Title: It Does Count…
I do not own the characters/locations/names or anything else that has something to do with this show or the whole Stargate concept… some new characters and offworld people, yes, but I do not intend to make profit out of it anyway…
Notice:
-English is not my first language, sorry but I used a wonderful/awesome/generous Beta: Light at the End of the Tunnel :P
-Contains violence, coarse language kinda, and torture scenes
-I am more a fan of Stargate SG1 (and a Mitchell whumper) but obsessed1 and Alipeeps's fictions on Sheppard and team are so inspiring I felt as if I had to try to write something about SGA… That means I am not an expert on the matter and the characters, so blame me and not them if the following fic sucks in any way.
-I was just something that came to me… plot bunny or something
-It's short, but it's not a one-shot… so let's just call it "bantam" :P
-If some parts seem… confused or/and slightly incoherent, well it is to illustrate Sheppy's state of mind… ;)
Colonel Sheppard had that smug and defiant look on his face as he convinced himself quite easily to not lower down his eyes that were staring at the man in front of him. A man; bald but probably very well shaven, the hairs of his eyelashes and eyebrows nowhere to be found, rather tall, taller than him anyway… broader as well, hard to tell how old he could be… Yet one thing was sure: by the small smirk on his lips and the look in his oddly still and extremely pale eyes –as if his human looking eyeballs were locked or fused in his skull, forcing him to turn the head if he wanted to look sideway–, Sheppard could tell that this man meant very bad news…
Bad news… maybe it was the whole situation that will lead to his soon-to-be misfortune; as if being brutally manhandled through a thick layer of mud and probably miles of forest by several caveman looking, but well equipped with sharp knives, hired hands, while wondering if his team made it safely to the 'Gate under heavy enemy fire, was not bad enough…
And what a headache he had!
Things go bad and can always worsen, he thought at this time as his legs, tired of walking and running for so long, seemed to cruelly enjoy failing to support him… Ok, legs don't try to harm usually, but the very powerful punch to his left temple that kept him from joining his team the other side of the 'gate – thanks to one of those armed gorillas-alike henchmen– sometime made it hard to concentrate. Mud on the ground, mud in his shaken up brain, mud in his unsteady legs, blood as sticky as mud down the left side of his face… I sounded somewhat fun to him, and that was what scared him… that and the usual question: does Ronon, Teyla and McKay made it?... Hum… Yeah they did and he saw them going into the event horizon, but did someone got hurt and was currently in a bad condition?
"You seem distracted, stranger… Is there something you want to share with us before we begin the interrogation?"
Oh! Sheppard knew that voice! … Well… of course because it was the odd sadistic looking man standing in front of him that spoke, getting the colonel's mind back on the current moment; where he was sitting on a plain three-legged but quite heavy metal chair, his wrist fastened on each armrest, his ankles tied on the front legs of this rusty chair. Trapped… trapped with a most certainly madman that was speaking with a soporific tone…
And why couldn't his head stop pounding as if thousands of blacksmiths where having fun hammering his skull from the inside?!... Does that counted as a point for the bad guys anyway?
"You could have asked nicely first, before sending your muscled baboons running after us…" Sheppard managed to reply, trying to forget his aches and how fuzzy he felt, how hard it was to think; he could not help it, he was made for constantly showing how stubborn he could be.
"You had that unknown and alien technology, those devices… those weapons… We could not risk you using those against our people; we had to intercept your team first…" The bald man said; his voice still as boring as a tired old history teacher.
"Something else to ask first… Maybe we could have made a deal, you know: trading or something, sharing data…" Sheppard commented, a little bit more bitterly than he intended, but at least it was better than slurring his words… He wasn't that woozy yet to slur… or was-he? Damn, what a question!
"Unnecessary, and now that we had you captured, we do not need to waste the resources we have to obtain your knowledge…" The bald one said and to John it clearly meant: danger, torture ahead!
"Attacking us to steal our gears only because you never saw such things before was unnecessary and trying to get anything from me is more than unnecessary… I think you are only pissed off knowing it could have been so much easier, Mr. Clean…" The colonel retort, clearly defying his captor; though he could not help but blink owlishly to keep his focus on the other man… Wait, did he really call him Mr. Clean?!
