In the Blood (1/3)

by Lacadiva

Rating: PG-13/R for violence. Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I won't get anything, and I'm happy that way.

Summary: Serious Shepp whumpage. John is imprisoned for suspicion of espionage by offworld captors who use a very unusual torture and interrogation technique. Did I say major Shepp whumpage?

There must be some kind of way outta here

Said the joker to the thief

There's too much confusion

I can't get no relief

--Jimi Hendrix, All Along the Watchtower

vv 1 vv

"For the last time, guys, I'm not a spy."

John was frustrated and weary of their questions. The Lamemnian officials had been interrogating him for hours non-stop. None of John's answers seemed to satisfy them, even though they were mostly true. Mostly.

"We mean you no harm. We're explorers. We came through the 'gate..."

They had bound his hands and kept him sitting on the cold stone floor of a dark, foul-smelling place he could only describe as a dungeon for at least two days, deprived of food, water and sleep before they even began questioning him, hoping to weaken him, break him. The cold was already seeping into his bones, making them ache, making him shiver. They asked the same few questions over and over, their faces expressionless, giving no hint of emotion, not even anger. Even so, John could tell they were losing patience.

John's gut seized and ached from hunger, his arms were heavy and numb from lack of circulation. His wrists were caked with dried blood from attempting to wring his hands free. His head was still pounding from the staggering blow delivered by a Lememnian soldier at his capture. They had stripped him of his weapons, his communicator, his tac vest. His only hope was that his life sign would still register despite the heavy walls of stone and forged iron that created his cell. And that his captors would not choose to resort to more persuasive interrogation methods anytime soon.

John had barely made it through the Stargate, had barely seen any of what this new world had to offer when their party was ambushed. They could have met their attackers with superior force, but the Lememnian soldiers fought with ancient weapons - spears, clubs, bows and arrows. He made a judgment call - rather than cut them down, they would simply retreat and return at another time. Teyla, Ronon, Rodney and the rest of the away team managed to make it back through the gate, safely back to Atlantis. Everyone but John, who stayed behind to create a diversion so the others could slip through. Classic stupid move, John mused. "Never works," he muttered to himself, "always gets me into trouble."

"Hey," John said, mocking joviality, "y'think I could get a little water? Maybe a little something to eat?" His captors merely stared at him. John lowered his head. "Can't hurt to ask..."

And then the thought, that deadly discouraging thought he fought and tried to keep from the forefront of his mind, wormed its way into his consciousness: No one had come back for him. No one was going to come for him. There would be no rescue. He was on his own.

"Your people have abandoned you," T'kel said, creepily echoing John's very thought and fear, causing him to drop his stare to the floor so his captors would not see the despair on his face. T'kel circled around John menacingly. "You have no reason to protect them. Tell us your true purpose here."

"I told you everything. I'm not here to spy. We're explorers. Nothing more. We came through the Stargate to --"

"You were armed!" T'kel spat. "You came as soldiers. You came to slaughter us, to conquer us, to enslave us!"

"Wrong!" said John. "Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars."

"Then tell us! What is your mission?"

"To explore strange, new worlds. To seek out new life and new civilizations. To boldly go where no man has gone before. Something like that."

T'kel, of course, neither recognized or appreciated the old Star Trek reference. Neither did the other three Lamemnian officials who stood perfectly still, silently observing the interrogation process.

T'kel hit John hard across the mouth.

"I was wondering when you'd get to that," John said, and spat blood. A lot of blood.

"We have given you ample opportunities to speak the truth. If you cannot appreciate patience or reason, we shall have to try harsher methods."

"I can tell you right now, I'm not good with torture. Sure, I'll kick and scream and call you bad names and threaten to kill you and all, but I'm not changing my story, because I'M TELLING THE TRUTH."

T'kel hit John again, knocking him to the floor. His ears were ringing, and the room was swimming. John rose shakily, prepared to take more. T'kel moved to swing again, but one of his colleagues, one of the observers, reached out and grabbed hold of T'kel's arm, holding it firmly.

"This is futile," the Observer said. "We have but one other choice. We will draw the truth from the offender."

"I don't like the sound of that," John said.

"It is most effective," T'kel's colleague spoke. "And when the M'karra has finished with you, we will know the truth, and every secret you possess."

