A test of courage to free a child starts John on an unwilling journey, where he has to find his past not only to fight oppression, but also to survive. Shep whump and team angst, with my favourite doc Carson.

Warnings:- Only a little bad language, but it will be rated T for violence later on.

Disclaimer:- SGA isn't mine…If it had been, I'd be living in Malibu!

This fic is for my friend Sterenyk Strey – Happy Birthday! And many thanks to the wonderful shepsgirl72 who despite still writing her own fabulous story, 'The Three Gates.' still offered to act as beta, of course all mistakes are mine.

I should also say, as I am still editing, updates will be no later than every second day.

DAMAGED

CHAPTER 1

Sometimes, it didn't pay to get out of bed, although the irony he would soon be heading back to the sack wasn't lost on John, as he cracked open his lids to meet the concerned blue eyes of Carson Beckett.

Last thing he could remember was standing in line chatting to Lorne, while staring at McKay, daring him to take the last blueberry muffin. The next…well that was a bit of a blur. Now he was lying on something wet and from the pain piercing through his skull, he just hoped it wasn't his own blood.

John raised a hand to examine said substance when it was gently, but firmly put back down again by Beckett. "Don't move, Colonel. I need you to keep as still as possible in case there's any damage to your neck or spine – you took quite a fall," Carson informed him in that clipped tone he used when worried, before barking orders to an unseen party for a neck brace and backboard.

"I'm fine, Carson…honest. I just slipped, no biggie." Surprised at the slight slur in his voice, he stole a look at Beckett, hoping to avoid the humiliation of being wheeled like Hannibal Lector out of his own mess. Though judging by the determined expression on the doc's face, John already knew it was pretty much a lost cause.

He groaned at the thought…a big mistake, as Carson turned round and started flashing that light thingy into his eyes, making him wince. "How bad is your pain, Colonel, on a scale from one to five?" he asked, staring at him like some kind of lie detector, which come to think of it wasn't far off the mark.

"One…" Then as he saw Carson draw him a suspicious look, thought better of it and decided to be honest. "Okay, maybe one and a half, but no more than a two." John tried a grin, but it wasn't easy with the restrictive collar round his neck, and he soon realised it must have looked more like a grimace…crap. He really wasn't getting out of this one.

"John! What happened?" Teyla called out, and he looked up to see her standing there along with Ronon. It was obvious from the smirk on the big guy's face he'd already sussed he wasn't badly hurt, but Teyla was already kneeling beside him searching his face with those big brown eyes, really anxious.

"It's okay, Teyla, I'm fine…"

John had just started to answer when McKay interrupted. "Actually, Sheppard, Beckett's right…that was quite a fall you took." John sighed as he watched Rodney dig into the last muffin…his, before continuing to speak with his mouth half-full. "It was just like one of those Laurel and Hardy movies. One minute he was on his feet, then the next he went flying, oh - must have been a good two feet into the air. It was pretty impressive actually."

That was an image John would rather not have known about, only too aware he would now be a star performer on the comedy circuit too. His humiliation now complete, knowing footage of his impromptu performance would soon be copied from the security cameras, to make its way into every laptop all over the base. This day really wasn't starting well.

"Right, Colonel, we're good to go." Beckett adjusted the straps around his chest and legs so that he was locked in tight, something else he really hated, before the doc gave the nod to the orderlies signalling it was time to leave.

A long line of concerned faces stared down at him as the stretcher was slowly wheeled away and apart from his own embarrassment, John felt like a heel for worrying everyone. For a brief moment he considered trying the smiling thing again to let them know he was okay, but then quickly remembered that didn't work too well last time, so settled on closing his eyes instead, just wanting it all to be over.

ooooOoooo

Later, lying bored rigid against the pillows, the diagnosis was just as he'd tried to tell Beckett in the first place. There was no life or death scenario, just a few stitches and a sore head from a mild concussion. Unfortunately, though, he was stuck there for a mind-numbing twenty-four hours, all because he'd apparently blacked out for a whole five minutes.

