John Sheppard paced the infirmary waiting room, restless to learn the conditions of Carson Beckett and Ronon Dex. He felt useless, which was never easy for him to deal with. Top it off with a heavy dose of guilt, and Sheppard was fit to be tied. For hours after the unexpected confrontation among the three men, John still wasn't any closer to understanding his actions, or its inevitable repercussions.
As he paced, he mentally tore apart the last moments that had brought the three men to their present situation, desperately seeking answers that remained elusive.
At first, Sheppard had been thinking how well their risky if completely unorthodox plan to help Dex was going. He and Carson had worked together against the only weakness Ronon seemed to have - his jealousy. Dex's illness, which Carson had called testosterone poisoning, was stripping away Ronon's ability to think or act clearly. The man was quick to anger, and a little too ready to strike out.
It was a simple fact - Ronon wanted Carson. John and Carson had to make the soldier believe they'd wanted each other. For his part, John had flirted outrageously with the Scotsman, as if his very life depended on wooing the man.
Just pulling his chain, John told himself then. So, what made me kiss Carson?
Sheppard remembered feeling overwhelmed with need right before he'd pressed his lips to Beckett's tear-moistened ones. The kiss was supposed to be a gift of comfort, a message to Carson that everything would work out for the best. They would be there for Ronon, no matter what.
John ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. Ronon, he thought sadly, I never meant for that to happen.
But what worried John the most was that he had enjoyed that kiss. Despite his well-earned reputation as Captain Kirk, the Military Commander of Atlantis couldn't ignore the way his pulse had raced when Carson relaxed into him.
Unconsciously, John brought his fingers to his face and slid them across his lips.
"Colonel Sheppard?"
Jerking his hand away, John hid his surprise at finding Dr. Carol Biro's concerned eyes studying him.
"What's up ... " John paused. He couldn't say it. He only did Bugs Bunny for Carson. "How are they doing?"
Ignorant of the pilot's discomfort, Dr. Biro flipped open one of the patient charts she was holding.
"We've successfully reset Doctor Beckett's nose and sutured the wounds to his lip, right eyebrow and left cheek. His right eye was undamaged, but it will be several days before the swelling recedes enough so that he can use it again," Biro said in that mechanical way some doctors used.
John felt the words grate against his nerves, but he forced himself to listen.
"Doctor Beckett's brain scan came back negative, so we're certain he didn't suffer any additional blunt-force trauma."
John clenched his jaw until he felt the muscles protest.
"Colonel Sheppard?"
"And Ronon?" John asked coolly.
"Mr. Dex is still unconscious," the doctor said flatly. "His hormone level is at 93-percent, which is alarmingly high, but exactly what Doctor Beckett hoped would eventually occur. I can't administer any medication to him because we don't know how his body will react in its present state."
"But that's good, right?" John pressed. "I mean, Doctor Beckett said the extra testosterone had to reach critical mass. That sounds critically high to me."
"Yes, it would seem the testosterone levels have peaked, but we won't know what affect that's had on Mr. Dex until the levels recede and he regains consciousness," Biro replied.
"Thanks, Doc. I know you'll keep me informed," John said, offering the doctor a weak smile.
Dr. Biro closed the charts and nodded. "Doctor Beckett is still under sedation, but you can visit with him for a few minutes."
John noticed she hadn't offered the same invitation for Ronon.
"Yeah, I'll do that," he said, walking past her.
Upon reaching the ICU, Sheppard quietly walked over to Carson's bed, squaring his shoulders as he approached. He wasn't prepared for what he saw.
Beckett's face, a source of warmth and kindness for others, was almost unrecognizable. John's eyes traveled over the swollen lumps under the white bandages, and winced. Almost all of Carson's exposed skin was discolored, a nightmare rainbow of red, black, purple and yellow.
John stepped around the bed and silently counted 11 stitches along Carson's lower lip. The black, stiff threads marred the pale-pink flesh that was the source of John's anxiety. Glancing around to reassure himself that he was alone in the room, Sheppard leaned close to Beckett's ear.
"Hey Carson? Can you hear me?" John whispered. He waited for a response, but none came.
"I kind of fucked this up," he said, his tone sullen. "You're hurt because of me. I didn't ... I'm going to fix this. So, ah ... get better soon."
With a gentle squeeze to Beckett's arm, John swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, then left to check on Ronon.
