Story: The Dark Side of Pegasus (1/3)
Story: The Dark Side of Pegasus (1/3)
Word Count: ~21,200
Genre: Gen/HC/Whump
Characters: John Sheppard, Team, Elizabeth Weir, Major Lorne, Radek Zelenka, Carson Beckett, OCs
Warnings: Violence, some language
Summary: When Sheppard’s team disappears on a routine off-world mission, Atlantis is left with few leads to find them, except an injured Sheppard who may… or may not be able to help them in time. Written for tepring for the sheppard_hc Secret Santa Fic Exchange.
A nonfat vanilla latte with extra foam was Elizabeth Weir’s favorite drink and sometimes the only way she got through long afternoons. But the one rapidly cooling in her hand today, held no enjoyment. She’d heard the seriousness in Lorne’s tone as the jumper had slowly ascended into the bay and knew that not only had the rescue party not found Colonel Sheppard’s team, but no sign of them either.
Elizabeth turned away from her window to the Gate Room and slowly sat down behind her desk, setting her half-drank latte aside. She leaned forward, folding her hands on her desk as she sighed deeply. Sheppard’s team was six hours overdue. The mission had been a standard recon, with the MALP showing no signs of trouble. What could’ve happened?
She looked up as Lorne appeared in her doorway, seemingly from nowhere, still dressed for off-world, his P-90 hanging from his TAC vest. Her smile was grim and she waved him into her office.
“Nothing, Major?” she asked, knowing from his sober expression what his answer would be.
Lorne unclipped his P-90 and set it on the floor next to him as he sat down in a chair. “No, ma’am. We even did an orbital sweep of the planet for any subcutaneous transmitter signals. Nothing.” Lorne met her intense gaze. “They’re not on M9H-060 anymore.”
Elizabeth dropped her head for a moment, concern knotting her gut. She looked back up at her military second-in-command. “DHD?”
Lorne nodded. “I had Zelenka mine the addresses dialed from that DHD. One of them has to be where the Colonel’s team went, but,” he sighed, “there are over fifty of them.”
Edgy, Elizabeth quickly stood up and paced behind her chair. Over fifty planets. Even with every gate team on Atlantis turned out to search, it’d take time. Time she wasn’t sure Sheppard’s team had. And what if they’d gated to another planet from one of the addresses mined? Elizabeth abruptly stopped and planted her hands on her hips. She looked at Lorne. “Colonel Sheppard would not gate to another planet without a damn good reason, and he wouldn’t do it without contacting us first.” Her gaze narrowed. “Not willingly.”
Lorne nodded, a harsh almost dangerous edge tingeing his expression. “No, ma’am, he wouldn’t.”
Her lips tightened as anger wormed its way into her gut. For a passing moment, she pondered the changes to her perspective the Pegasus Galaxy and Atlantis had brought on. She still held strong to her diplomatic roots, but the harsh realities she’d faced here forced her to recognize the need, sometimes, for military might. Her people were her responsibility and she’d get them back: diplomatically and peacefully if possible, or with force if necessary.
She planted her hands on her desk and gave him a very direct look. “How do we find them?”
Lorne leaned back in his chair. “We start a systematic search of each planet on the list from M9H-060’s DHD. With subcutaneous transmitters, we should be able to detect if anyone from the colonel’s team are anywhere on those planets. We also get word out to our off-world contacts in case they hear something in the grapevine.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I want every available off-world team on this, Major. If it is a hostile force that has taken Colonel Sheppard’s team, and we have to assume it is, then time is critical.” She knew she wasn’t telling Lorne anything he didn’t already know, but it felt better for her to say it.
Lorne promptly stood. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll get right on it.” He reached down and grabbed his P-90.
Her gaze as hard as her resolve, Elizabeth nodded in response. She watched as Lorne turned and hastily left her office. She looked down at her desk for a moment, only to be interrupted by a familiar vibration passing through the floor. She turned towards the gate in time to see the first chevron light up.
“Unscheduled off-world activation!” Chuck’s voice carried over her radio and echoed from Ops through her opened office door.
Elizabeth rounded her desk and trotted across the short bridge from her office into Ops. Lorne who apparently had just reached the back stairs, wove his way back through personnel to join her. Elizabeth stopped briefly by Chuck’s station. “Raise the shield.” She turned and walked out onto the landing, watching as the shield jumped to life and the wormhole flushed behind it. She exchanged concerned looks with Lorne before looking back at Chuck. “Do we have an IDC?”
Chuck glanced at a nearby laptop before smiling. “Yes, ma’am. Now receiving Colonel Sheppard’s IDC.”
Elizabeth smiled as well. “Lower the shield.” She glanced at Lorne before briskly heading for the stairs, the major right behind her. She tapped her headset. “John? It’s Elizabeth. The shield is down, come through.” At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped, watching impatiently as the wormhole shimmered silently. A note of warning whispered to her and she furrowed her brows. Again, she tapped her headset. “Colonel Sheppard, this is Atlantis. Please respond.” She looked at Lorne as relief melted away from his expression and was replaced with wary tension.
Lorne slowly raised his P-90. “Please stay here, ma’am,” he started walking towards the gate, as the SOs around him followed his lead and six more guns focused on the still quiet wormhole.
Elizabeth was rooted in place, her gaze focused on the Stargate, so when the wormhole suddenly shimmered around an emerging traveler, she flinched reflexively.
The body rolled through the gate at an alarming rate, momentum carrying it another few feet before the traveler came to rest on his side. He was still for a moment, before weakly pushing up on his left arm. He cried out, his arm buckling under his own weight but he refused to stay down and struggled into a kneeling position, a large, curved knife covered in blood clutched in his shaking, right hand.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in recognition. “John?” She took two steps towards him but halted as he fixed her with a wild-eyed gaze. His TAC vest and any Atlantis issue weapons were gone and his clothes were torn in several places.
“Colonel!” Lorne started towards John, only to stutter step and stop as John twisted towards him, brandishing the knife threateningly. “Sir?”
“Get… away from… me...!” John’s voice was hoarse and strangled, and he was clearly fighting to stay conscious.
Lorne’s gaze never left John as he waved back the other SOs. He lowered his gun and set it on the floor. “Easy, Colonel. It’s Lorne, sir. You’re safe.”
Elizabeth slowly walked a little closer, still staying a fair distance away from her military commander. She studied his expression. He seemed confused even desperate, but there was a hard edge to his gaze leaving no doubt in her mind that even in his weakened state, he was very dangerous. The blood covering his knife and staining his hands only confirmed it for her.
“John?” she ventured quietly. “It’s Elizabeth. You’re safe.”
His gaze turned to her, the wild expression tinged with confusion for a moment, before he wobbled, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Lorne!” Elizabeth rushed towards John as he collapsed. “Medical team to the Gate Room!” she shouted, not bothering with her radio.
Lorne’s reaction was instantaneous and he jumped forward, coming down hard on his knees and sliding across the smooth floor, just barely catching John, cushioning his head and keeping it from hitting the hard surface. Immediately, Lorne reached out and knocked the knife from his commander’s limp grip, letting it slide across the floor where it came to rest in front of one of the SOs. He briefly looked back at the guard. “Don’t touch it, not without gloves. Beckett will want it for forensics.”
Elizabeth dropped to one knee and stared down at John. His face was bruised, bloodied and swollen in places and distinct rope burns circled both of his wrists. But none of that worried her half as much as the rapid flow of blood coming from his left shoulder. There were splatters of blood on his face, distinct from his own wounds, and in a dark moment, Elizabeth realized that not all the blood on the injured colonel belonged to him.
Still holding John’s head in his lap, Lorne pressed his fingers into his throat and nodded. “He’s alive.”
Elizabeth rested her hand on John’s stomach, looked up at Lorne, and nodded as she felt the slow rise and fall of life. “He’s breathing.”
Lorne reached up, ripping a bandage from one of his TAC vest pockets. “He’s been shot.” He pressed the bandage into John’s shoulder. The colonel’s head moved slightly, his moan barely more than a whisper.
Elizabeth gently put a hand on John’s cheek and almost recoiled from the heat radiating from his body. “High fever,” she muttered, not looking away from him. “John? It’s Elizabeth. Can you hear me?”
John moaned quietly again, before going still under her hand. Elizabeth looked up as Beckett and his team swiftly entered the room, a gurney between them.
“Out of the way, boys,” Beckett ordered, winding his way between SOs who stepped aside. He knelt on the opposite side of Elizabeth, his gaze quickly passing over the colonel. “How long has he been unconscious?”
Elizabeth pulled her gaze from Carson and fixed it back on John. “He was conscious when he came through the gate.” She looked up at Beckett. “Carson, he was brandishing a knife at all of us.”
Beckett pressed his fingers into John’s neck. “Did he recognize you?”
“Not at first, no,” Elizabeth shook her head. “Before he lost consciousness,” she shrugged, “possibly. He collapsed right after that. Maybe a minute or so after he came through?”