John tried to convince Carson that it wasn't necessary because he felt fine, but Beckett, of course, had insisted. He'd been sorely tempted to argue the point, but one glance at the medic's set jaw made him back down, knowing the MO's authority over all things medical was paramount, and he really didn't want to piss off the man who could ground his sorry ass into next week. Therefore, he was behaving like a good little patient, trying not to whine too much and counting down each tedious hour, bored out of his skull.

So far he'd counted three hundred and ninety-two floor tiles between him and the end of the ward, and the ceiling was next, but he was keeping that for later to give him something to look forward to. Since video's games were out as they made his head ache, John was contemplating begging for some paperwork to do, when he saw Teyla striding into the ward. From her tense expression clearly upset, but more than that, the heightened flush on her pretty face told him she was furious.

Normally by now, the serene Athosian would have taken a seat and asked how he was, but today she was pre-occupied. Clearly agitated, pacing up and down the short distance between him and the neighbouring bed, with her hands balled into fists held rigidly by her sides.

John could only remember ever seeing her that angry a couple of times before. The first after she'd been accused by Bates of attracting the Wraith to the then Alpha site, the second when they'd went head to head over his refusal to let her go on missions while pregnant with Torren. There was, of course, one other… her last exchange with Michael. Teyla's rage at the man who had tried to take her child so all consuming she'd watched, her expression deadly calm, as her foot ground painfully into his knuckles until he'd lost his tenuous hold and the surprised former Wraith fell to his death.

Unaware what caused her agitation this time, John waited for a few moments, trying to figure out which angle to use on his team mate, when she suddenly spoke.

"We have to do something. I cannot, and will not stand by while these barbarians treat that poor child like an animal." Teyla practically spat out the words, then turned to him with tears glistening in her eyes.

"Teyla, why don't you come and sit down, then you can tell me what happened?" John spoke in a slow deliberate tone, hoping it might help to calm her down, but it only partly worked as she slammed her butt down in the chair next to the bed, as far from relaxed as you could get, perching rigidly on the edge of the seat. "Okay…how about we start from the beginning? You were visiting the Pallonian's today, right?"

"Yes," she answered, her voice still clipped, but at least sounding a little calmer as she started her story. "They are ranchers, raising morlacks…a bit like your cattle on earth. Lorne's team made this discovery during a routine mission last week, so Mr Woolsey asked me to return and discuss a trade agreement with them for a fresh source of meat, just in case we were ever cut off from Earth again."

"And it was a good plan, so what happened?" he asked, wondering what could have gone wrong on such a simple mission.

Teyla continued. "I spoke with their chief and after the negotiations, he asked if I would wait outside in order he could discuss our offer with the elders. It was then, while I was wandering around the encampment, I saw a young boy. He was no more than six, maybe younger, and chained up by the neck to the side of one of the tents."

He could see tears welling up in her eyes, and there was silence for a moment before she spoke with a break in her voice. "I went over to talk to him, but he was terrified. Even cowering into the side, I could see the poor child was filthy and just skin and bones. So when I went back into the tent, I asked the chief about him and he told me the boy was an orphan who had been sent to live with his last living relative, an uncle, after his parents died, but the man didn't want him. Do you know why?" she raged, her voice shaking with emotion. "Because he was deaf, damaged goods, as the chief put it, and his disability is considered unlucky amongst their tribe."

John watched as Telya turned to him, her haunted expression heartbreaking. "It was obvious none of them wanted the child, so I asked if he could return with me. I told him that the boy could have a home with my people on the mainland, I even pleaded with him… but he wasn't prepared to discuss the matter with a mere woman. He told me if we wanted to take him, I had to send back the male leader of our tribe to negotiate an arrangement."

Teyla stood up and started pacing again, visibly upset about the boy, but the strong, determined Athosian was also clearly angry at being dismissed in such a manner. "We must do something, John," she pleaded. "We can't leave him to live the rest of his life being treated like an animal."