Ronon had been placed in an isolation room located at the far end of the infirmary. When John reached it, he carefully suppressed his mounting anger at seeing Dex bound to his bed by leather restraints. Even unconscious, Ronon channeled a measure of strength that made people uneasy. Still, John would see to it no member of his team was treated like a rabid animal.
John approached Ronon's bed, his guilt weighing heavily on his mind. Despite what he saw of Beckett's injuries, John couldn't bring himself to hate Ronon.
"This wasn't you," he said to Ronon's still form. "Hell, this wasn't me."
Stepping closer, John looked at the assorted monitors hooked up to Ronon, then sank wearily into the only chair in the sparse room.
"It was a bad idea, the whole thing," John said. "We were trying to help you. But I ... what you saw ... I went too far. I didn't plan to ... It happened so fast."
Confessing to an unconscious man made Sheppard shift uneasily in his seat. Seconds later, he was up and pacing, rubbing his hand across the stubble beginning to form on his chin.
"Carson ... he cares about you," John admitted quietly. "But I didn't expect to feel ... I mean, you can imagine how fucked up this is, right?"
John felt dangerously close to losing his grip on himself. He laughed mirthlessly before collapsing back in the chair.
"We'll get you through this, buddy," he said.
Like Carson, Ronon didn't respond.
"We'll all get through this," John whispered.
Exhausted, Sheppard leaned forward to pat Ronon's arm, then he stood once again and left to get some rest of his own.
Feeling more tired than ever, Sheppard stepped into his room and dimmed the lights. He stripped out of his uniform haphazardly, yanking and pulling off items without thought. He left everything in a clump on the floor, and moved to his bathroom. For a moment, John stared at his reflection in the mirror, noting the dark circles beginning to form under his eyes. He looked at the shower stall briefly before it flicked on.
Stepping under the streaming water provided a momentary reprieve for his sore body. John knew Ronon could have done some serious damage, but he grimly remembered how most of Dex's anger was directed at Beckett, not him.
Again John replayed every moment of every day he'd spent 'wooing' Carson. It had begun with little touches - a shirt here, an arm there. They'd stand close - close enough for John to clearly remember Carson's clean yet musky scent.
He'd made Carson blush - a lot - which made John's stomach suddenly flutter at the memory.
John even enjoyed hearing Carson's deep, rich laugh, which was always full of gaiety and a hint mischief. Beckett wasn't one to fake his emotions the way some people easily did. You were treated to the real deal when you were with the Scot. Yet another trait Sheppard couldn't resist.
But somewhere along the way, what John saw as a type of game had taken on serious undertones for him. When? How? John bowed his head under the streaming water, allowing it to flatten his hair and cascade down his slender frame. Absently, he rubbed the back of his neck, then his stiff shoulder.
After the first day, Ronon had seemed frustrated, but it wasn't enough, John remembered. He had to kick it up a notch so he'd switched from subtle charm to blatantly flirting with Carson. His glances turned more intense. Even his usually care-free smirks conveyed more meaning.
John couldn't help being competitive, especially around Ronon. Whether the two were sparring or running laps around Atlantis, he never backed down from a challenge. Ronon just upped the ante. He was tough to beat, tenacious and focused on being the best soldier he could. John admired that and worked hard to match him.
Something inside Sheppard froze as realization swept over him. Did I believe I was competing with Ronon for Carson's affections, he wondered.
John knew he didn't like losing. Ever. Could the answer be that simple, he thought. Under the stream of water, Sheppard searched his mind for clues.
He remembered feeling driven by something primal in those moments with Beckett, as if he were daring the man to deny him. If Carson looked away, John would continue staring until the doctor looked at him again. More than once the two had found themselves locked in a battle of wills - Carson for restraint and John for submission. Hazel-green eyes fought against sea-blue ones, neither willing to concede defeat. They'd break the connection only when some outside party interrupted them.
Before the shit hit the fan, John had planned only to change his clothes before Ronon was to meet him at his room so they could go for a run. But Carson was there first. Waiting for Beckett to say what he came to say, John had peeled off his shirt. He'd been curious when he caught the open admiration on Beckett's face as the physician's eyes caressed John's body.
John knew he should have been uncomfortable. He wasn't gay. This whole thing was pretend.
But he liked seeing Carson's desires revealed to him. In that moment, John had wondered what it would feel like to have another man pressed against his bare skin. He thought back to Carson's embarrassment at being caught staring. Up to that point, it had all been a game to the pilot. But Beckett's tears tugged at a part of John he hadn't realized existed.
