Team, Week 2: Once in a Blue Moon (2/3)
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3
Once in a Blue Moon - Part 2
Teyla watched Ronon approach with a group of slaves while at the same time trying to see John. A large group of guards were gathered at the opposite end of the courtyard between buildings and she was pretty sure John was in the midst of them.
"Hey, Teyla, what's going on?" Ronon asked as he moved closer. Hesitating a moment, she turned to face him and almost winced at the change in expression. His eyes grew dark almost immediately and she could see the anger spread across his face. "What did they do to you?" he grated out.
He stared at her right eye, swollen nearly shut, and then down to the bruises on her arm. "There was . . . an incident," she said carefully.
Ronon suddenly began searching the area, his eyes covering the growing crowd. "Where's Sheppard?" he growled, and then frowned down at her. "What happened?"
"You know how John is . . . an old man collapsed in the fields and the guard told John to drag him to the side and leave him to die. John refused and tried to help the man. There was . . . an altercation."
Nodding toward her face, Ronon's frown deepened. "You tried to help."
"Yes, but I was quickly overpowered. The guards beat John soundly and then brought us all back here to witness his punishment . . . to make an example of him. I am not sure what that punishment is to be, but I believe he is over there, in the middle of the guards," she said.
Clenching his fists, Ronon glared at the cluster of guards. "What happened to the old man?"
A wave of sadness washed over the Athosian woman, making her fight to hold back the tears she felt pushing through. "They shot him and threw his body in the ditch for the caraynians, whatever those are."
With a solemn nod, Ronon grunted. "I overheard the guards talking about them. Large scale-covered beasts that roam the waterways of this world and prey on smaller animals. They said if humans get too close to the ditches and rivers, they are sometimes taken for food."
Teyla gasped slightly as she looked up at Ronon. "Did John not say they made him and some of the others haul water from the river those first days?"
Ronon nodded, his expression dark and angry. "These people didn't seem so bad at first, but now . . . " Trailing off, he returned his gaze to the guards at the far end. "What do you think they'll do to him?"
"I do not know, but we are powerless to stop it," Teyla said with resignation.
The crowd had thickened until they were now packed at one end of the large yard. From the cluster of guards, Glendon swooshed through in his fancy garments and raised his hand for quiet. The silence was immediate, making him smile smugly.
"My friends," Glendon said loudly, his voice carrying across the courtyard. A snort from behind grabbed Ronon and Teyla's attention as Rodney elbowed his way through the throng to join them.
"What's up? They brought me back early for some kind of demonstration or something."
"Nothing good," Ronon mumbled.
"I realize that most of you abide by the rules and faithfully attend to your work," Glendon continued, playing to the crowd with small nods and waving gestures. "Sadly, one of the newcomers has chosen to cause trouble, to shirk his duty and disregard the orders given him."
"What did he do?" Rodney sighed.
Teyla leaned over closer so she could speak softly. "He attempted to help an old man that collapsed from the heat."
"Figures. Always the hero."
"Hey, he was just helping an old man," Ronon hissed, prompting the people nearby to shush them.
The three Lanteans returned their eyes to Glendon and found him staring at them, a wicked grin on his face. "The newcomer Sheppard is subject to punishment for his actions. He will be whipped and then placed in the sweatbox for a period of once light cycle. Let this be an example to all that you do not have the right to question your duties or orders given to you by the guards. Indiscretions will be punished." Turning, he motioned to the guards standing behind him.
There was a brief scuttle of movement and then two guards emerged dragging Sheppard between them. His face was dirty and bloody, his pants torn and his shirt missing. He seemed disoriented, with the guards supporting most of his weight as he stumbled along. His wrists were shackled together with a length of chain barely a foot long, as were his ankles, making movement awkward and difficult. They stopped when they arrived at a huge pole set in the middle of the open area.
A third guard attached a chain to the wrist shackles. The other end of the chain was threaded through a large hook at the top of the pole. Grabbing a metal ring on the other end of the chain, he pulled until John's arms were above his head and his belly was pressed to the pole. The metal ring was hooked onto a spike driven into the pole. A row of them emerged from the side of the pole, giving the guards a choice of several places to anchor the chain depending on the height of their victim.
Ronon started to step forward, but Teyla grabbed his arm. "Ronon," she warned. "There is nothing we can do for him now." He growled, but settled back in his original place.
Glendon spoke to some of the guards, who immediately headed their way. A sense of dread filled Teyla as Rodney groaned, "Oh, no."
The three of them were ushered over to stand beside Glendon, who now held a stick about two feet long with several leather straps wrapped around it and hanging four or five feet off the end. He snapped it down sharply, the ends hitting the ground and sending up a cloud of dust. "Effective, is it not?" he asked. None of them answered and the man's smile disappeared.
"You are Sheppard's friends, his companions. I therefore believe that you are the most likely to cause me trouble in the near future. You will implement the first part of his punishment. You will each give him five strikes of the riona stick. For any strike I do not feel is hard enough, he will receive two more. You will not be doing him any favors if you make your hits soft." Glendon glared at the three, his cold stare making Teyla shiver slightly.
Extending the riona toward Teyla, Glendon said, "You will go first and you will consider yourself lucky that you are not joining him."
Trying desperately to still the shake in her hand, Teyla took the stick and moved closer to John. She silently cursed Glendon, the planet, and the men that had taken them. She didn't know how she would live with herself for doing this to John, but she could not bear the thought of making it worse. So she gripped the stick and struck John's back with all her might before she had a real chance to think about what she was doing. The responding grunt from him was almost enough to undo her.
"Good," Glendon cooed from her side. "Now another."
Horrified at the bloody streaks down his back, she gripped the stick tightly, unsure if she could that four more times. "Forgive me, John," she said softly.
"Again!" Glendon shouted impatiently. She struck John four more times, her shaking increasing with each hit, the tears stinging her eyes until she was looking out through a blur. When she finally handed the stick back to Glendon, she staggered several steps away and vomited on the dry ground, the sounds of her heaving loud in her ears.
"You next," Glendon said from behind her. Ronon wrapped an arm around her, steadying her as they turned to watch Rodney take his turn. The scientist was white as a sheet and she fully expected him to pass out.
"I don't . . . I can't . . . " he stammered, holding awkwardly onto the riona.
"Are you refusing?" asked Glendon.
Rodney glanced down at the riona and then at John's bloody back. Clenching his fist around the stick a little more tightly, he straightened, a look of defiance on his face. "What if I am?"
"Then my man Vendon will kill the woman, Teyla. One shot through that pretty face of hers should do it. So what will it be, five strikes for Sheppard or death for Teyla?"
A strangled moan came from John as he seemed to press himself into the pole to remain standing. "Mm . . . McKay . . . do it."
After opening and closing his mouth a few times, Rodney nodded tightly and gripped the stick. "Right. Five hits. I can do that." Taking a deep breath, he cringed and closed his eyes as he struck out with the riona. The leather straps were off center, barely glancing the side of John's shoulder and arm.
Glendon smiled and crossed his arms. "I count that a miss. You now owe John six strikes."
"No, that's . . . that's not fair . . . I was nervous . . . I've never done this before. You can't . . . please, don't do this," Rodney sputtered.
His face hardening, Glendon pointed to John. "You will keep your eyes open and administer six strikes as hard as you can, or I will shoot Teyla in the head myself. I tire of this. The time is late and I hunger. Decide."
Teyla stepped forward slowly, aware of the guns brought up in her direction. She placed on hand on Rodney's arm. "You have no choice, Rodney. John understands that. The more quickly we get this over with, the better. Be strong . . . for John." She could feel him trembling beneath her touch.
With a deep breath, Rodney nodded and stepped away. Teyla went back to stand beside Ronon and was proud of Rodney when he delivered six strikes in a row that met with Glendon's approval. After handing the stick back to Glendon, he stumbled a few steps and collapsed to the ground. Ronon growled deep in his throat as he stepped up to take his turn.
Kneeling in the dirt beside Rodney, she squeezed his shoulder. Sweat beaded his face and ran down his neck. His face was pale except for his flushed cheeks and he was breathing heavily. "Take slow deep breaths," she advised. "It is almost over." With a slow nod, his breaths seemed to even out and she took his hand. He flinched at first, but then settled against her to watch Ronon inflict his share of the damage.
John hung limply for a moment, before once again pushing himself against the pole for leverage so that he could stand. His sides billowed out with his shallow, rapid breaths and blood mixed with sweat and dirt collected at the waistband of his BDU pants. A low moan escaped his lips each time he attempted to move. Rodney's grip tightened on Teyla's hand as Ronon struck John for the first time.
Teyla had seen John whipped once before, but the instrument had been one long leather strap. This one consisted of many smaller and narrower strips of material. The marks they left were shorter and thinner, but seemed to make welts that ran just as deep. By her third strike, the leather was coming down on already damaged skin, tearing his flesh like so much shredded meat. By the time Ronon had his turn, John's back was already a raw and bloody mess. She found that she and Rodney both flinched every time the leather struck.
