Games Without Frontiers 1/2
Hi! I'm posting this fic for roo1965 because she's traveling for the holiday. I hope you all have a very happy chocolate-filled Easter!
Title: Games Without Frontiers
Category: SGA H/C Challenges Easter-fic 2010
Author: Roo1965
Story for: Kriadydragon
Season : 3, after Common Ground but before Phantoms & The Return.
Summary : Sheppard’s lost and then found, but not happy to be back in Atlantis- why is that? Just because he’s paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get him. Or does it? There’s also ShepLantis elements. Shep whump, h/c as standard. John and other POV’s. Gen
Word count: ~10,700
Prompt: at the end, so as not to spoil you. But there’s some Shep physical/emotional Whump, mentions of torture/captivity and weight loss. Nothing too squicky.
A/N: Umm, I think I got most of that covered ;-). Thanks for the awesome prompt and giving me the chance to use the starting snippet of a story that sat unloved on my pooter for 2 years! This fic ate my brain…
Word wrangling and Keeper of all things common sense: CoolBreeze1
pt1: 5,771
pt 2: 5,026
total: 10,787
GAMES WITHOUT FRONTIERS PART ONE
He is running hard, the cold air searing the back of his dry throat like a sharp knife. Like a snap movie edit he is here. It is dark, night and there are trees-lots of them, bare trunked and sentinel like, they loom with scratchy branches and twigs as he pushes past. And his mind screams Run- hide- it's not safe- go!
A foot catches on a root and he goes down hard, rattling every bone in his body. His mind is still screaming but there is no before there is only now. He glances round and automatically catalogues terrain, climate and threat potential. It's freezing, the slick sweat cooling fast on his body and he begins to shiver. He looks down at himself, dark t- shirt and pants. No shoes? But he can't feel his feet so pushes away the thought that they might be injured. His head and face throb and bringing his hands up to explore, he finds lumps and bumps and what feels suspiciously like crusted blood.
He winces in pain as he touches one nasty lump on the side of his head, and as images flood his brain, his heart thuds in his chest.
You lie - pain - they left you behind. Tell us what we want to know! We can make you tell us! You’re all alone; no-one is coming for you…you can run but you can’t hide….
He rolls over on the cold ground and scrabbles to his frozen feet. His breath puffs in great clouds in the cold moonlight air.
"Don't shuffle. Pick up your feet! Don't scuff along boy!"
Dad’s here?
The voice commands him to run.
Where the hell is he and which way should he go? Which way is safe? He staggers off anyway desperate to keep moving and quieten the noise in his head. Not safe- run -hide- go- don't go home- hide. We will always find you! He hears distant voices and the deep bark of a large dog.
He is running again, then suddenly he is in a clearing and there's a squat device in front of a large stone ring.
In his mind’s eye he sees it lit up and there’s a blue puddle in the middle, but it does not scare him. It’s home and warmth and family and a familiar hum tugging the back
of his brain. It calls and he steps towards it. Wanting it so much it hurts.
The voices in his head clamour and he remembers fists, shouting and needles and not telling, the hum and tingle and off! He never tells, no matter how much it hurts. This he knows is true, has always been true. He cannot go home but the dogs and voices carry ever closer. What to do? He bends, half slumps in front of the squat DHD...how did he know it was called that? Bloody fingers already pressing a glyph, home…
No! No IDC- bug splatter on a windscreen for sure. Not home. They want him to do that, he’d heard them say so when they thought he was out of it.
Run- hide- not safe- run!
It’s so cold he’s practically vibrating. He cancels the glyph and his fingers start again across the pads and the outer ring moves, engaging a sequence and then the blue puddle explodes out towards him in the moonlight. Too loud. Oh God, they’re coming. Hands automatically go to his thigh and ear, but he has no weapon, no radio comm. Cursing, he runs as fast as he can towards the blue. Shouting behind him, but he does not look back. Then the noise of a phaser gun and something punches his back, propelling him forward at speed into the liquid nothing.
His mind never ceases its screaming as he travels. He comes through the other end and rolls into another world full of trees in half leaf. The shock of the travel, the stunner and whatever he can't remember from before catches up with him and it's all he can do to crawl into a deep pile of leaf cover away from the ring before passing out, sprawled in limp abandonment. His mind stops screaming. All is quiet. It’s a while before his shivering body warms to the coating of dry leaves over him.
0o0
He becomes aware of the smell of dry earth and something tickling his nose. He is warm and lying down. Before he is fully aware of where he is, a sneeze erupts through his body. The jolt awakens forgotten aches and pains. And panic.
Run! Can’t go home!
He goes stock still and hardly breathing, although his heart is pounding. He listens and strains for the sound of people or the Gate engaging, anything.
They’re coming!
All is quiet, only the faint rustle of the leaves and birds twittering. Cautiously, he crawls out of the leaf-filled impression. Slowly, he stands up, brushing dry and newly fallen leaves and dirt off his clothes and out of his hair. His back is stiff and his bare dirty feet throb, making him shuffle onto cooler grass to ease them. His whole body aches and he feels off kilter, twitchy. He looks around at the trees and grass-filled hollow near the DHD. He has no idea how long he’s been here, only that he is compelled to move on. He gives himself a few minutes to quickly forage for food and water nearby. Then he must move on.
You can run but you can’t hide….
He manages to find some winterberries and stuffs his face; the tart juice runs down his chin. As he wipes it off, he tries to think where to go. All the time he’s looking and listening, constantly ducking and moving under cover.
His hands are jittery and his thoughts still jumbled from the drugs, and he probably couldn’t make anything for his bare feet right now even if he had the time. He needs water too.
No time! Go!
He’s back at the DHD soon enough and pressing glyphs to a planet another SGA team have been to. Hopefully still non-hostile or Wraith culled.
Here goes nothing, he thinks as he runs through the event horizon.
0o0
He wakes up in the infirmary, cool sheets under and over him, the waft of antiseptic in the air and he drifts -feeling the familiar insistent tingle of Atlantis prodding at him like she hasn’t seen him for ages. Home. Safe.
With a gasp, utter panic surges through him, and opening his eyes, he flails upright. The blurry world tilts and whirls around him.
NO! Offofffofffofff! Turn everything offoffoff! Now, dammit!
There’s the sound of escalating beeps and then an alarm. Voices come closer talking and he fights off the hands and shapes that grip and push at him.
No, get off me, don’t touch me!
Violently he shoves back, yelling, fists swinging and scrambles out the other side of the bed, landing on the floor with a thud. A sharp pain in one wrist whites out everything for a brief quiet second, heart hammering in flight response, and then agonising pain like a migraine crowds in, squeezing like a vice around his head and vying for dominance.
Run!
The lights above him flicker on and off, doors open and shut and then stick half open.
“Colonel? It's alright.”
“No- no-no!” offoffoff!
“You're safe.”
“Not safe. Can’t be here.” He inches away on the floor until he’s backed into a corner where he can see what’s coming and he cradles his busted wrist on his lap, IV and other leads trailing the floor like lost dog leads. Off?
“Sheppard, quit messing with the door and lights!” a familiar strident pained voice says. The outer door slides shut with a thud.
