Fic: Not Past Saving by kyrdwyn [R, Beckett/Sheppard]

[kyrdwyn]

Title: Not Past Saving
Author: kyrdwyn
Rating: R
Pairing: John Sheppard/Carson Beckett
Spoilers: None
Author's Notes: Set in an unspecified future time, sometime after S3 at least. This probably could turn out to be a series.
2dozenowies prompt: Crushing Injury
beckettsheppard Three Words Prompt: exhausted/trip/together
Warnings: Depression, mentions of suicide (no actual suicide performed)

Summary: "You are not past saving, John Sheppard," Carson said angrily.


The first thing John Sheppard did after he was officially dismissed from the Air Force was get drunk. The second thing he did was pick up the couple who'd been flirting with him at the bar and sleep with both of them. Robert and Lisa, he thought their names were. Whoever they had been, he hadn't cared. They hadn't cared about his name, either.

The third thing he did was repeat the first two things. Different bars, different sex partners, different genders. They all blurred into one long, drunken haze to 'celebrate' his return to civilian life.

Five months after he'd been officially dismissed, he woke up in a motel room he didn't recognize, the shower running and a man's clothing scattered on the floor with his own. John closed his eyes against his semi-permanent hangover and turned over, wondering what city he was in this time. He thought it might be Asheville, North Carolina, but maybe it was Atlanta, Georgia. Hell, for all he knew, he was in Meridian, Mississippi.

The shower turned off, and John stayed where he was. He vaguely remembered handing his credit card to a bored clerk, so he figured this was his room. The person in the bathroom would be the one leaving.

The door to the bathroom opened and soft footsteps crossed the carpet. John kept his breathing even as he listened to the rustling of clothing and someone humming way too cheerfully for a hung-over morning after.

"Well now, John," a familiar voice said, causing his eyes to fly open as he turned onto his back to see Carson Beckett leaning against the battered motel dresser. "Are you going to rejoin the living, or just pretend to be dead for the rest of the day? I've got plenty of time to wait."

"Carson?" John croaked out, not quite convinced he wasn't hallucinating.

"Aye," Carson replied. "It took some doing to track you down, but Rodney's a stubborn arse when he wants to be. Now, up for some bacon and eggs for breakfast?"

John would have sworn Carson grinned evilly as John's stomach rebelled and he rolled off the bed and headed for the bathroom to vomit.

Leaning against the toilet, John realized that he had to be in Hell, Michigan.

Carson listened to John getting sick in the bathroom and sighed. When he'd told Elizabeth he'd look in on John while on Earth, he didn't imagine having to spend two weeks tracking the man, via his credit cards, through a series of low-end motels and seedy bars. John had apparently spent that last five months sleeping off hangovers during the day and drinking in seedy bars and picking up any warm body that would have him at night.

Picking up and folding John's clothes, Carson wondered if this really should have been a surprise. Being forced to leave both Atlantis and the Air Force, coupled with the permanent damage to his left leg, would have thrown anyone off their game. John just took it to extremes.

The man in question limped out of the bathroom and crawled back into the bed, the covers pulled up so high his hair was all Carson could see of him.

"I'm not going away, John."

The body on the bed moved. "There's a chair. Or the other half of the bed. I refuse to get up before I have to. I don't answer to reveille anymore."

Kicking off his shoes, Carson lay down on the bed. "How's the leg?" he asked.

"You know that TV show - with the doctor who uses a cane and pops Vicodin?"

Carson raised an eyebrow. "Yes," he said.

"The man's a wuss."

"Still hurts, I take it."

The covers moved so that one green eye appeared. "I was trapped under a rock slide. My left leg was shattered. I have pins holding my bones together. I have rock fragments still embedded in my muscles. My knee is fake. Yes. It hurts."

"So you drown your pain in booze, instead of Vicodin?" Carson turned his head to look directly at John.

"I drink because I can't fly," John said flatly. He moved, the covers slipping below his shoulders. "I drink because I'm back on a planet I never wanted to live on again, without a job or the people I thought were a family. Drinking beats blowing my brains out."