As Ronon finished the fifth blow, he gripped the stick and turned abruptly to Glendon. Teyla was afraid for a moment that he was going to strike him in the face with his own riona. Stepping back, Glendon was apparently experiencing the same thought. With a final growl, Ronon just threw the whipping device down hard on the ground. A layer of dust settled and stuck on the bloody straps of leather.
Stalking over to them, Ronon reached out one hand to Teyla and one to Rodney, lifting them both to their feet. They huddled together, watching as John was released from the chain and caught by the soldiers when his legs gave way. His head drooped forward and he looked like he was unconscious as they dragged him several yards away to a large, black metal box. Funny how Teyla had never noticed the box before now.
The guard haltingly opened the door, jerking his hand away and blowing on his fingers before waving his hand through the air. John was crammed into the metal heat trap, his long limbs packed into a space that was barely big enough. Teyla could only see two small windows, barely large enough for the guards to peek inside. She knew the box would be unbearable now, but the sun would be going down soon. She could only hope for clouds or rain tomorrow.
"He'll never make it in there until tomorrow, not the way he's injured. No food or water . . . it's got to be well over 38 degrees and he's already been sweating all day and -"
"Rodney," Teyla admonished. "John is strong. He will be all right. They will let him out tomorrow and we will care for him."
"You mean what's left of him," the scientist muttered.
"You three!" barked a guard as he approached them. Ronon stiffened and balled his fist up while Rodney automatically backed up a few steps.
"Ronon, do not make it worse," Teyla whispered.
"You need to get to the bunkhouse with everyone else," said the guard, nodding his head behind them. Looking around, Teyla realized everyone was indeed leaving the courtyard.
"We are going," she said calmly, taking Ronon by the arm and pulling him away from the guard. Ronon hesitated, glaring at the guard for several more seconds before he relented and let himself be guided out of the open yard. The next twenty-four hours promised to be long ones.
Rodney didn't sleep that night and he was pretty sure Ronon and Teyla had the same problem. Teyla had filled him in on exactly what had happened at dinner. He was pissed, but he wasn't completely sure who deserved the lion's share of his anger. He was infuriated at the guards for treating people like they were disposable, as well as Glendon for being the fuel for that particular fire. He was mad at himself and his teammates for not being able to stop John's punishment. The fact that it had been inflicted by the three of them made his stomach coil with nausea. That particular experience would be fodder for many nightmares and future visits to the base psychologist. Then there was Sheppard himself, always playing the hero and trying to save everyone, including those who couldn't possibly be saved.
The old man had died anyway. All of this misery was for nothing. What the crap had Sheppard been thinking?
Working the next day wasn't much better. Rodney watched the sun all day, worrying about how hot is was and wishing for clouds, even if just for a while. He spent the day trying to replace much of the wiring in Glendon's fancy house, which he was becoming increasingly convinced had been installed by monkeys. Glendon caught him standing by the window, trying to see the courtyard from the second floor instead of working and smacked him in the side of the head with something resembling a riding crop. Catching him off-guard, the blow knocked him to the floor. By the time the work day was over, the whole side of his face throbbed.
When the guard took him back to the bunkhouse, he arrived to find Teyla and Ronon waiting for him. Both of them gasped when he looked up at them.
"Rodney, what happened?" asked Teyla.
"It's okay. Glendon caught me looking out the window instead of working."
"We do not have any ice, but we can get a damp cloth to help ease the pain," Teyla said, still studying the injury.
"I'm okay," Rodney said, letting his eyes drop. He noticed a bandage covering most of Ronon's left forearm. "What happened to you?"
Glancing down at the injured limb, Ronon shrugged. "Guard helping me move some heavy limbs let go of his end too soon."
"Well, isn't this a coincidence?" said Rodney sarcastically. He studied Teyla carefully, looking for injuries. She still had bruises on her face and arm from the day before, but he couldn't find anything new. "What about you, Teyla? Did they pick on you too?"
"They did not strike me," she said with a small sigh. "They did seem to constantly demand that I do more and more work."
Taking a look at her from a different perspective, Rodney realized she looked exhausted. Her shoulders were slumped, something Teyla rarely did, and her eyes were red and bloodshot. "I'd say our easy days are over. What about Sheppard?"
"The guard told me they will be removing him from the box soon and then we may take him. We can get a cloth for your face and then wait for them to release him."
"Forget the cloth," said Rodney. "Let's just go get him."
With a nod, Teyla led the way to the courtyard. They arrived to find four guards there, along with Calais, who nodded to them as they approached.
One of the guards stepped forward and unlocked the door of the box, never touching the metal more than a few seconds at a time. He then carefully opened the door to reveal John, still slumped in approximately the position they had left him the day before. His hair, pants, and skin were drenched in sweat.
"John," Teyla breathed out, moving toward his still form. The guards stepped back and allowed them to pull John from the metal box. They could feel the intense heat radiating out into the already cooling air of the evening. Ronon sat behind the pilot, supporting him, while Teyla wiped some of the sweat from John's flushed face. "John, can you hear me? We have you now."
His eyelids twitched briefly and there was a slight moan, but John otherwise remained limp and unresponsive.
"We need to get him cooled down," said Rodney.
Calais stepped up and knelt beside John, placing his fingers against the unconscious man's neck. "He is a strong one," he commented and then let his hand drop. "You may take him to the bunkhouse and tend to his injuries. I will have bandages and medicine brought. If one of you wishes to remain with him during the evening meal, the others may bring your food back to the bunkhouse. I will let the food staff know. You must return the dishes to the eating hall when you are done and clean up any mess that you make."
"Thank you," said Teyla.
"What?" Rodney sputtered. "What are you thanking him for? They are the reason the colonel needs treating in the first place."
"But it was not the doing of Calais and he does not have to allow us this," explained Teyla patiently.
"Oh . . . well, okay." Rodney realized the she was right. Calais had never mistreated any of them and didn't seem to be very high in the pecking order of this place. Glancing over at the bunkhouse keeper, he was a little relieved to see the man did not seem offended and reminded himself that Calais could probably make their lives even more miserable if he wanted. Calais just nodded at him, his expression blank.
"Let's get him out of here," said Ronon. Rodney helped Ronon drag John to his feet, at which time John's head lifted a bit and his eyes slitted open.
"Wha . . . s'goin' on?" he slurred.
"It's okay, Sheppard," said Ronon, pulling the pilot's arm over his shoulder.
"We're taking you back to the bunkhouse," explained Rodney, doing the same with John's other arm.
"Hot," John mumbled, his head dropping down again.
"I'm sure you are," Rodney said as they began walking, pulling their semi-conscious friend along with them. He couldn't help but grit his teeth at the way John's sweat-slicked skin felt against his or the way his soaked BDUs were dampening Rodney's own pants. Normally he would have been protesting how gross everything felt, but he was too busy trying to support half of Sheppard's weight.
It took several minutes to get the colonel to the bunkhouse. When they began encountering the other people, the slaves automatically moved out of their way, clearing the path to their bunks. Pausing at Teyla's bunk, Rodney glanced at his friends. "Should we . . . I mean he's really hot and dirty and I was just thinking . . . maybe we should clean him up because I really don't think we're getting him back up once he's down."
With a deep, almost sad sigh, Teyla dipped her head once. "Rodney is right. We should clean him up before we bandage his back. I will get some clean clothes," she said, stepping over to the small cabinet.
Rodney shifted, pulling up on John's drooping form as he began to sag between them. "Uh, you can't go back there . . . you know . . . to the showers."
"I can help," a voice said, approaching from down the line of bunks. They all looked up to find Baruch standing at the foot of the bed. "If you two can support him, I can manage his clothes."
"Why would you help us?" asked Ronon. "I would think this would make you want to stay away . . . since we're trouble-makers."
Baruch sighed. "You misread me, but that is my own fault. There is making trouble and there is doing what is right. I saw what your friend did out there. He did what we all wanted to do, but lacked the courage. He is an honorable man and I hope if I am ever in need, he will stand with me as he did with Uther."
They stood silently staring at one another for several moments before Rodney had to pull on John's arm again. "Well, I for one am grateful for the help, but if we don't do this soon, I'm going to drop Sheppard into a sweaty pile on the floor. He's a lot heavier than he looks, especially when he's out like a light."
"We're going, McKay, we're going," responded Ronon, beginning the shuffle for the door to the showers.
Rodney gratefully joined in, his back muscles and arm muscles screaming in protest at the prolonged strain. The ordeal didn't turn out to be as bad as he expected because they were able to rouse the colonel enough to get him to help a little by lifting his feet upon command. When Rodney got his first good look at the shredded meat of his friend's back, he had to clamp his mouth shut to stifle the strong gag reflex that followed. John's whimpering moans when they rinsed his back didn't help any. The other slaves cleared out and gave them space, but they didn't hide their stares at John's mutilated flesh.
