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Usually, the sounds and smells of the ocean are enough to lull John to sleep. That, and the combined stress and exhaustion of his day job.
Tonight, that hasn't worked. John has been staring at his ceiling for what feels like hours, listening to the city hum around him and the distant crash of waves. The background noise is usually soothing, but the calm stirs something restless inside him, riling him up. Every little noise is like a needle poking against his brain.
He rubs a hand over his face. Exhaustion makes his skin feel gritty. He wonders if he got any sleep or if his brain has just given up on trying to keep track. He had attempted some mental arithmetic to tempt sleep, but that ended up being as effective as counting sheep.
By the time his alarm goes off the next morning, he's already out of bed and getting ready for the day. A groggy haze settles over his mind, causing his thoughts to be unfocused and unbalanced. He moves about his quarters in a trance. Boots, radio, belt and holster. He assembles himself piece by piece.
Yesterday's mission had gone fine. No hostiles. Pretty rolling fields. He had snagged a flower intending to give it to someone, except he didn't want it to cause her to break out into hives accidentally like last time, and didn't want to justify himself to the botany team for his little request. The planet had been calm. Nobody to talk to, no ruins for McKay to get all excited about. Pretty boring.
There had been a rolling expansive orchard, growing free and untamed. The fruit there would be enough to bolster their supplies, so they had grabbed some for testing. Ford had spent the entire walk back trying to come up with a name for the bright purple stuff, but John had vetoed nearly all of his attempts. They're not calling it the purple thunderball.
Having a mission go well is unsettling in itself. His team hadn't pissed anyone off, hadn't started any accidental wars and they'd been back home on time. Any opportunity to not give Elizabeth a stress headache is a win. Yet there's just something about yesterday that grinds at him.
In the mess hall, he hears McKay snapping at the kitchen staff. It's barely 0600. Rodney must've woken up on the wrong side of the bed and decided that everyone else should be just as put out as he is. John considers giving him a wide berth until he notes the dark circles under Rodney's eyes and how his hand trembles as he gets his coffee.
"Late night?" John pours his own cup. He manages it with much less shaking. It's not a competition, but he definitely won.
He pauses, squints, then pours another cup.
Rodney scowls, but there's something off about his usual snark. "Spent all night fixing what Zelenka had broken while we were on the mission yesterday. Why do I even leave this city? The incompetence around here is just..." he gristles, trailing off, and stalks away without finishing his point.
Bear with a headache. When Rodney gets in a mood, it's best to stay away. No doubt Zelenka will be on the receiving end of it. He should've elected to stay away from McKay.
When Elizabeth walks into her office, John is sitting in her chair, spinning it aimlessly. He had seen her coming; being a nuisance like this had been a conscious choice. It's probably the first time in the whole expedition that he's beaten Elizabeth to her office.
"Major." She quirks an eyebrow. "That's my seat."
He bounces a little, then does one more spin for good measure. "The Ancients weren't that hot about ergonomics, were they?"
"It hasn't been a priority to search through all the storage rooms to find a better chair," she shrugs, coming to sit on the edge of her own desk.
John looks up at her, thinking for a moment how funny it is that the roles are reversed. The light above her sort-of halos around her short curls. It's pretty like that.
Elizabeth gestures for him to move. Because he values his life, he does, but not before winning her back with the coffee he had brought her from the mess. They're out of that weird cream stuff from the Skun people, but the powdered creamer isn't so bad. They survived in Antarctica with the stuff so they can do a few more weeks until the next trade.
He takes his usual place on the edge of her desk. Watching her set up for the working day is hypnotising. That is until he realises he's zoned out and staring at her. Not that staring at his boss isn't commonplace, but he usually isn't stupid enough to get caught. He averts his eyes all too late, then knows he's blundered that too.
Time for a tactical retreat.
Sparring with Teyla that afternoon knocks John on his ass, but that's usually par for the course. His reactions are slow, but he didn't sleep right (or at all) so it makes a good justification in his head. Not that Teyla doesn't beat him when he's had the full eight hours, but still, he'll take whatever excuse he can get.
He heads to the armoury after lunch to check the latest inventory report but finds Ford there instead. "You assigned me the job this morning, sir."
John blinks. He hadn't seen Ford yet today. Usually, the kid makes enough of an impression that he would remember that. Ford doing this job doesn't make sense. Why would he send the Lieutenant down here when John knows he was going to the mainland with Teyla and Markham to handle something to do with crops.
Is that right? John blinks again. No, that had been on Tuesday. Today is... whatever. Why the hell are they keeping up with days of the week anyway? It's not like this planet operates on a 24-hour clock.