He rolls onto his knees and gets up and dizzily turns round to the back door at a sloppy, pain filled lurch only to smack into it when it doesn't open for him, he flails backwards onto the hard floor. Oh, off! Darkness closes in as he sees Drs Beckett and McKay staring down at him. I shouldn’t be here, how and when did I get here? he wonders as exhaustion and anguish overwhelms him.
0o0
Rodney McKay watches with worry and confusion on his face as Beckett and the nurses rally round. They ignore his muttering and prodding at his data pad as Atlantis sorts itself out with a surge of light and brisk swish of doors.
“Carson- what the hell is going on?” He tries not to stare at the blood splotched marks on the floor from Sheppard’s leaking foot bandages after his impromptu escapade.
“The Colonel didn’t know where he was and moved around too quickly. His BP crashed because he’s dehydrated and don’t forget he’ll be disorientated. No wonder he fell out of bed. I need to get him sorted out here. I dinnae like the look of that wrist for a start. Like he needs more on top of everythin’else.”
“Just do something- fix him!”
“We will, Rodney.”
“Something's not right,” Rodney continued “Why doesn't he want to be here? In Atlantis I mean. Although he plainly doesn’t want to be in the Infirmary either. Atlantis throwing hissy girly fits isn't helping either. We didn’t lose him for nine days and then get him back for this!”
“You know as much as I do- and technically you didn’t bring him back. Those traders did.” Beckett shoos him away with flappy hands as his team organise getting their patient back under the scanner and orders more tests.
“Alright, rub it in why don’t you?” Rodney’s voice rises, showing that Carson’s words hurt more than he intended, and he stomps out.
He hears Carson call out after him, but he ignores him, turning toward his lab instead. He tries to forget how still and battered Sheppard’s face and head looked on the gurney as Beckett and his team rushed him to the Infirmary. Lorne had stayed behind on the planet gathering more information on how and when the Colonel came to be there. Rodney hasn’t seen that much face scruff on Sheppard since he went through the time dilation portal almost a year ago. It makes him look so different, as if the blood, cuts, bruises and swollen cheekbone aren’t enough. Sheppard looks thinner than he remembers too. Carson’s team will be busy for a few hours trying to figure out what Sheppard’s done to himself now, giving Rodney time to go over his data one more time, and figure out what they missed, how they lost him, and why they couldn’t find him on their own.
0o0
He is running. This seems familiar but now he is in a corridor, some building, someplace inside. His mind screams ‘Let me out’ and a door opens. He is outside. He continues running until he reaches the end of a jetty and there is only water as far as the eye can see. Trapped. Frantic. He can run no farther, gasping for breath, legs quivering, tender feet throbbing. He slowly turns around and sees the city with its spires and lights. His brain throws a safety switch and he collapses. He lies on cold ground, expecting to be out cold on the floor and deaf to the human voices in the metal earpiece, but he’s not.
A voice whispers to him. “You are ColonelJohnSheppard and you belong in Atlantis, mine…ours…safe here…home now… always.”
He woke up breathing hard from that one. Confused and sure at the same time, reeling from where, when, why, how. His head and face hurt. Actually, everything hurts but they were at the top of the list.
He doesn’t think he ran out to the jetty- his feet don’t hurt nearly enough, but it’s the kind of thing he probably would do. He’s not sure what’s real and what’s not, but Beckett says there was still a whole boatload of drugs in his system when he returned from the planet, not to mention the beatings he took. Hell, he doesn’t even know what day it is or how long he’s been here, recovering.
He keeps forgetting the order of things. The dizziness, headaches and vicious pain in the whole left side of his face derails any coherent thought processes. While the bad drugs are slowly metabolising, Beckett can’t give him anything good to ease his discomfort.
John lay on his bed, curled up on his good right side facing the privacy curtain. Why would he imagine running out to the end of the pier? Beckett said that after he dreamt it (and then apparently feverishly babbled about it) he calmed down a lot. But calmed down from what exactly? Did Atlantis make him dream it? He wonders what else he blabbed under the influence of bad drugs. It wasn’t like he had the option of saying no to them….
Underneath it all there’s still the itch of whether he did tell his captors anything vital. What did he do, back there in the blank hole of his kidnapping? What if they really are trying to track him rightnowthisminute? What if they have to move the city? He doesn’t think he can connect enough to Atlantis to make that happen right now.
He still doesn’t remember everything, what with the drugs, injuries and infection and all, but he remembers running and hiding in a pile of leaves. After that it gets a lot sketchier. Flashes of hiding, a village and stealing shoes, a really nasty fight with several somebodies, his face exploding in pain and more running on feet filled with glass. He’s not sure if the glass is real either, but the pain is.
Then a complete blank.
No idea how he got back to Atlantis at all. And that scares him.
His team wants to tell him stuff. He can see it in their faces. McKay especially is bursting, but the head shrink says he has to get there himself. And there’s something else going on with his team. He’s told them he knew they would come for him- scouring the galaxy if need be, but he managed to escape when he had the chance. They seem overly keen to reassure him, even Ronon, so he worries about them and himself, the city- everything….
And the itch is back.
Run! They’re coming for him, will find him, and maybe take someone else instead.
Can’t let that happen…he just can’t.
He’s restless, fretful and on edge, fighting everything every minute of the day since he got back to Atlantis. Stupid drugs. He hurts, can’t eat, can’t walk and now that he’s busted his wrist he can’t even play with his DS, even if he could focus on it. Crap. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so bad and useless.
He’s tried to stop Lorne and McKay and other ATA carriers from going offworld. Beckett’s got him stuck in the infirmary, not happy with the back and abdominal pain he’s having and suspecting kidney damage. John’s not quite sure how he got his busted cheekbone. Beckett only said it was more recent than the other busted and bruised bits of him. And the general crappiness means he’s not eating enough or well. The cut and tender feet are totally his doing though, escaping from whomever, wherever….
Run!
.... and finding shoes but no socks somewhere didn’t help a lot. Translation in voodoo- enforced bed rest and lots of bandages, painkillers, Gatorade and sleep if he can get it.
Beckett pads across the infirmary toward him, interrupting John’s thoughts. The nurse, Marie, follows him with a tray of bandages, scissors and gauze for his feet and arm. Beckett does his feet first. It takes a great effort on John’s part not to flinch as they are examined and gently cleaned and prodded. He’s grateful when they are salved and wrapped.
“Coming along nicely, son.”
John smiles but knows his arm is throbbing and a little hot under the gauze.
“Ach, this is nasty. Hang on- this is going to hurt a little,” the doctor warns as he undoes the bandages on John’s left bicep, and cleans the infected deep gouge he made getting his SubQT out.
Sheppard sighs tiredly and mumbles round his sore cheek and jaw “There was a good reason for doing that.”
Hands tied above his head as they ask questions, not liking his smart-ass answers, blows to his back and sides. Later- tied to a hard chair.
Painful injections “Gonna make you talk if it’s the last thing we do!”
Somewhere… some planet…a cell
“This is never going to work.”
“I say cut him lose and follow him home…”
…desperation…. something almost sharp…blood on his fingers and running….before…before…now.
“Aye, I know you wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t have to, lad. But it’s been left a wee while….” Beckett stops then carries on in a brighter tone. “Still, you’re here now and we’ll soon get you sorted out.”
“Great.”
“Marie is just gettin’ you a new cool pack for your cheekbone. Anything else you’d like?” Beckett hovers.