“He did move and respond pretty weakly when I put pressure on his shoulder, doc,” Lorne added.
“Feeble response to pain,” Carson muttered as his hands passed over John’s limbs. He grabbed his stethoscope. “Fever, too.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and stood. She walked over behind Lorne and reached down, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Major,” she said quietly.
Lorne looked up at her and the surrounding medical team. He nodded and edged out from under his commander’s head, which he gently eased to the floor, before he stood and backed out of the way.
Elizabeth tried to process her emotions and all the thoughts racing through her head as she silently watched Beckett’s team attend to John. With an IV started and a stark white pressure bandage on the colonel’s shoulder, the medical team lifted him onto the gurney before briskly exiting the Gate Room.
As the medical team and their patient disappeared from sight, Elizabeth looked over at Lorne, his expression equally as grim. “What the hell is going on here, Major?” she asked, knowing full well he was as clueless as her.
Lorne shook his head as he looked back towards the empty hallway where the medical team had been only a moment before. “I don’t know, ma’am,” he answered quietly, “but I’ll be damned if I don’t find out.”
Elizabeth looked past him to the dark, inactive Stargate as one question drowned out all the others in her head. Where was the rest of Sheppard’s team? After a long moment, Elizabeth briskly crossed the Gate Room and headed for the infirmary, Lorne right behind her.
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Carson worked swiftly, his hands quick, as he cut away the remains of John’s shirt. “Get the colonel on O2 and I want blood drawn for a complete workup, including toxicology.” his orders to his staff were almost automatic, and Carson held strong to his professionalism, trying to ignore who his patient was. A patient was a patient and his job was to care for them, but he knew he wouldn’t be human if some patients didn’t mean more to him personally than others. Colonel Sheppard was a close friend and had saved his life more than once. Holding strong to medical professionalism was the best way Carson could think of to concentrate on the task in front of him and not who was lying motionless on the gurney.
Carson looked up at one of the medics on his staff. “Carolyn, let’s get the scanner in place. I want a full body check. And page Doctor Pearson. I want his opinion on that shoulder. The good news, if you can call it that, is there’s a clean exit wound, but I still want an orthopedic evaluation and surgical assessment.”
Carolyn nodded, her smile thin as she turned away.
“Doctor?” Carson’s head nurse, Marie, captured his attention. “BP is 100/70.”
Carson nodded. “That’s better. IV’s helping his blood volume.” He stepped back as Carolyn and two technicians moved the Ancient scanner into place. Before long, a solid green light passed slowly up the colonel’s body.
Carson quickly walked over to the large scanner display and scrutinized the results. The gunshot wound data was unsurprising, though he was relieved to see the wound was clean; no major structures were damaged, which in itself was a miracle. John was battered and bruised in several areas across his body in patterns that indicated some rough handling, even fighting, but he had no other major injuries. Carson looked back to the gurney as the scanner completed its cycle and the technicians pushed it back from John’s bed.
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The knife felt good in his hand and he tightened his fingers around the hilt. He paid very little attention to the body he stepped over. His gaze fixed on the dark doorway. A quiet voice urged caution but he couldn’t heed it. He couldn’t be caught again!
Evade.
Evade where possible and kill where necessary.
His hand clutched around the small, hard object in his pocket. He’d found it on the last man he’d killed. He needed it to survive. Didn’t know why….
105-69BC38… 105-69BC38…
John’s breathing was rapid as he trotted down the dark hallway.
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“Carson?” Carolyn squinted at John’s form before looking up at one of the monitors over his head. “I think he’s coming to.”
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John’s head swam as the twin images of the man in front of him, turned to four. His head lolled, striking the tall back of the wooden chair hard, but the pain was muted, barely registering with him. He was tired and… why was he fighting? Who was he fighting? What was the point? Fighting was hard. His eyes slid shut.
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Carson looked down at John’s face in time to see his eyes open and lazily move around the room. He started towards the bed watching as John’s gaze cleared, his eyes widening and fixing on the IV attached to his arm. Before Carson could even react, John shot straight up in his bed, his backhanded fist striking across Carolyn’s face, sending her reeling into a cart of equipment nearby. Both the medic and the cart went down in a loud crash, instruments and supplies scattering across the floor.
“Security to the infirmary!” Carson shouted into his radio as he ran towards John, the world around him dissolving into chaos as personnel scrambled to block exits and protect other patients.
John grunted against the pain of his gunshot wound as he reached down with his left hand, savagely ripping the IV from his right arm. “…Drugs!” His shout was hoarse and weak, but still carried a note of anger. He fumbled with covers, his legs swinging off the bed, but in his weakened state, he was in no shape to stand. As soon as his feet hit the floor, his knees buckled and he fell heavily, crashing down on his left shoulder with a broken cry.
“Colonel!” Carson dashed around the end of the bed, two of his male technicians right behind him. “Bloody hell!” he ducked as John threw a stainless steel pan at his head before kicking savagely at him, barely missing Carson’s leg. Cornered, the colonel fought like a caged animal, and had the wild expression to match. Whatever was going through his clearly altered mind, he believed his life was at stake, and he fought with a brutal determination to match.
Behind him, Carson heard the main infirmary door open and the shuffle of feet that heralded the arrival of the SOs. “Colonel…”
“…come near me…” John hissed through clenched teeth. “…kill you!” Blood oozed from the mangled IV wound and the white bandage over his shoulder was rapidly turning red. With a burst of strength, Carson wouldn’t have expected, John lunged at him, plowing into his legs and taking Carson and the two technicians down in a tangled heap.
Carson hit the ground hard and struggled under the weight pressing him to the floor. Twisting onto his back, he came face to face with John. Carson froze, fear chilling him as he stared at the cold and deadly expression on John’s face, only inches from his. Carson’s hand shot up, grabbing John’s wrist as the colonel’s fist descended towards him. Under normal circumstances, Carson would never put his strength up against the colonel’s, but in his weakened state, John was no match. John grunted and pushed hard and Carson’s eyes narrowed as he felt the twitches of muscle spasms under his hand and the shuddering through John’s body. Even through his fear, Carson mentally cataloged the symptoms; another piece added to the puzzle of what was ailing Sheppard.
From behind, two SOs appeared grabbing John under his arms and hauling him backwards off of Carson. John shouted in rage, twisting against their grip, but they held fast. Not that it was easy. For a moment, Carson was amazed at John’s strength, in spite of his condition, fueled by a singular tenacity and a stubborn refusal to surrender. “Watch the shoulder!” Carson scrambled to his feet.
“Doc! Give him something!” One of the SOs twisted his arm away as John tried to bite him, before kicking backwards at him.
“I can’t! Not without knowing what’s in his system! Anything I give him could kill him! Colonel! John!” Carson pled, but his words fell on deaf ears.
“NO!” John shouted, his fight fueled purely by adrenaline. “RUN!”
Carson pointed at the gurney. “Get him on the bed!” He turned to the nearest medic. “Soft restrains, now! And someone get down to the lab! Light a fire under their arses and get me those toxicology results, stat!”
The two technicians Carson had landed on seemed no worse for wear and darted around him, grabbing John’s legs as the SOs heaved him onto the bed.
John’s back arched as he fought against their hold, his incoherent shout of defiance echoing across the infirmary, but the fight was over quickly as his injuries finally overcame adrenaline, and he collapsed into unconsciousness.
Wasting no time, Carson quickly secured John’s legs, and then his arms, freeing the SOs, who stepped back. They both planted their hands on their knees and took several rapid breaths.
“Christ,” one of them muttered.
Carson quickly placed an oxygen mask over John’s mouth and nose. “Aye,” he agreed. He looked over his shoulder, spotting Marie who helped Carolyn slowly sit up. She held a hand to her rapidly discoloring cheek and made eye contact with Carson, nodding slightly, her affirmation that she was okay contrasting with the tears in her eyes. “Get checked out,” Carson said gently before he looked back at John. Carson cut away the blood soaked bandage, cursing quietly. His gaze briefly passed over the two nurses assisting him. “Get that IV re-established. One liter Ringers, wide open.”
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“Find the bastard!”
John peeked around the stone wall’s edge at the enemy. He’d already killed two. He’d kill more if he had to.
He slid back into the darkness as one of the enemy walked by him and down another corridor. When he was sure the other had left, John silently followed the first one.
Divide and conquer.
Kill them one at a time.
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“What the hell?” The unmistakable voice of Elizabeth Weir pierced Carson’s concentration. He looked back at her. “Elizabeth,” he answered, trying to keep his voice even.
“We heard the call for the SOs,” Elizabeth swiftly walked over to him.
Carson finished re-bandaging John’s shoulder and looked up at her watching as Elizabeth’s eyes passed over the soft restraints tying the colonel’s wrists to the gurney. She turned a questioning look on him.
