Adrift Part Five
Title: Adrift
Author: Westdean
Pairing: Carson/John
Rating: PG13
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Slash
Spoilers: Set after The Tower but with spoilers of the "blink and you will miss them variety" up to The Return: part 1.
Prompt: Written for Cosmonaut_elf as part of the icaw ficathon.
She requested a John/Carson pairing. Serious hurt/comfort. Serious, serious Carson whumping. The two of them getting stranded. Lots of blood and rain. John realising that he loves Carson (sort of first time). edics. Written at speed (for me) and therefore probably incorrect in all sorts of canon facts but I don't care because writing this almost broke my brain.
Authors Note: Written unapologetically in British English and betaed to match by my lovely Dons, Geeks and Medics.
All music tracks are from the album Ringleader of the Tormentors by Morrissey.
~SGA~
Part Five
There was a change of routine that day. After being unchained he wasn't marched to the workroom, but to the living quarters of the complex, where he found himself in a small dorm containing three beds. To his surprise his medical pack was thrust into his hands. Carson looked questioningly at Tattoo.
“Marnie got careless,” was the gruff answer, “forgot the shoot first rule when 'recovering' valuable merchandise - patch him up.”
Carson moved over to the bed holding a groaning occupant. He soon established that the projectile wounds were uncomplicated, a bit of cleaning and stitching, some fluid intake and bed rest would set the man right. He wasn't going to divulge the fact that he had a couple of carefully packed saline bags in the backpack - there might come a more urgent use for them and putting one of the thugs off his feet for a few days longer than otherwise was not a bad thing.
Carson took the opportunity to check through his pack and, though it had been thoroughly turned upside down, he was relieved to find it mostly intact. His Ancient scanner had gone of course, that was to be expected, but he hadn't needed that before Pegasus and could cope without it.
He also tried his bedside manner when treating the man, a chance to strike up some personal rapport with his captors was not to be missed. But it was not to be. An attempt to reassure his patient was met with a blow to his face from Eye Patch that left his head ringing - and a warning from Tattoo.
“You turn on the machines, - that's what you are, - don't try to act human.”
Not human.
The words refused to leave his mind hours after he was returned to his cell and chained up again. They didn't see him as human - he was just part of the Ancient technology to them - he was alien.
Carson Beckett might be living in another galaxy but it was a human galaxy seeded by the Ancients millennia before. To Carson, even the Wraith had the potential to be human. There were sentient beings here that could be classified as alien, but Carson had never considered that he himself might be seen as alien because of the ATA gene.
It hurt painfully, much more than he would ever have expected. He had always known that he liked to be with people, was very empathic, and now his captors were denying him even this - even a shared humanity. This was the night when black despair engulfed him - he could not spend a lifetime trapped like this - he would rather die - it could not get worse.
But it did.
~SGA~
An air of excitement had engulfed the little community, tangible even to Beckett, isolated as he was.
He soon found out the cause when a new delivery of merchandise arrived from the Stargate. On his next visit to the main store, he was brought to see a rack stuffed with two dozen drones. Tattoo and the others were ecstatic - it was obvious that they knew what these were.
“This is the big one lads,” Tattoo was beaming widely, “just one of these beauties can bring down a Wraith ship - we can set our own price with a dozen worlds fighting to give us the highest bid.
We just need you to get them working.” He turned to Carson as he spoke.
“I can't do that - they only operate with control technology that you haven't got here. They don't work without it.”
“You are lying,” Tattoo was enraged, “you are just trying to deny us the most powerful weapons of the Ancients. They are covered in control circuits - bring them to life.”
In vain Carson tried to explain that the drones needed a Chair or a Puddle jumper to operate. They did not believe him. There was a threat of violence in the air - Carson steeled himself - he could not convince them that the drones were designed only to operate with secondary control systems.
“I think we need to focus the good doctor's mind on our very real need for these weapons.”
Eye-patch sneered.“We've been too lenient, he's lost his fear.”
To Carson's dismay, Tattoo nodded. Suddenly he was surrounded by several of the men - they stripped his jacket off, followed by his shirt.
“What the hell are you doing?” He shouted with panic as he found the chain that bound his wrists being hooked across a beam pulling his arms tight.
“Teaching you a little lesson in doing what you are told.” Eye-Patch spoke with grim satisfaction, as he removed his leather belt.
Carson was too shocked to react at first as he felt the bite of leather against his back. But the man was not staying his hand and the pain grew unbearable within several strokes, so that he could not help crying out. His back felt cut open, he could feel the blood running down. The pain grew in intensity until his legs could not support him any more and agony danced along every nerve. Then everything went black.
He woke back in his prison cell, lying on his bed, the slightest movement was torture, his shirt was stuck to his back. He felt very weak and hot. They had left him no water again - he was desperate with thirst.
The rain was hammering down outside causing a new trickle to come down the wall. Moving painfully and slowly,Carson could just manage to reach one of the streams. He drank from his cupped hand. The water tasted of peat and moss. He was struck by a wave of homesickness so strong that he shut his eyes against it - he was never going home, he was going to die here. Memories of Scotland, of Atlantis and her people were starting to take on the remembrance of a pleasant dream.
For several days Carson begged for his medical bag, to be able to treat the fiery cuts on his back - even just to clean them a little. He knew infection was setting in and that, in his already weakened state, he would suffer badly.
But Tattoo was not merciful. “A couple of days of feeling unwell should concentrate your mind on getting the drones to work.” was his only comment.
The outcome was inevitable. Carson could do nothing to stop the fever that took him so strongly and turned all of his dreams to darkness.
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