“M’good,”
He’s exhausted from quietening the itch that says run and it hurts to command off all the time, every second. It’s becoming second nature, pissing off the city. Well, whatever. They’d deal at some point if he got his marbles back….stay positive John…when…
He keeps being told there’s no trace of an alien tracker in him, on him- anything, anywhere. They’ve looked with the scanner, the X-ray and something Radek and Rodney MacGyver’d.
Everything hurts. He’s in achy, twitchy, throbbing, stabbing pain just lying in bed and he hates the blank pages of memory that refuse to come. Ronon looks at him like he totally gets his paranoia, but that doesn’t make it any easier to live with. At least Ronon knew who had him; Sheppard doesn’t.
Blindfolded. He remembers the feel of the scratchy rough cloth round his eyes and the musty smell of it near his nose.
The itch settles in for a feverish, nauseous afternoon. Beckett bustles round like a worried mother hen, trying to keep track of what is kicking his ass this time. There seems to be plenty to choose from. The Doc orders another round of urinalysis and electrolyte tests and ultrasound scans.
John drifts, ignoring it, just wanting all of it to be over. If someone asks him how he is and if he remembers anything new, one more time, he thinks he will either scream or do something violent -one handed but deadly.
0o0
Rodney returns later in the evening when Sheppard’s done trying to eat Jell-O and broth and can’t help the wince or keep from staring at Sheppard’s black eye and fractured cheekbone. The whole of the left side of his face looks disturbingly like a huge over ripe dark melon. The skin is stretched taut and shiny and just nasty. He can practically feel it throbbing from his hard plastic seat and despite everything; Sheppard’s dark hair is still perky even if the pilot himself isn’t. The beard is still present and still disconcerting, distracting. He hasn’t decided what to write on Sheppard’s newly casted wrist either, but inspiration will come sooner or later when he has a spare nanosecond.
Sheppard frowns and blinks one and a half eyes open, then waves a few fingers at him in greeting.
“Hey,” he croaks.
Rodney grabs the water beaker and thrust the straw towards his mouth. Sheppard sips slowly, like he is still cautiously feeling out the depth of pain and movement his mouth and cheek will allow.
“Sheppard? You okay in there?” Rodney asks worried all of a sudden.
He feels bad enough he wasn’t with him when he was taken, and worse that none of them found him. Now they all have abandonment issues. But, hey it’s only been two and a half days since Lorne’s team ran into the traders discretely looking for the Lanteans.
“No,” replies Sheppard, for once looking and sounding like he’s tired of pretending everything’s fine.
Rodney, surprised, has no answer to that and starts in on what he’s been doing in the labs. He watches Sheppard stare back at him without replying, and after a while he stops talking and opens his laptop, immediately getting sucked in, but knowing Sheppard won’t be offended. He’s not really paying much attention to Sheppard’s mumblings until he notices the tone sounds off, almost plaintive- which is not like him at all.
“...not like that- everything’s just wrong. Shouldn’t be here. I can’t…I don't.....”
He stops and the silence stretches
“Don't what?” asks McKay when there is no immediate reply. He looks up from the keyboard. Sheppard's dozed off and the light over the bed has gone out too. Several seconds later it comes back on dimly, grudgingly. Sheppard looks tired and in pain even asleep, his face frowning under the bruising and stitches.
“Rodney, is everything okay?” Carson checks as he wanders past.
“You call this okay? Because I don't. He’s broken .I've never seen him like this. It’s wrong. It’s not who he is. Fix him Carson.”
“I canna fix him overnight. Bones need time to knit and bruises to heal.”
“What about his memory, the head injury, and the drugs they gave him?”
“They also require time. The drugs are very slow to metabolise and you know what concussions can do.”
“We don't have time. What if his brain explodes! Look at him! They tried to break him. Something is wrong- he knows it, but he just can't get to it and it’s driving him nuts. Even Atlantis is acting weird. The SGC and IOA are already convinced that he’s compromised!”
“Keep your voice down Rodney! Leave him to get some well earned rest and get some sleep yourself.”
“He said he wasn’t okay! He never says that. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was depressed….”
“Rodney, I know. It’s the side-effects of the drugs, but I’m keeping an eye on it. Trust me.”
“Promise me you won’t sic Kate on him until he’s ready, because you know how well that will go!”
“Rodney, you’re tryin’ ma bloody patience now! What do you take me for? I have the Colonel’s best interests at heart. Now get some rest, please.”
0o0
During the early shift the next morning, Carson sits in the dim light next to Sheppard's bed. The sick man sleeps deeply and then starts to shift restlessly, his BP and heart rate climbing. He mutters under his breath and kicks at the bed sheet. He shouts No! and suddenly sits up shaking with effort, wide eyed.
“What…?”
“It's alright Colonel, you're safe. You’re home on Atlantis.” Carson wishes he didn’t have to keep saying it every time the Colonel woke up. The repetition is beginning to make him wonder if Sheppard’s alright and something or someone is on their way for him, for all of them…
“No, not safe. Can't be here. Oh God it hurts…make it stop….” he tries to climb out; groaning in pain at the movement. His eyes dart to his left wrist encased in a cast and he stops, blinking slowly at it, his face stark and pale in the dim light.
“I…I remember trees...I got out, I wasn’t supposed to….did I…did I fall out of a tree?” And then he throws up over the side of the bed and Carson’s shoes. “Dad? I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to…”
It takes several minutes for Carson to clean and tidy him. Carson goes to change and notices that the lights over his bed have come back on. He’s worried about Sheppard’s ongoing nausea and abdominal pain which he had thought was just lingering kidney bruising.
Teyla and Ronon are there when he returns.
“Has something happened?” Teyla asks staring at the curtain round Sheppard’s bed.
“He got a little upset and was ill. It's a combination of things. He won’t be up for much of a chat I’m afraid.”
“We would still like to see him.” Ronon nods his agreement.
“Of course.” Carson answers. He watches them settle in, both ready to help Sheppard when he next wakes. All of them need the reassurance that he is here and will be okay. He goes back to his cubby office and returns to studying Sheppard’s latest test results.
0o0
When John wakes up he discovers that it’s much later than he expected it to be. Curiously his team and Carson are not around, and he frets and tries to stop the itch to run. Slowly hitching himself up the bed one handed, he sips at some water. He’s slowly flipping through a comic book Lorne brought by, when someone stops by his bed. He looks up, at first not recognizing the thin fair haired man but then with a giddy rush, he does.
“Dr Miller?”
“Dr Mallard, but that’s okay.”
“What can I do for you?” he asks, curious.
“See, that’s just it. I and the other doctors on my team wanted to visit as soon as we heard you’d been found but Dr. Beckett would only allow your team, Doctor Weir, and Major Lorne in. We feel guilty. But I guess you were in charge back on M9- military wise that is, not science wise- that’s me.”
John feels his eyebrows lift at that, but the scientist ploughs on regardless. He reminds him of Rodney but with less bite. Where is Rodney? He tunes back in.
“We’re so sorry for not helping. Doing something when those bandits attacked the village and took all the men. We didn’t realise what was happening until it was too late.”