Carson sighed. “He woke up and turned violent.”
Elizabeth’s gaze left his face and scanned over the disheveled mess around her and the haggard appearance of the two SOs Lorne was talking to. “Everyone okay?”
Carson stepped back from John’s bed but his gaze remained fixed on the colonel’s pale and sweaty face. “Nothing serious, I think. Carolyn got the worst of it, poor lass, but mostly bumps and bruises. Could’ve been worse.”
Elizabeth sighed and turned a grim expression on Carson. “So, it’s safe to assume he doesn’t recognize where he is or who we are?”
Carson nodded. “Aye. I’m having blood tests performed right now to see what the hell is in his system that’s making him this way. Until then, I can’t risk giving him anything, even anesthesia for surgery on that shoulder. And until I know what he’s been pumped full of, I can’t give him anything to counteract it, if that’s even possible. It might be something he has to work out of his system on his own. I don’t know right now.”
Elizabeth’s lips tightened into a grimace. “How long before he’s out of this?”
“No idea,” Carson sighed in frustration. “It depends on the drug. Hopefully, I’ll have a better picture before too long.”
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He rounded the next corner and staggered, his heart jumping to his throat and his eyes fixing on the gun aimed at him.
“Got you.” The man fired.
White hot agony tore through John’s shoulder and ripped a hoarse cry from him as he lurched backwards and fell. He struggled to stand. He had to fight! Had to survive!
He looked up in time to see the man advance, stopping close to him, gun aimed at his head.
Too close… dumb son of a bitch. John’s lips curled back in a sneer as he lashed out, the hard sole of his combat boot crushing the man’s knee.
His enemy crumpled with a pained cry of his own. John leapt onto him, grappling for the gun. His wound weakened him and the gunshot would bring others. He had to get away!
He went for the gun, knowing his opponent would expect it. With his other hand, John drove the knife home, feeling the tip glance off a rib and pop through the intercostal space just below it.
John felt no remorse as life faded from his opponent’s wide eyes.
Hot blood poured over John’s hand, but he pulled the knife free. Trembling, his body humming, his mind racing, he looked down at his shoulder but paid it little heed. He couldn’t. He had to escape. He had to…
Survive.
He tucked the knife into the top of his boot and grabbed the gun. His head snapped around at the sound of voices echoing in the hallway behind him.
Others.
His left arm mashed against his ribcage, he ran down the corridor towards freedom.
Escape.
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Carson hovered near his patient.
He knew the medical term was ‘monitoring,’ but Carson believed in calling a spade a spade and what he was doing was hovering. He watched John’s muscles twitch, even in unconsciousness and a laundry list of drugs that could alleviate the problem ran through his head but he knew better than to try a single one until he knew what he was dealing with. Alongside that list another long list of possible causes for the muscle twitching ran through his head. Carson sighed. What he needed was answers, not more questions. Blessedly, the colonel hadn’t regained consciousness, yet, so the twitching was just that, twitching. Not fighting.
He looked up, meeting Elizabeth’s gaze and nodded slightly. Lorne had left a few minutes before to start the effort to find the rest of John’s team, after Carson had assured him that it would be a while before John would be of any use. Given John’s condition, it was rational to assume the rest of his team was in deep trouble. Time counted when it came to finding them.
“Carson?”
Carson turned quickly, his gaze fixing on Carolyn who held a tablet computer out at him. Her cheek was swollen and turning interesting shades of purple, but her eyes were bright and clear.
Carson walked over to her and took the tablet, his gaze never leaving hers. “How are ye, lass?”
Carolyn smiled, and then winced as it pulled on her tender cheek. “Just bruised. The colonel… he hits pretty hard.” A shadow crossed her face and dimmed her light expression.
Carson sighed. “He didn’t know what he was doing, Carolyn.”
A thin smile returned to Carolyn’s face. “I know,” she nodded and walked away.
Carson watched her for a moment, before looking down at the toxicology report, his mind clicking together more pieces to the puzzle of John’s condition as he read through the details. His jaw dropped as things suddenly became clear. Granted, the lab wasn’t familiar with the Pegasus version of the drugs in the colonel’s system, but the pharmacological similarities allowed him to pull together a very educated hypothesis, and their findings fell into place with the rest of John’s symptoms. Carson inhaled sharply, the completed puzzle painting a picture his gut knew was right.
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John heard the curse a second before a fist impacted his face, snapping his head into the back of the chair hard.
Stunned, John’s eyelids fell shut as he slumped to the side. Everything was working against him. He couldn’t bring his scattered mind together, so he floated, not unconscious but not conscious either.
The pain in his jaw faded, muted by the increased buzz in his head and tingling that almost vibrated through his skin. Words… phrases… disconnected, echoed in his ears. Disjointed and scattered, coming from a hard voice.
“…do this… direct way.”
“Take him back… wears off… methods… information….”
Somewhere in the in-between world he floated in, John’s training still rang true.
Information… torture.
They’ll break you, John. They… who is they?
Doesn’t matter! Vital information! Can’t tell them… what?
Harsh words drilled into his head flashed through his mind. Pieces, fragments, but all with the same meaning.
Eventually, all men die or are broken.
Or both.
Can’t be broken! Can’t let them break me!
He cracked his eyes open, forcing himself to concentrate over the buzz coursing through him. There were too many guards here, but if only a few took him away, he could escape. Get to the surface. Get to…. Where? He dismissed the confusion. Get away!
He was alone. Just him to face… them.
He’d have no one but himself to rely on, but he was used to that. He’d get away, win free, not give them a victory, not give them… whatever! He wouldn’t give it to them.
Escape.
He felt the bonds securing his hands loosen then fall completely away as they were removed right before he was lifted from the chair. He forced himself to remain limp… unsuspecting, unthreatening, just waiting for them to drop their guard.
Two men dragged him out of the room and down a long hallway.
Wait for it… wait… now!
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Carson looked up from the tablet as John rapidly awoke, his body straining against his bonds.
“No!” John shouted his body bowing off the gurney. His eyes flew open and fixed on one of the SOs close by. “Bastards!” He dropped his head and flexed his arms against the restraints, but they held fast, ripping a frustrated shout from him.
“Damn it!” Carson dropped the tablet on a nearby table. “Marie!” He pointed at one of the nurses, “six milligrams Diazepam IV, stat!”
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John pulled his rubber legs under himself and jerked his hands free from the men. He leveled one with a right hook and grabbed the knife in the man’s belt sheath as he fell. Turning, he slashed out, the blade taking the other man in the throat.
John didn’t even wince as hot blood splattered across his face.
He watched the man fall.
He turned back and laid the same treatment on the unconscious man. For a moment, it rankled him to kill someone who wasn’t an immediate threat.
He’s the enemy! He’ll hunt you!
John’s training, along with a lifetime of life or death fights, clicked in, taking control of his mindset.
Kill or be killed.
His head swam and he shook it, trying to clear his thoughts. The adrenaline of his escape helped. Quickly, he bent to search the first body for weapons, the motion the only thing that saved him as a bullet buried in the wall right where his head had been. Cursing, John clutched the knife close and raced down the hallway.
Escape.
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“Carson?” Elizabeth crossed the infirmary towards him but stopped when he waved her off.
“Not now.” He grabbed the syringe from his nurse ran to John’s bed, quickly injecting the medication into the colonel’s IV.
“NO!” John’s crazed eyes fixed on him and he redoubled his fight against the restraints. But his increased heart rate only helped the sedative into his system faster. Before long his body relaxed and his eyes glazed over before closing completely.
Carson capped the syringe and dropped it on a nearby medical table before he grabbed the nearest restraint, quickly undoing it.
“Doc?” One of the SOs questioned him, “what are you doing?”
“Get them off,” Carson ordered sharply and Marie immediately set to work on the restraints closest to her.
“Carson?” Elizabeth walked up to him, her expression resolute. “What is going on?”
Carson undid the restraint from John’s ankle and turned to face Elizabeth. “Some bloody fool who had no idea what he was doing drugged the hell out of the colonel.”
“Okay,” Elizabeth nodded, “we guessed as much.”
“I don’t know what the hell they gave him, the toxicologist can only guess at the Pegasus versions, but whatever they dosed him with, wreaked havoc on his system. He’s in acute serotonin overdose.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Carson?”
Carson’s sigh matched hers. “Serotonin Syndrome occurs usually as the result of mixing two or more drugs, or a high dose of one drug, that overloads the patient’s system with serotonin. His symptoms are classic. I should’ve seen it.” He stepped back, scrutinizing John for a moment before his eyes settled on the monitors over the colonel’s head, their readings only confirming his diagnosis. “Muscle tremors, tachycardia, fever.” He muttered. “Combine that with delusions and hypervigilance… the only thing missing is hypertension, but the blood loss from his gunshot wound has to be affecting that.” He nodded to himself and looked at Elizabeth. “Definitely serotonin overdose.
