riverviewlogs | [closed] of all the comrades that e'er I've had

who: Carson Beckett, Rodney McKay, and John Sheppard
what: Just Dudes Being Bros after one of them came back from the dead via not dying yet.
when: Early March
where: Community housing
warnings: None, will edit as needed.

[ When he gets John back to his and Rodney's quarters, the first thing Carson does is settle John on his bed and order him not to move.

Until, of course, he discovers (rediscovers) what Rodney and John classify as food between the two of them. Which seems to be beer and eggo waffles. Perfect.

It takes some doing to convince John to let him go to the corner store, as though the man is afraid Carson will walk out the door and disappear--

It's what you did, he thinks. The second he thinks it, Carson resigns himself to following whatever rules John comes up with until the dust settles between them.

The trip to the store is quick. They have what he needs, or everything close enough to what he needs that he can fudge things more or less for the rest. Shepherd's pie filling is fairly forgiving, as fillings go.

That's what he'll be working on when Rodney comes home, the whole apartment smelling like spices and cooking meat. When he hears the door opening, Carson doesn't immediately register what the sound is. ]

John, would you bloody stay put. I don't need a blind man's help with a knife!

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[ The first thing he notices is that John stops mentioning Poe. He practically stops eating unless Carson forces him into it, barely sleeps--the doctor has heard John up and around in the wee hours. Unless he's properly exhausted, Carson tends to be a light sleeper. The consequence of constant readiness for an emergency.

It's why Carson wakes up yet again as John comes in too late (too early?) to get any kind of proper rest. He climbs out of bed and goes out into the hall, turning on the light. Rodney is out. God knows what he's doing. Carson can only try solving one problem at a time. ]

John, I swear, if you spend another night out like this I'm putting knockout drops in your dinner. Which I will personally ensure you eat, thank you.

[John closes the door to the fridge, looking at Carson with a grimace. Rumpled and smelling like spilled liquor, cigarette smoke, and someone else's cologne, he's on the wrong side of a few too many pints, past the point of being buzzed and well on his way to head-pounding sobriety. He's been out that long.

He's not grabbing any of the many leftovers in the fridge, mostly of Carson's making. That would imply eating, which is something he avoids whenever possible. No, he's grabbing a bag of frozen peas to put on the back of his neck. Things had gotten a little too rough on his last bender, and he's feeling it.

Turns out making the rounds at thirty-seven isn't as easy as it was in college.]

Last I checked, you weren't my mom. And I'm not going out tomorrow.

[Because he's on a mission.]

Go back to sleep, Carson.

I'd be doing your mother a disservice if I listened.

[ He crosses his arms, disapproval writ large across his face. ]

You can't keep on like this, John.

She's dead, so. I doubt she'd mind.

[John crosses the kitchen, past Carson, that lovely aroma following behind him. He takes a heavy seat at the table, legs stretched out in front of him, head bowed, bag of peas sitting heavy on the back of his neck.]

I slept less and did more in Atlantis. This is nothing.

[ Carson goes to the fridge, pulling out a mildly-flavored stew that he made yesterday for just this kind of occasion. The kind of meal that's filling without being too flavorful. Easy on the stomach. He fetches down a bowl and sets it on the counter, emptying the stew into it, heading for the microwave.

If he had the time he'd warm it up properly, but he doubts John will linger long enough for him to heat it on the stove. Not with what Carson has to say, anyway. ]

This is not nothing. This is you running yourself into the ground and then bringing out a shovel.

I'm just blowing off steam.

[He's being working hard and playing even harder.

Beneath the peas is a bruise he doesn't want Carson, or anyone, to see.

John rubs his face with his free hand, stubble scratching his palm. He hasn't shaved in a couple days.]

These aren't office hours, Carson. Just leave it, okay? I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself.

Would you look at that, I've just decided I'm on call.

[ He tests the heat of the stew with the tip of his pinky, then gets a spoon to stir it and put it in again for round two. ]

You can take care of yourself, perhaps. The jury is hung on that. You're not taking care of yourself, and I'd like to know how long you think you can keep it up.

As long as I feel like it.

[John knows Carson is right. Carson's always right.

Doesn't mean he feels like listening.

He leans on the table with both elbows, already tired of this conversation. Tired in general. Tired enough to snap at the kindest, most well-meaning man he knows, who's only ever tried to take care of him.]

I'm still doing my job. If something goes down, I can handle it. I'm ready as I always am.

So get off my back.

[ He sets the stew down in front of John, hard. ]

No. You listen to me or you'll find yourself facing a recommendation for temporary leave.

What? You can't do that.

[John's head jerks up to look at him like he's been slapped.

Carson can. He knows he can. Has done as much before]

I'll eat your damn stew, okay? I'll eat it.

Oh can't I, boyo.

[ At least he seems to have made his point. He watches for a few seconds, just to make sure John is actually eating, before he slowly sits down. His demeanor softens. ]

It's not about a bowl of stew, Colonel Sheppard, and you know that.

I'm not a colonel anymore.

[Said more glumly than he'd like, as he prods the stew with the tip of his spoon and takes a bite. It's good. Full of everything he's been avoiding, like vitamins and nutrients. Carson's a good cook, better than him or Rodney, John's appetite just isn't there.

A few bites does help the turbulence of his stomach, full of booze and not much else.]

Just let me get it out of my system. I'll be fine. I'm always fine.

You are. It was never just a title.

[ He watches John eat, waits in silence until he's sure John won't stop at the first opportunity. ]

Aye, you're fine, just like Rodney is fine, just like all of Atlantis is fine.

[ He clasps his hands lightly on the tabletop, weighing his words. ]

I'm no fool and you're no liar, so while there's no one else around to hear, let's be honest.

What do you want me to say, Carson?

[John jabs his spoon violently into the stew, brutalizing a chunk of innocent carrot.

Keeping his own head up feels like too much effort. He braces his jaw in one hand, fixing Carson with a look.]

I had a thing with someone. It's over. This is me getting over it.

You're punishing yourself, John.

[ Carson's seen it before. In the colonel, sure, but in others too. People pushing themselves too hard in training and coming to him injured. Doing what John is doing until they end up with something that can't be cured. People skipping the pretty trappings and engaging in simple self-harm.

Carson rubs his eyes. ]

Tell me you're not.

So what if I am? I'm not going to take my issues out on other people. Better me than someone else. It's my problem. Not yours, or Rodney's, or my team's.

[He sits back in his chair, arms folded over his chest.]

I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself.

[closed] of all the comrades that e'er I've had

[closed to john, backdated to late April]

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