Seeing Dr Mallard and hearing him say the words trigger a flash of memory…
The sudden rush of armed men taking down the hut he’s visiting. Shouting and screams from women and children as they are held at knife and club point to force the men out. His different attire and weapons attract too much attention. He feels the first of many blows as he refuses to say who he is or where he is from.
“What could you have done?” he asked, a headache beginning to throb over his left eye.
“Well, a few more of our guns might have helped?”
“No, I told Lieutenants Harris and MacAvoy to stay with you at all costs. And they did, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“They were doing their job and you were doing yours.”
“But Ronon and the others found the villagers and the raiders but not you. Is it true that you were sold on to another mercenary group?”
“I don’t ... I didn’t see them, but yeah I think there were two different parties going on.”
Half conscious and blindfolded he’s aware of being moved, held up by strong hands. Rough hands on his left arm and a painful stab. When did he lose his jacket and shoes? A cold rush slides up his arm and flows through his body. Voices reverberate and bounce round his head. A shove to the back and he falls to the floor, but it feels like it’s moving up and down. He curls up. Voices overhead. Hands roughly tug the blindfold off and grab his face, holding it steady. He’s too disorientated to have a clear idea of the face. “Matches the picture.” The blindfold is tied back on tightly, and he’s dragged up and away somewhere, until he gives into the cold seeping throughout his body.
“Are you okay Colonel?”
He swallows carefully, “Yes. Did you manage to help the people on M9 whatever?”
“Oh, yes. Based on the studies from the soil and seed cultures we took, we should be able to improve the crop yield and reduce pests. In an organic natural way of course, with their consent.”
“Good, that’s good.”
“I’d better go - things to do. I hope you’re feeling better soon.”
John smiles briefly as the doctor goes. He closes his eyes and tries to relax as he processes the new information.
“Colonel Sheppard?” Teyla’s voice is soft; he blinks in confusion for a second, heart thudding Run- hide- not safe- run! before he sees her worried look above the tray of food.
“Oh, hey Teyla. Lunch already? Where is everybody?”
“In a regular meeting, you are not to worry. Dr Beckett wants you to eat all of this if you can.” She says as she pulls the tray table over his bed and slides the food tray on.
He stirs the soup and leaves the spoon there.
Teyla digs in to her bowl, glancing at him. “Not hungry?”
“It’s too hot. Give me a minute.” He knows she doesn’t believe him but keeps quiet anyway and he’s grateful for that. She leaves him to it and he manages most of the bowl before giving up, feeling full. Tired. Hurting. Bored. Wanting out of the bed. Wanting all of his memory back. He scratches at his beard carefully ignoring the left side of his face. He doesn’t feel like himself.
“Would you feel better without your beard, John?
It’s not the first time he’s thought Teyla is a little bit psychic and he smiles lopsidedly.
“Yeah, I would. Lots.”
“I will go and ask.” She says and moves the tray table out of the way. He trusts her to do it, but she’s probably wary of his bruises and injuries. So he’s not surprised when one of the male nurses appears with towels and a shaving kit.
An hour later he’s blessedly face fuzz free and has had his hair carefully washed too. He literally feels clean and new on the outside. The inside, he knows is far from over but it’s a start. His afternoon gets better, with not only meds time but Beckett’s returned with Rodney and the others.
“Wow, I almost didn’t recognise you without the beard,” Rodney snarks as soon as he sees him.
“What’s wrong with having a beard?” Ronon asks quiet but deadly.
“Oh, er…nothing at all,” Rodney mutters, no doubt worried that he’s offended some ancient Satedan cultural belief.
“Never mind that. Where have you guys been? I’m going nuts here.”
“I have just the thing. Only for a short wee while understand, Colonel.” He pulls a wheelchair out from a supply closet.
John forgets no-one answered his question, excited by the idea of getting out. He’s still surprisingly dizzy as he sits up fully and inches his way to the edge of the bed. Beckett, Ronon and a male nurse supervise his transfer to the wheels. His feet throb fiercely as he stands for a few seconds and other parts twinge, stretch and ache. Otherwise it’s not too bad he tells himself as Ronon stops a sudden list to one side.
“Bring him back in an hour and no racing!” Beckett yells a final warning.
Ronon wheels him to the nearest outside balcony. Rodney hands him his aviators and he gratefully slides them on, muting the afternoon sun. There’s a slight breeze, but it’s not chilly. Besides, Teyla’s tucking a blanket over his knees. He closes his eyes and sits breathing slowly, listening to the water far off below. Just glad to be in the open air. The others are quiet too; he can hear MacKay fidgeting next to him.
“Thanks guys.” He says and there’s a chorus of “you are welcome,” “we live to serve” and a grunt from Ronon.
--
“Colonel Sheppard!”
He wakes panicked.
He’s tied to a hard chair Blindfolded. Can’t move his hands. Off,off,off! He won’t do it!
There’s hands keeping him from moving
“Get off me!” he growls. The hands let go and he lashes out.
“Ow!”
He tries to stand but his feet hurt and stomach aches and he lurches sideways. Grabby hands again lower him back to the chair. Blurry faces become clear. He’s still on the balcony with his team, only Beckett’s joined in.
“Alright now Colonel? Know where you are?”
Shakily he nods, wiping his sweaty face one handed.
“Sorry, did I…?” he lifts his now painful casted left wrist.
“You got me, but I’ll live,” McKay answers quietly.
The good mood is shattered, Sheppard’s back aches, his head and face throb and his guts churn nastily. Beckett takes one look at him and orders them back to the infirmary. When his stomach finally rebels as he gets back into bed, Teyla and Rodney have disappeared. It’s a messy muddle and although everyone understands, he still fights them and the injection that Beckett gives, remembering other painful sticks.
“No, stop!” he yells before the see-sawing finally stops and he thinks a final muzzy off as the chemicals take over.
“Well, that went well.” John hears someone say before he sinks into oblivion
0o0
Ronon can’t sleep. He wants to be awake for Sheppard. To tell him how hard they looked, how long they looked, that they found a few traces. But nothing hides the fact that others found him first. He was lucky that they found him, took him in and began to patch him up. But there was still a day and a half delay getting Sheppard to Atlantis medical care. Beckett said he was lucky the brain bleed from the final face injury he had was tiny and mended on its own. What if….? He shakes his head. He knows better than to go down that route. He lived it for over seven years. What’s done is done. What matters is being there for Sheppard, because the road is not going to be easy. Nothing worthwhile is.
Sheppard’s restless, breathing out slight gasps of pain as he mutters. The lights dim and brighten.
“Stop! It’s…. She won't let me go...it hurts.”
“Who won't?” Ronon’s voice is quiet but forceful.
“Atlantis. She’s fighting me. Wrong.”
“What's wrong?”
“Feels bad, everything. Shouldn't be here- bad things going to happen.”
“Sheppard, be calm.” Ronon doesn’t want to have to hold him down and cause more pain.
“No, she won’t let me go. I didn’t tell, but what if...?” his sweaty face is scrunched up in agony, holding his breath and then he blows out air slowly as if that will release the pain. A moment later, he seems to pass out.
Beckett, alerted by the noise Ronon’s chair made when he stood up, comes over and checks on him.
“I don’t like this. Something’s very wrong; this is going on too long. I’m ordering more tests.”
Moments later Rodney's on the comm link
“Is Sheppard awake?”
“No.”
“Did he do something?”