Elizabeth stared evenly at him. “So now we know. How do we treat it?”
Carson took a deep breath as he thought hard. “Well, first thing is to eliminate the medication that’s causing it. That’s done. We’ll keep him on fast moving IV’s and try to flush his system. The Diazepam will keep him sedated and calm and keep the muscle tremors under control. That hopefully will prevent muscle breakdown which could have a systemic effect, not the least of which is renal failure as his kidneys try to deal with the byproducts. I just hope we’re not too late on that front.”
“Carson, you’re doing the best you can,” Elizabeth interrupted him.
Carson looked over at her thin smile and offered one of his own. “We’ll give him Periactin to block serotonin production for now as well.” He sighed. “That’s the best we can do. The colonel is going to have to work through the rest on his own.”
Elizabeth walked closer to John’s bed and stared down at him. “How long?”
“Roughly twenty-four hours for it to pass completely,” Carson answered. “He might be able to tell us something before then, but I can’t guarantee it.”
Elizabeth’s gaze never left John. “Do what you can.”
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“Sheppard….” Ronon’s voice held a warning tone.
“Hold on,” John immediately answered, “we don’t know anything for sure yet.”
“They’re armed,” Ronon answered.
“As are we,” Teyla countered. “And yet we are not hostile by default.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ronon muttered.
John rolled his eyes ever so slightly. “Stand by,” he ordered. He let go of his P-90 with is right hand and raised it slowly. “Hi!” He shouted out, in his best imitation of a friendly gesture. He lowered his hand and stood quietly, trying to find the balance between not looking threatening, and still being alert and ready for anything.
The group stopped, all of them looking to one man who stood in the forefront. He was tall and thin, but held a Genii style gun confidently in his hands. He looked to the man on his left and nodded, before repeating the gesture to the man on his right. As one, the group slowly fanned out, not moving closer but still starting to form a semi-circle around the team.
“Sheppard.” Ronon’s voice was more insistent this time.
John nodded. “Yeah.” His instincts synched with Ronon’s and a sense of foreboding swept through him. He glanced both ways as his team formed their own semi-circle. On his left, McKay slipped his LSD into his vest and drew his sidearm, though he kept it lowered. Teyla edged up next to Rodney and Ronon planted himself on John’s right.
“Stay alert, but stand by,” John ordered quietly. “We might still be able to get out of this, so don’t make the first move. We’re outgunned and in the open. I don’t want to escalate this unless we have no choice.”
“Who the hell are these guys?” McKay’s whisper was emphatic.
“Doesn’t really matter at the moment, does it Rodney?” John glanced at him. He looked back at the apparent leader of the group who stopped his men about twenty feet away. “Look,” he called out, trying reason, “we’re peaceful travelers. If you want us to leave, we’ll go. This doesn’t have to get… serious.”
The leader stared coldly at him over a hooked nose and remained silent. After a moment, he looked up and down the line of his men. He seemed satisfied for a moment, before he looked left, curtly nodding at one of his men.
John felt like he was watching the events in slow motion. Before he could react, the second man swiftly raised his gun. “DOWN!” John roared as a gunshot echoed around them. He hit the dirt, his blood turning cold at a strangled grunt just to his right. John looked over, his eyes widening at Ronon, clutching his shoulder. “Ronon!” He lifted his gun. “Return fire!” He got off a few shots, before blue energy beams hit the ground next to him.
------------------------------------------------------------
Elizabeth shifted, trying to alleviate the numbness in her rear from the hard and uncompromising plastic chair, close to John’s bed, that she refused to surrender. Lorne had reported in to her an hour ago, informing her that the world-by-world search of each address mined from M9H-060’s DHD had started. So far, nothing, and no word from their off-world contacts yet either.
She sighed, trying not to give in to frustration. It took time for intelligence to develop, she knew that. But she also knew that the rest of Colonel Sheppard’s team probably didn’t have that luxury. They had to be found fast, and while she knew everyone was doing their best, a niggling fear within her said it wouldn’t be enough.
Her gaze snapped to John as he moaned quietly, his head moving weakly back and forth. “John?” She stood and bent over his bed, her hand finding his. “John?” she repeated. “Can you hear me?”
-----------------------------
The man arched an eyebrow. “While I would relish the challenge of trying to beat answers out of you, Colonel, I do not have the time for it.” He turned and walked over to a nearby wood table.
John’s eyes widened as the man slowly picked up a syringe filled with pale yellow fluid. Physical abuse he could take, even resist, but when his own body rebelled against him from drugs, that was another matter.
John held tight to his defiant air. “What’s in the syringe, Doctor Frankenstein?”
His captor walked over to him. “Something to make you more… agreeable.” Without any ceremony, he jabbed the needle into John’s bicep and injected the contents.
John’s face muscles twitched against the burn in his arm. “What? No alcohol swabs? Not very sterile.”
His captor’s chuckle was more of a grunt than anything. “Keep resisting Colonel Sheppard. At least, keep trying. Before long your agreement will be… guaranteed.”
John’s head began to buzz but he fought it, trying to keep a clear mind. “Oh, I don’t know,” he answered gamely, “I’ve always been a pain in the ass to authority.”
--------------------------------------------------
“Ma’am.” One of the SOs stepped closer, his voice holding a warning tone.
Elizabeth looked up at him. She knew he was edgy with her being so close to John, after what had happened the last time he was conscious, but she shook her head. “I’ll take my chances, Sergeant,” she said, firmly.
The SO looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end, he just nodded, though he did move closer to the bed.
--------------------------------------------
John stood, keenly aware of the gun digging into his back. “Wait.” He nodded his head at Ronon. “Let me at least bandage his wound.”
The leader stood, unmoving, staring at John neutrally.
John took a step forward, ignoring the other weapons that turned towards him. “If you want any chance of me cooperating with your demands, you let me take care of my team. That’s the deal.”
“Will you guarantee that you will make no trouble if I allow this?” The leader asked, his gaze contemplative.
John’s chortle held no humor. “I guarantee you I will make trouble if you don’t let me help him.”
The leader stared at him for one more moment before nodding. “Very well.” He looked at one of his men, holding a TAC vest. “Give him a bandage.”
John shifted his glare from the leader to the designated man who held out a bandage to him. He ripped it from the man’s hand and turned to Ronon. His expression softened slightly as he looked at the bleeding wound. “Bleeding pretty bad, Big Guy.” He shook the bandage open.
“It’s not bad,” Ronon answered stoically.
“Bullshit,” John immediately replied. He tore Ronon’s shirt, pulling the tattered ends away from the wound. He pressed the bandage against the wound, passing one bandage strip under Ronon’s arm and the other over his shoulder. Stepping behind his friend, John pulled them tight, ignoring Ronon’s tense grunt, and tied them securely. He walked back around and faced Ronon, making a show of adjusting the bandage. “Don’t do anything without my order,” he whispered and looked up, meeting Ronon’s gaze.
Ronon stared at him a moment, before giving him a slight nod.
-----------------------------------------------------
Elizabeth returned her attention to John. His eyelids fluttered and then opened, revealing a glassy look. The drugs were still in full effect and she seriously doubted he was more than barely conscious.
John’s lips parted and he drew in a quiet breath. “Ronon... hurt…”
Elizabeth’s gut clenched and she drew in a shaking breath of her own. “Where? Where are they, John?” His glazed look passed over her and she wondered for a moment if he even saw her at all.
“Captured… help….”
“We’ll help them John,” Elizabeth immediately answered. She doubted his cognitive state but still ran with the long shot that he could shed some light on the mystery of his missing team. She tightened her grip on his hand. “But you have to tell us where they are. Do you understand me? Where are they?”
Confusion mixed with fear on John’s face and she felt his fingers tighten around hers in response.
---------------------------------
The interrogator took a step back and straightened. “You are resilient, Colonel.” He walked over to the table and grabbed another syringe of drugs.
John tensed, pulling uselessly against the ropes. “Son of a bitch!” he managed as the interrogator jabbed the needle into his arm and injected another dose of drugs. He pulled it free and stepped back.
“That should take the fight out of you, Colonel.”
The buzzing in his head turned to a dull roar, insistent and loud enough he almost didn’t hear the soft question that floated into his ears.
“What is your code, Colonel?”
The interrogator’s voice was quiet, almost gentle, and John smiled. “Whhat codde?” he slurred.
“Your gate code, Colonel. What is it?” The interrogator insisted his voice still calm.
John’s eyes snapped open, the words hitting him like a bucket of ice water. Gate code! Atlantis! Attack! “Nooo waaay…” he managed, trying to pull his scattered thoughts together. Where was he again? Who…
From deep inside, his training, ingrained almost to an instinctual level, kicked in. He was a prisoner, being interrogated, and tortured with drugs, and suddenly it all clicked into place.
Survive. Evade. Resist. Escape.
Resist!
John lunged against his bonds and threw his head forward, impacting the interrogator’s forehead and sending him staggering.