With Baruch's help, they were able to complete their task in short order, returning John to Teyla's bunk a few minutes later. Lowering him onto his stomach, the three of them turned to thank Baruch for his help, but he was already gone.
"Huh," said Rodney, puzzling over the strange behavior. When he turned back to the bunk, Teyla was kneeling beside the bed, trying to get John to drink some water. Getting his first full look at the pilot's wounds, Rodney noted how raw and mutilated the flesh was, still oozing blood in places. They had only quickly given his back a rinse, knowing that Calais was sending something better to clean the wounds with.
"John, you need to drink some water," Teyla urged, tapping him lightly on the cheek.
Eyelids fluttered and John lifted his head a little. Putting the cup to his lips, Teyla tilted the cup so that a little ran in his mouth. "Not too much," she said softly. After a few sips, his face dropped back to the bed, his eyes closed again and squeezed together tightly in pain. A low moan escaped his lips.
"Is this the man who is hurt? Is this John Sheppard?"
They turned to see a young woman, barely out of her teens. She had brown hair tied back behind her head and bright blue eyes. Painfully slender, she was a little shorter than Teyla and carried a small box of supplies. "I am Rahda and the man your friend tried to save was Uther, my grandfather. I would be pleased if you would let me help."
After the shock passed, Teyla stood and stepped back. "Yes, please," she said, gesturing toward John. "Do you have anything to help with the pain?"
"Sadly, no," she said as she set the box on the foot of the bed. "I have something to cleanse his wounds with and some miacca juice to help fight infection and soothe the burning, but they do not allow pain medicines." Pursing her lips for a second she puffed out a breath and grabbed a jar from the box. "They consider it a waste to use such medicines on the likes of slaves." She stood looking at John's back for a moment. "I . . . I did not realize it was so bad. He was very brave to stand up to the guards for an old man he did not know."
"That is who he is," Teyla said, also looking down at John. "He protects others. It is what he does."
"Who protects him?" she asked softly.
"We do," said Ronon. His expression saddened almost the moment the words past his lips, reminding them all that the damage to his back had been inflicted by his team. "At least . . . when we can." The sadness quickly turned to anger and the Satedan clenched his fists and frowned deeply. "We'll make them pay for this."
"I hope you do," Rahda said, an edge to her voice. "What they did to you . . . it was cruel . . . it was not right. No one should have to do something like that . . . no one."
"I will help you with John," Teyla said and Rodney couldn't help the small smile that lifted a corner of his mouth. Teyla was ever the diplomat, trying to turn their attention away from their building anger and frustration. But he couldn't stop staring at John's back or remembering the way it felt to strike him with the whip. He shuddered, making himself watch the way John fisted the blanket in pain as he made small choking sounds in an effort not to scream or moan. It didn't make up for his part in John's beating, but it was the least he could do.
Rodney and Ronon ended up having to help John sit up while Teyla and Rahda bandaged his torso, wrapping him from armpits to waist. By the time they eased him back onto his stomach, he was visibly shaking. Teyla got him to drink a few more sips of water and then he promptly passed out, much to everyone's relief.
Rahda stood and nodded toward Ronon's bandaged arm. "Would you like me to look at your injury?" she asked.
"No, I'm okay," the big man replied, still staring at John.
Teyla sighed and arched her eyebrow a little. "Ronon, there is blood on that bandage. Let Rahda clean your wound and put on a clean dressing."
Shrugging his shoulders, Ronon sat on the other bunk and Rahda sat down beside him. Rodney sat down beside John's feet, deciding there was no need to keep on his feet when he felt so wobbly. He watched the young girl's skilled hands as she cleaned a jagged cut on Ronon's arm. "You look like you've done this before . . . the treating wounds thing," he commented.
"Yes, you are very skilled," Teyla added.
Rahda glanced at them and bowed her head a few inches in their direction. "Thank you. My grandfather was the healer of my people and he was teaching me to help him and one day take his place. That is how we were captured. One of the women who lived far from the town was having a child and we were on our way to help her. A group of men attacked us and brought us here many cycles ago."
"I'm sorry about your grandfather," said Teyla.
Her hands stilled a moment before continuing to wrap the new bandage around Ronon's arm. "It is for the best. Grandfather has been getting weaker and weaker. There is not enough food and he was too old to work so hard in the fields. He is not suffering any more." She tied off the bandage and then wiped the tear that had strayed down her cheek. "But I still miss him."
Teyla sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. Rahda placed the rest of the roll of cloth into the box of supplies and then turned to look at Teyla. "He didn't deserve this. He never tried to anything but help people. Why . . . I don't . . . " She trailed off as the tears began flowing in earnest and then Teyla was hugging her as she sobbed, finally giving in to her grief.
Rodney had no idea what to do, so he just sat open-mouthed and stared for several seconds. Letting his eyes roam over to Ronon, he felt better when he noticed the big man looked even more out of his element than Rodney felt.
"Evening meal!" someone yelled, making Rodney jump and smack his forehead on the bottom of the top bunk.
"Ow," he moaned, rubbing the offended spot. When he dropped his hand, it was to see both Ronon and Teyla staring at him, their mouths curved upward into a small smile. "Well, I'm sorry, it hurt. What's with the yelling, anyway?"
"Why don't you two go eat," suggested Teyla. "We will sit with John."
Rodney stood, grateful for the out. "Okay, we can bring you both something back if you want."
Teyla nodded. "Yes, that would be good. Thank you."
With a nod, Rodney followed Ronon down the long passage between the bunks and out the door. He hoped their rescue was soon, because at the rate things were going downhill, there wouldn't be much left to rescue before much longer. He was never commenting about a mission being a good one before they arrived safely back in Atlantis ever again.
Ronon's eyes snapped open and he lay still, listening for whatever stray sound had awakened him. He hadn't been asleep for long if the angle of the moon through the window was any indication. A quiet grunt drew his attention to the bunk below him and he leaned over the edge, peering at Sheppard as he lay on his stomach below. Shifting his head a little on the flat pillow, the pilot's breathing seemed to hitch for a moment before he relaxed back into the bed. Ronon listened to the even breathing for a moment before rolling back over onto his top bunk. That was when he noticed Rodney, lying in Sheppard's normal bunk above Teyla's, was lying on his side watching John sleep.
"Hey," Ronon whispered. "Can't sleep?"
Shifting his eyes to the Satedan, Rodney folded one arm under his head. "Every time I close my eyes, I keep seeing . . . I remember . . . no, can't sleep."
"I know what you mean," Ronon said. He knew he'd spent the better part of two hours trying to turn his brain off so he could get some sleep, but he kept remembering what they did to Sheppard and he kept seeing the ruined mess of his back. As bad as seeing Sheppard in that shape was, nothing compared to knowing that he'd been the one to inflict the damage and the pain. He and the other members of Sheppard's team.
"I know there wasn't anything else we could do," Rodney said. "But somehow that just doesn't help. I can't help but rethink it, try to figure out what we could have done differently."
"If we'd refused, Teyla would be dead. We might all be dead," Ronon pointed out. "We have to concentrate on the fact that we're alive."
"We need to concentrate on staying alive," said Rodney.
Ronon dozed in and out all night, awakened often by John's erratic breathing or muffled groans or Teyla's frequent trips to his bedside to get him to drink some water. He found himself grateful for the morning light that meant the long night was over. He was tired, but almost anything was better than lying in bed when he couldn't relax enough to sleep. He'd experienced plenty of nights like that as a runner.
He and Rodney got dressed and then sat with Sheppard while Teyla got dressed for the day. It was cloudy and humid outside, making the bunkhouse air feel heavy and oppressive. Almost no breeze came through the open windows. Rahda showed up as they discussed what to do about going to breakfast.
"How is John Sheppard this morning?" she asked, leaning over to place her hand on his forehead.
"His sleep was restless," said Teyla. "But I did get him to drink some more during the night. I believe he is in a great deal of pain."
Rahda nodded as if that was what she had expected. "I spoke to Calais this morning and he said John coul d stand down from the work party today, but he will have to return tomorrow."
Ronon watched Rodney's mouth drop open in disbelief. "You're kidding, right? They expect him to work in the fields all day tomorrow? Have they looked at what condition he's in? That's just crazy."
"It may be crazy," Rahda said, "but it is what they expect. If he refuses, they will shoot him."
"We are so dead," Rodney muttered, beginning to pace around in a small circle.
"Rodney, we must remain calm," admonished Teyla. "We should worry about one day at a time. John can rest today and we will discuss what to do tonight. We must go eat breakfast so that we can be ready to work. I do not think it would be good for us to cause more trouble so soon."
"She's right, McKay," said Ronon.
Teyla kneeled beside John's head and to everyone's surprise, he opened his eyes an looked at her. "Hey," he said softly.