He did the only thing that made sense at the time. He leaned in and kissed Carson, and Carson had kissed him back. Their lips sought each other like secret lovers, hopeful and cautious.
Oh, God, John thought miserably, turning off the water. Carson?
For several days, John visited Ronon and left disappointed. There was no change in his condition. Dex was still unconscious, and his vitals remained strong. Those were quiet moments for John, silent contemplation on what version of Ronon would awaken and how everyone would react. Things were getting better, though. Teyla and Rodney visited Ronon, too. Despite everything, the team would stick by Ronon, and all would be forgiven. But John felt he'd need Ronon's forgiveness more.
Visiting Carson was a different story. When the doctor awakened one lazy afternoon, Dr. Biro summoned John to the infirmary.
"Hey, Doc," John smiled as he entered the ICU. "Took you long enough."
Carson tried to smile, but John caught his twitch of pain as the swollen lips moved.
"I don't think you'll be doing much of that for a few days," he said, resting his hand on Beckett's chest.
Perched on the edge of the bed, Sheppard updated Carson on Ronon's condition, but noting the worried look on the man's face, he changed the subject as soon as possible, choosing instead to talk about trivial things that would keep Beckett calm.
It became his daily ritual. John would visit Ronon before leaving to spend time talking to Carson. One day when he strolled into the infirmary, he saw Carson had been moved out of intensive care and into a private room in the common area.
"Guess you're not so special any more," he said, a wide grin on his face.
"Nae, not so much," Carson replied.
"Hey! You're talking!"
"Aye, been practicing all my life," Beckett smiled, and John noticed it was done without discomfort.
There was an awkward silence as John and Carson struggled to find something safe to say next.
"I ... " they said in unison before erupting in laughter.
John pulled a chair alongside Carson's bed and sat down. "You look ... better."
"I feel like crap," Beckett sighed.
"When can you get out of here?" John asked.
"Oh, I suppose I can rest in my room just as well as here," Carson told him.
Sheppard bounced up from his chair and smiled down at his friend. "Great! Need a wheelchair?"
Carson chuckled. "Nae, I can manage on my own, thanks."
John frowned, but he let Beckett swing his legs over the side of the bed without help. When Carson reached for his shirt, Sheppard resisted the urge to put the garment on the man himself. He couldn't shake the feeling he was getting the brush off.
"Colonel?"
John cleared his head. "Yeah, Doc?"
"I need to get dressed," Carson said, clasping the bed sheet at his waist.
"Oh! Right. Sure thing," John stumbled. "I've got a ton of paperwork to go through. I'll catch you later."
With that, the pilot turned and fled.
The look Sheppard gave him before he left made Carson feel like a heel. It was obvious from his visits that the pilot was worried about Carson only to be rudely pushed away. Sighing, Beckett lay back and stared up at the ceiling.
He didn't know how to explain to John what he was going through. In the long, quiet nights he'd spent alone in his bed, Carson had plenty of time to relive the events that put him there. Not the violence. No, that was neatly pushed to the back of his mind like the bad memory it was.
No, Carson's waking thoughts were mostly on Sheppard. Like another kiss, not long ago, the moment he and John had kissed was seared into his memory. It was odd that such a little thing could cause so much turmoil within the doctor.
They were alone in John's room. Yes, Carson had been embarrassed, caught ogling Sheppard's lithe body like a sex-starved horn dog. Yes, his frustration about the whole situation finally crashed down around him. And Sheppard was there.
At first, Carson couldn't process the warm feeling pressed against his lips. He'd closed his eyes, willing the dream not to end. His head swam and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. And then he ....
Carson groaned. I bloody kissed him, he thought woefully. I kissed John Sheppard.
There was no reason for it. Ronon wasn't in the room to see John make yet another move on Carson. But what a kiss it had been. Full lips, wet and warm. He'd pressed himself against John, and tentatively flicked his tongue across the man's lips. When they parted, Carson's breath had caught in his throat. For a moment, there was shyness and curiosity mingled with need. They kissed again.
And then there was Ronon. An angry, betrayed, disbelieving Ronon.
Beckett clasped the sheet in his hands as he fought back the images of Dex's rage. He hadn't meant to kiss John. It was an accident, he told himself. John's straight as a pin.
Eventually he'd have to apologize to John for taking advantage of his kindness. First, though, there was someone else Carson needed to see.