“No.”
“The Gate’s dead. We can't dial out or in.”
On to part 2.
Title: Games Without Frontiers
Category: SGA H/C Challenges Easter-fic 2010
Author: Roo1965
Story for: Kriadydragon
Season : 3, after Common Ground but before Phantoms & The Return.
Summary : Sheppard’s lost and then found, but not happy to be back in Atlantis- why is that? Just because he’s paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get him. Or does it? There’s also ShepLantis elements. Shep whump, h/c as standard. John and other POV’s. Gen
Word count: ~10,700
Prompt: at the end, so as not to spoil you. But there’s some Shep physical/emotional Whump, mentions of torture/captivity and weight loss. Nothing too squicky.
A/N: Umm, I think I got most of that covered ;-). Thanks for the awesome prompt and giving me the chance to use the starting snippet of a story that sat unloved on my pooter for 2 years! This fic ate my brain…
Word wrangling and Keeper of all things common sense: CoolBreeze1
pt1: 5,771
pt 2: 5,026
total: 10,787
GAMES WITHOUT FRONTIERS PART ONE
He is running hard, the cold air searing the back of his dry throat like a sharp knife. Like a snap movie edit he is here. It is dark, night and there are trees-lots of them, bare trunked and sentinel like, they loom with scratchy branches and twigs as he pushes past. And his mind screams Run- hide- it's not safe- go!
A foot catches on a root and he goes down hard, rattling every bone in his body. His mind is still screaming but there is no before there is only now. He glances round and automatically catalogues terrain, climate and threat potential. It's freezing, the slick sweat cooling fast on his body and he begins to shiver. He looks down at himself, dark t- shirt and pants. No shoes? But he can't feel his feet so pushes away the thought that they might be injured. His head and face throb and bringing his hands up to explore, he finds lumps and bumps and what feels suspiciously like crusted blood.
He winces in pain as he touches one nasty lump on the side of his head, and as images flood his brain, his heart thuds in his chest.
You lie - pain - they left you behind. Tell us what we want to know! We can make you tell us! You’re all alone; no-one is coming for you…you can run but you can’t hide….
He rolls over on the cold ground and scrabbles to his frozen feet. His breath puffs in great clouds in the cold moonlight air.
"Don't shuffle. Pick up your feet! Don't scuff along boy!"
Dad’s here?
The voice commands him to run.
Where the hell is he and which way should he go? Which way is safe? He staggers off anyway desperate to keep moving and quieten the noise in his head. Not safe- run -hide- go- don't go home- hide. We will always find you! He hears distant voices and the deep bark of a large dog.
He is running again, then suddenly he is in a clearing and there's a squat device in front of a large stone ring.
In his mind’s eye he sees it lit up and there’s a blue puddle in the middle, but it does not scare him. It’s home and warmth and family and a familiar hum tugging the back
of his brain. It calls and he steps towards it. Wanting it so much it hurts.
The voices in his head clamour and he remembers fists, shouting and needles and not telling, the hum and tingle and off! He never tells, no matter how much it hurts. This he knows is true, has always been true. He cannot go home but the dogs and voices carry ever closer. What to do? He bends, half slumps in front of the squat DHD...how did he know it was called that? Bloody fingers already pressing a glyph, home…
No! No IDC- bug splatter on a windscreen for sure. Not home. They want him to do that, he’d heard them say so when they thought he was out of it.
Run- hide- not safe- run!
It’s so cold he’s practically vibrating. He cancels the glyph and his fingers start again across the pads and the outer ring moves, engaging a sequence and then the blue puddle explodes out towards him in the moonlight. Too loud. Oh God, they’re coming. Hands automatically go to his thigh and ear, but he has no weapon, no radio comm. Cursing, he runs as fast as he can towards the blue. Shouting behind him, but he does not look back. Then the noise of a phaser gun and something punches his back, propelling him forward at speed into the liquid nothing.
His mind never ceases its screaming as he travels. He comes through the other end and rolls into another world full of trees in half leaf. The shock of the travel, the stunner and whatever he can't remember from before catches up with him and it's all he can do to crawl into a deep pile of leaf cover away from the ring before passing out, sprawled in limp abandonment. His mind stops screaming. All is quiet. It’s a while before his shivering body warms to the coating of dry leaves over him.
0o0
He becomes aware of the smell of dry earth and something tickling his nose. He is warm and lying down. Before he is fully aware of where he is, a sneeze erupts through his body. The jolt awakens forgotten aches and pains. And panic.
Run! Can’t go home!
He goes stock still and hardly breathing, although his heart is pounding. He listens and strains for the sound of people or the Gate engaging, anything.
They’re coming!
All is quiet, only the faint rustle of the leaves and birds twittering. Cautiously, he crawls out of the leaf-filled impression. Slowly, he stands up, brushing dry and newly fallen leaves and dirt off his clothes and out of his hair. His back is stiff and his bare dirty feet throb, making him shuffle onto cooler grass to ease them. His whole body aches and he feels off kilter, twitchy. He looks around at the trees and grass-filled hollow near the DHD. He has no idea how long he’s been here, only that he is compelled to move on. He gives himself a few minutes to quickly forage for food and water nearby. Then he must move on.
You can run but you can’t hide….
He manages to find some winterberries and stuffs his face; the tart juice runs down his chin. As he wipes it off, he tries to think where to go. All the time he’s looking and listening, constantly ducking and moving under cover.
His hands are jittery and his thoughts still jumbled from the drugs, and he probably couldn’t make anything for his bare feet right now even if he had the time. He needs water too.
No time! Go!
He’s back at the DHD soon enough and pressing glyphs to a planet another SGA team have been to. Hopefully still non-hostile or Wraith culled.
Here goes nothing, he thinks as he runs through the event horizon.
0o0
He wakes up in the infirmary, cool sheets under and over him, the waft of antiseptic in the air and he drifts -feeling the familiar insistent tingle of Atlantis prodding at him like she hasn’t seen him for ages. Home. Safe.
With a gasp, utter panic surges through him, and opening his eyes, he flails upright. The blurry world tilts and whirls around him.
NO! Offofffofffofff! Turn everything offoffoff! Now, dammit!
There’s the sound of escalating beeps and then an alarm. Voices come closer talking and he fights off the hands and shapes that grip and push at him.
No, get off me, don’t touch me!
Violently he shoves back, yelling, fists swinging and scrambles out the other side of the bed, landing on the floor with a thud. A sharp pain in one wrist whites out everything for a brief quiet second, heart hammering in flight response, and then agonising pain like a migraine crowds in, squeezing like a vice around his head and vying for dominance.
Run!
The lights above him flicker on and off, doors open and shut and then stick half open.
“Colonel? It's alright.”
“No- no-no!” offoffoff!
“You're safe.”
“Not safe. Can’t be here.” He inches away on the floor until he’s backed into a corner where he can see what’s coming and he cradles his busted wrist on his lap, IV and other leads trailing the floor like lost dog leads. Off?
“Sheppard, quit messing with the door and lights!” a familiar strident pained voice says. The outer door slides shut with a thud.
He rolls onto his knees and gets up and dizzily turns round to the back door at a sloppy, pain filled lurch only to smack into it when it doesn't open for him, he flails backwards onto the hard floor. Oh, off! Darkness closes in as he sees Drs Beckett and McKay staring down at him. I shouldn’t be here, how and when did I get here? he wonders as exhaustion and anguish overwhelms him.