"Killing yourself slowly instead of instantaneously? Planning on catching some venereal disease to help complete the job?"

"I'm careful."

"You had no idea who I was last night when I picked you up in that bar. If you're that drunk, how are you being careful?"

John didn't answer. Carson arched an eyebrow and waited. Finally John turned over, away from Carson. "Just leave me alone."

"I've got two more weeks of leave from Atlantis," Carson said cheerfully. "You're as good a companion as any to spend it with."

John sighed loudly. "It's your funeral."

John had planned to stay wherever he was for a few days, but Carson's presence changed that. If Carson wanted to experience John's current life, John would give it to him.

Tossing his bag into the trunk of his battered Toyota, he watched as Carson eyed the black/primer gray/rust colored vehicle. "It runs. It's not likely to be stolen. What else can a guy ask for?"

"Airbags?" Carson asked dubiously.

"It's not that old, Carson. It has airbags. It's also an automatic," John added with a scowl. He couldn't drive a clutch anymore. He'd tried, and couldn't get off the dealership's lot.

"Ah," Carson replied softly. "So, where are we going?"

John shrugged as he slipped behind the wheel. "I follow the signs to the interstate, then decide which direction."

"That explains how you ended up in Louisville."

"Oh, is that where we are?" John started the car as Carson buckled his seatbelt. "I just stop whenever I find a motel near a bar."

Carson didn't reply to that, and John pulled out of the motel parking lot, following the signs to the interstate. When they appeared, he glanced over at Carson. "Any preference?"

"South," the doctor replied without hesitation. "Nashville. At least has a good airport if I need to leave."

John nodded and took the southbound ramp.

The next hour passed in silence, John driving and Carson looking out the window. John wondered why Carson had really tracked him down. It couldn't have been just to try to save John's liver from himself. He wondered if Landry or O'Neill had sent him. They'd both offered assistance when John's medical dismissal had gone through, but he'd turned them down. The few times he checked his voice mail on his cell phone, he'd found messages from them, which he erased. He didn't want any reminders of the life he'd lost.

Just past the Tennessee border, Carson stirred from the doze he'd fallen into. "Another cheap motel near a bar?" he asked.

John nodded. "Preferably in limping distance."

Carson glanced at him. "I'll spring for a nicer hotel if you'll lay off the booze while we're there."

"What would be the fun in that? Sobriety is overrated."

"Tell that to your liver."

"Look, I didn't ask you to come on this trip, I didn't ask you to track me down, and if you don't like how I'm living my life, I'll drop you at the airport and you can catch a flight back to Colorado Springs." John didn't need a lecture from Carson, the one person who had at least tried to help him after the accident.

"You're not living, you're just existing," Carson said softly. "Give me a week - a week where you're not getting drunk every night and not picking up random strangers in a bar - to try to help you, John. I know it seems like we abandoned you, but some of us on Atlantis still do care." Carson had turned in his seat to face John, whose hands clenched on the steering wheel.

"What do you propose to do during that week? Babysit me?"

"We can play tourist. We can go see bad movies. We can just sit in a hotel room and stare at each other. Just, anything other than what you've been doing."

John stared at the highway, not looking at Carson. What the man wanted was impossible. He wasn't that John Sheppard anymore - he couldn't just pretend he was all right, acting flippant and blasé about everything.

"I'm not asking you to enjoy it, just to try."

John flinched as Carson seemed to read his mind. "Fine." If he didn't give in, he knew Carson would keep after him. "One week. No drinking. No sex with random strangers. You're springing for the hotel, though."

Carson smiled, and John wondered when he'd started missing that smile. "Aye, that's fine."

John turned back to the road. This week was going to be hell.

Carson managed to get them a room at the Opryland Hotel. Expensive, but there weren't a lot of bars within limping distance, which was a plus for Carson. The room's balcony overlooked one of the indoor gardens, which was nice.

John had crashed on one of the beds in the room, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Carson took advantage of John's nap to step onto the balcony and use his cell phone to call Rodney, who was at the SGC for the next few weeks. He and Colonel Carter were working on a theory to recharge ZPMs.

"Lieutenant Colonel Carter."