Nonetheless Sheppard was probably right: the hairless man pressed his lips into a thin line and squinted his pale eyes into an angry glower at the fastened colonel, as the dusty generic cell-like room became silent. The "You're so insolent that I'd really like to make you pay for this" kind of silent, Sheppard thought and was nearly proud of being its cause. Does that counted? Good guys 1, bad guys 1… So that would be a tie, deuce Carson would say…
But the moment after Atlantis CO found out he may regret playing that little game over and over again with this bald man that was quite short tempered for someone with a dull voice: his captor suddenly lashed out… So dizzy he was Sheppard barely saw it coming and he did not have the time or a mind clear enough to react to that backhand coming his way at full speed, connecting with his already abused and bleeding temple. His skull knocked back viciously on the metal headrest of his chair, shaking even more his brain probably already suffering from a concussion, and still hat was not the worst part of it…
The trick was that Mr. Clean wasn't quite human and -as far as he could put forward any hypothesis without having revised it- Sheppard later came to think his captor was able of such attacks a vaguely electric eel-like creature could do… Where to start: he did not feel the electric spark that, as the enemy fist connected with his face, shot into his skin and into his thin temple flesh, but he surely felt every muscle of his body instantly cramp and spasm in a gigantic wave of pure agony, the feeling of having only heated up needles instead of blood in his veins and fire running down his nerves, plus a knifing and striking suffering as awful, as the pulse ran through his brain… Maybe it had hit directly at the part of his the brain responsible for pain, who knows?...
One thing was sure: for a single second that seemed to be the worst eternity possible, he tensed and went so stiff from the nearly convulsive shock that the ropes that fastened his wrists bit into his exposed skin; his face obviously screwing up with utter pain. And at the moment the electric impulse went dead in his body, he colonel slumped on the chair; the ropes tying his limbs being the only things that kept his drained up, battered and overtaxed body from sprawling on the dirty floor. Shocked from the experience and his eyes wide opened, his head more than swimming as everything seemed to spin around him, his body still twitching and trembling painfully as if his nerves have been short-circuited by the bolt, shivers down his spine at the same time as a wave of heat seemed to strike only his upper body and leaved him perspiring, Sheppard unwillingly gasped.
Panic and shock… panic: what the hell was that, what did he do to him?! It must have spiked his adrenaline and the colonel's heart was running; he jolted on his seat, wildly eying around as he pulled just as wildly on his restraints, panting, horrified without being able to know why or even to thing clearly. He thought his stomach protested his sudden electric boost or the spasms it caused: he could not be sure as pain signals were shooting from every of his sore muscles and were overwhelming his brain… A least he did not retch or else he would have blacked out from the pain even while being so oddly tense and jittery… Pain! Pain! Worst than the headache! He could not go through this anymore, it was too much! It seemed he could only think…
The chair wasn't even rattling from his hectic fight against his restraints and this hopeless fight would even make it worst: he felt as if the some needles in his veins were sill stuck and pricking, every move stirring the lingering pain. He would have to stop soon and before he could not take it anymore, yet it stopped sooner than he would have thought: he suddenly felt a pressure on his throat and he found himself quickly fighting to suck air into his lung… Mr Clean was choking him with his bare hands, but seemed to change his mind to moment he caught entirely Sheppard's attention and instead moved his hand to the side of the colonel's face to push his cheek against the rusty headrest.
As a well trained dog when his master pulls on his leash and threaten to deprive it of oxygen, the colonel froze in fear –an irrational fear induced by the shock and the concussion it is to understand- his panting gasping breaths, the lines of pain on his face and his muscles shivering out of his control being the remaining proofs of the jolt that stroke him at the same time as his captor's punch…
"Too much of this punishment and it will cause serious damages to your nervous system…" The bald man commented, his tone back to the usual boredom it held like toasting a man's central system was no big deal.