"Sir?" Ford prompts, using a tone that makes it seem like he's repeated the title several times. He gestures around the shelves. "Do you still want me to do this?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure. Radio me when you're done."
At dinner, Rodney is still snappy. That in itself isn't weird. But he makes a passing comment about not sleeping and it pings something in John's brain.
"You didn't sleep last night?"
"No."
"I didn't either."
There's something there. It's like a half-baked thought. It doesn't take ground. John's brain feels like it's free-falling.
"Have things felt weird to you?" he asks instead.
The answer is yes, because McKay goes into a twenty-minute monologue about how annoying Dr Zelenka has been today, fumbling requests and making mistakes; worse, apparently Zelenka had been insisting that Rodney has been the one causing problems, and probably more complaints. John stops listening after five minutes, but lets Rodney go on. It's like white noise as he delves into his own thoughts. Though none of his thoughts stay tangible enough to actually focus on anything.
He wonders what Elizabeth is up to.
Bates sends him an email. Two briefings that need preparation for: an off-world team that needs altering and something about a planet. He gets bored reading the rest of the message and marks it as unread. That's a later problem.
When Bates finds him later, hasn't got a clue about the email. Doesn't mention it.
Another night of not going to sleep, despite being tired as hell. John rolls about the bed until his sheets get all rumpled.
He figures that straightening it out will help but as he stands, everything gets blurry and suddenly he's laying on the floor. Fuck.
This is ridiculous. He should ask for a sedative. Some of those nice shiny pills that Carson has talked about before.
John gets to the door before he stops himself. No. There are no supplies from earth. Every pill is precious. He shouldn't go wasting them just because he's having a slight bout of insomnia. He throws his jacket back on the floor and flumps back onto the bed.
There's a bright side to this, he supposes. No nightmares. He's not plagued with memories of looking down the sight of his gun and lining up a shot against his commanding officer. Sometimes, John misses the shot and Sumner is left to a worse death. Sometimes, the Wraith Queen gets him next.
He picks up War and Peace but the text is all blurred.
The second day in a row he beats Elizabeth into her office. He can’t help but grin with triumph. It's become a fun game. He wonders if he'll manage it tomorrow. Though, he would like to sleep sometime between now and then.
Elizabeth is less than amused to find him in her chair again. But instead of chiding him once more and falling into their usual banter, she freezes.
"Major, you don't look good. Are you alright?"
She looks great, but then she always looks great. He's smart enough to keep that as an inside thought.
He shrugs. "Didn't sleep last night."
It's meant to be a passing comment but Elizabeth focuses in on it, her brow tightening. "At all?"
"Nope. Nor yesterday."
She hums, looking thoughtful; it's a good look on her. He goes back to staring. Her voice blurs in his head, words drifting in and out like radio static. John forces himself to focus on her face, but everything around it - the office, the light - feels unreal.
The lights in the office are brighter today. Almost angry. Why would Elizabeth change that? Can she even change that? She's missing the gene.
Her voice interrupts his tangent. "Rodney said the same this morning. He couldn't sleep at all last night or the night before. Perhaps you should see Dr Beckett?"
He pulls a sarcastic expression. "For a bedtime story?"
There's a flash of concern in her eyes. "I'm serious, John. Something isn't right about this."
Maybe Elizabeth has telekinesis. No, that's not the one. The psycho one. Not that Elizabeth is a psycho, no, that's not what he means. The one that reads minds.
No - bad idea. He'd be so screwed if Elizabeth could read his mind.
Swinging his legs back and forth, John lets Dr Beckett stick needles in him and rob his blood. Then comes a myriad of tests. Sitting under the scanner, blood pressure, Beckett listening to his heart. It's like getting a full medical. The post-mission medical he had yesterday was just the same.
Rodney isn't as compliant, grumbling from the bed behind about Carson being a quack.
"Would you shut up?" John snaps.
"Come over and make me."
"Gentlemen, please, this is a place of healing." Carson cuts in, standing between both of their beds. "There is something in ya blood. I'll need a bit longer to analyse it, but until then, I'm going to give ya some sedatives."
John grumbles. He didn't want that, but he admits that doctor's orders take priority over him being a wimp about a little sleeplessness.
It hurts more than normal when Carson injects him. A weird pain. The inside of his arm suddenly feels hot. Injections aren't supposed to be hot.
Wait, why the hell is Carson injecting him? Shiney little pills. This isn't how he gets the sedative.
He jerks away, leaping to his feet. The world rocks at the movement. He has to grab the edge of the gurney to steady himself.
"What did you give me?"
"The sedative," Carson answers easily, coming from Rodney's side to get to him. "Get back on the bed before you fall over, son."