"I don't like the sound of that either," John said, feeling his lips beginning to swell at the corner, feeling the inside of his mouth filling with blood.

T'kel motioned to his cronies to leave. Before leaving himself, he turned back to John. "You may wish to rethink your position, before it is too late."

And then they left. John lay on the cold floor, exhausted and pissed. Why hadn't Ronon and Teyla found him yet? Would there be a rescue, or was he on his own? And what the heck kind of weapon or torture device was an m'karra? He had to find a way out of there. Now.

He worked his wrists, trying once again to loosen his bindings, but the strong leather ropes only dug deeper into his already rended flesh, burning, drawing fresh blood with every twist. He fell upon his side for a brief rest. When his mind was clear, when his body was rested, then he could move past the pain, the anger and the pangs of hunger and find a way out of this place. Only then could he figure out how to fight his way back to Atlantis. He closed his eyes, just for a moment.

vv vv

He never intended to fall asleep but it fell upon him quickly. His dreams were laced with odd, frightening images of Wraith attacks and burning villages; of Ronon twirling his gun and firing; of Teyla racing headlong into danger. Of Elizabeth screaming. Of Commander Carter shouting out orders. Of Rodney speaking so fast his words had no meaning, but the sentiment was more than clear - they were all going to die.

He awoke when he felt T'kel's heavy boot strike him in the back. "Back to torture me with your M-thingie?" John mumbled.

Before John could say another word, two Guards grabbed him by his arms and dragged him to the far wall. They cut his wrist bindings, then stretched his aching arms out and clamped his wrists into cold rusted cuffs and chains that were pinioned deep into the wall. John felt his heart quickening, racing. The niceties were done - now they were going to get down to the real interrogation.

"I regret that it has come to this, John Shepherd," T'kel said. "I give you one more chance to confess. What is your mission?"

"I told you, T'kel. We're on a peaceful mission. We don't want to enslave you. We're not spies."

T'kel gestured to the guards, who quickly left.

"I want to believe you, John Sheppard. But our leniency in the past brought us to the brink of destruction. As a consequence, we are a people who no longer believe in words. Only deeds. Your deeds have so far shown you to be deceiver, a liar. You claim not to be a soldier, not to be a conqueror, yet your weapons are not unlike the ones that brought death and destruction to our our world a century ago. Our ancestors were once slaves to ones like you who came through the stargate bearing gifts and kind words, offerings of peace and mutual cooperation between our peoples. They killed thousands, burned our villages, and forced the survivors to serve them. We will not be conquered again."

The guards returned, but not alone. There was someone with them, a small woman no more than four and a half feet tall, being dragged quite against her will, fighting against them but in no way strong enough to break their hold upon her. Her hair was coppery red and short, cut close to her scalp and spiky. Her head was down so he could not see her face, but he could see that her skin was the color of the sky at midnight. She wore a shapeless black robe that had seen better days. Her hands were bound together in front of her. The alien woman appeared to be as much a prisoner as Shepherd.

"This," said T'kel, "is the M'karra. Her kind is not indigenous to our world; they were brought here by the ones who conquered us, as pets to them, torturers to us. Most have died, but we have allowed some to survive, because they still serve a purpose."

T'kel removed a sharp knife from his belt and cut her bonds in one swipe. She raised her head a bit, but otherwise stood perfectly still. John could see her face now. Her eyes shone like amber, a fearful visage on such a dark face. Her lips barely hid her long, sharp, double sets of onyx incisors. Her eyes were on John. More specifically, John's throat.

John could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Was this M'Karra creature something akin to the Wraith?

"They take the blood of the offender," T'kel said. While he spoke, the M'karra hummed an odd, discordant tune, rocking ever so slightly from side to side. Her voice was sweet, resonate, almost mesmerizing. It was like an alien hymn, a precursor to a ritual. She held her palms up in a way that seemed almost religious, meditative. "From the blood," she continued for T'kel, " we can discern the truth."

The Guard gestured the M'karra to get to work. She knelt in a fluid, graceful manner and crawled slowly toward John, the way one might approach a hurt, potentially dangerous animal to comfort it.