When he finished dressing, Carson walked slowly into his office and closed the door. He went to his desk and, withdrawing a small bag, he stepped into the small bathroom connected to the room. Placing the bag on the sink, Carson took a deep breathe and looked into the mirror.
His good eye tried to make sense of what it saw. Carson's face was still partially wrapped in gauze, but he could see the multicolored bruising on the exposed skin. Carefully, he reached into the overnight bag and withdrew a pair of scissors. Beckett slowly snipped through the bandage covering most of his head, then pulled the material away.
The right side of his face, from eyebrow to cheek, was several contrasting colors. His right eye was swollen shut, black and purple reluctantly giving way to yellow and red. It was healing. Carson touched the stitches over his eyebrow, then trailed his fingers to his nose. Dr. Biro had told him the break was minor, and after several days in the infirmary, Carson wanted to see how it looked.
Gently, Beckett pulled the tape from his face, then tilted his head back so he could see the stitches holding the splints in place. He reached into his bag and removed a small scalpel. He made a small incision at the corner of his nostril, then switching back to the scissors, he snipped the stitches. With great care, Carson gripped one of the splints and pulled it out. After repeating the process on the other side, he cleaned his nose and went about removing all of the stitches on his face.
Finally free of bandages, Carson combed his hair and left the office.
No one questioned Dr. Beckett as he walked purposefully towards the isolation ward. He didn't care what his staff was likely whispering about him. Nothing mattered except seeing Ronon.
He slipped quietly into the room where Ronon slept soundly. For Carson, seeing the man he was falling in love with strapped to a bed and hooked up to more medical equipment than strictly necessary was extremely difficult. Crossing the room, Beckett stood beside Ronon and stared down at him.
Normally the physician in Carson would analyze the patient chart for signs of improvement. Now? All Carson wanted to do was stretch out next to Ronon and fall into a deep sleep beside him.
"Ye would think I'd be angry with ye, or a tad scared," Carson said, his hand tucking the sheets snugly around Ronon's body. "I cannae say I'm happy right now, but I don't blame ye for this, love.
"If I had the chance to start over with ye ... take us back to that day in the gym, I would."
Ronon's chest rhythmically rose and fell, his heart monitor beeping in time to the movement, but he did not awaken.
Ignoring doctor-patient protocol, Carson gently eased himself onto Ronon's bed and unclasped one of the leather restraints from the unconscious man's wrist, then the other. He held a wrist in his hands, rubbing away the welts that had formed on the brown skin. To Carson, it was one of the most painful moments of the last few days. He thought of all the nights he'd wished he could touch the man like this, slow and exploring, before tasting the skin under his fingers with his lips and tongue.
Carson sat with Ronon for over an hour before one of the nurses respectfully cleared her throat, pulling Beckett back to himself. He smiled a little at her, then left her to her tasks.
Carson left Ronon's wrists unbound. He hoped no one would notice.
The next day, Carson left the infirmary for his quarters. It was good to be away from the watchful eyes of his staff, as well as all the visitors he'd had to endure. At least in his room he'd have privacy.
Shortly after arriving, however, the door chime sounded. Beckett had a visitor.
"Doc? You in there?" Sheppard asked from the other side of the door.
Time to face the piper, Carson thought nervously before he opened the door and gestured for the colonel to enter.
"Am I disturbing you, Doc? I could leave ..." John offered, but was silenced by a wave of Carson's hand.
"We need to talk," Carson said ominously.
He sat on the corner of his small bed, while directing John to occupy a nearby chair. Carson studied his hands as he tried to find the right words for a conversation he didn't want to have. John was fidgeting a little, the silence apparently as uncomfortable to him as it was to Beckett.
"Colonel, I've wanted to apologize for my actions the other day," Carson said, despising the tremor in his voice. "You're my friend and Ronon's, too. What I did ..."
"Hey, whoa," John interrupted, reaching over to touch Beckett's knee. "I think you've got it all wrong, Doc. I'm the one who should apologize."
Shocked, Carson looked hard into Sheppard's eyes. "Are ye daft, son? I kissed ye!"
"No, I kissed you," John corrected.
"Nae, I kissed you, ye bloody fool!" Carson spat back.
Of course I kissed him, Beckett thought angrily. Will the man not let me apologize in peace?