Part 2
Word Count: ~21,200
Genre: Gen/HC/Whump
Characters: John Sheppard, Team, Elizabeth Weir, Major Lorne, Radek Zelenka, Carson Beckett, OCs
Warnings: Violence, some language
Summary: When Sheppard’s team disappears on a routine off-world mission, Atlantis is left with few leads to find them, except an injured Sheppard who may… or may not be able to help them in time. Written for tepring for the sheppard_hc Secret Santa Fic Exchange.
A nonfat vanilla latte with extra foam was Elizabeth Weir’s favorite drink and sometimes the only way she got through long afternoons. But the one rapidly cooling in her hand today, held no enjoyment. She’d heard the seriousness in Lorne’s tone as the jumper had slowly ascended into the bay and knew that not only had the rescue party not found Colonel Sheppard’s team, but no sign of them either.
Elizabeth turned away from her window to the Gate Room and slowly sat down behind her desk, setting her half-drank latte aside. She leaned forward, folding her hands on her desk as she sighed deeply. Sheppard’s team was six hours overdue. The mission had been a standard recon, with the MALP showing no signs of trouble. What could’ve happened?
She looked up as Lorne appeared in her doorway, seemingly from nowhere, still dressed for off-world, his P-90 hanging from his TAC vest. Her smile was grim and she waved him into her office.
“Nothing, Major?” she asked, knowing from his sober expression what his answer would be.
Lorne unclipped his P-90 and set it on the floor next to him as he sat down in a chair. “No, ma’am. We even did an orbital sweep of the planet for any subcutaneous transmitter signals. Nothing.” Lorne met her intense gaze. “They’re not on M9H-060 anymore.”
Elizabeth dropped her head for a moment, concern knotting her gut. She looked back up at her military second-in-command. “DHD?”
Lorne nodded. “I had Zelenka mine the addresses dialed from that DHD. One of them has to be where the Colonel’s team went, but,” he sighed, “there are over fifty of them.”
Edgy, Elizabeth quickly stood up and paced behind her chair. Over fifty planets. Even with every gate team on Atlantis turned out to search, it’d take time. Time she wasn’t sure Sheppard’s team had. And what if they’d gated to another planet from one of the addresses mined? Elizabeth abruptly stopped and planted her hands on her hips. She looked at Lorne. “Colonel Sheppard would not gate to another planet without a damn good reason, and he wouldn’t do it without contacting us first.” Her gaze narrowed. “Not willingly.”
Lorne nodded, a harsh almost dangerous edge tingeing his expression. “No, ma’am, he wouldn’t.”
Her lips tightened as anger wormed its way into her gut. For a passing moment, she pondered the changes to her perspective the Pegasus Galaxy and Atlantis had brought on. She still held strong to her diplomatic roots, but the harsh realities she’d faced here forced her to recognize the need, sometimes, for military might. Her people were her responsibility and she’d get them back: diplomatically and peacefully if possible, or with force if necessary.
She planted her hands on her desk and gave him a very direct look. “How do we find them?”
Lorne leaned back in his chair. “We start a systematic search of each planet on the list from M9H-060’s DHD. With subcutaneous transmitters, we should be able to detect if anyone from the colonel’s team are anywhere on those planets. We also get word out to our off-world contacts in case they hear something in the grapevine.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I want every available off-world team on this, Major. If it is a hostile force that has taken Colonel Sheppard’s team, and we have to assume it is, then time is critical.” She knew she wasn’t telling Lorne anything he didn’t already know, but it felt better for her to say it.
Lorne promptly stood. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll get right on it.” He reached down and grabbed his P-90.
Her gaze as hard as her resolve, Elizabeth nodded in response. She watched as Lorne turned and hastily left her office. She looked down at her desk for a moment, only to be interrupted by a familiar vibration passing through the floor. She turned towards the gate in time to see the first chevron light up.
“Unscheduled off-world activation!” Chuck’s voice carried over her radio and echoed from Ops through her opened office door.
Elizabeth rounded her desk and trotted across the short bridge from her office into Ops. Lorne who apparently had just reached the back stairs, wove his way back through personnel to join her. Elizabeth stopped briefly by Chuck’s station. “Raise the shield.” She turned and walked out onto the landing, watching as the shield jumped to life and the wormhole flushed behind it. She exchanged concerned looks with Lorne before looking back at Chuck. “Do we have an IDC?”
Chuck glanced at a nearby laptop before smiling. “Yes, ma’am. Now receiving Colonel Sheppard’s IDC.”
Elizabeth smiled as well. “Lower the shield.” She glanced at Lorne before briskly heading for the stairs, the major right behind her. She tapped her headset. “John? It’s Elizabeth. The shield is down, come through.” At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped, watching impatiently as the wormhole shimmered silently. A note of warning whispered to her and she furrowed her brows. Again, she tapped her headset. “Colonel Sheppard, this is Atlantis. Please respond.” She looked at Lorne as relief melted away from his expression and was replaced with wary tension.
Lorne slowly raised his P-90. “Please stay here, ma’am,” he started walking towards the gate, as the SOs around him followed his lead and six more guns focused on the still quiet wormhole.
Elizabeth was rooted in place, her gaze focused on the Stargate, so when the wormhole suddenly shimmered around an emerging traveler, she flinched reflexively.
The body rolled through the gate at an alarming rate, momentum carrying it another few feet before the traveler came to rest on his side. He was still for a moment, before weakly pushing up on his left arm. He cried out, his arm buckling under his own weight but he refused to stay down and struggled into a kneeling position, a large, curved knife covered in blood clutched in his shaking, right hand.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in recognition. “John?” She took two steps towards him but halted as he fixed her with a wild-eyed gaze. His TAC vest and any Atlantis issue weapons were gone and his clothes were torn in several places.
“Colonel!” Lorne started towards John, only to stutter step and stop as John twisted towards him, brandishing the knife threateningly. “Sir?”
“Get… away from… me...!” John’s voice was hoarse and strangled, and he was clearly fighting to stay conscious.
Lorne’s gaze never left John as he waved back the other SOs. He lowered his gun and set it on the floor. “Easy, Colonel. It’s Lorne, sir. You’re safe.”
Elizabeth slowly walked a little closer, still staying a fair distance away from her military commander. She studied his expression. He seemed confused even desperate, but there was a hard edge to his gaze leaving no doubt in her mind that even in his weakened state, he was very dangerous. The blood covering his knife and staining his hands only confirmed it for her.
“John?” she ventured quietly. “It’s Elizabeth. You’re safe.”
His gaze turned to her, the wild expression tinged with confusion for a moment, before he wobbled, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Lorne!” Elizabeth rushed towards John as he collapsed. “Medical team to the Gate Room!” she shouted, not bothering with her radio.
Lorne’s reaction was instantaneous and he jumped forward, coming down hard on his knees and sliding across the smooth floor, just barely catching John, cushioning his head and keeping it from hitting the hard surface. Immediately, Lorne reached out and knocked the knife from his commander’s limp grip, letting it slide across the floor where it came to rest in front of one of the SOs. He briefly looked back at the guard. “Don’t touch it, not without gloves. Beckett will want it for forensics.”
Elizabeth dropped to one knee and stared down at John. His face was bruised, bloodied and swollen in places and distinct rope burns circled both of his wrists. But none of that worried her half as much as the rapid flow of blood coming from his left shoulder. There were splatters of blood on his face, distinct from his own wounds, and in a dark moment, Elizabeth realized that not all the blood on the injured colonel belonged to him.
Still holding John’s head in his lap, Lorne pressed his fingers into his throat and nodded. “He’s alive.”
Elizabeth rested her hand on John’s stomach, looked up at Lorne, and nodded as she felt the slow rise and fall of life. “He’s breathing.”
Lorne reached up, ripping a bandage from one of his TAC vest pockets. “He’s been shot.” He pressed the bandage into John’s shoulder. The colonel’s head moved slightly, his moan barely more than a whisper.
Elizabeth gently put a hand on John’s cheek and almost recoiled from the heat radiating from his body. “High fever,” she muttered, not looking away from him. “John? It’s Elizabeth. Can you hear me?”
John moaned quietly again, before going still under her hand. Elizabeth looked up as Beckett and his team swiftly entered the room, a gurney between them.
“Out of the way, boys,” Beckett ordered, winding his way between SOs who stepped aside. He knelt on the opposite side of Elizabeth, his gaze quickly passing over the colonel. “How long has he been unconscious?”
Elizabeth pulled her gaze from Carson and fixed it back on John. “He was conscious when he came through the gate.” She looked up at Beckett. “Carson, he was brandishing a knife at all of us.”
Beckett pressed his fingers into John’s neck. “Did he recognize you?”
“Not at first, no,” Elizabeth shook her head. “Before he lost consciousness,” she shrugged, “possibly. He collapsed right after that. Maybe a minute or so after he came through?”