John hated him for that, but his mind too nervy to think clearly could only let him be freaked out by he hand pushing on his cheek so his head would be pressed still, afraid of an hand that could, by a slight touch, cause so much pain and roast his brain to death… They could not do that, could they? They needed him alive, plus he could not die this way only because some people were scared of their advanced technology! Wait, he could not possibly be afraid like this, not him! It was all because of his mixed up mind that was still swimming… and because of the mother-banger Mr. Clean, Sheppard protested mentally… At least he was able to contain this protest this time; he had to anyway or else that would count for the Bad guys: 2-1 …
Where was his team anyway?...
The bald captor did not add anything else, still pressing the colonel's head firmly against de chair, waiting maybe. Sheppard head was now back to its awful pounding –the headache ten times worst if it was possible- and soon his neck became sore from the strain and the twist that was painfully forcing it into this awkward position.
And the dizziness, the faintness, seemed to quickly win he fight over him; the beads of sweat on his brow and the serious discomfort and painful weakness of his limbs and every muscles of his body being the only remains of the adrenaline surge he had with the shock.
He became less tense and slightly more sluggish –half unwillingly but also part desired since he felt so worn-out now– while the entire room could have look still: no one moved… no one spoke…
At least not until Sheppard slumped a little bit more in this chair, his breath slower yet again uneven and momentarily becoming some faint gasps as he was trying to get rid of the queasiness by compulsively swallowing: then the bald man slowly took pressure off the colonel's head, releasing him carefully… The Atlantis' CO could not help but think that his captor only waited for him to shiver down, as people use to do to discipline and calm down a reluctant pet as they are training it: make sure it cannot move and stay this way until the animal understand that being combative is a mistake… That thought could have made him sick… or was it because of the concussion?...
No, he thought: he was neither a pet nor too shaken to think; he had to find a way out of this situation… and fast!
John tried to move on the seat into a prouder and more glorious position, just to make sure he would not lose this fight even if his body seemed to be slowly shutting down. He had to say something; he had to snap at this other man! So he did it:
"I see y'enjoying y'rself pretty much right now… Is that why you kidnapped me: to watch me rub my face on a chair with y'r dear fiends? How pathetic s'that! Y'didn't even bring pop-corn!" He said and scoffed at his enemy.
But then it hit him: he was slurring a wee bit, but he still was!… Ok, that was bad, that could quickly count as a victory for his captors: he uncomfortably shifted a little bit in his chair; trying to clear his throat the more silently he could; as if all his was helping him staying alert… In fact, moving was only making his headache more sweltering and debilitating. For a moment he missed the moment just before doing so since, now, his vision was slightly greying and the world was making no sense.
When his vision swan a little less at last, Shepard regretted the fact he had missed Mr Clean's reaction, but he realized he probably lost a few minutes in his confused daze: two goons dressed in the generic brown uniform were installing a kind of large wooden chest -except there was not so deep and large shelves instead of the drawers- a few feet from him. There were two shelves: the upper one painted in red and the lower one plainly unpainted; on the upper one remained a few slate tiles, maybe tree of them, John could not tell since his vision was not too good right now, and on the lower one there were just too many of them to count. The colonel could not help but think: what the hell it means?! while watching carefully the new furniture…
"Now I want you to consider our next little game… the rules are simple: an answer pleasing to hear and you could be rewarded by the removal of one point from your score…"
Began the captor, his voice nearly startling the colonel; and as he mentioned this removal, he gestured toward that wooden display stand. As a demonstration, one of his guards reached for one of the shelves, the one in red, and took a slate tile to place it on the shelf right under. That system was used to count those points quite certainly; the fact good behaviour was rewarded by losing a point probably meant each of those slates standing for points were for a punishment he could avoid. In fact, Sheppard thought, this weird wooden thing must be a kind of abacus… or maybe more one of those board displaying the score at a baseball game…
The caveman-like hired hands moved the tile back to where it was on its red shelf as the bald man kept on explaining on his usual dull tone:
"As for mutiny, lies or sharp replies, you will gain one point every time I judge your answer was not satisfying enough or too slow to come…"
As to show this, the guard took a slate from the several bunches on the lower shelf to move it on the red one… And since it seemed here was an unlimited amount of slates on the lower shelf, it meant Mr Clean had in mind to be quite strict with his points dispensing, and if a point stood for something really bad for the colonel…
Sheppard had to concentrate in order to hold a gulp and the shiver that threatened to run down his spine. The punishment for being smug; he had an idea of what it could be: probably Mr Clean/Mr Electric Eel's special and painful asset…
Was his team alright? If so, could they make it fast to gather the rescue: he would really appreciate being the one to be saved this time…
Talking about this time, the guard did not replaced the tile he moved –the kind of "you'll be ass-kicked" token- on the red shelf –the "you might be spared" shelf- … but no one seemed to care enough or to notice that mild mistake. They did it on purpose, Sheppard's addled mind complained.