"Hey yourself," she responded with a smile. "How do you feel?"
John grunted. "Like I've had the crap beat out of me and then stuffed in a metal box for twenty-four hours. But I'm alive. Are you guys okay?" he asked, trying to lift his head to see the rest of the team.
"We're fine," Ronon said.
"S'good," John mumbled, letting his head drop back to the pillow. He closed his eyes and gripped the blanket in his fist. "Just . . . shot'im . . . 'n front of me . . . could'a helped 'im."
Teyla stood up and moved to let Rahda take her place beside John's head. "Colonel Sheppard . . . my name is Rahda. The man you tried to save was my grandfather. I just wanted . . . I wanted to thank you for trying to help him. You mustn't feel bad for what happened. You did what you could." She set her hand gently on his upper arm. "I will remember always the stranger that risked his life to help my grandfather. It is the kind of thing my grandfather would have done for another."
John opened his eyes a crack and squinted at the girl in front of him. "I failed though . . . M'sorry."
Rahda smiled. "My grandfather always said that we must do what we know is right and we must help others whenever the chance is presented. He used to say that it was not the success or failure of the gesture, but that you tried your best. Because that is all that any of us can do."
Blinking slowly, John licked his dry, chapped lips. "Sounds like . . . wise man."
"He was," she replied. "I think he would have liked you. You need to rest today and drink as much water as you can."
John began trying to push himself up on one elbow, but Teyla and Rahda both pushed him back down. "No," Teyla said. "You have permission to stay here and rest today and that is what you must do. We will bring you back some food from breakfast and you should eat if you can."
"Mmmm, stomach not good," John moaned.
"I know," said Teyla, "but you should still try. We will return after breakfast to make sure you have what you need for the day. Will you be all right by yourself?"
"Fine," he mumbled into the pillow.
"It's Sheppard," Rodney said. "What did you think he was going to say?"
"Go," John mumbled and lifted one hand a few inches to wave them away. After a few moments of quiet hesitation, they shuffled down the narrow path between the bunk beds and out the door.
When they returned, John was asleep, so Teyla set the bread they had talked the kitchen workers out of on the small bedside table while Rahda filled a cup with water to put beside it. Knowing of nothing else they could do for the pilot, they heeded the barking orders of the guards and headed out to their respective work areas for the day.
By mid-afternoon, the storms the guards had been complaining about for days finally materialized in the form of driving rain, rolling claps of thunder, and almost constant lightning. By the time they were herded back to the bunkhouse, everyone was soaked to the skin and shivering in the much cooler air. They found John sitting on the side of the bunk, hanging onto the edge as if he might topple over at any second. He smiled weakly as they tromped in, leaving a trail of muddy puddles in their wake.
"Hey . . . wondered if they were making you work in this," John said, his voice soft and a bit unsteady. Deep shades of blue and purple mottled his face and exposed shoulders and arms. His lower lip was swollen, a large split marring the right side.
"Just long enough to get drenched," muttered Rodney. "How long have you been up?"
John leaned his left hand against the bed to help support himself. "Honestly . . . about five minutes."
Teyla glanced at the plate they had left him that morning and noticed only a couple of bites missing. "Are you hungry? We could try to find you something after we have changed into dry clothes."
John grimaced. "No thanks. I think I need to lie back down to tell you the truth. Being vertical makes my back feel like someone doused it with fuel and lit it afire."
"Can you wait for us to change?" asked Teyla. "We need to change your bandages."
"If you hurry," John replied. He didn't complain, but his features were pulled tight with the effort of keeping upright.
"We will hurry," promised Teyla. Everyone grabbed dry clothes and hurried off to change. It was only a few minutes later that they returned. Teyla brought Rahda and the box of medical supplies. John furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes at the girl.
"It's . . . Rahda . . . right?"
"Yes," she said, smiling as he said her name. "I will try to make this quick so that you may lie back down."
"Yeah . . . that'd be good," John said softly, surprising his team.
When Teyla and Rahda removed the stained bandages, Rodney had to look away. Much of the flayed skin was starting to scab over, but it continued to weep fluids in several places. They cleaned the wounds with cloths doused with the disinfectant they had been given and gently spread the miacca juice across his back. By the time they finished, Ronon was having to help hold the colonel upright.
"Just a few more minutes while we wrap your injuries," said Rahda. "You are doing well."
Rodney had turned back around and watching the two women wrap white cloth strips around John's torso while he bit his lip and buried his fist in the blanket on the bed. Beads of sweat now glistened his forehead and the muscles of his neck stood out like ropes.
"Sheppard," Rodney began, stammering around for a moment. "We . . . uh, well, I . . . what I wanted to say is that I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry for . . . for you know . . . whipping you with that -"
John looked up at Rodney, his eyes dark and narrow with pain. "Stop. Just stop, Rodney. You did what you had to do to keep us alive, all of you did. Don't apologize for that. I would have done the same thing."
"But -"
"No, no buts. My back will heal. If you hadn't cooperated, Teyla would be dead and . . . I don't think . . . I couldn't . . . " John turned his face away as his voice trailed off.
"Yeah . . . I see what you mean," Rodney acknowledged quietly.
As the women finished tying off his bandages, John let out a shaky breath and turned his face back to his friends. "But . . . when we get back . . . if you feel the need to give me your dessert, I wouldn't turn you down."
Rodney rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth quirked upward a bit. "In your dreams."
Rahda placed what was left of the supplies back in the box before looking at Teyla. "They are very strange."
Teyla just smiled and nodded. "You have no idea." After moving the stuff from the bed, they helped John turn to lie on his stomach and then gathered on the other bottom bunk to talk.
"John, it is time to get up." Teyla was disappointed, but not overly surprised at the way John's skin felt overly warm as she gently shook his shoulder.
"Hmmm?" he moaned, blinking several times before opening his eyes to focus on the Athosian. "What?"
"It is time to get up. Calais said that you must work in the fields today. He is only allowed to give you one day of recovery."
"Kay . . . coming," he said, edging his arms underneath him and pushing himself up. His face contorted briefly and his breath hitched for a moment before he steadied himself and twisted around to sit on the side of the bed.
"Are you all right?" asked Teyla.
John didn't answer for a few seconds, but finally looked up at her and tried to smile. "I'll be fine." Pushing himself to his feet, he grabbed the edge of the bunk and closed his eyes, sucking in a sudden deep breath. Teyla automatically reached out to steady him. After a moment, his rigid shoulders slumped down a little and his breathing seemed to even out. Opening his eyes, he smiled sheepishly.
"Thanks. Vertical isn't my favorite position right now," he said. When she continued to study him, John glanced down at his feet. "It's okay . . . I'll be fine. Gotta go . . . " he dipped his head once toward the communal male bathroom.
With a short nod, Teyla let go and watched him move stiffly through the doorway. She had no idea how he was going to work in the fields. She had no idea how he was going to remain upright all day. With a sigh, she moved toward the women's facilities to take care of her own needs.
Breakfast was quiet, with the whole team worried about how John would manage that day and John just concentrating on trying to eat a little something without passing out. Teyla was relieved to see he seemed to have loosened up a little by the time they were escorted to the fields.
The fields were a muddy mess from the rains the day before and the humidity was stifling. John had put on a lightweight shirt over his bandages and it was already stuck to his skin by the time they reached the field. Fortunately they had to harvest some sort of vegetable that grew in strange purple pods from tall bushes grown in rows. Very little bending was required. Just pop the pods off and drop them in the bucket. John seemed to do well until it came time to move the full bucket to the wagon hauling the crops off. Teyla made sure she worked close to John and she knew that he was aware she was keeping an eye on him. He didn't seem to mind, but he refused to ask for help.
The guards prodded him to hurry with the end of their long rifles a few times, but for the most part left him alone. Teyla found that a pleasant and welcome surprise. Apparently he looked weak and in pain enough to satisfy any need they felt for revenge.
By late afternoon, John was beginning to stumble, obviously having a hard time staying on his feet. Teyla was considering her options when he fell on the way to the crop wagon, scattering purple pods all over the muddy ground. Before the angry guard got very close though, several people hurried over and picked up the strewn vegetables, emptying the bucket into the wagon when they were finished. Teyla helped John to his feet as one of the men returned the empty bucket to him before moving back to his own. The guards were so surprised, they didn't threaten anyone or complain.
"You need to get back before you get in trouble," John whispered to Teyla as she led him back to where he had left off working.
"I will," she said, setting his bucket on the ground. "Will you be all right?"
"Fine," John said, eyeing the guard who was headed their way. "Go, now."
Following his eyes, Teyla nodded and quickly left, returning to her bucket several yards down and two rows over. Picking the pods and dropping them in the bucket for several minutes, John finally glanced sideways to look for the guard. Fortunately he'd returned to his regular post and seemed to be content with the pace everyone was working. Once Teyla was satisfied that John was alright and the guard wasn't an immediate problem, she went back to work, wishing the day would just end already.