By now, the tears she'd been holding at bay were streaming down her face, and he really hated seeing her so upset, so awkwardly taking her hand, John gave it a squeeze. "And we won't, Teyla. Not if I have anything to do with it. Tell you what, how about you get back in touch with the chief and ask for a meeting tomorrow after I'm sprung out of here? Let's see if we can't work out some sort of trade to bring the kid home."

ooooOoooo

Westerns were his all time favourite as a kid. John Wayne, of course, being his hero then, but John had also loved Saturday morning re-runs of 'The Virginian', 'The Big Valley', and his all time favourite 'The High Chaparral.' Manolitto Montoya everything he'd aspired to as a young boy, handsome, good with the ladies, and very brave, standing shoulder to shoulder with Big John, Buck and Blue Boy as together they risked life and limb to protect their ranch against the apache Indians.

So far, John could see quite a few similarities between the old wild west and PX4 597, as the undulating golden sands of the desert stretched into the horizon, without so much as a tree or river in sight, the rising temperature already feeling uncomfortable, despite being early in the morning. In many ways, the Pallonian settlement itself looked oddly familiar, an assortment of tents, though not tepees, forming a ragged line up either side with a corral filled with the Pegasus equivalent of horses, set off to one side. At least he assumed the animals were used for transport, as they looked mostly the same, sans tails, besides, it seemed a reasonable guess given the leather saddles slung carelessly over the length of the wooden fence.

There was something else familiar too, as just like in the movies the town looked like it had been dropped there. With nothing else remotely close…a self contained unit, in the middle of nowhere.

Part of him half expected Cochise to pop out at any second, but instead of the imposing figure of the Apache chief, a frail elderly man appeared, barely five feet tall with steel grey hair simply plaited, lying flat against his back. He appeared friendly enough, his crooked smile revealing several missing teeth as he extended his wrinkled hand in greeting. "Welcome, Colonel Sheppard. It is good to meet you. My name is Falack Ransen, head of this tribe."

John flashed his most engaging smile, then nodded to the three people by his side. "Thank you. I understand you have already met my colleagues Teyla Emmagan and Ronon Dex, but I'd also like to introduce our doctor, Carson Beckett."

He'd nearly said 'medicine man', but figured neither guy would be happy with that description, especially not Carson, who was sweating buckets, his face scarlet from a combination of the long walk from the 'gate and the blazing sun. In a way, John figured the doc only had himself to blame, as it was his choice to come, insisting he wanted to check the kid out before they took him back, except by the surreptitious glances he was getting, it was clear that wasn't Carson's only reason. His ears were still ringing from the flea in his ear the Scot had given him, about irresponsible military commanders going off world so soon after being released from the infirmary, the two having had a standoff for a while until Teyla told him the whole sorry tale, and Carson reluctantly gave way.

Truth be told, John had to admit he wasn't feeling great. His back was sore, probably black and blue as a result of yesterday's comedy routine, and his head still ached, none of which he'd told Becket, of course, putting on his game face as he suppressed the winces when he'd climbed out of bed.

As their small contingent made their way through the encampment, John couldn't help but notice eyes full of distrust and suspicion followed them as they strolled along. Curious children who made to come over, hastily pulled inside by anxious parents, which by the expressions of his teammates was making them all feel uneasy, almost as if the bogie man had come to town.

Teyla hadn't mentioned anything about receiving a hostile reception, and when he looked around she seemed as surprised as he was. Still, he kept smiling, holding his P90 close to his chest…just in case. John still didn't sense any real danger though, just a nagging feeling of foreboding, which was really weird, given that all the young men were missing, out on the range herding cattle, leaving only the women and elderly to care for the young.

Without Teyla saying a word, he spotted the kid straight away, his situation every bit as bad as she'd said it was. The young, dark-haired boy was filthy, clearly starving and chained up like a dog, trying vainly to find shelter from the rising sun, among the folds of the canvas.