Carson raised his eyebrows. He'd called Rodney's SGC assigned cell phone. "This is Dr. Beckett."

"Oh, Dr. Beckett. McKay just stepped out to the mess hall. Something about blue jell-o."

Carson smiled. "Somehow you're not sounding unhappy about that, lass."

"Not really." Her voice changed to a more serious tone. "Did you find Colonel Sheppard?"

"Aye, I did," Carson sighed.

"Was it as bad as McKay suspected? And where did you find him?"

"It's worse. I caught up to him in Louisville. We're in Nashville now. Speaking of that, I've got to find a way to keep us occupied for the next week, and keep John out of the bars."

"Good luck. Want me to see if I can find something for you?"

"If you wouldn't mind," Carson replied, thankful to have someone helping him out. He had a feeling John's depression was going to more than he could reasonably handle by himself.

"Not a problem. Oh, there's McKay now. Sounds like he got the last of the jell-o."

"He probably beat up Teal'c for it," Carson said with a smile. "Thank you, Colonel."

"You're welcome, Doctor. Good-bye." She hung up the phone and Carson pressed the 'end' button on his. He glanced back into the room to see John was still asleep. That was a good thing, considering John probably hadn't gotten much sleep that wasn't alcohol-fuelled in the past month. If he slept the entire week, Carson wouldn't complain. Too much.

He left the balcony door open as he went back inside. He moved his bag from the bed to the desk and pulled the comforter down before laying down. Since he and Rodney had arrived from Atlantis, they'd both been going non-stop, working and trying to track John down. He'd dozed in the car, but he could use a nap right now.

Carson closed his eyes, wondering if he would be able to save John at all.

Darkness greeted John when he opened his eyes. He blinked and turned his head, seeing light come from the balcony doors. Right, he thought, he and Carson were in Nashville, in a swank hotel, to do . . . something. John wasn't sure what Carson really wanted.

Carson was sleeping soundly in the next bed. John got up and winced as his leg protested. He massaged the aching muscles through his jeans. The raised lines of injury and surgery scars made an abstract pattern under his fingers.

Limping over to the balcony, John slipped out the door and into one of the chairs. He hadn't checked the time, but judging by the darkness visible though the skylights, the dim lighting on the paths, and the lack of people in the indoor gardens, he guessed it to be rather late at night. He shook his head. If it wasn't for Carson's nagging, he would be in some bar right now, ordering yet another drink and eyeing up the available bed partners.

Glancing over his shoulder, John frowned. Despite what Carson had implied that morning, John didn't think they'd actually had sex. The room, and especially the sheets, hadn't smelled like it, and John knew that Carson was too honorable to take advantage of a friend like that. John may have been . . . frisky, but Carson would have resisted.

John sighed, and looked back over the gardens. All he'd ever wanted to do was fly, like the bird that was gliding between two of the trees. Instead he was earth bound, only able to fly with someone else's hand on the controls. Not the way he'd wanted to end up.

Pushing himself out of the chair, John limped back into the room and stripped, not looking at Carson. The doctor was softly snoring, and besides, it wasn't as if he hadn't seen John naked before. Last night wasn't the only time the doctor had stripped John of his clothes in a professional capacity, and John really needed a shower.

He closed the bathroom door and flipped on the light, automatically glancing down at his leg. No wonder it hurt so much tonight. He ran a finger across the skin and rubbed it against his thumb, spreading the blood. Idly, he'd wondered how many of his bed partners over the past five months had woken up to the sight of blood on the sheets and panicked. Limping over to the shower and turning it on, John found that he really didn't have it in him to care.

The sound of the shower starting woke Carson up, and he blinked for a few seconds, trying to remember where he was. The sight of John's clothing strewn on the floor jogged his memory, and Carson sighed. John must be in the shower, which reassured Carson. After all, it meant John hadn't snuck off somewhere to drink. Yet.

Sitting up on the bed, Carson debating changing into his sleep clothes. Deciding he'd be more comfortable in the shorts and t-shirt, he got up, leaning down to pick up John's clothing and fold them. Getting a whiff of John's t-shirt, Carson flinched, wondering if the hotel had a guest laundry they could use. He wasn't sure he'd want to subject some poor hotel worker to John's clothing.