Part 3
Once in a Blue Moon - Part 2
Teyla watched Ronon approach with a group of slaves while at the same time trying to see John. A large group of guards were gathered at the opposite end of the courtyard between buildings and she was pretty sure John was in the midst of them.
"Hey, Teyla, what's going on?" Ronon asked as he moved closer. Hesitating a moment, she turned to face him and almost winced at the change in expression. His eyes grew dark almost immediately and she could see the anger spread across his face. "What did they do to you?" he grated out.
He stared at her right eye, swollen nearly shut, and then down to the bruises on her arm. "There was . . . an incident," she said carefully.
Ronon suddenly began searching the area, his eyes covering the growing crowd. "Where's Sheppard?" he growled, and then frowned down at her. "What happened?"
"You know how John is . . . an old man collapsed in the fields and the guard told John to drag him to the side and leave him to die. John refused and tried to help the man. There was . . . an altercation."
Nodding toward her face, Ronon's frown deepened. "You tried to help."
"Yes, but I was quickly overpowered. The guards beat John soundly and then brought us all back here to witness his punishment . . . to make an example of him. I am not sure what that punishment is to be, but I believe he is over there, in the middle of the guards," she said.
Clenching his fists, Ronon glared at the cluster of guards. "What happened to the old man?"
A wave of sadness washed over the Athosian woman, making her fight to hold back the tears she felt pushing through. "They shot him and threw his body in the ditch for the caraynians, whatever those are."
With a solemn nod, Ronon grunted. "I overheard the guards talking about them. Large scale-covered beasts that roam the waterways of this world and prey on smaller animals. They said if humans get too close to the ditches and rivers, they are sometimes taken for food."
Teyla gasped slightly as she looked up at Ronon. "Did John not say they made him and some of the others haul water from the river those first days?"
Ronon nodded, his expression dark and angry. "These people didn't seem so bad at first, but now . . . " Trailing off, he returned his gaze to the guards at the far end. "What do you think they'll do to him?"
"I do not know, but we are powerless to stop it," Teyla said with resignation.
The crowd had thickened until they were now packed at one end of the large yard. From the cluster of guards, Glendon swooshed through in his fancy garments and raised his hand for quiet. The silence was immediate, making him smile smugly.
"My friends," Glendon said loudly, his voice carrying across the courtyard. A snort from behind grabbed Ronon and Teyla's attention as Rodney elbowed his way through the throng to join them.
"What's up? They brought me back early for some kind of demonstration or something."
"Nothing good," Ronon mumbled.
"I realize that most of you abide by the rules and faithfully attend to your work," Glendon continued, playing to the crowd with small nods and waving gestures. "Sadly, one of the newcomers has chosen to cause trouble, to shirk his duty and disregard the orders given him."
"What did he do?" Rodney sighed.
Teyla leaned over closer so she could speak softly. "He attempted to help an old man that collapsed from the heat."
"Figures. Always the hero."
"Hey, he was just helping an old man," Ronon hissed, prompting the people nearby to shush them.
The three Lanteans returned their eyes to Glendon and found him staring at them, a wicked grin on his face. "The newcomer Sheppard is subject to punishment for his actions. He will be whipped and then placed in the sweatbox for a period of once light cycle. Let this be an example to all that you do not have the right to question your duties or orders given to you by the guards. Indiscretions will be punished." Turning, he motioned to the guards standing behind him.
There was a brief scuttle of movement and then two guards emerged dragging Sheppard between them. His face was dirty and bloody, his pants torn and his shirt missing. He seemed disoriented, with the guards supporting most of his weight as he stumbled along. His wrists were shackled together with a length of chain barely a foot long, as were his ankles, making movement awkward and difficult. They stopped when they arrived at a huge pole set in the middle of the open area.
A third guard attached a chain to the wrist shackles. The other end of the chain was threaded through a large hook at the top of the pole. Grabbing a metal ring on the other end of the chain, he pulled until John's arms were above his head and his belly was pressed to the pole. The metal ring was hooked onto a spike driven into the pole. A row of them emerged from the side of the pole, giving the guards a choice of several places to anchor the chain depending on the height of their victim.
Ronon started to step forward, but Teyla grabbed his arm. "Ronon," she warned. "There is nothing we can do for him now." He growled, but settled back in his original place.
Glendon spoke to some of the guards, who immediately headed their way. A sense of dread filled Teyla as Rodney groaned, "Oh, no."
The three of them were ushered over to stand beside Glendon, who now held a stick about two feet long with several leather straps wrapped around it and hanging four or five feet off the end. He snapped it down sharply, the ends hitting the ground and sending up a cloud of dust. "Effective, is it not?" he asked. None of them answered and the man's smile disappeared.
"You are Sheppard's friends, his companions. I therefore believe that you are the most likely to cause me trouble in the near future. You will implement the first part of his punishment. You will each give him five strikes of the riona stick. For any strike I do not feel is hard enough, he will receive two more. You will not be doing him any favors if you make your hits soft." Glendon glared at the three, his cold stare making Teyla shiver slightly.
Extending the riona toward Teyla, Glendon said, "You will go first and you will consider yourself lucky that you are not joining him."
Trying desperately to still the shake in her hand, Teyla took the stick and moved closer to John. She silently cursed Glendon, the planet, and the men that had taken them. She didn't know how she would live with herself for doing this to John, but she could not bear the thought of making it worse. So she gripped the stick and struck John's back with all her might before she had a real chance to think about what she was doing. The responding grunt from him was almost enough to undo her.
"Good," Glendon cooed from her side. "Now another."
Horrified at the bloody streaks down his back, she gripped the stick tightly, unsure if she could that four more times. "Forgive me, John," she said softly.
"Again!" Glendon shouted impatiently. She struck John four more times, her shaking increasing with each hit, the tears stinging her eyes until she was looking out through a blur. When she finally handed the stick back to Glendon, she staggered several steps away and vomited on the dry ground, the sounds of her heaving loud in her ears.
"You next," Glendon said from behind her. Ronon wrapped an arm around her, steadying her as they turned to watch Rodney take his turn. The scientist was white as a sheet and she fully expected him to pass out.
"I don't . . . I can't . . . " he stammered, holding awkwardly onto the riona.
"Are you refusing?" asked Glendon.
Rodney glanced down at the riona and then at John's bloody back. Clenching his fist around the stick a little more tightly, he straightened, a look of defiance on his face. "What if I am?"
"Then my man Vendon will kill the woman, Teyla. One shot through that pretty face of hers should do it. So what will it be, five strikes for Sheppard or death for Teyla?"
A strangled moan came from John as he seemed to press himself into the pole to remain standing. "Mm . . . McKay . . . do it."
After opening and closing his mouth a few times, Rodney nodded tightly and gripped the stick. "Right. Five hits. I can do that." Taking a deep breath, he cringed and closed his eyes as he struck out with the riona. The leather straps were off center, barely glancing the side of John's shoulder and arm.
Glendon smiled and crossed his arms. "I count that a miss. You now owe John six strikes."
"No, that's . . . that's not fair . . . I was nervous . . . I've never done this before. You can't . . . please, don't do this," Rodney sputtered.
His face hardening, Glendon pointed to John. "You will keep your eyes open and administer six strikes as hard as you can, or I will shoot Teyla in the head myself. I tire of this. The time is late and I hunger. Decide."
Teyla stepped forward slowly, aware of the guns brought up in her direction. She placed on hand on Rodney's arm. "You have no choice, Rodney. John understands that. The more quickly we get this over with, the better. Be strong . . . for John." She could feel him trembling beneath her touch.
With a deep breath, Rodney nodded and stepped away. Teyla went back to stand beside Ronon and was proud of Rodney when he delivered six strikes in a row that met with Glendon's approval. After handing the stick back to Glendon, he stumbled a few steps and collapsed to the ground. Ronon growled deep in his throat as he stepped up to take his turn.
Kneeling in the dirt beside Rodney, she squeezed his shoulder. Sweat beaded his face and ran down his neck. His face was pale except for his flushed cheeks and he was breathing heavily. "Take slow deep breaths," she advised. "It is almost over." With a slow nod, his breaths seemed to even out and she took his hand. He flinched at first, but then settled against her to watch Ronon inflict his share of the damage.
John hung limply for a moment, before once again pushing himself against the pole for leverage so that he could stand. His sides billowed out with his shallow, rapid breaths and blood mixed with sweat and dirt collected at the waistband of his BDU pants. A low moan escaped his lips each time he attempted to move. Rodney's grip tightened on Teyla's hand as Ronon struck John for the first time.
Teyla had seen John whipped once before, but the instrument had been one long leather strap. This one consisted of many smaller and narrower strips of material. The marks they left were shorter and thinner, but seemed to make welts that ran just as deep. By her third strike, the leather was coming down on already damaged skin, tearing his flesh like so much shredded meat. By the time Ronon had his turn, John's back was already a raw and bloody mess. She found that she and Rodney both flinched every time the leather struck.