Even Patrick, his own dad, despite not winning any Father of the Year contests, never treated him this way. The manipulative bully had even had a soft spot for their old rough collie, Hudson, who was allowed free range of the Sheppard estate, usually shedding his course black hair in either his or Dave's bed at the end of the day.

John grew enraged at the ignorance of these people, who treated disability as if it somehow made this boy less of a person...like the kid was incapable of feeling or intelligent thought. The boy was damaged goods, the chief had said, except in John's view, it was them who were damaged, a small minded community that persecuted what they didn't understand. Their lack of compassion immoral, punishing a small kid whose only crime was not being able to hear.

He stopped in his tracks, and asked the chief if he could see the boy, bemused at the apprehension etched into the deep wrinkled lines, although after a few tense moments the old man eventually agreed. John ignored his reluctance, as he promptly plopped himself down on the ground just feet from where from the kid was sitting, the small half-starved waif curled in a ball, trying to protect himself against the soaring heat, and now apparently from the terrified look on his face, also from him.

John bided his time and just sat there, avoiding eye contact while the boy got used to his presence. Then slowly, in case he spooked the kid, reached into his pocket and snagged a candy bar and casually broke off a piece then put it in his mouth, making a show of really enjoying it .

It didn't take long after that for the boy's curiosity to get the better of him, and when he sensed a presence beside him, without turning, John left the rest of the bar on the ground. From the corner of his eye, he watched, as a small, grubby hand came and snatched it. The look of pure joy on the kid's face as the flavour hit his mouth, infectious. John smiled, and for a few special moments both man and boy shared the bond that only candy can bring.

When John turned slightly and tentatively offered a second bar, he was pleased there was no hesitation this time. The kid practically grabbing it out of his hand, then after staring at him for a few seconds, broke it in half and gravely offered him the other piece. He wasn't hungry, but knew refusal would have stolen the only pride this small child had left, so ate it in the spirit of which it was given…the ice finally broken. One thing now certain, John when determined that when he left this place, the boy was coming with him.

ooooOoooo

Oppressively hot inside the stuffy tent, John ignored the mounting ache throbbing behind his temple, and the sweat trickling down his tee. He felt miserable, but knew he must make this pitch count to allow the kid to leave - to give him a better life, and a future with people who would care for him and love him for who he was…just like the chance Elizabeth had given him all those years ago. Atlantis had been his salvation, and given the opportunity, John knew it would be Elient's too.

As he laid out the offer, it sounded impressive, even to his ears. Free medical care and supplies, assistance in improving the irrigation in the area, and finally last but not least, an offer of assistance in the event of attack from the Wraith or any other insurgent. Yet the old man seemed apathetic as he sat silent, barely moving as the deeply lined eye's never left his face.

Finally finished, John waited as the stillness became almost unbearable. He was anxious for a response that Falack was in no rush to give, as the chief searched the campfire, apparently struggling with a decision. Then, hearing a slight shuffle in the sand, John glanced up to see the old man staring at him. "I am most impressed by your generous offer, Colonel, but as we are a simple people with few needs, I am going to decline."

"Excuse me?" John asked, surprised, stunned even, at their refusal. Yet more than that, he was worried, because regardless of what happened next, he was taking the boy with him. Aware though, that if he used force, he would probably not just lose his job in Atlantis, but also his commission, so, since that was a route he'd rather not take unless he had to, John decided to try again. "I'm sorry, chief. I didn't mean to sound rude, but most people would give their eye teeth for an offer like that, so what gives?" he asked, puzzled. "If you aren't interested in what's on the table so far, what do you want?"

Falack reached for one of the logs piled at the edge of the tent then threw it into the fire. "Elient may be damaged, a bad omen even, but he is still one of ours, Colonel Sheppard, and if you want to take him, make him one of your own, first of all, as leader, you must show your worth. Are you prepared to do that?"

John didn't like the sound of that, but answered without hesitation. "Sure…what do you want me to do?"

ooooOoooo

TBC

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please review and let me know what you think.