“He did move and respond pretty weakly when I put pressure on his shoulder, doc,” Lorne added.
“Feeble response to pain,” Carson muttered as his hands passed over John’s limbs. He grabbed his stethoscope. “Fever, too.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and stood. She walked over behind Lorne and reached down, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Major,” she said quietly.
Lorne looked up at her and the surrounding medical team. He nodded and edged out from under his commander’s head, which he gently eased to the floor, before he stood and backed out of the way.
Elizabeth tried to process her emotions and all the thoughts racing through her head as she silently watched Beckett’s team attend to John. With an IV started and a stark white pressure bandage on the colonel’s shoulder, the medical team lifted him onto the gurney before briskly exiting the Gate Room.
As the medical team and their patient disappeared from sight, Elizabeth looked over at Lorne, his expression equally as grim. “What the hell is going on here, Major?” she asked, knowing full well he was as clueless as her.
Lorne shook his head as he looked back towards the empty hallway where the medical team had been only a moment before. “I don’t know, ma’am,” he answered quietly, “but I’ll be damned if I don’t find out.”
Elizabeth looked past him to the dark, inactive Stargate as one question drowned out all the others in her head. Where was the rest of Sheppard’s team? After a long moment, Elizabeth briskly crossed the Gate Room and headed for the infirmary, Lorne right behind her.
-------------------------------------------
Carson worked swiftly, his hands quick, as he cut away the remains of John’s shirt. “Get the colonel on O2 and I want blood drawn for a complete workup, including toxicology.” his orders to his staff were almost automatic, and Carson held strong to his professionalism, trying to ignore who his patient was. A patient was a patient and his job was to care for them, but he knew he wouldn’t be human if some patients didn’t mean more to him personally than others. Colonel Sheppard was a close friend and had saved his life more than once. Holding strong to medical professionalism was the best way Carson could think of to concentrate on the task in front of him and not who was lying motionless on the gurney.
Carson looked up at one of the medics on his staff. “Carolyn, let’s get the scanner in place. I want a full body check. And page Doctor Pearson. I want his opinion on that shoulder. The good news, if you can call it that, is there’s a clean exit wound, but I still want an orthopedic evaluation and surgical assessment.”
Carolyn nodded, her smile thin as she turned away.
“Doctor?” Carson’s head nurse, Marie, captured his attention. “BP is 100/70.”
Carson nodded. “That’s better. IV’s helping his blood volume.” He stepped back as Carolyn and two technicians moved the Ancient scanner into place. Before long, a solid green light passed slowly up the colonel’s body.
Carson quickly walked over to the large scanner display and scrutinized the results. The gunshot wound data was unsurprising, though he was relieved to see the wound was clean; no major structures were damaged, which in itself was a miracle. John was battered and bruised in several areas across his body in patterns that indicated some rough handling, even fighting, but he had no other major injuries. Carson looked back to the gurney as the scanner completed its cycle and the technicians pushed it back from John’s bed.
------------------------------
The knife felt good in his hand and he tightened his fingers around the hilt. He paid very little attention to the body he stepped over. His gaze fixed on the dark doorway. A quiet voice urged caution but he couldn’t heed it. He couldn’t be caught again!
Evade.
Evade where possible and kill where necessary.
His hand clutched around the small, hard object in his pocket. He’d found it on the last man he’d killed. He needed it to survive. Didn’t know why….
105-69BC38… 105-69BC38…
John’s breathing was rapid as he trotted down the dark hallway.
----------------------------------------
“Carson?” Carolyn squinted at John’s form before looking up at one of the monitors over his head. “I think he’s coming to.”
----------------------------------
John’s head swam as the twin images of the man in front of him, turned to four. His head lolled, striking the tall back of the wooden chair hard, but the pain was muted, barely registering with him. He was tired and… why was he fighting? Who was he fighting? What was the point? Fighting was hard. His eyes slid shut.
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Carson looked down at John’s face in time to see his eyes open and lazily move around the room. He started towards the bed watching as John’s gaze cleared, his eyes widening and fixing on the IV attached to his arm. Before Carson could even react, John shot straight up in his bed, his backhanded fist striking across Carolyn’s face, sending her reeling into a cart of equipment nearby. Both the medic and the cart went down in a loud crash, instruments and supplies scattering across the floor.
“Security to the infirmary!” Carson shouted into his radio as he ran towards John, the world around him dissolving into chaos as personnel scrambled to block exits and protect other patients.
John grunted against the pain of his gunshot wound as he reached down with his left hand, savagely ripping the IV from his right arm. “…Drugs!” His shout was hoarse and weak, but still carried a note of anger. He fumbled with covers, his legs swinging off the bed, but in his weakened state, he was in no shape to stand. As soon as his feet hit the floor, his knees buckled and he fell heavily, crashing down on his left shoulder with a broken cry.
“Colonel!” Carson dashed around the end of the bed, two of his male technicians right behind him. “Bloody hell!” he ducked as John threw a stainless steel pan at his head before kicking savagely at him, barely missing Carson’s leg. Cornered, the colonel fought like a caged animal, and had the wild expression to match. Whatever was going through his clearly altered mind, he believed his life was at stake, and he fought with a brutal determination to match.
Behind him, Carson heard the main infirmary door open and the shuffle of feet that heralded the arrival of the SOs. “Colonel…”
“…come near me…” John hissed through clenched teeth. “…kill you!” Blood oozed from the mangled IV wound and the white bandage over his shoulder was rapidly turning red. With a burst of strength, Carson wouldn’t have expected, John lunged at him, plowing into his legs and taking Carson and the two technicians down in a tangled heap.
Carson hit the ground hard and struggled under the weight pressing him to the floor. Twisting onto his back, he came face to face with John. Carson froze, fear chilling him as he stared at the cold and deadly expression on John’s face, only inches from his. Carson’s hand shot up, grabbing John’s wrist as the colonel’s fist descended towards him. Under normal circumstances, Carson would never put his strength up against the colonel’s, but in his weakened state, John was no match. John grunted and pushed hard and Carson’s eyes narrowed as he felt the twitches of muscle spasms under his hand and the shuddering through John’s body. Even through his fear, Carson mentally cataloged the symptoms; another piece added to the puzzle of what was ailing Sheppard.
From behind, two SOs appeared grabbing John under his arms and hauling him backwards off of Carson. John shouted in rage, twisting against their grip, but they held fast. Not that it was easy. For a moment, Carson was amazed at John’s strength, in spite of his condition, fueled by a singular tenacity and a stubborn refusal to surrender. “Watch the shoulder!” Carson scrambled to his feet.
“Doc! Give him something!” One of the SOs twisted his arm away as John tried to bite him, before kicking backwards at him.
“I can’t! Not without knowing what’s in his system! Anything I give him could kill him! Colonel! John!” Carson pled, but his words fell on deaf ears.
“NO!” John shouted, his fight fueled purely by adrenaline. “RUN!”
Carson pointed at the gurney. “Get him on the bed!” He turned to the nearest medic. “Soft restrains, now! And someone get down to the lab! Light a fire under their arses and get me those toxicology results, stat!”
The two technicians Carson had landed on seemed no worse for wear and darted around him, grabbing John’s legs as the SOs heaved him onto the bed.
John’s back arched as he fought against their hold, his incoherent shout of defiance echoing across the infirmary, but the fight was over quickly as his injuries finally overcame adrenaline, and he collapsed into unconsciousness.
Wasting no time, Carson quickly secured John’s legs, and then his arms, freeing the SOs, who stepped back. They both planted their hands on their knees and took several rapid breaths.
“Christ,” one of them muttered.
Carson quickly placed an oxygen mask over John’s mouth and nose. “Aye,” he agreed. He looked over his shoulder, spotting Marie who helped Carolyn slowly sit up. She held a hand to her rapidly discoloring cheek and made eye contact with Carson, nodding slightly, her affirmation that she was okay contrasting with the tears in her eyes. “Get checked out,” Carson said gently before he looked back at John. Carson cut away the blood soaked bandage, cursing quietly. His gaze briefly passed over the two nurses assisting him. “Get that IV re-established. One liter Ringers, wide open.”
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“Find the bastard!”
John peeked around the stone wall’s edge at the enemy. He’d already killed two. He’d kill more if he had to.
He slid back into the darkness as one of the enemy walked by him and down another corridor. When he was sure the other had left, John silently followed the first one.
Divide and conquer.
Kill them one at a time.
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“What the hell?” The unmistakable voice of Elizabeth Weir pierced Carson’s concentration. He looked back at her. “Elizabeth,” he answered, trying to keep his voice even.
“We heard the call for the SOs,” Elizabeth swiftly walked over to him.
Carson finished re-bandaging John’s shoulder and looked up at her watching as Elizabeth’s eyes passed over the soft restraints tying the colonel’s wrists to the gurney. She turned a questioning look on him.