As Ronon finished the fifth blow, he gripped the stick and turned abruptly to Glendon. Teyla was afraid for a moment that he was going to strike him in the face with his own riona. Stepping back, Glendon was apparently experiencing the same thought. With a final growl, Ronon just threw the whipping device down hard on the ground. A layer of dust settled and stuck on the bloody straps of leather.
Stalking over to them, Ronon reached out one hand to Teyla and one to Rodney, lifting them both to their feet. They huddled together, watching as John was released from the chain and caught by the soldiers when his legs gave way. His head drooped forward and he looked like he was unconscious as they dragged him several yards away to a large, black metal box. Funny how Teyla had never noticed the box before now.
The guard haltingly opened the door, jerking his hand away and blowing on his fingers before waving his hand through the air. John was crammed into the metal heat trap, his long limbs packed into a space that was barely big enough. Teyla could only see two small windows, barely large enough for the guards to peek inside. She knew the box would be unbearable now, but the sun would be going down soon. She could only hope for clouds or rain tomorrow.
"He'll never make it in there until tomorrow, not the way he's injured. No food or water . . . it's got to be well over 38 degrees and he's already been sweating all day and -"
"Rodney," Teyla admonished. "John is strong. He will be all right. They will let him out tomorrow and we will care for him."
"You mean what's left of him," the scientist muttered.
"You three!" barked a guard as he approached them. Ronon stiffened and balled his fist up while Rodney automatically backed up a few steps.
"Ronon, do not make it worse," Teyla whispered.
"You need to get to the bunkhouse with everyone else," said the guard, nodding his head behind them. Looking around, Teyla realized everyone was indeed leaving the courtyard.
"We are going," she said calmly, taking Ronon by the arm and pulling him away from the guard. Ronon hesitated, glaring at the guard for several more seconds before he relented and let himself be guided out of the open yard. The next twenty-four hours promised to be long ones.
Rodney didn't sleep that night and he was pretty sure Ronon and Teyla had the same problem. Teyla had filled him in on exactly what had happened at dinner. He was pissed, but he wasn't completely sure who deserved the lion's share of his anger. He was infuriated at the guards for treating people like they were disposable, as well as Glendon for being the fuel for that particular fire. He was mad at himself and his teammates for not being able to stop John's punishment. The fact that it had been inflicted by the three of them made his stomach coil with nausea. That particular experience would be fodder for many nightmares and future visits to the base psychologist. Then there was Sheppard himself, always playing the hero and trying to save everyone, including those who couldn't possibly be saved.
The old man had died anyway. All of this misery was for nothing. What the crap had Sheppard been thinking?
Working the next day wasn't much better. Rodney watched the sun all day, worrying about how hot is was and wishing for clouds, even if just for a while. He spent the day trying to replace much of the wiring in Glendon's fancy house, which he was becoming increasingly convinced had been installed by monkeys. Glendon caught him standing by the window, trying to see the courtyard from the second floor instead of working and smacked him in the side of the head with something resembling a riding crop. Catching him off-guard, the blow knocked him to the floor. By the time the work day was over, the whole side of his face throbbed.
When the guard took him back to the bunkhouse, he arrived to find Teyla and Ronon waiting for him. Both of them gasped when he looked up at them.
"Rodney, what happened?" asked Teyla.
"It's okay. Glendon caught me looking out the window instead of working."
"We do not have any ice, but we can get a damp cloth to help ease the pain," Teyla said, still studying the injury.
"I'm okay," Rodney said, letting his eyes drop. He noticed a bandage covering most of Ronon's left forearm. "What happened to you?"
Glancing down at the injured limb, Ronon shrugged. "Guard helping me move some heavy limbs let go of his end too soon."
"Well, isn't this a coincidence?" said Rodney sarcastically. He studied Teyla carefully, looking for injuries. She still had bruises on her face and arm from the day before, but he couldn't find anything new. "What about you, Teyla? Did they pick on you too?"
"They did not strike me," she said with a small sigh. "They did seem to constantly demand that I do more and more work."
Taking a look at her from a different perspective, Rodney realized she looked exhausted. Her shoulders were slumped, something Teyla rarely did, and her eyes were red and bloodshot. "I'd say our easy days are over. What about Sheppard?"
"The guard told me they will be removing him from the box soon and then we may take him. We can get a cloth for your face and then wait for them to release him."
"Forget the cloth," said Rodney. "Let's just go get him."
With a nod, Teyla led the way to the courtyard. They arrived to find four guards there, along with Calais, who nodded to them as they approached.
One of the guards stepped forward and unlocked the door of the box, never touching the metal more than a few seconds at a time. He then carefully opened the door to reveal John, still slumped in approximately the position they had left him the day before. His hair, pants, and skin were drenched in sweat.
"John," Teyla breathed out, moving toward his still form. The guards stepped back and allowed them to pull John from the metal box. They could feel the intense heat radiating out into the already cooling air of the evening. Ronon sat behind the pilot, supporting him, while Teyla wiped some of the sweat from John's flushed face. "John, can you hear me? We have you now."
His eyelids twitched briefly and there was a slight moan, but John otherwise remained limp and unresponsive.
"We need to get him cooled down," said Rodney.
Calais stepped up and knelt beside John, placing his fingers against the unconscious man's neck. "He is a strong one," he commented and then let his hand drop. "You may take him to the bunkhouse and tend to his injuries. I will have bandages and medicine brought. If one of you wishes to remain with him during the evening meal, the others may bring your food back to the bunkhouse. I will let the food staff know. You must return the dishes to the eating hall when you are done and clean up any mess that you make."
"Thank you," said Teyla.
"What?" Rodney sputtered. "What are you thanking him for? They are the reason the colonel needs treating in the first place."
"But it was not the doing of Calais and he does not have to allow us this," explained Teyla patiently.
"Oh . . . well, okay." Rodney realized the she was right. Calais had never mistreated any of them and didn't seem to be very high in the pecking order of this place. Glancing over at the bunkhouse keeper, he was a little relieved to see the man did not seem offended and reminded himself that Calais could probably make their lives even more miserable if he wanted. Calais just nodded at him, his expression blank.
"Let's get him out of here," said Ronon. Rodney helped Ronon drag John to his feet, at which time John's head lifted a bit and his eyes slitted open.
"Wha . . . s'goin' on?" he slurred.
"It's okay, Sheppard," said Ronon, pulling the pilot's arm over his shoulder.
"We're taking you back to the bunkhouse," explained Rodney, doing the same with John's other arm.
"Hot," John mumbled, his head dropping down again.
"I'm sure you are," Rodney said as they began walking, pulling their semi-conscious friend along with them. He couldn't help but grit his teeth at the way John's sweat-slicked skin felt against his or the way his soaked BDUs were dampening Rodney's own pants. Normally he would have been protesting how gross everything felt, but he was too busy trying to support half of Sheppard's weight.
It took several minutes to get the colonel to the bunkhouse. When they began encountering the other people, the slaves automatically moved out of their way, clearing the path to their bunks. Pausing at Teyla's bunk, Rodney glanced at his friends. "Should we . . . I mean he's really hot and dirty and I was just thinking . . . maybe we should clean him up because I really don't think we're getting him back up once he's down."
With a deep, almost sad sigh, Teyla dipped her head once. "Rodney is right. We should clean him up before we bandage his back. I will get some clean clothes," she said, stepping over to the small cabinet.
Rodney shifted, pulling up on John's drooping form as he began to sag between them. "Uh, you can't go back there . . . you know . . . to the showers."
"I can help," a voice said, approaching from down the line of bunks. They all looked up to find Baruch standing at the foot of the bed. "If you two can support him, I can manage his clothes."
"Why would you help us?" asked Ronon. "I would think this would make you want to stay away . . . since we're trouble-makers."
Baruch sighed. "You misread me, but that is my own fault. There is making trouble and there is doing what is right. I saw what your friend did out there. He did what we all wanted to do, but lacked the courage. He is an honorable man and I hope if I am ever in need, he will stand with me as he did with Uther."
They stood silently staring at one another for several moments before Rodney had to pull on John's arm again. "Well, I for one am grateful for the help, but if we don't do this soon, I'm going to drop Sheppard into a sweaty pile on the floor. He's a lot heavier than he looks, especially when he's out like a light."
"We're going, McKay, we're going," responded Ronon, beginning the shuffle for the door to the showers.
Rodney gratefully joined in, his back muscles and arm muscles screaming in protest at the prolonged strain. The ordeal didn't turn out to be as bad as he expected because they were able to rouse the colonel enough to get him to help a little by lifting his feet upon command. When Rodney got his first good look at the shredded meat of his friend's back, he had to clamp his mouth shut to stifle the strong gag reflex that followed. John's whimpering moans when they rinsed his back didn't help any. The other slaves cleared out and gave them space, but they didn't hide their stares at John's mutilated flesh.
