulder, instead steering him firmly towards the infirmary.
John took the moment to look down at his hands and grimaced. If the length of his punching the punching bag was anything to go by, he'd been at it long after his hands had become bloody. Not to mention that he had been punching quite vigorously.
"Here, sit down and I'll be back in a moment." Carson disappeared off into the depths of his infirmary, and left John sitting on one of the beds while a nurse took a moment to look him over. She sighed under her breath, but John didn't care. He'd land in the infirmary soon enough, one way or another.
Carson returned wheeling a small cart towards him. On the cart was a bottle of some ointment that John knew to be iodine, and gauze pads and tape. John grimaced as he looked back down at his hands. The skin had broken on his knuckles, and his wrists were tender. This was going to hurt.
"Okay, colonel, why don't you sit Indian style, and let me have a look at your hands." John grimaced as he pulled his legs up under him, wincing as his wrists protested even that small amount of labor.
Carson took his hands in his gloved ones and looked them over for a moment. His brow deepened in concern and thoughtfulness, and he let go of John's hands.
John wrinkled his nose as the smell of iodine crawled up to him.
"This may hurt," Carson said, about the same time as the ointment hit his flesh.
It was an understatement, as John flinched, biting his lip as the pain swamped him. He tried to think about something else, but the stinging and burning sensation was too much. Even trying to recall the dream had no effect.
"There we go, good job." Carson began to wrap up John's hands, from knuckles to halfway up his arms. "To keep the wrists steady," explained Carson, when he finished and taped the gauze in place.
"Well now what am I supposed to do? I can't shoot a wraith wrapped like this!" John stared at his hands, and ground his teeth against the remaining effects of the iodine.
"No, which is why I'm putting you on vacation time, or if you insist, light duty, which is to include no lifting, no using your hands or wrists, and no weapons training. Do I make myself clear colonel?"
"What am I supposed to tell everyone?" John muttered to himself.
"How about the truth? They'll understand lad, you don' t give them enough credit."
Carson's voice was gentle, even if his eyes glittered firmly.
"And you are not to coax anyone into removing that gauze – it's there because your skin needs a chance to heal itself."
John sighed and Carson knew that was all he was going to get out of the colonel. He had admitted defeat in his own way, and Carson respected that.
"I'd like to see you come back tomorrow morning, to get a better look at those knuckles. If the pain gets worse, I'll give you something for it."
Carson sighed as he watched John walk out of the infirmary. Sometimes there was just no dealing with the man.
It wasn't so much the pain as it was the embarrassment of having his hands wrapped. Who was he to be coddled like a newborn? John snorted. He was in another galaxy, for Pete's sake, and he would be damned if he was supposed to just sit back and relax – especially if his team was about to go on a mission. What really pissed him off though, was the fact that he wouldn't even be able to steer the Puddlejumper – the wrap wouldn't give him enough flexibility to grip the initial contact. And providing he could wrap his hands around the consoles, he doubted the Ancient's technology would be able to go through five layers of gauze.
He never felt more like punching something than at this moment, but his bandaged wrists were testimony to his vexations. McKay would laugh at him, Teyla would be concerned, and Ronon – heck, Ronon would probably just grunt and say he needed to visit the gym more often. As if having your butt whipped by a certain someone in stick fighting/practice wasn't enough humiliation.
"Hey, Sheppard," Rodney's voice filtered out from the lab that he was in, and John waited for the inevitable pause of shock. He wasn't left waiting long as Rodney's eyes flickered down to the colonel's injured wrists. "Don't tell me you got into another fight with Ronon."
"I didn't," John looked down at his hands, wondering if he could confess to a man he highly respected. "I guess you could say I had a bad dream."
It was an understatement of galactic proportions that caused even Rodney to snort and roll his eyes.
"Colonel, a bad dream doesn't bloody a man's fist, let alone both of them. You can tell me." The pleading was so evident in Rodney's face, if not in his tone, that John relented…slightly.
"Fine, I'll tell you, but only tonight. Meet me at my quarters when we're dismissed." John could still see the shock in Rodney's eyes, and he could only hope that Teyla and Ronon would be calmer about it.
He couldn't have been more wrong. Teyla was not as inquisitive as Rodney, but her eyes portrayed worry and concern. Her stature changed also to one of protectiveness, a new stance that John hadn't seen in the usually good-natured and relaxed Teyla he had known up until now. Likewise, Ronon was also silent, but the large man trailed him everywhere, as though a body guard. John tried to confront him about it, but Ronon merely grimaced and ignored whatever he tried to say, until John gave up.
"It's not like I'm helpless," John muttered under his breath, only to realize that carrying a tray was the only thing he could manage – and an empty tray at that. A full one was too much weight on his wrists, and John could only wince as he tried to lift the tray off the counter. Instead, he had had to rely on Ronon's strength to carry both trays back to a table.
John glared at the floor, his embarrassment preceding that of wanting to satisfy his hunger. He couldn't stand the looks of pity and, worse, the looks that came to say 'oh yes, there goes our CO, always injured or fighting for his life against all odds.' Frankly, John just wanted to be able to sit back and relax, but every time he did so, he felt bad that everyone else was working just as hard, if not harder, than he himself. He couldn't stand the looks that people in the cafeteria were darting at him, so he left, his tray untouched and his three companions looking after his retreating form.
As evening finally came, John had forgotten all about what he had told McKay until the man had shown up at his quarters. Rodney wasn't even at the stage of mad yet, but the look he gave John, made him feel that trouble was about to ensue.
"Colonel John Sheppard," Rodney voiced firmly, concern in his tone, "you are going to explain what happened." Rodney was gesturing at the still wrapped hands.
"Sure, but-"
"No buts," Rodney insisted.
"At least let Teyla and Ronon enter, Rodney." John managed to attempt a grin, but how successful it was, became apparent at the worried expressions of his friends.
"As you're no doubt wondering, why are my arms covered in bandages…well, let's just say I had a bad dream."
The three of them looked as ready to believe him, as they would believe a wraith who has just told them they could experiment on it.
"How about, let's not, and instead you tell us about the dream. That," and here Rodney smiled evilly, "or we'll get Kate to extract the dream from you."
"Don't even joke about that!" Was John's reaction, as he quelled a shiver. He searched the faces of his friends before glancing down at his wrists. "The truth is, I injured them while punching a punching bag…for 4 hours straight…starting at 2 in the morning." He flicked his gaze up to their faces and he saw concern and incomprehension. He sighed. "I had a dream, a nightmare, in that I was driving a really nice car. Anyway, I was going too fast and a policeman pulled up behind me, flashing his lights. I stopped, but realized that the writing on the police car wasn't in English…it was in Wraith." John paused, letting this soak in. "The next thing I know, I was pulled up alongside one of these police cars and saw a wraith looking at me from the passenger seat. In the driver seat, however," John paused, his face paling and his heart beginning to hammer away, as a cold sweat developed. "In the driver seat…sat…Colonel Sumner."
A/N: And (drumroll) your reactions are…? Liked it? Hated it? I apologize to all you John Sheppard fans out there (I'm one as well) but in the process of writing this, he kind of develops another personality…of course who wouldn't after having such a nightmare ? XD Please Review and I plan on updating every-other day so that I can actually find time to write. Thanks!