John stiffened and shifted his position, as if he could move further away. But his chains held him fast; he was open and vulnerable to the creature that slinked eerily toward him.

"Back off!" John spat. "I said BACK OFF!" But the M'karra only moved closer.

Her voice was still oddly sing-song-like as she spoke. "The blood carries the memory. All is laid bare in the blood."

"Stay back!"

"There is little to fear," T'kel spoke, the shakiness of his own voice revealing his lie. "Cooperate. Let the M'karra do her work. The amount she will take will be nominal."

"But," M'karra continue as she reached out to touch John's black uniform shirt, "there will be pain. For this, I ask your forgiveness."

"Forget it," John spat.

She ripped his shirt open, exposing his throat. John was beginning to tremble. "Don't do this," he said.

"The pain," she purred, "will not last." She ran a hand lightly along his throat. Her skin felt like silk, softer and more supple than anything he'd ever felt. But he still fought to pull away from the creature.

"The pain," T'kel added, "will be numbed eventually by her saliva. Some creatures have described the effect of this chemical reaction as...quite pleasant."

"Look, I don't know what you think you're going to accomplish by siccing this...thing...on me, but I swear, I've told you everything. I'm not lying! Call it off!" John cried desperately, as the M'Karra moved closer and slowly opened her mouth, aiming for the engorged vein pulsing in John's exposed throat.

John cringed, holding his breath, waiting for the tearing, the burning, the pain. She moved, as if maneuvering her mouth to find the perfect spot. He could feel her hot breath assaulting him. And then there was indeed great pain. Searing, invasive. He could feel as well as hear his skin "pop" as the sharp teeth pierced every layer of his skin and drove deep into his flesh. John fought to pull away, knowing there was nowhere to go, but unwilling to give in and let the creature drain the life from him.

He could feel warmth leaving his body. Her hands held his shoulders, fingers digging through tough material and into his skin, keeping him steady, unable to move away. He shook, eyes tightly closed, lips screwed into a tight bow, fighting not to let out a scream. He could feel his head suddenly grow hot as if his own body had betrayed him and was offering his blood to this monster attached to him. Spittle shot from his mouth as his stomach churned and his gorge rose. Blood vessels exploded in his eyes, turning them red as he strained to escape. And just when the pain was becoming more than he thought he could bare, a different sensation shot through John.

The pain was suddenly, thankfully gone. He opened his eyes. He gasped, and air quickly refilled his lungs. His eyes were brimming with tears that ran freely down his face as an odd, new sensation shuddered through him. He'd never felt anything like this before. No whisky, no physical act, no pain killer had ever made him feel the sudden slam of euphoria he was feeling now. It was as if every inch of his skin, bone and marrow, every nerve ending, every part of his being, was awash in pure, unmitigated pleasure. He began to tremble uncontrollably. He heard a sound issue from him, like a whimper.

He felt disappointed the moment when the M'karra's teeth rip away from his throat. He closed his eyes to mourn the sudden disengagement, and let his body sink against the stone wall to revel in the residual sensations that were pumping and surging through every part of him. It was more than he could handle, more than he could stand. John passed out cold.

vv vv

When John woke up hours later, he was no longer chained or bound. His neck had been bandaged. He felt weak and unsteady, but considering all he had been through, he actually believed he would eventually recover. He shook his head, clearing his vision, and stood on weak, shaky legs.

There was food - some sort of hard crusted bread - on a cracked stone plate, and a cup of water sitting on the floor. As soon as he saw it, his overwhelming hunger made him lunge for it. He ate it without examining it first. He knew it was unwise, but why would they be so dull as to poison him when they could simply unleash their vampiric creature upon him again? He threw the water down his parched throat so fast that he choked. He coughed, clearing his airway, and lay back upon the floor and closed his eyes.

He wanted to come up with a plan of escape, but he was too distracted to concentrate. The memory of that overwhelming sensation he experienced from the creature attack was acute and made him shudder again at the thought. What had the creature done to him? Some kind of venom, he surmised, had worked into his blood stream and cause the unusual reaction. He wondered if there would be any harmful residual aftereffects, or would the venom simply pass harmlessly through his system? As much as he hated what the creature had done to him, how it had fed upon him, some small part of him (and he loathed the deviant thought!) desired to experience that strange and pleasurable sensation again. Just once more. Just once more.

vv vv

Niri was curled into a ball in her cell. Pain wracked through her tiny body. She was cold, colder than she'd ever been before. Just when she thought she could sleep, rest her mind from the jumble of foreign thoughts racing through her mind, she turned and vomited into a corner. That was the third time she had been made sick by the creature whose blood she had taken.