With Baruch's help, they were able to complete their task in short order, returning John to Teyla's bunk a few minutes later. Lowering him onto his stomach, the three of them turned to thank Baruch for his help, but he was already gone.
"Huh," said Rodney, puzzling over the strange behavior. When he turned back to the bunk, Teyla was kneeling beside the bed, trying to get John to drink some water. Getting his first full look at the pilot's wounds, Rodney noted how raw and mutilated the flesh was, still oozing blood in places. They had only quickly given his back a rinse, knowing that Calais was sending something better to clean the wounds with.
"John, you need to drink some water," Teyla urged, tapping him lightly on the cheek.
Eyelids fluttered and John lifted his head a little. Putting the cup to his lips, Teyla tilted the cup so that a little ran in his mouth. "Not too much," she said softly. After a few sips, his face dropped back to the bed, his eyes closed again and squeezed together tightly in pain. A low moan escaped his lips.
"Is this the man who is hurt? Is this John Sheppard?"
They turned to see a young woman, barely out of her teens. She had brown hair tied back behind her head and bright blue eyes. Painfully slender, she was a little shorter than Teyla and carried a small box of supplies. "I am Rahda and the man your friend tried to save was Uther, my grandfather. I would be pleased if you would let me help."
After the shock passed, Teyla stood and stepped back. "Yes, please," she said, gesturing toward John. "Do you have anything to help with the pain?"
"Sadly, no," she said as she set the box on the foot of the bed. "I have something to cleanse his wounds with and some miacca juice to help fight infection and soothe the burning, but they do not allow pain medicines." Pursing her lips for a second she puffed out a breath and grabbed a jar from the box. "They consider it a waste to use such medicines on the likes of slaves." She stood looking at John's back for a moment. "I . . . I did not realize it was so bad. He was very brave to stand up to the guards for an old man he did not know."
"That is who he is," Teyla said, also looking down at John. "He protects others. It is what he does."
"Who protects him?" she asked softly.
"We do," said Ronon. His expression saddened almost the moment the words past his lips, reminding them all that the damage to his back had been inflicted by his team. "At least . . . when we can." The sadness quickly turned to anger and the Satedan clenched his fists and frowned deeply. "We'll make them pay for this."
"I hope you do," Rahda said, an edge to her voice. "What they did to you . . . it was cruel . . . it was not right. No one should have to do something like that . . . no one."
"I will help you with John," Teyla said and Rodney couldn't help the small smile that lifted a corner of his mouth. Teyla was ever the diplomat, trying to turn their attention away from their building anger and frustration. But he couldn't stop staring at John's back or remembering the way it felt to strike him with the whip. He shuddered, making himself watch the way John fisted the blanket in pain as he made small choking sounds in an effort not to scream or moan. It didn't make up for his part in John's beating, but it was the least he could do.
Rodney and Ronon ended up having to help John sit up while Teyla and Rahda bandaged his torso, wrapping him from armpits to waist. By the time they eased him back onto his stomach, he was visibly shaking. Teyla got him to drink a few more sips of water and then he promptly passed out, much to everyone's relief.
Rahda stood and nodded toward Ronon's bandaged arm. "Would you like me to look at your injury?" she asked.
"No, I'm okay," the big man replied, still staring at John.
Teyla sighed and arched her eyebrow a little. "Ronon, there is blood on that bandage. Let Rahda clean your wound and put on a clean dressing."
Shrugging his shoulders, Ronon sat on the other bunk and Rahda sat down beside him. Rodney sat down beside John's feet, deciding there was no need to keep on his feet when he felt so wobbly. He watched the young girl's skilled hands as she cleaned a jagged cut on Ronon's arm. "You look like you've done this before . . . the treating wounds thing," he commented.
"Yes, you are very skilled," Teyla added.
Rahda glanced at them and bowed her head a few inches in their direction. "Thank you. My grandfather was the healer of my people and he was teaching me to help him and one day take his place. That is how we were captured. One of the women who lived far from the town was having a child and we were on our way to help her. A group of men attacked us and brought us here many cycles ago."
"I'm sorry about your grandfather," said Teyla.
Her hands stilled a moment before continuing to wrap the new bandage around Ronon's arm. "It is for the best. Grandfather has been getting weaker and weaker. There is not enough food and he was too old to work so hard in the fields. He is not suffering any more." She tied off the bandage and then wiped the tear that had strayed down her cheek. "But I still miss him."
Teyla sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. Rahda placed the rest of the roll of cloth into the box of supplies and then turned to look at Teyla. "He didn't deserve this. He never tried to anything but help people. Why . . . I don't . . . " She trailed off as the tears began flowing in earnest and then Teyla was hugging her as she sobbed, finally giving in to her grief.
Rodney had no idea what to do, so he just sat open-mouthed and stared for several seconds. Letting his eyes roam over to Ronon, he felt better when he noticed the big man looked even more out of his element than Rodney felt.
"Evening meal!" someone yelled, making Rodney jump and smack his forehead on the bottom of the top bunk.
"Ow," he moaned, rubbing the offended spot. When he dropped his hand, it was to see both Ronon and Teyla staring at him, their mouths curved upward into a small smile. "Well, I'm sorry, it hurt. What's with the yelling, anyway?"
"Why don't you two go eat," suggested Teyla. "We will sit with John."
Rodney stood, grateful for the out. "Okay, we can bring you both something back if you want."
Teyla nodded. "Yes, that would be good. Thank you."
With a nod, Rodney followed Ronon down the long passage between the bunks and out the door. He hoped their rescue was soon, because at the rate things were going downhill, there wouldn't be much left to rescue before much longer. He was never commenting about a mission being a good one before they arrived safely back in Atlantis ever again.
Ronon's eyes snapped open and he lay still, listening for whatever stray sound had awakened him. He hadn't been asleep for long if the angle of the moon through the window was any indication. A quiet grunt drew his attention to the bunk below him and he leaned over the edge, peering at Sheppard as he lay on his stomach below. Shifting his head a little on the flat pillow, the pilot's breathing seemed to hitch for a moment before he relaxed back into the bed. Ronon listened to the even breathing for a moment before rolling back over onto his top bunk. That was when he noticed Rodney, lying in Sheppard's normal bunk above Teyla's, was lying on his side watching John sleep.
"Hey," Ronon whispered. "Can't sleep?"
Shifting his eyes to the Satedan, Rodney folded one arm under his head. "Every time I close my eyes, I keep seeing . . . I remember . . . no, can't sleep."
"I know what you mean," Ronon said. He knew he'd spent the better part of two hours trying to turn his brain off so he could get some sleep, but he kept remembering what they did to Sheppard and he kept seeing the ruined mess of his back. As bad as seeing Sheppard in that shape was, nothing compared to knowing that he'd been the one to inflict the damage and the pain. He and the other members of Sheppard's team.
"I know there wasn't anything else we could do," Rodney said. "But somehow that just doesn't help. I can't help but rethink it, try to figure out what we could have done differently."
"If we'd refused, Teyla would be dead. We might all be dead," Ronon pointed out. "We have to concentrate on the fact that we're alive."
"We need to concentrate on staying alive," said Rodney.
Ronon dozed in and out all night, awakened often by John's erratic breathing or muffled groans or Teyla's frequent trips to his bedside to get him to drink some water. He found himself grateful for the morning light that meant the long night was over. He was tired, but almost anything was better than lying in bed when he couldn't relax enough to sleep. He'd experienced plenty of nights like that as a runner.
He and Rodney got dressed and then sat with Sheppard while Teyla got dressed for the day. It was cloudy and humid outside, making the bunkhouse air feel heavy and oppressive. Almost no breeze came through the open windows. Rahda showed up as they discussed what to do about going to breakfast.
"How is John Sheppard this morning?" she asked, leaning over to place her hand on his forehead.
"His sleep was restless," said Teyla. "But I did get him to drink some more during the night. I believe he is in a great deal of pain."
Rahda nodded as if that was what she had expected. "I spoke to Calais this morning and he said John coul d stand down from the work party today, but he will have to return tomorrow."
Ronon watched Rodney's mouth drop open in disbelief. "You're kidding, right? They expect him to work in the fields all day tomorrow? Have they looked at what condition he's in? That's just crazy."
"It may be crazy," Rahda said, "but it is what they expect. If he refuses, they will shoot him."
"We are so dead," Rodney muttered, beginning to pace around in a small circle.
"Rodney, we must remain calm," admonished Teyla. "We should worry about one day at a time. John can rest today and we will discuss what to do tonight. We must go eat breakfast so that we can be ready to work. I do not think it would be good for us to cause more trouble so soon."
"She's right, McKay," said Ronon.
Teyla kneeled beside John's head and to everyone's surprise, he opened his eyes an looked at her. "Hey," he said softly.
"Hey yourself," she responded with a smile. "How do you feel?"