0o0
Rodney McKay watches with worry and confusion on his face as Beckett and the nurses rally round. They ignore his muttering and prodding at his data pad as Atlantis sorts itself out with a surge of light and brisk swish of doors.
“Carson- what the hell is going on?” He tries not to stare at the blood splotched marks on the floor from Sheppard’s leaking foot bandages after his impromptu escapade.
“The Colonel didn’t know where he was and moved around too quickly. His BP crashed because he’s dehydrated and don’t forget he’ll be disorientated. No wonder he fell out of bed. I need to get him sorted out here. I dinnae like the look of that wrist for a start. Like he needs more on top of everythin’else.”
“Just do something- fix him!”
“We will, Rodney.”
“Something's not right,” Rodney continued “Why doesn't he want to be here? In Atlantis I mean. Although he plainly doesn’t want to be in the Infirmary either. Atlantis throwing hissy girly fits isn't helping either. We didn’t lose him for nine days and then get him back for this!”
“You know as much as I do- and technically you didn’t bring him back. Those traders did.” Beckett shoos him away with flappy hands as his team organise getting their patient back under the scanner and orders more tests.
“Alright, rub it in why don’t you?” Rodney’s voice rises, showing that Carson’s words hurt more than he intended, and he stomps out.
He hears Carson call out after him, but he ignores him, turning toward his lab instead. He tries to forget how still and battered Sheppard’s face and head looked on the gurney as Beckett and his team rushed him to the Infirmary. Lorne had stayed behind on the planet gathering more information on how and when the Colonel came to be there. Rodney hasn’t seen that much face scruff on Sheppard since he went through the time dilation portal almost a year ago. It makes him look so different, as if the blood, cuts, bruises and swollen cheekbone aren’t enough. Sheppard looks thinner than he remembers too. Carson’s team will be busy for a few hours trying to figure out what Sheppard’s done to himself now, giving Rodney time to go over his data one more time, and figure out what they missed, how they lost him, and why they couldn’t find him on their own.
0o0
He is running. This seems familiar but now he is in a corridor, some building, someplace inside. His mind screams ‘Let me out’ and a door opens. He is outside. He continues running until he reaches the end of a jetty and there is only water as far as the eye can see. Trapped. Frantic. He can run no farther, gasping for breath, legs quivering, tender feet throbbing. He slowly turns around and sees the city with its spires and lights. His brain throws a safety switch and he collapses. He lies on cold ground, expecting to be out cold on the floor and deaf to the human voices in the metal earpiece, but he’s not.
A voice whispers to him. “You are ColonelJohnSheppard and you belong in Atlantis, mine…ours…safe here…home now… always.”
He woke up breathing hard from that one. Confused and sure at the same time, reeling from where, when, why, how. His head and face hurt. Actually, everything hurts but they were at the top of the list.
He doesn’t think he ran out to the jetty- his feet don’t hurt nearly enough, but it’s the kind of thing he probably would do. He’s not sure what’s real and what’s not, but Beckett says there was still a whole boatload of drugs in his system when he returned from the planet, not to mention the beatings he took. Hell, he doesn’t even know what day it is or how long he’s been here, recovering.
He keeps forgetting the order of things. The dizziness, headaches and vicious pain in the whole left side of his face derails any coherent thought processes. While the bad drugs are slowly metabolising, Beckett can’t give him anything good to ease his discomfort.
John lay on his bed, curled up on his good right side facing the privacy curtain. Why would he imagine running out to the end of the pier? Beckett said that after he dreamt it (and then apparently feverishly babbled about it) he calmed down a lot. But calmed down from what exactly? Did Atlantis make him dream it? He wonders what else he blabbed under the influence of bad drugs. It wasn’t like he had the option of saying no to them….
Underneath it all there’s still the itch of whether he did tell his captors anything vital. What did he do, back there in the blank hole of his kidnapping? What if they really are trying to track him rightnowthisminute? What if they have to move the city? He doesn’t think he can connect enough to Atlantis to make that happen right now.
He still doesn’t remember everything, what with the drugs, injuries and infection and all, but he remembers running and hiding in a pile of leaves. After that it gets a lot sketchier. Flashes of hiding, a village and stealing shoes, a really nasty fight with several somebodies, his face exploding in pain and more running on feet filled with glass. He’s not sure if the glass is real either, but the pain is.
Then a complete blank.
No idea how he got back to Atlantis at all. And that scares him.
His team wants to tell him stuff. He can see it in their faces. McKay especially is bursting, but the head shrink says he has to get there himself. And there’s something else going on with his team. He’s told them he knew they would come for him- scouring the galaxy if need be, but he managed to escape when he had the chance. They seem overly keen to reassure him, even Ronon, so he worries about them and himself, the city- everything….
And the itch is back.
Run! They’re coming for him, will find him, and maybe take someone else instead.
Can’t let that happen…he just can’t.
He’s restless, fretful and on edge, fighting everything every minute of the day since he got back to Atlantis. Stupid drugs. He hurts, can’t eat, can’t walk and now that he’s busted his wrist he can’t even play with his DS, even if he could focus on it. Crap. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so bad and useless.
He’s tried to stop Lorne and McKay and other ATA carriers from going offworld. Beckett’s got him stuck in the infirmary, not happy with the back and abdominal pain he’s having and suspecting kidney damage. John’s not quite sure how he got his busted cheekbone. Beckett only said it was more recent than the other busted and bruised bits of him. And the general crappiness means he’s not eating enough or well. The cut and tender feet are totally his doing though, escaping from whomever, wherever….
Run!
.... and finding shoes but no socks somewhere didn’t help a lot. Translation in voodoo- enforced bed rest and lots of bandages, painkillers, Gatorade and sleep if he can get it.
Beckett pads across the infirmary toward him, interrupting John’s thoughts. The nurse, Marie, follows him with a tray of bandages, scissors and gauze for his feet and arm. Beckett does his feet first. It takes a great effort on John’s part not to flinch as they are examined and gently cleaned and prodded. He’s grateful when they are salved and wrapped.
“Coming along nicely, son.”
John smiles but knows his arm is throbbing and a little hot under the gauze.
“Ach, this is nasty. Hang on- this is going to hurt a little,” the doctor warns as he undoes the bandages on John’s left bicep, and cleans the infected deep gouge he made getting his SubQT out.
Sheppard sighs tiredly and mumbles round his sore cheek and jaw “There was a good reason for doing that.”
Hands tied above his head as they ask questions, not liking his smart-ass answers, blows to his back and sides. Later- tied to a hard chair.
Painful injections “Gonna make you talk if it’s the last thing we do!”
Somewhere… some planet…a cell
“This is never going to work.”
“I say cut him lose and follow him home…”
…desperation…. something almost sharp…blood on his fingers and running….before…before…now.
“Aye, I know you wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t have to, lad. But it’s been left a wee while….” Beckett stops then carries on in a brighter tone. “Still, you’re here now and we’ll soon get you sorted out.”
“Great.”
“Marie is just gettin’ you a new cool pack for your cheekbone. Anything else you’d like?” Beckett hovers.