No. No way. John has a better idea. He bolts out of the infirmary before anyone can catch him.
The city is pretty from this angle, if you ignore the funny shapes and dark blobs in his vision.
Running might not have been the smartest idea, but then, if they were trying to get him....
It all makes sense now. Why Ford was acting under different orders, lying about who told him to check the armoury when John obviously didn't. Or why Bates was acting all shifty.
They're trying to replace him as the military commander of this base.
How long has this plot been going on? Ever since Sumner? Had Elizabeth realised the trouble she was in as having Major Failure Sheppard in charge? With a file stained with a black mark and a trail of death behind him so long he could trip over it. Elizabeth only wanted him for his body anyway. His sparkly genes to run this city and unlock the secrets of Atlantis for her. He was never meant to be more than a body man.
Hell, this has probably been in action since the day Sumner died. He's just been too stupid to see it.
He's so fucking tired. John stares at the water but it's fuzzy. The ocean mist is in his eyes and his brain. Salt water sloshing about where coherent thoughts should be.
The cool metal seeps against the back of his t-shirt. The sensation is invigorating against the dull cotton of his limbs.
Footsteps echo behind him but when he looks, nothing is there.
Wasn't there something he should be doing? Why is he even out here? John raises his hand to his radio, but it's not in. That's unusual. Maybe he was jogging? But he has his boots on...
He wonders what Elizabeth is up to.
The Wraith attack. The shapes and shadows. The screech of darts.
Any thoughts of betrayal or plots slide out of his mind as he bolts desperately towards command. He needs to secure the area, protect his people. It doesn't matter now whether they were trying to get rid of him or not because when the Wraith are concerned, it levels the playing field.
He needs to get to her.
Stumbling out the transporter, John skids on the smooth flooring as he bursts into the control room. It's too quiet. The hum of machinery, keys typing, two technicians joking about something in the back. Why wasn't anyone running? Why weren't they preparing for the attack?
"John?" Elizabeth crosses the bridge from her office to the control room in long strides. She looks alarmed, like how everyone should be with the wraith flying about but it's aimed completely at him. "John, you need to-"
He cuts her off by lunging for her. His heart hammers in his chest. Has he taught her nothing in all the time they've spent together? Grabbing her arm, he hauls her back into her office and shoves her under her desk. "You need to stay down."
"John, you're not thinking straight," she tells him, though she goes along with his tugs and pulling as they hide under her desk together. The stupid thing is glass and small, but cover is cover.
He needs to find her a better desk. And a better chair. After the Wraith attack.
There's a voice but it bounces distantly in the back of his mind. Darts screech so loudly that he puts his hands over his ears. He's drowning under the noise.
Elizabeth cups his cheek and the world falls silent. The touch sparks bursts of energy against him. Her hand is warm and gentle. Has she ever touched his face before?
"John, I need you to listen to me. It's just us here. You need to trust me. I need you here, with me." she speaks firmly yet quietly, with enough focus to captivate his attention. Her bright green eyes are piercing through the haze in his head.
Elizabeth who is plotting to get rid of him and replace him with Bates. but even as that thought drifts by, John grimaces at it. That's not Elizabeth. Elizabeth tells him when he's wrong, when he's being a fool, but she'll tell him to his face. He doesn't have to guess with her.
There was something happening. "The Wraith."
She shakes her head. "There are no Wraith. You and Rodney are sick. You can't sleep. That strange fruit."
Her voice is so steady. Like an anchor. The voice over a radio, keeping calm while giving orders. The security on the other side of the wormhole. The Queen in the tower. He hasn't known a commanding officer like her. Hasn't known a desperation to keep anyone safe like he feels for her.
There's warmth on his shoulders. Her hands on either side of him, keeping him in place.
Something in the corner of his eye catches his attention - Wraith. John jerks, fumbling for the sidearm that isn't there, but Elizabeth grips down tighter on him to keep him still.
"It's Carson. He's going to help you now. Look at me, John," she orders, still with that firm voice.
He does. After questioning and fighting so many orders, this one he follows. His instincts are failing him but it's Elizabeth he can trust.
Something sharp pokes into his arm. The edges of his vision darken. This isn't right. Panic rises in him again, except Elizabeth is still holding him. She stops him from bolting again. Physically, he could get away from her but there’s something captivating in the way she’s looking at him with her steady calm.
"It's okay," she repeats softly. Her litany echoes quieter and quieter until he feels himself sag into her warmth.
As the world fades, the last thing he feels is Elizabeth's steady grip on his arm, and for the first time in days, he feels safe. He lets go.