John grunted. "Like I've had the crap beat out of me and then stuffed in a metal box for twenty-four hours. But I'm alive. Are you guys okay?" he asked, trying to lift his head to see the rest of the team.
"We're fine," Ronon said.
"S'good," John mumbled, letting his head drop back to the pillow. He closed his eyes and gripped the blanket in his fist. "Just . . . shot'im . . . 'n front of me . . . could'a helped 'im."
Teyla stood up and moved to let Rahda take her place beside John's head. "Colonel Sheppard . . . my name is Rahda. The man you tried to save was my grandfather. I just wanted . . . I wanted to thank you for trying to help him. You mustn't feel bad for what happened. You did what you could." She set her hand gently on his upper arm. "I will remember always the stranger that risked his life to help my grandfather. It is the kind of thing my grandfather would have done for another."
John opened his eyes a crack and squinted at the girl in front of him. "I failed though . . . M'sorry."
Rahda smiled. "My grandfather always said that we must do what we know is right and we must help others whenever the chance is presented. He used to say that it was not the success or failure of the gesture, but that you tried your best. Because that is all that any of us can do."
Blinking slowly, John licked his dry, chapped lips. "Sounds like . . . wise man."
"He was," she replied. "I think he would have liked you. You need to rest today and drink as much water as you can."
John began trying to push himself up on one elbow, but Teyla and Rahda both pushed him back down. "No," Teyla said. "You have permission to stay here and rest today and that is what you must do. We will bring you back some food from breakfast and you should eat if you can."
"Mmmm, stomach not good," John moaned.
"I know," said Teyla, "but you should still try. We will return after breakfast to make sure you have what you need for the day. Will you be all right by yourself?"
"Fine," he mumbled into the pillow.
"It's Sheppard," Rodney said. "What did you think he was going to say?"
"Go," John mumbled and lifted one hand a few inches to wave them away. After a few moments of quiet hesitation, they shuffled down the narrow path between the bunk beds and out the door.
When they returned, John was asleep, so Teyla set the bread they had talked the kitchen workers out of on the small bedside table while Rahda filled a cup with water to put beside it. Knowing of nothing else they could do for the pilot, they heeded the barking orders of the guards and headed out to their respective work areas for the day.
By mid-afternoon, the storms the guards had been complaining about for days finally materialized in the form of driving rain, rolling claps of thunder, and almost constant lightning. By the time they were herded back to the bunkhouse, everyone was soaked to the skin and shivering in the much cooler air. They found John sitting on the side of the bunk, hanging onto the edge as if he might topple over at any second. He smiled weakly as they tromped in, leaving a trail of muddy puddles in their wake.
"Hey . . . wondered if they were making you work in this," John said, his voice soft and a bit unsteady. Deep shades of blue and purple mottled his face and exposed shoulders and arms. His lower lip was swollen, a large split marring the right side.
"Just long enough to get drenched," muttered Rodney. "How long have you been up?"
John leaned his left hand against the bed to help support himself. "Honestly . . . about five minutes."
Teyla glanced at the plate they had left him that morning and noticed only a couple of bites missing. "Are you hungry? We could try to find you something after we have changed into dry clothes."
John grimaced. "No thanks. I think I need to lie back down to tell you the truth. Being vertical makes my back feel like someone doused it with fuel and lit it afire."
"Can you wait for us to change?" asked Teyla. "We need to change your bandages."
"If you hurry," John replied. He didn't complain, but his features were pulled tight with the effort of keeping upright.
"We will hurry," promised Teyla. Everyone grabbed dry clothes and hurried off to change. It was only a few minutes later that they returned. Teyla brought Rahda and the box of medical supplies. John furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes at the girl.
"It's . . . Rahda . . . right?"
"Yes," she said, smiling as he said her name. "I will try to make this quick so that you may lie back down."
"Yeah . . . that'd be good," John said softly, surprising his team.
When Teyla and Rahda removed the stained bandages, Rodney had to look away. Much of the flayed skin was starting to scab over, but it continued to weep fluids in several places. They cleaned the wounds with cloths doused with the disinfectant they had been given and gently spread the miacca juice across his back. By the time they finished, Ronon was having to help hold the colonel upright.
"Just a few more minutes while we wrap your injuries," said Rahda. "You are doing well."
Rodney had turned back around and watching the two women wrap white cloth strips around John's torso while he bit his lip and buried his fist in the blanket on the bed. Beads of sweat now glistened his forehead and the muscles of his neck stood out like ropes.
"Sheppard," Rodney began, stammering around for a moment. "We . . . uh, well, I . . . what I wanted to say is that I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry for . . . for you know . . . whipping you with that -"
John looked up at Rodney, his eyes dark and narrow with pain. "Stop. Just stop, Rodney. You did what you had to do to keep us alive, all of you did. Don't apologize for that. I would have done the same thing."
"But -"
"No, no buts. My back will heal. If you hadn't cooperated, Teyla would be dead and . . . I don't think . . . I couldn't . . . " John turned his face away as his voice trailed off.
"Yeah . . . I see what you mean," Rodney acknowledged quietly.
As the women finished tying off his bandages, John let out a shaky breath and turned his face back to his friends. "But . . . when we get back . . . if you feel the need to give me your dessert, I wouldn't turn you down."
Rodney rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth quirked upward a bit. "In your dreams."
Rahda placed what was left of the supplies back in the box before looking at Teyla. "They are very strange."
Teyla just smiled and nodded. "You have no idea." After moving the stuff from the bed, they helped John turn to lie on his stomach and then gathered on the other bottom bunk to talk.
"John, it is time to get up." Teyla was disappointed, but not overly surprised at the way John's skin felt overly warm as she gently shook his shoulder.
"Hmmm?" he moaned, blinking several times before opening his eyes to focus on the Athosian. "What?"
"It is time to get up. Calais said that you must work in the fields today. He is only allowed to give you one day of recovery."
"Kay . . . coming," he said, edging his arms underneath him and pushing himself up. His face contorted briefly and his breath hitched for a moment before he steadied himself and twisted around to sit on the side of the bed.
"Are you all right?" asked Teyla.
John didn't answer for a few seconds, but finally looked up at her and tried to smile. "I'll be fine." Pushing himself to his feet, he grabbed the edge of the bunk and closed his eyes, sucking in a sudden deep breath. Teyla automatically reached out to steady him. After a moment, his rigid shoulders slumped down a little and his breathing seemed to even out. Opening his eyes, he smiled sheepishly.
"Thanks. Vertical isn't my favorite position right now," he said. When she continued to study him, John glanced down at his feet. "It's okay . . . I'll be fine. Gotta go . . . " he dipped his head once toward the communal male bathroom.
With a short nod, Teyla let go and watched him move stiffly through the doorway. She had no idea how he was going to work in the fields. She had no idea how he was going to remain upright all day. With a sigh, she moved toward the women's facilities to take care of her own needs.
Breakfast was quiet, with the whole team worried about how John would manage that day and John just concentrating on trying to eat a little something without passing out. Teyla was relieved to see he seemed to have loosened up a little by the time they were escorted to the fields.
The fields were a muddy mess from the rains the day before and the humidity was stifling. John had put on a lightweight shirt over his bandages and it was already stuck to his skin by the time they reached the field. Fortunately they had to harvest some sort of vegetable that grew in strange purple pods from tall bushes grown in rows. Very little bending was required. Just pop the pods off and drop them in the bucket. John seemed to do well until it came time to move the full bucket to the wagon hauling the crops off. Teyla made sure she worked close to John and she knew that he was aware she was keeping an eye on him. He didn't seem to mind, but he refused to ask for help.
The guards prodded him to hurry with the end of their long rifles a few times, but for the most part left him alone. Teyla found that a pleasant and welcome surprise. Apparently he looked weak and in pain enough to satisfy any need they felt for revenge.
By late afternoon, John was beginning to stumble, obviously having a hard time staying on his feet. Teyla was considering her options when he fell on the way to the crop wagon, scattering purple pods all over the muddy ground. Before the angry guard got very close though, several people hurried over and picked up the strewn vegetables, emptying the bucket into the wagon when they were finished. Teyla helped John to his feet as one of the men returned the empty bucket to him before moving back to his own. The guards were so surprised, they didn't threaten anyone or complain.
"You need to get back before you get in trouble," John whispered to Teyla as she led him back to where he had left off working.
"I will," she said, setting his bucket on the ground. "Will you be all right?"
"Fine," John said, eyeing the guard who was headed their way. "Go, now."
Following his eyes, Teyla nodded and quickly left, returning to her bucket several yards down and two rows over. Picking the pods and dropping them in the bucket for several minutes, John finally glanced sideways to look for the guard. Fortunately he'd returned to his regular post and seemed to be content with the pace everyone was working. Once Teyla was satisfied that John was alright and the guard wasn't an immediate problem, she went back to work, wishing the day would just end already.
Part 3