Carson sighed. “He woke up and turned violent.”
Elizabeth’s gaze left his face and scanned over the disheveled mess around her and the haggard appearance of the two SOs Lorne was talking to. “Everyone okay?”
Carson stepped back from John’s bed but his gaze remained fixed on the colonel’s pale and sweaty face. “Nothing serious, I think. Carolyn got the worst of it, poor lass, but mostly bumps and bruises. Could’ve been worse.”
Elizabeth sighed and turned a grim expression on Carson. “So, it’s safe to assume he doesn’t recognize where he is or who we are?”
Carson nodded. “Aye. I’m having blood tests performed right now to see what the hell is in his system that’s making him this way. Until then, I can’t risk giving him anything, even anesthesia for surgery on that shoulder. And until I know what he’s been pumped full of, I can’t give him anything to counteract it, if that’s even possible. It might be something he has to work out of his system on his own. I don’t know right now.”
Elizabeth’s lips tightened into a grimace. “How long before he’s out of this?”
“No idea,” Carson sighed in frustration. “It depends on the drug. Hopefully, I’ll have a better picture before too long.”
-----------------------
He rounded the next corner and staggered, his heart jumping to his throat and his eyes fixing on the gun aimed at him.
“Got you.” The man fired.
White hot agony tore through John’s shoulder and ripped a hoarse cry from him as he lurched backwards and fell. He struggled to stand. He had to fight! Had to survive!
He looked up in time to see the man advance, stopping close to him, gun aimed at his head.
Too close… dumb son of a bitch. John’s lips curled back in a sneer as he lashed out, the hard sole of his combat boot crushing the man’s knee.
His enemy crumpled with a pained cry of his own. John leapt onto him, grappling for the gun. His wound weakened him and the gunshot would bring others. He had to get away!
He went for the gun, knowing his opponent would expect it. With his other hand, John drove the knife home, feeling the tip glance off a rib and pop through the intercostal space just below it.
John felt no remorse as life faded from his opponent’s wide eyes.
Hot blood poured over John’s hand, but he pulled the knife free. Trembling, his body humming, his mind racing, he looked down at his shoulder but paid it little heed. He couldn’t. He had to escape. He had to…
Survive.
He tucked the knife into the top of his boot and grabbed the gun. His head snapped around at the sound of voices echoing in the hallway behind him.
Others.
His left arm mashed against his ribcage, he ran down the corridor towards freedom.
Escape.
------------------------
Carson hovered near his patient.
He knew the medical term was ‘monitoring,’ but Carson believed in calling a spade a spade and what he was doing was hovering. He watched John’s muscles twitch, even in unconsciousness and a laundry list of drugs that could alleviate the problem ran through his head but he knew better than to try a single one until he knew what he was dealing with. Alongside that list another long list of possible causes for the muscle twitching ran through his head. Carson sighed. What he needed was answers, not more questions. Blessedly, the colonel hadn’t regained consciousness, yet, so the twitching was just that, twitching. Not fighting.
He looked up, meeting Elizabeth’s gaze and nodded slightly. Lorne had left a few minutes before to start the effort to find the rest of John’s team, after Carson had assured him that it would be a while before John would be of any use. Given John’s condition, it was rational to assume the rest of his team was in deep trouble. Time counted when it came to finding them.
“Carson?”
Carson turned quickly, his gaze fixing on Carolyn who held a tablet computer out at him. Her cheek was swollen and turning interesting shades of purple, but her eyes were bright and clear.
Carson walked over to her and took the tablet, his gaze never leaving hers. “How are ye, lass?”
Carolyn smiled, and then winced as it pulled on her tender cheek. “Just bruised. The colonel… he hits pretty hard.” A shadow crossed her face and dimmed her light expression.
Carson sighed. “He didn’t know what he was doing, Carolyn.”
A thin smile returned to Carolyn’s face. “I know,” she nodded and walked away.
Carson watched her for a moment, before looking down at the toxicology report, his mind clicking together more pieces to the puzzle of John’s condition as he read through the details. His jaw dropped as things suddenly became clear. Granted, the lab wasn’t familiar with the Pegasus version of the drugs in the colonel’s system, but the pharmacological similarities allowed him to pull together a very educated hypothesis, and their findings fell into place with the rest of John’s symptoms. Carson inhaled sharply, the completed puzzle painting a picture his gut knew was right.
------------------------------
John heard the curse a second before a fist impacted his face, snapping his head into the back of the chair hard.
Stunned, John’s eyelids fell shut as he slumped to the side. Everything was working against him. He couldn’t bring his scattered mind together, so he floated, not unconscious but not conscious either.
The pain in his jaw faded, muted by the increased buzz in his head and tingling that almost vibrated through his skin. Words… phrases… disconnected, echoed in his ears. Disjointed and scattered, coming from a hard voice.
“…do this… direct way.”
“Take him back… wears off… methods… information….”
Somewhere in the in-between world he floated in, John’s training still rang true.
Information… torture.
They’ll break you, John. They… who is they?
Doesn’t matter! Vital information! Can’t tell them… what?
Harsh words drilled into his head flashed through his mind. Pieces, fragments, but all with the same meaning.
Eventually, all men die or are broken.
Or both.
Can’t be broken! Can’t let them break me!
He cracked his eyes open, forcing himself to concentrate over the buzz coursing through him. There were too many guards here, but if only a few took him away, he could escape. Get to the surface. Get to…. Where? He dismissed the confusion. Get away!
He was alone. Just him to face… them.
He’d have no one but himself to rely on, but he was used to that. He’d get away, win free, not give them a victory, not give them… whatever! He wouldn’t give it to them.
Escape.
He felt the bonds securing his hands loosen then fall completely away as they were removed right before he was lifted from the chair. He forced himself to remain limp… unsuspecting, unthreatening, just waiting for them to drop their guard.
Two men dragged him out of the room and down a long hallway.
Wait for it… wait… now!
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Carson looked up from the tablet as John rapidly awoke, his body straining against his bonds.
“No!” John shouted his body bowing off the gurney. His eyes flew open and fixed on one of the SOs close by. “Bastards!” He dropped his head and flexed his arms against the restraints, but they held fast, ripping a frustrated shout from him.
“Damn it!” Carson dropped the tablet on a nearby table. “Marie!” He pointed at one of the nurses, “six milligrams Diazepam IV, stat!”
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John pulled his rubber legs under himself and jerked his hands free from the men. He leveled one with a right hook and grabbed the knife in the man’s belt sheath as he fell. Turning, he slashed out, the blade taking the other man in the throat.
John didn’t even wince as hot blood splattered across his face.
He watched the man fall.
He turned back and laid the same treatment on the unconscious man. For a moment, it rankled him to kill someone who wasn’t an immediate threat.
He’s the enemy! He’ll hunt you!
John’s training, along with a lifetime of life or death fights, clicked in, taking control of his mindset.
Kill or be killed.
His head swam and he shook it, trying to clear his thoughts. The adrenaline of his escape helped. Quickly, he bent to search the first body for weapons, the motion the only thing that saved him as a bullet buried in the wall right where his head had been. Cursing, John clutched the knife close and raced down the hallway.
Escape.
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“Carson?” Elizabeth crossed the infirmary towards him but stopped when he waved her off.
“Not now.” He grabbed the syringe from his nurse ran to John’s bed, quickly injecting the medication into the colonel’s IV.
“NO!” John’s crazed eyes fixed on him and he redoubled his fight against the restraints. But his increased heart rate only helped the sedative into his system faster. Before long his body relaxed and his eyes glazed over before closing completely.
Carson capped the syringe and dropped it on a nearby medical table before he grabbed the nearest restraint, quickly undoing it.
“Doc?” One of the SOs questioned him, “what are you doing?”
“Get them off,” Carson ordered sharply and Marie immediately set to work on the restraints closest to her.
“Carson?” Elizabeth walked up to him, her expression resolute. “What is going on?”
Carson undid the restraint from John’s ankle and turned to face Elizabeth. “Some bloody fool who had no idea what he was doing drugged the hell out of the colonel.”
“Okay,” Elizabeth nodded, “we guessed as much.”
“I don’t know what the hell they gave him, the toxicologist can only guess at the Pegasus versions, but whatever they dosed him with, wreaked havoc on his system. He’s in acute serotonin overdose.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Carson?”
Carson’s sigh matched hers. “Serotonin Syndrome occurs usually as the result of mixing two or more drugs, or a high dose of one drug, that overloads the patient’s system with serotonin. His symptoms are classic. I should’ve seen it.” He stepped back, scrutinizing John for a moment before his eyes settled on the monitors over the colonel’s head, their readings only confirming his diagnosis. “Muscle tremors, tachycardia, fever.” He muttered. “Combine that with delusions and hypervigilance… the only thing missing is hypertension, but the blood loss from his gunshot wound has to be affecting that.” He nodded to himself and looked at Elizabeth. “Definitely serotonin overdose.