"I don't know what sort of drugs they had you on, Doc, but my memory is pretty clear," John smirked, crossing his arms against his chest. Carson recognized this version of the move as Sheppard's 'I'm right, you're wrong' look.
"Ye listen to me, ye cheeky bugger. I've quite a few more experiences kissing men than ye do, so if I tell ye I kissed ye, then I kissed ye! All right?"
Carson didn't know why he was angry, but he felt his temper rising as he argued with the pilot. Bloody Americans. Bunch of know-it-alls, the lot of them, he thought.
Finally, John raised his hands in defeat, and Carson ramped his anger down until it was barely there.
"Okay, you kissed me. Happy now?"
For some reason, the admission didn't make Carson feel any better than when he'd started the conversation. A new silence fell over the room, then John chuckled. And Carson, shaking his head, joined him. They were laughing before they knew what hit them.
"Bloody fool!" Carson said cheerfully.
"Well, I like to blame it on my charm," John grinned innocently.
It took a few minutes for both men to sober up. The kiss was now out in the open.
"Col ... John," Carson said, looking at the pilot. "I never meant for that to happen. The mistake was mine, and I want ye to know it won't happen again. Ronon is too important to me."
Beckett watched as Sheppard's mouth thinned to a hard line. The comfortable slouch was gone, replaced by a stiff, straight posture that seemed unnatural and out of character for John.
"That what you really want?" Sheppard asked, standing.
The question caught Carson completely off guard. He looked at the floor briefly, then up at John, who had already walked to the door and opened it. When Sheppard turned to face him, Carson saw the easy-going smile was firmly in place.
"It's almost dinner time," John told him from the doorway. "Want to come along?"
"Nae, I'm knackered, " Carson replied, confused.
"Yeah, better get some rest, Doc. I'll check on you tomorrow."
With a final wave, John left, closing the door behind him. Carson sat on corner of his bed for at least an hour afterwards before sleep claimed him.
Carson spent most of his waking hours at Ronon's bedside, speaking softly to his would-be lover about Scotland, food, and anything else that popped into his head. He read Dex's charts and was satisfied with the test results as they came in. Ronon would pull through, but his body wasn't finished rewiring itself.
John sometimes joined him and, together, would tell the most outrageous tall-tales they could make up. That often brought a fit of laughter and back slapping that would end in each wiping tears away and gasping for air. Sheppard didn't need to do it, but Carson felt the man was trying to keep his spirits up. Yet another check mark in Sheppard's 'good guy' column for the Scotsman.
Later, John stood in his shower and tried to relax. Another day of working on reports, drilling with the new recruits from Earth, and meetings. One more day alone with Carson as the doctor kept vigil at Ronon's bedside.
He'd given up asking himself why he returned every day to Dex's room, knowing his teammate's condition was unchanged. He knew the answer.
John's hand stroked his chest lightly until his nipples hardened. Pinching one sent a bolt of pain and pleasure down his torso, and he moaned. He kept up the pressure, switching from one abused nub to the other. His hips twitched reflexively, and John glanced down at his ramrod erection. Releasing his nipple, he grabbed his dick and stroked it slowly.
He did care about Ronon, but John was fully aware of his increasing interest in Carson. He was brave enough to admit he envied the Satedan. Beckett's devotion to the man made John wish someone cared about him half as much. Sure he had friends in Atlantis - Rodney, Teyla, even Elizabeth, Radek and Evan. But Carson was giving Ronon something more tangible.
Despite everything they'd been through, Carson was still in love with Ronon. The two hadn't even had sex yet, but there it was. An utter caring and gentleness from Carson that caused John's stomach to turn when he saw it wasn't directed at him.
He didn't care anymore if this was all wrong. Dex is his friend, and that's not something John would betray. But for Carson ....
John's hands tightened around his weeping cock as he altered the memory of their first kiss. This time, Carson was under him, flat on the floor of Sheppard's room. They sucked each other's tongues, hungrily exploring. Carson's hand tightened on John's cock, rhythmically tugging at its smooth heat as he caressed it.
In the shower, John's thumb pressed the swollen crown of his dick, sliding effortlessly through the pre-come. He moaned from the feeling, his back arching into the hot water battering his skin. He rocked his hips, stroking himself faster and faster as his mind grew lost in fake memories.
John felt his balls contract, then he was screaming. His orgasm was a torrent, splattering his hand and the wall in front of him, weakening his knees and wracking his body with tremors. John sank slowly to the shower floor and huddled with his back to the water.
Carson.