“M’good,”
He’s exhausted from quietening the itch that says run and it hurts to command off all the time, every second. It’s becoming second nature, pissing off the city. Well, whatever. They’d deal at some point if he got his marbles back….stay positive John…when…
He keeps being told there’s no trace of an alien tracker in him, on him- anything, anywhere. They’ve looked with the scanner, the X-ray and something Radek and Rodney MacGyver’d.
Everything hurts. He’s in achy, twitchy, throbbing, stabbing pain just lying in bed and he hates the blank pages of memory that refuse to come. Ronon looks at him like he totally gets his paranoia, but that doesn’t make it any easier to live with. At least Ronon knew who had him; Sheppard doesn’t.
Blindfolded. He remembers the feel of the scratchy rough cloth round his eyes and the musty smell of it near his nose.
The itch settles in for a feverish, nauseous afternoon. Beckett bustles round like a worried mother hen, trying to keep track of what is kicking his ass this time. There seems to be plenty to choose from. The Doc orders another round of urinalysis and electrolyte tests and ultrasound scans.
John drifts, ignoring it, just wanting all of it to be over. If someone asks him how he is and if he remembers anything new, one more time, he thinks he will either scream or do something violent -one handed but deadly.
0o0
Rodney returns later in the evening when Sheppard’s done trying to eat Jell-O and broth and can’t help the wince or keep from staring at Sheppard’s black eye and fractured cheekbone. The whole of the left side of his face looks disturbingly like a huge over ripe dark melon. The skin is stretched taut and shiny and just nasty. He can practically feel it throbbing from his hard plastic seat and despite everything; Sheppard’s dark hair is still perky even if the pilot himself isn’t. The beard is still present and still disconcerting, distracting. He hasn’t decided what to write on Sheppard’s newly casted wrist either, but inspiration will come sooner or later when he has a spare nanosecond.
Sheppard frowns and blinks one and a half eyes open, then waves a few fingers at him in greeting.
“Hey,” he croaks.
Rodney grabs the water beaker and thrust the straw towards his mouth. Sheppard sips slowly, like he is still cautiously feeling out the depth of pain and movement his mouth and cheek will allow.
“Sheppard? You okay in there?” Rodney asks worried all of a sudden.
He feels bad enough he wasn’t with him when he was taken, and worse that none of them found him. Now they all have abandonment issues. But, hey it’s only been two and a half days since Lorne’s team ran into the traders discretely looking for the Lanteans.
“No,” replies Sheppard, for once looking and sounding like he’s tired of pretending everything’s fine.
Rodney, surprised, has no answer to that and starts in on what he’s been doing in the labs. He watches Sheppard stare back at him without replying, and after a while he stops talking and opens his laptop, immediately getting sucked in, but knowing Sheppard won’t be offended. He’s not really paying much attention to Sheppard’s mumblings until he notices the tone sounds off, almost plaintive- which is not like him at all.
“...not like that- everything’s just wrong. Shouldn’t be here. I can’t…I don't.....”
He stops and the silence stretches
“Don't what?” asks McKay when there is no immediate reply. He looks up from the keyboard. Sheppard's dozed off and the light over the bed has gone out too. Several seconds later it comes back on dimly, grudgingly. Sheppard looks tired and in pain even asleep, his face frowning under the bruising and stitches.
“Rodney, is everything okay?” Carson checks as he wanders past.
“You call this okay? Because I don't. He’s broken .I've never seen him like this. It’s wrong. It’s not who he is. Fix him Carson.”
“I canna fix him overnight. Bones need time to knit and bruises to heal.”
“What about his memory, the head injury, and the drugs they gave him?”
“They also require time. The drugs are very slow to metabolise and you know what concussions can do.”
“We don't have time. What if his brain explodes! Look at him! They tried to break him. Something is wrong- he knows it, but he just can't get to it and it’s driving him nuts. Even Atlantis is acting weird. The SGC and IOA are already convinced that he’s compromised!”
“Keep your voice down Rodney! Leave him to get some well earned rest and get some sleep yourself.”
“He said he wasn’t okay! He never says that. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was depressed….”
“Rodney, I know. It’s the side-effects of the drugs, but I’m keeping an eye on it. Trust me.”
“Promise me you won’t sic Kate on him until he’s ready, because you know how well that will go!”
“Rodney, you’re tryin’ ma bloody patience now! What do you take me for? I have the Colonel’s best interests at heart. Now get some rest, please.”
0o0
During the early shift the next morning, Carson sits in the dim light next to Sheppard's bed. The sick man sleeps deeply and then starts to shift restlessly, his BP and heart rate climbing. He mutters under his breath and kicks at the bed sheet. He shouts No! and suddenly sits up shaking with effort, wide eyed.
“What…?”
“It's alright Colonel, you're safe. You’re home on Atlantis.” Carson wishes he didn’t have to keep saying it every time the Colonel woke up. The repetition is beginning to make him wonder if Sheppard’s alright and something or someone is on their way for him, for all of them…
“No, not safe. Can't be here. Oh God it hurts…make it stop….” he tries to climb out; groaning in pain at the movement. His eyes dart to his left wrist encased in a cast and he stops, blinking slowly at it, his face stark and pale in the dim light.
“I…I remember trees...I got out, I wasn’t supposed to….did I…did I fall out of a tree?” And then he throws up over the side of the bed and Carson’s shoes. “Dad? I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to…”
It takes several minutes for Carson to clean and tidy him. Carson goes to change and notices that the lights over his bed have come back on. He’s worried about Sheppard’s ongoing nausea and abdominal pain which he had thought was just lingering kidney bruising.
Teyla and Ronon are there when he returns.
“Has something happened?” Teyla asks staring at the curtain round Sheppard’s bed.
“He got a little upset and was ill. It's a combination of things. He won’t be up for much of a chat I’m afraid.”
“We would still like to see him.” Ronon nods his agreement.
“Of course.” Carson answers. He watches them settle in, both ready to help Sheppard when he next wakes. All of them need the reassurance that he is here and will be okay. He goes back to his cubby office and returns to studying Sheppard’s latest test results.
0o0
When John wakes up he discovers that it’s much later than he expected it to be. Curiously his team and Carson are not around, and he frets and tries to stop the itch to run. Slowly hitching himself up the bed one handed, he sips at some water. He’s slowly flipping through a comic book Lorne brought by, when someone stops by his bed. He looks up, at first not recognizing the thin fair haired man but then with a giddy rush, he does.
“Dr Miller?”
“Dr Mallard, but that’s okay.”
“What can I do for you?” he asks, curious.
“See, that’s just it. I and the other doctors on my team wanted to visit as soon as we heard you’d been found but Dr. Beckett would only allow your team, Doctor Weir, and Major Lorne in. We feel guilty. But I guess you were in charge back on M9- military wise that is, not science wise- that’s me.”
John feels his eyebrows lift at that, but the scientist ploughs on regardless. He reminds him of Rodney but with less bite. Where is Rodney? He tunes back in.
“We’re so sorry for not helping. Doing something when those bandits attacked the village and took all the men. We didn’t realise what was happening until it was too late.”
Seeing Dr Mallard and hearing him say the words trigger a flash of memory…
The sudden rush of armed men taking down the hut he’s visiting. Shouting and screams from women and children as they are held at knife and club point to force the men out. His different attire and weapons attract too much attention. He feels the first of many blows as he refuses to say who he is or where he is from.