Elizabeth stared evenly at him. “So now we know. How do we treat it?”
Carson took a deep breath as he thought hard. “Well, first thing is to eliminate the medication that’s causing it. That’s done. We’ll keep him on fast moving IV’s and try to flush his system. The Diazepam will keep him sedated and calm and keep the muscle tremors under control. That hopefully will prevent muscle breakdown which could have a systemic effect, not the least of which is renal failure as his kidneys try to deal with the byproducts. I just hope we’re not too late on that front.”
“Carson, you’re doing the best you can,” Elizabeth interrupted him.
Carson looked over at her thin smile and offered one of his own. “We’ll give him Periactin to block serotonin production for now as well.” He sighed. “That’s the best we can do. The colonel is going to have to work through the rest on his own.”
Elizabeth walked closer to John’s bed and stared down at him. “How long?”
“Roughly twenty-four hours for it to pass completely,” Carson answered. “He might be able to tell us something before then, but I can’t guarantee it.”
Elizabeth’s gaze never left John. “Do what you can.”
------------------------
“Sheppard….” Ronon’s voice held a warning tone.
“Hold on,” John immediately answered, “we don’t know anything for sure yet.”
“They’re armed,” Ronon answered.
“As are we,” Teyla countered. “And yet we are not hostile by default.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ronon muttered.
John rolled his eyes ever so slightly. “Stand by,” he ordered. He let go of his P-90 with is right hand and raised it slowly. “Hi!” He shouted out, in his best imitation of a friendly gesture. He lowered his hand and stood quietly, trying to find the balance between not looking threatening, and still being alert and ready for anything.
The group stopped, all of them looking to one man who stood in the forefront. He was tall and thin, but held a Genii style gun confidently in his hands. He looked to the man on his left and nodded, before repeating the gesture to the man on his right. As one, the group slowly fanned out, not moving closer but still starting to form a semi-circle around the team.
“Sheppard.” Ronon’s voice was more insistent this time.
John nodded. “Yeah.” His instincts synched with Ronon’s and a sense of foreboding swept through him. He glanced both ways as his team formed their own semi-circle. On his left, McKay slipped his LSD into his vest and drew his sidearm, though he kept it lowered. Teyla edged up next to Rodney and Ronon planted himself on John’s right.
“Stay alert, but stand by,” John ordered quietly. “We might still be able to get out of this, so don’t make the first move. We’re outgunned and in the open. I don’t want to escalate this unless we have no choice.”
“Who the hell are these guys?” McKay’s whisper was emphatic.
“Doesn’t really matter at the moment, does it Rodney?” John glanced at him. He looked back at the apparent leader of the group who stopped his men about twenty feet away. “Look,” he called out, trying reason, “we’re peaceful travelers. If you want us to leave, we’ll go. This doesn’t have to get… serious.”
The leader stared coldly at him over a hooked nose and remained silent. After a moment, he looked up and down the line of his men. He seemed satisfied for a moment, before he looked left, curtly nodding at one of his men.
John felt like he was watching the events in slow motion. Before he could react, the second man swiftly raised his gun. “DOWN!” John roared as a gunshot echoed around them. He hit the dirt, his blood turning cold at a strangled grunt just to his right. John looked over, his eyes widening at Ronon, clutching his shoulder. “Ronon!” He lifted his gun. “Return fire!” He got off a few shots, before blue energy beams hit the ground next to him.
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Elizabeth shifted, trying to alleviate the numbness in her rear from the hard and uncompromising plastic chair, close to John’s bed, that she refused to surrender. Lorne had reported in to her an hour ago, informing her that the world-by-world search of each address mined from M9H-060’s DHD had started. So far, nothing, and no word from their off-world contacts yet either.
She sighed, trying not to give in to frustration. It took time for intelligence to develop, she knew that. But she also knew that the rest of Colonel Sheppard’s team probably didn’t have that luxury. They had to be found fast, and while she knew everyone was doing their best, a niggling fear within her said it wouldn’t be enough.
Her gaze snapped to John as he moaned quietly, his head moving weakly back and forth. “John?” She stood and bent over his bed, her hand finding his. “John?” she repeated. “Can you hear me?”
-----------------------------
The man arched an eyebrow. “While I would relish the challenge of trying to beat answers out of you, Colonel, I do not have the time for it.” He turned and walked over to a nearby wood table.
John’s eyes widened as the man slowly picked up a syringe filled with pale yellow fluid. Physical abuse he could take, even resist, but when his own body rebelled against him from drugs, that was another matter.
John held tight to his defiant air. “What’s in the syringe, Doctor Frankenstein?”
His captor walked over to him. “Something to make you more… agreeable.” Without any ceremony, he jabbed the needle into John’s bicep and injected the contents.
John’s face muscles twitched against the burn in his arm. “What? No alcohol swabs? Not very sterile.”
His captor’s chuckle was more of a grunt than anything. “Keep resisting Colonel Sheppard. At least, keep trying. Before long your agreement will be… guaranteed.”
John’s head began to buzz but he fought it, trying to keep a clear mind. “Oh, I don’t know,” he answered gamely, “I’ve always been a pain in the ass to authority.”
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“Ma’am.” One of the SOs stepped closer, his voice holding a warning tone.
Elizabeth looked up at him. She knew he was edgy with her being so close to John, after what had happened the last time he was conscious, but she shook her head. “I’ll take my chances, Sergeant,” she said, firmly.
The SO looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end, he just nodded, though he did move closer to the bed.
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John stood, keenly aware of the gun digging into his back. “Wait.” He nodded his head at Ronon. “Let me at least bandage his wound.”
The leader stood, unmoving, staring at John neutrally.
John took a step forward, ignoring the other weapons that turned towards him. “If you want any chance of me cooperating with your demands, you let me take care of my team. That’s the deal.”
“Will you guarantee that you will make no trouble if I allow this?” The leader asked, his gaze contemplative.
John’s chortle held no humor. “I guarantee you I will make trouble if you don’t let me help him.”
The leader stared at him for one more moment before nodding. “Very well.” He looked at one of his men, holding a TAC vest. “Give him a bandage.”
John shifted his glare from the leader to the designated man who held out a bandage to him. He ripped it from the man’s hand and turned to Ronon. His expression softened slightly as he looked at the bleeding wound. “Bleeding pretty bad, Big Guy.” He shook the bandage open.
“It’s not bad,” Ronon answered stoically.
“Bullshit,” John immediately replied. He tore Ronon’s shirt, pulling the tattered ends away from the wound. He pressed the bandage against the wound, passing one bandage strip under Ronon’s arm and the other over his shoulder. Stepping behind his friend, John pulled them tight, ignoring Ronon’s tense grunt, and tied them securely. He walked back around and faced Ronon, making a show of adjusting the bandage. “Don’t do anything without my order,” he whispered and looked up, meeting Ronon’s gaze.
Ronon stared at him a moment, before giving him a slight nod.
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Elizabeth returned her attention to John. His eyelids fluttered and then opened, revealing a glassy look. The drugs were still in full effect and she seriously doubted he was more than barely conscious.
John’s lips parted and he drew in a quiet breath. “Ronon... hurt…”
Elizabeth’s gut clenched and she drew in a shaking breath of her own. “Where? Where are they, John?” His glazed look passed over her and she wondered for a moment if he even saw her at all.
“Captured… help….”
“We’ll help them John,” Elizabeth immediately answered. She doubted his cognitive state but still ran with the long shot that he could shed some light on the mystery of his missing team. She tightened her grip on his hand. “But you have to tell us where they are. Do you understand me? Where are they?”
Confusion mixed with fear on John’s face and she felt his fingers tighten around hers in response.
---------------------------------
The interrogator took a step back and straightened. “You are resilient, Colonel.” He walked over to the table and grabbed another syringe of drugs.
John tensed, pulling uselessly against the ropes. “Son of a bitch!” he managed as the interrogator jabbed the needle into his arm and injected another dose of drugs. He pulled it free and stepped back.
“That should take the fight out of you, Colonel.”
The buzzing in his head turned to a dull roar, insistent and loud enough he almost didn’t hear the soft question that floated into his ears.
“What is your code, Colonel?”
The interrogator’s voice was quiet, almost gentle, and John smiled. “Whhat codde?” he slurred.
“Your gate code, Colonel. What is it?” The interrogator insisted his voice still calm.
John’s eyes snapped open, the words hitting him like a bucket of ice water. Gate code! Atlantis! Attack! “Nooo waaay…” he managed, trying to pull his scattered thoughts together. Where was he again? Who…
From deep inside, his training, ingrained almost to an instinctual level, kicked in. He was a prisoner, being interrogated, and tortured with drugs, and suddenly it all clicked into place.
Survive. Evade. Resist. Escape.
Resist!
John lunged against his bonds and threw his head forward, impacting the interrogator’s forehead and sending him staggering.
Part 2