She had experienced all manner of discomfort before after a taking, but never quite like this. The taste of his blood was unfamiliar and deeply unpleasant. She had become ill almost immediately, much to the frustration of her handlers.

T'kel had insisted that she interpret her findings instantly. But she could not interpret the man creature's blood as easily as she could, say, a man like her handlers. The quality of their blood was different, not as warm, easy to read, gentler to her delicate system, and generally all discomfort would pass in a relatively short amount of time. But this was quite different. It hurt. So T'kel had her locked away with a promise to return later.

Later came far too soon. T'kel entered her cell and stood over her. She began to hum, a thing which comforted her but angered her handlers to no end.

"Tell me about the offworlder! Does he lie or tell the truth?"

"His thoughts are foreign to me," she said. "They are disorganized, clouded by fear, rage and desire. His intentions are not clear because his kind is strange to me. I cannot help you."

"Tell me something," T'kel said harshly, "or I will wring the life from you."

Niri raised her hands in a gesture something akin to surrender.

"I do not discern a subterfuge," she said. "He is startlingly honest. But as I said, his intentions are not clear. His blood knows much violence and great pain, dark fear and ravaging war, so much loss and grief, but he is not the bringer of these things...I do not believe he is one who brings war."

"You do not believe?"

"His blood is strange to me. I cannot be sure."

"Then you will take his blood again."

"That is not wise. His reaction was too strong. As was my own."

"I care not," T'kel spoke. "I and I alone will discern what is wise and what will or will not be done. I will not risk the freedom of my people. You will take the offworlder's blood again, regardless of the consequences to you or to him, and you will tell me what his blood says, or you will both die tonight."

With that, T'kel left.

Niri sank deeper to the cold floor, knowing and fearing what was to come.

vv vv

He woke up ill, the contents of his stomach, though light, emptied violently and involuntarily on the floor. Despite the fact that he had slept, he was overwhelmed with exhaustion, his thoughts clouded. Understandable, he thought, considering everything he'd been through. Yet he had never felt this completely devoid of energy. He leaned back against the wall, bringing his knees up to his chest to help keep himself warm. He inexplicably broke out in a sweat, his clothes becoming soaked and sticking to his clammy skin. His entire body was suddenly wracked with severe cramping, starting in the pit of his stomach and radiating to his limbs. He fought to divert his attention from his sickness and tried to concentrate on getting himself out of this place and back to Atlantis. But his mind kept slamming back to his misery as it worsened and spread.

T'kel entered with two guards escorting the M'Karra creature.

"No seconds," John rasped, then doubled over as his gut seized and roiled in pain. He was shaking uncontrollably, as if something alien had taken hold of him.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME?" he screamed through gritted teeth. The shaking intensified, became convulsions. He fell backwards, back arching, face contorted, aware of every moment, every inch of pain, but unable to do anything about it. He knew in that moment that he was quite likely going to die.

vv vv

Niri watch the offworlder's extreme suffering and closed her eyes to whisper a prayer for him. Her plea for mercy was interrupted when T'kel gave her a harsh push forward.

"Take his blood! Now!"

She had no choice. She knew the guards would kill her, and that the offworlder would also die unless she did as she was told. She knelt down and crawled toward the seizing man and placed a dark hand upon his chest. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart and it frightened her. She turned his head and found a new place on his throat.

He cried out when her onyx incisors sank into his throat, but he also subconsciously welcomed it because he knew his suffering would be short, replaced by the euphoria, the pleasure, the physical and emotional exaltation... The venom from the creature hit his bloodstream like a fist. Instantly the seizure ebbed, the pain numbed as the alien-induced ecstacy began to burn within him. He shuddered, his hands simultaneously pushing her away and pulling her toward him. And when it became overwhelming, more than his mind and body could handle, he slammed into unconsciousness.

End chapter 1.