“What could you have done?” he asked, a headache beginning to throb over his left eye.
“Well, a few more of our guns might have helped?”
“No, I told Lieutenants Harris and MacAvoy to stay with you at all costs. And they did, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“They were doing their job and you were doing yours.”
“But Ronon and the others found the villagers and the raiders but not you. Is it true that you were sold on to another mercenary group?”
“I don’t ... I didn’t see them, but yeah I think there were two different parties going on.”
Half conscious and blindfolded he’s aware of being moved, held up by strong hands. Rough hands on his left arm and a painful stab. When did he lose his jacket and shoes? A cold rush slides up his arm and flows through his body. Voices reverberate and bounce round his head. A shove to the back and he falls to the floor, but it feels like it’s moving up and down. He curls up. Voices overhead. Hands roughly tug the blindfold off and grab his face, holding it steady. He’s too disorientated to have a clear idea of the face. “Matches the picture.” The blindfold is tied back on tightly, and he’s dragged up and away somewhere, until he gives into the cold seeping throughout his body.
“Are you okay Colonel?”
He swallows carefully, “Yes. Did you manage to help the people on M9 whatever?”
“Oh, yes. Based on the studies from the soil and seed cultures we took, we should be able to improve the crop yield and reduce pests. In an organic natural way of course, with their consent.”
“Good, that’s good.”
“I’d better go - things to do. I hope you’re feeling better soon.”
John smiles briefly as the doctor goes. He closes his eyes and tries to relax as he processes the new information.
“Colonel Sheppard?” Teyla’s voice is soft; he blinks in confusion for a second, heart thudding Run- hide- not safe- run! before he sees her worried look above the tray of food.
“Oh, hey Teyla. Lunch already? Where is everybody?”
“In a regular meeting, you are not to worry. Dr Beckett wants you to eat all of this if you can.” She says as she pulls the tray table over his bed and slides the food tray on.
He stirs the soup and leaves the spoon there.
Teyla digs in to her bowl, glancing at him. “Not hungry?”
“It’s too hot. Give me a minute.” He knows she doesn’t believe him but keeps quiet anyway and he’s grateful for that. She leaves him to it and he manages most of the bowl before giving up, feeling full. Tired. Hurting. Bored. Wanting out of the bed. Wanting all of his memory back. He scratches at his beard carefully ignoring the left side of his face. He doesn’t feel like himself.
“Would you feel better without your beard, John?
It’s not the first time he’s thought Teyla is a little bit psychic and he smiles lopsidedly.
“Yeah, I would. Lots.”
“I will go and ask.” She says and moves the tray table out of the way. He trusts her to do it, but she’s probably wary of his bruises and injuries. So he’s not surprised when one of the male nurses appears with towels and a shaving kit.
An hour later he’s blessedly face fuzz free and has had his hair carefully washed too. He literally feels clean and new on the outside. The inside, he knows is far from over but it’s a start. His afternoon gets better, with not only meds time but Beckett’s returned with Rodney and the others.
“Wow, I almost didn’t recognise you without the beard,” Rodney snarks as soon as he sees him.
“What’s wrong with having a beard?” Ronon asks quiet but deadly.
“Oh, er…nothing at all,” Rodney mutters, no doubt worried that he’s offended some ancient Satedan cultural belief.
“Never mind that. Where have you guys been? I’m going nuts here.”
“I have just the thing. Only for a short wee while understand, Colonel.” He pulls a wheelchair out from a supply closet.
John forgets no-one answered his question, excited by the idea of getting out. He’s still surprisingly dizzy as he sits up fully and inches his way to the edge of the bed. Beckett, Ronon and a male nurse supervise his transfer to the wheels. His feet throb fiercely as he stands for a few seconds and other parts twinge, stretch and ache. Otherwise it’s not too bad he tells himself as Ronon stops a sudden list to one side.
“Bring him back in an hour and no racing!” Beckett yells a final warning.
Ronon wheels him to the nearest outside balcony. Rodney hands him his aviators and he gratefully slides them on, muting the afternoon sun. There’s a slight breeze, but it’s not chilly. Besides, Teyla’s tucking a blanket over his knees. He closes his eyes and sits breathing slowly, listening to the water far off below. Just glad to be in the open air. The others are quiet too; he can hear MacKay fidgeting next to him.
“Thanks guys.” He says and there’s a chorus of “you are welcome,” “we live to serve” and a grunt from Ronon.
--
“Colonel Sheppard!”
He wakes panicked.
He’s tied to a hard chair Blindfolded. Can’t move his hands. Off,off,off! He won’t do it!
There’s hands keeping him from moving
“Get off me!” he growls. The hands let go and he lashes out.
“Ow!”
He tries to stand but his feet hurt and stomach aches and he lurches sideways. Grabby hands again lower him back to the chair. Blurry faces become clear. He’s still on the balcony with his team, only Beckett’s joined in.
“Alright now Colonel? Know where you are?”
Shakily he nods, wiping his sweaty face one handed.
“Sorry, did I…?” he lifts his now painful casted left wrist.
“You got me, but I’ll live,” McKay answers quietly.
The good mood is shattered, Sheppard’s back aches, his head and face throb and his guts churn nastily. Beckett takes one look at him and orders them back to the infirmary. When his stomach finally rebels as he gets back into bed, Teyla and Rodney have disappeared. It’s a messy muddle and although everyone understands, he still fights them and the injection that Beckett gives, remembering other painful sticks.
“No, stop!” he yells before the see-sawing finally stops and he thinks a final muzzy off as the chemicals take over.
“Well, that went well.” John hears someone say before he sinks into oblivion
0o0
Ronon can’t sleep. He wants to be awake for Sheppard. To tell him how hard they looked, how long they looked, that they found a few traces. But nothing hides the fact that others found him first. He was lucky that they found him, took him in and began to patch him up. But there was still a day and a half delay getting Sheppard to Atlantis medical care. Beckett said he was lucky the brain bleed from the final face injury he had was tiny and mended on its own. What if….? He shakes his head. He knows better than to go down that route. He lived it for over seven years. What’s done is done. What matters is being there for Sheppard, because the road is not going to be easy. Nothing worthwhile is.
Sheppard’s restless, breathing out slight gasps of pain as he mutters. The lights dim and brighten.
“Stop! It’s…. She won't let me go...it hurts.”
“Who won't?” Ronon’s voice is quiet but forceful.
“Atlantis. She’s fighting me. Wrong.”
“What's wrong?”
“Feels bad, everything. Shouldn't be here- bad things going to happen.”
“Sheppard, be calm.” Ronon doesn’t want to have to hold him down and cause more pain.
“No, she won’t let me go. I didn’t tell, but what if...?” his sweaty face is scrunched up in agony, holding his breath and then he blows out air slowly as if that will release the pain. A moment later, he seems to pass out.
Beckett, alerted by the noise Ronon’s chair made when he stood up, comes over and checks on him.
“I don’t like this. Something’s very wrong; this is going on too long. I’m ordering more tests.”
Moments later Rodney's on the comm link
“Is Sheppard awake?”
“No.”
“Did he do something?”
“No.”
“The Gate’s dead. We can't dial out or in.”
On to part 2.