Picking up John's jeans, Carson stared at the dark stain on the inside of the left leg. Reaching out, he gently stroked it, feeling the wetness. Pulling his hand back, he stared at the red stain. Sighing, trying to reign in his anger, Carson folded the jeans and set them on the desk before going to his bag and pulling out his medical kit. Judging by the older stains inside the jeans, this wasn't the first time John's leg had bled. Which meant that John had been letting this go on for five months, not caring if he got an infection.

Carson sat down on the bed, resting his forehead on the back of his hand. He'd lost so many people in the Pegasus Galaxy, some to his own mistakes. John might not want to be saved, but he meant too much to Carson for Carson to let him kill himself slowly.

The noise from the shower stopped, and Carson stood up, squaring his shoulders. John might be ex-military, but medical matters were Carson's battleground. If he had to sedate John and get the SGC to send a medical team, he would, but John wasn't going to be allowed to kill himself.

"Drop the towel."

John's eyebrows rose and he stopped drying his hair to look up at Carson from underneath the towel. The doctor was in the middle of the hotel room, arms crossed over his chest, a medical case open on his bed.

John gave his hair a final rub and dropped the towel on the floor. Carson raised an eyebrow at him, managing to give John a passable imitation of Rodney's 'you're an incompetent moron' look. "The other towel as well," Carson said, nodding to John's waist.

"Um, doc, not really in the mood right now," John said, holding the towel closed.

"Too bad. I am," Carson replied. "You're bleeding. You've been bleeding for a while. Unless you want me to sedate you and drag your sorry arse to the local hospital, you'll drop the towel and let me examine your injury." Carson's face was set, and John could tell he was determined. He wasn't going to win this battle, not with that glint in Carson's eyes. He might as well give in, save his breath for future arguments.

Besides, would it be that bad to let Carson look at his leg? He hadn't seen a doctor since his discharge, and at least Carson knew him, knew what had happened to his leg. Carson knew what, if not exactly who, John had been doing in the five months since leaving the Air Force's hospital in Colorado Springs.

Shrugging, John pulled the tucked-in end of the towel out and let it drop to the floor. Carson's eyes went immediately to John's injured thigh. "On the bed," Carson said distractedly, gesturing to John's bed.

John sat down, telling himself that this was nothing more than a medical exam. Carson would look at it, bandage his leg, and they'd spend the rest of the week staring at each other over the space between their beds.

Except John's body had another ideas, since, despite Carson's hands being gloved, the doctor's careful touch was stirring John's libido. Then again, this was probably the first time anyone had touched him with anything approaching compassion since leaving Atlantis. Drunken sex didn't count as compassion.

"Well now, here's part of your problem," Carson murmured. "Some of the shrapnel is working its way free." He used a gauze pad to wipe the seeping blood from John's leg and reached for a pair of small forceps, tearing open the packaging and pulling them out. "This will most likely hurt," Carson said, and John had to suppress a small smile. At least Carson wasn't trying to jolly him along. Then the forceps were in the leg, and John hissed at the pain.

"Just a bit more, John, and there," Carson help up the small piece of gravel so John could see it. John grimaced as the object was covered in bodily fluids he didn't want to think about. Carson got up and dropped the gravel into one of the glasses provided by the hotel before coming back and cleaning the wound and bandaging it.

The pain had suppressed John's arousal, and he could watch as Carson finished up, stripping off the gloves into the trash can and pulling a pair of John's boxers from John's bag. "Here," Carson said, handing them to him. "You may want to cover up."

"Thanks," John said, pulling them on. "Didn't realize that stuff was coming out."

"No, but you knew you were bleeding." Carson held up the bandages John kept in his bag. "Why didn't you call someone, John?"

John stood and walked over to his bag to find a shirt. "You know the answer to that, Carson." He started to pull the shirt over his head, then stopped when Carson's fingertips ghosted over the scars on John's ribs, scars from the injury.