"The upper board can held up to seven slates at the time and once it has reached its maximum, you will be punished for your amount of points: pairs of tile mean one of my neuralgic jolts and one single tile means a physical abuse given by my men."
The bald man explained with his voice so dull that, as the captor was motioning toward his muscular guards to show which men he was talking about, the colonel wondered what could possibly be so boring in torturing people: usually assholes of his kind enjoys it!
"In addition, we will clear your board every 3 minutes according to the number of tiles you collected…"
The captor added and it was only then that Atlantis's CO noticed the small device made of glass hat stood on the chest of drawers, probably some kind of clock… Even with the pain in his neck from the way he had been held against the headrest, Sheppard could not bit back a sharp mocking comment, no mater how much his brain seemed to be crushed by the headache or sluggish from the concussion, no mater if he knew maybe it was not a sensible decision this time:
"So much trouble and rules for'n'unnecessary interrogation! Y'bastards n'ver learn that simple things're th'most effectives ones…"
…And also: simple traditional torture methods were physical, the fact Sheppard was known for his exceptional self-control over pain being a plus for him… But when it was psychological, when it was all about expecting the suffering no matter what you do, and when the pain induced was so disturbing, it was no as easy… Could he manage the pressure and the anxiety it caused?...
The room became silent again, except for the rhythmic clicking of the clock and the colonel decided he should try to throw a smug look at his captors, including the brainless brutes. Slowly -since sudden movements were now all hurting his abused muscles- the colonel rotated his head a little more just in time to see through the haze of his brain one of the guards placing another tile on the red shelf…
At this moment, a soft and unreal chiming cut through the tense silence and I took John a few seconds to realize I was coming from the little clock on the wooden board, as if this ringing was an alarm… What?! I already made 3 minutes?! It couldn't be!
"Good, right in time! Now let us see how many points you have collected… mmmm… Five! That is not a very fine score for a first time, but we will have to do with it…" The bald man said and, as he rarely did, smiled in a way that could be really creepy if you look at it long enough…
"I only earned one of those…" Mumbled Sheppard with consternation, testing carefully his restrains but only succeeding at jarring the sore and aching muscles of his body.
Mr. Electric Eel kind of ignored the comment and the unfairness of the situation, already getting closer to the SGA1's leader with a feral smile. Damn: the bald guy was going to start with the nerve roasting, thought Sheppard; realizing as well that, after two more of this shocks, whatever the guards will chose to do with their right to beat the crap out of him, it will be even harder to stand with his already exhausted and utterly aching body…
Damn! And it was so hard to think now that the room seemed half erased, remote, slightly spinning in a sickening motion… It had crept back on Sheppard, the mud jamming his neurones, the soreness harming as well, and he barely noticed before it was too late. He hated to admit it, but maybe a second electroshock could startle him enough so his adrenalin and accelerated blood flow could clear his mind and get rid of the fog obscuring it… After all, to escape, he had to be conscious and alert enough to walk and run for it by his own… Damned headache, damned nausea, damned stiff limbs and triply damned bald sadistic asshole with no hair!
When his captor's hand reached for him, Sheppard could not help but recoil, though unable to go very far fastened as he was… The so dreaded fingers made contact with his forehead as it launched its just as much dreaded attack… to the Colonel, it seemed to ignite fiercely every single nerve of his being in a chaotic storm of agony, his muscles painfully spasming even harder than it did before, so much he could not hold a chocked cry. It was an eternity of suffering, as if his bones were being crushed and clawed by furious bears, as if the contact of air on his skin was burning him like acid… and the utter pain of uncontrolled and cruel muscle contractions so hard the chair shook…
TBC
And do not be afraid to comment, uh?