Title: Vital Lies.

Author: Illman

Beta: Unbetaed.

Date: 06/04/2005

Warnings: violence, mpreg (later on)

Disclaimer: It's their universe, not mine.

Summary: It wasn't at all what they expected it to be - Atlantis trades with a highly advanced race and is caught up in their domestic problems.

Author's Notes: Written for Gaia's mpreg challenge which was to write a cliche-less mpreg fic that didn't make her gag. I just had to give it a try. It will take a while before the story gets to the actual mpreg part. Don't take it too seriously and try not to flame.

The door slammed shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the silence of the room. John was shaken out of the semi-conscious daze he had been drifting in for the past few hours as the alien guards had beaten him long after it was clear that he was not going to answer their questions. At some point, his memory was hazy, blanking mercifully portions of the last twenty four hours, and he had been brought into this room.

It was dark; the only light came through a small window close to the ceiling. It was not enough to really see anything. The illumination it provided only allowed recognizing the basic outlines of the room. It was sufficient for John to see that he was not alone. He closed his eyes in relief. They had to be still alive, otherwise, they wouldn't have kept them in here, he reasoned with himself. But he had to help them. The last time he had seen Carson, before their mysterious captors had taken him away, he had been bleeding badly.

Atlantis knew what had happened and they would be sending a rescue party for them. John clung to that thought, ignoring all that factors why a rescue mission might still fail. Instead he concentrated on holding on until help arrived.

John tugged on his wrists which were secured to some sort of steel rail or pipe, he could not tell in the darkness. His captors had simply used a rag to tie him up, probably knowing that even if he did get loose, he would not get away anyways.

It still took John far to long to loosen the binding on his wrists. His fingers were swollen and stiff from having had the circulation to cut off. The rags had been tied tight around his wrists, but he didn't feel any fresh blood there.

Finally, he got his arms loose. It was a relief to be able to move his shoulders that had been forced into one position for too long.

Carson was only a few feet away, but getting there proved to be a challenge to brought tears to John's eyes. He could not recall a time before in his life that his body had hurt this much. When the guards had taken turns beating him and kicking him, he had passed out fairly fast due to blood loss from his prior injuries. Not this time, he crawled across the ground, unable to get his legs to obey the commands of his brain. His rib felt like they were on fire and every inch was agony.

Carson seemed impossibly far away. John had to take several break to reach him. Time lost its meaning. The only thing that existed was the distance between him and Carson and the pain.

Carson was lying in a sea of blood. The warm stickiness was the first thing John felt when he finally reached Carson. Desperation at the amount of blood in front of him on the concrete floor gave him renewed energy and he pulled himself up with his arms, feeling for a pulse. Carson's skin felt cold and clammy, but he was still alive. His pulse was slow and weak.

John didn't hesitate and stripped of his tee-shirt. It was far from clean and had already a fair amount of his own blood on it, but it was all he had. He folded the shirt and turned Carson on his back.

"Sorry, Carson. I know this hurts like hell." he apologized.

Carson didn't stir.

Using his tee-shirt and the remnants of Carson's own tee-shirt, John did the best he could at bandaging the steadily bleeding wound in Carson's abdomen. He feared that the projectile was still stuck inside Carson as there was no sign of an exit wound, but there was nothing he could do about that now. All he could do now was hope that the rescue team got to them in time. John sunk to the floor, his last energy reserve spent.

The guards all looked the same. Grim faces, grey uniforms, dark hair, carrying guns. Three of them stormed into the room. John woke from a dreamless sleep when he was roughly pulled up by one of them.

"Up with you." The guard commanded coldly. When John didn't react immediately the guard kicked him and then pulled him to his feet. As soon as he let go, John collapsed again. He suppressed a pained groan as he hit the floor. John gasped when he saw what was going on next to him. The second guard, having had no luck rousing Carson, had taken his gun to Carson's head.

John's attention was jerked away when he was pulled into a sitting position and suddenly felt the muzzle of a gun pressed to the back of his head.

This was it then. Not the ending he had had in mind, but it was better than getting sucked the life out of himself by the Wraith that was for sure. At least it was going to be quick. But Carson shouldn't be here. John wondered whether they had interrogated him as well. Probably. What had he told them? How much did he know about Atlantis' defences and security? It didn't matter now. What had happened had happened.

A gunshot disrupted the silence. John twitched. Carson! He forced himself not to look. He waited for the inevitable. He heard the click of the safety being taken off. Suddenly he was blinded by a flash. Did your life really flash before your eyes before you died? John never heard the shot that drove a bullet into his skull.

TBC