"I tried, John," Carson said softly. "I tried everything I knew to save your knee, your job."

"I know," John replied just as softly. Carson's hands moved away, and John felt the warmth leech out of his skin. He pulled the shirt down quickly and moved back to the bed as Carson took his tools into the bathroom and rinsed them off. John sat down on the bed and stared at his leg as he listened to Carson's movements. "Look, Carson," John said when the doctor came out of the bathroom, "you don't have to do this. I'm probably past saving."

The whack on the back of his head wasn't expected. John raised his hand to the stinging skin and turned to look at Carson. "Ow!"

"You are not past saving, John Sheppard," Carson said angrily. "If you were, do you think I'd've bothered tracking you down?"

"If Elizabeth asked you to, yes. Or if Rodney bullied you into it."

Carson sighed. "Not because I care about you? As a friend, as a person? For God's sake, John, I didn't do this because of Elizabeth or Rodney - I did it because of you!" He turned away from John, walking toward the hotel room door, grabbing the key card from the desk. "I'm going for a walk. If you really think you're past saving, well, I won't know what you do with the medicines in my kit while I'm not here."

John watched, stunned, as Carson walked out of the room. Eventually his eyes fell on Carson's medical kit.

Carson knew, as he walked away, that he shouldn't be leaving John alone with potentially lethal drugs in the state he was in. Hell, Carson had practically told John to go ahead and commit suicide.

Stopping a few doors away from their room, Carson sighed. He couldn't walk away. Not from a hurting friend.

Not from John.

Feeling exhausted from the events of the past few days, Carson turned back to their room. He slipped his card into the lock and opened the door. John was sitting on his bed, staring at the kit. He looked over at Carson, eyes haunted. "I miss her," he said softly.

Carson moved to the kit and closed it before sitting next to John. "I know. I think she misses you." Sighing, Carson leaned closer to John. "I know I missed you."

To Carson's surprise, John leaned against Carson, resting his head on Carson's shoulder. "I missed you, too. Sometimes more than I miss her."

Carson slipped an arm around John's shoulders. "I can stay. On Earth."

"Not if they need you there. I don't want to take you away from people who need you."

"You need me, John. And I need you," Carson admitted.

John was silent for a long time, and Carson just let his fingers trail up and down John's bicep.

"What am I going to do?"

"Hm?" Carson asked, his voice as soft as John's had been.

"I can't fly. It's all I've ever done. Ever wanted to do."

"Nothing else?"

"You ever want to be anything other than a doctor?" John asked.

"Not really," Carson admitted.

"I wanted to fly since my grandmother took me to my first airshow. Everything I did after that was toward getting in the air. Now that I'm permanently grounded, I have nothing."

"You still have your friends. Rodney forwent working with Samantha Carter to track you down, John. If that isn't friendship . . ." Carson trailed off.

John chuckled. "Some people might call that a declaration of marriage."

"You'd have to move to Canada first."

"Not sure I'm willing to go that far for McKay. Though I might be tempted to move to Scotland."

Carson smiled. "Aye, well, one step at time, hm?"

"One limp at a time," John said bitterly. Carson didn't respond. Finally John sighed. "So. After this week in Nashville, what do we do?"

"That's up to you, but I'm willing to stick around if you want me to."

John sighed and sat up, yawning. "I think I want another nap right now," he said.

"That can be arranged," Carson said, standing up. John grabbed his wrist and Carson looked down, seeing the vulnerability in John's eyes, the unspoken plea for company. Carson gave John a smile. "Let me just pack my kit up and change."

John nodded and slid under the covers of his bed as Carson put his medical kit back in order and changed into his sleep clothes. John had already fallen asleep by the time Carson joined him, turning and burrowing into Carson's chest. Carson smiled and stroked the still-damp hair. Nothing had been resolved, and Carson knew that John's emotional recovery was still far from certain. But this was a start, and with time, John would heal. Carson was willing to stay with John for as long as it took, not just out of friendship.

"I still do love you," he murmured. John shifted in his sleep and nuzzled at Carson's chest. Carson smiled and closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the feel of John in his arms again as he drifted into sleep.