Unlikely Target
By Leesa Perrie
Warning: Some torture scenes. Mainly use of Goa'uld torture sticks, but also one scene of a character being whipped.
Set pre-Atlantis (McKay), a crossover with SG1 (mainly Sam and Jack), set during SG1's season 7 (before 'Heroes')
Chapter One – Consolation Prize
Waking up on a Goa'uld spaceship with a zat induced headache was not on his list of things to do today. Shout at the incompetent so-called lab assistants he'd been assigned after he had finally, thankfully, returned from Russia to work again at Area 51, yes. Email a certain hot blonde astrophysicist and annoy the hell out of her just for fun, yes. Go home and watch endless re-runs of Outer Limits, yes, most definitely. Wake up on a Goa'uld spaceship, no, not in his plans.
Damn.
Why him? Why not Carter, who was at least used to this sort of thing, and was a higher profile target? Sure, his genius was probably more enticing, but this was the Goa'uld, who thought all humans were intellectually inferior to them.
Not that he was seriously wishing harm on Sam, but…it just made more sense for some pissed off Goa'uld to go after a member of SG1, the veritable thorn in the side of all snake-like parasites. Come to think of it, how had they even heard of him?
Maybe it wasn't the Goa'uld, maybe it was someone else who had taken control of one of their ships. Though 'why' was still a big problem, along with 'who'.
This wasn't fair. He wasn't trained for this. He wasn't a soldier, wasn't even a gun totting pseudo-scientist like Jackson, newly returned from a higher plane existence.
He tried to sit up, but the floor seemed quite nice actually. Or at least, his body seemed to think the floor was too nice to leave.
His head pounded, and the manacles on his wrists and ankles were chaffing. Hmm, he'd only just noticed those; at least his hands had been chained in front of him, not behind his back, which he imagined would have been painful. There was a chain leading from the hand manacles to the wall of his cell, so even if he did get up, he wouldn't be moving very far.
What he'd give for SG1 to burst in the door and rescue him right now. Or any other SG team, come to that.
He closed his eyes and waited. No, no rescue yet.
He opened one eye. Still no rescue.
He opened both eyes and sighed. Okay, no rescue, not yet.
And then a nasty little thought entered his head.
Even if the Air Force knew he was missing by now, did they know he'd been taken by… whoever had taken him? Because there was a good chance they didn't, a good chance that it wouldn't occur to them to look for him off world. After all, he'd already gone through all the reasons why he shouldn't be a target, hadn't he?
Oh crap, there was a more than likely chance that rescue wasn't coming, at all. That his disappearance would be just one more unexplained occurrence. That he was completely and totally on his own, more so than ever before in his life.
He was screwed.
Severely so.
Oh shit.
He wasn't sure how much time passed, it was hard to tell without his watch. Hours certainly, by the grumbling of his stomach and the thirstiness of his throat. And no one came, which was good in that no one had come to hurt or threaten him, but not so good in that he was hungry, thirsty and no closer to working out the who or why he was captured.
The ship shuddered, and from reports he'd read he assumed this meant it had left hyperspace. Or entered it; though he suspected it to be the former.
It wasn't much later that the door to his cell opened and two Jaffa entered, followed by a Goa'uld, judging by the clothes and the air of authority. Oh crap.
"Who are you?" he demanded, taking a step back, but trying to hide his fear behind anger and annoyance.
"That is not your concern," the Goa'uld replied, the voice confirming what he had already determined.
"No? Oh well, how about; what do you want with me?"
"You are an offering to my lord, Anubis."
Terror stole his breath; Anubis. Top dog and total evil.
"Why…why me?" he managed to get out, not proud of the squeak in his voice.
"A poor second choice, but I am hoping my lord will be appeased with you. SG1 proved more difficult to capture than expected, but I learned of you from reports I was able to access during my short time on your miserable planet. You helped defeat Anubis' plan to destroy Earth by overloading the stargate; I believe that will be of interest to him."
"I didn't have that much to do with it, not really," he exclaimed, deciding that, at this point in time, downplaying his part would be a very, very good idea. "Really, hardly anything at all!"
"I have read the reports."
Oh crap, oh no, this…this was so unfair. He was some sort of damn consolation prize, a way for this Goa'uld to try and save himself from Anubis' displeasure at his failed mission.
"No, no, the reports are wrong, and it was over a year ago anyway, why should he still care?"
But his protests were ignored, and after one of the Jaffa removed the wall chain, he was grabbed by both of them and forced to move out of the cell. His ankles were still manacled, but he found there was enough chain between them for him to walk, well, half strides, so more of a shuffle really.
There was no hope of escape, not with those two behemoths holding him, not to mention the Goa'uld-With-No-Name.
This so sucked.
They left the Al'kesh and he noted that they were inside another ship, presumably a mothership; Anubis' mothership. Fear, a constant companion since waking up in the cell, intensified at that thought. Terror gripped him hard, as he was half dragged through the corridors, clenching his heart and making him shake, though that could be hypoglycaemia; he had no idea how long it had been since he'd eaten.
Despite the terror, a small part of him couldn't help feeling some wonder at being on a spaceship, but it was quickly squashed by the horror and fear of just which spaceship he was on and who he was about to meet, face to, well, not so much face.
The journey through the ship didn't take long, certainly not long enough for his liking. Crap, why couldn't it take a lot longer? Like a few days, weeks, years…Okay, okay, so hysteria was beginning to creep in; not good.
He was brought to a stop outside a room, whilst the Goa'uld entered. He heard voices, though not the words. The tone, however, suggested that Anubis was displeased with his minion, who was obviously defending his lack of success, and no doubt offering him up as that aforementioned consolation prize.
Sounded like Anubis wasn't buying it, and… yeah, that was a staff weapon firing.
A minute later, and the Goa'uld's body was dragged out; so much for that plan. It seemed Anubis wasn't in the mood to be forgiving… which was not a comforting thought as he was dragged into the chamber and before Anubis' throne.
He didn't think he could get anymore terrified, but it seemed he was wrong about that. This wasn't some hologram beamed through the gate, this was the man, creature, whatever, himself and… he was sure his heart was going to stop anytime soon.
"A poor substitution," Anubis said.
"Uh, yeah," he managed to stammer out. "Maybe you should, uh, just let me go…"
"No. I think you will make a suitable example of what happens to those who oppose me."
No, no, no, no, he screamed in his head, his voice deserting him as absolute horror paralyzed his vocal chords.
He was dragged back a little way and his manacles were attached to a chain hanging from the ceiling that, he noted somewhat hysterically, looked like a permanent feature in this room, and just what did that say about this race? One of the Jaffa then pulled the chain so that his was hanging by his hands, his feet barely grazing the ground.
That hurt. Pulled taut he was unable to find a comfortable position or take his weight fully off his arms, and he could feel that his blood circulation being severely restricted.
Another Jaffa approached him with a knife.
"No," he voice returned as he tried to pull back; a futile gesture.
His t-shirt was cut and removed, and then the knife was exchanged for a whip.
"Fifteen lashes," Anubis ordered.
No, oh no, please…he wasn't sure if he had spoken or not. The first strike was hard and fast, and he screamed. Burning pain spread across his back, and the first strike was followed quickly by another and another and… He screamed again and again, losing count of the lashes. Losing track of time. There was nothing but the pain, over and over and over…
When the final lash had been given, he was still conscious, though only just. He desperately wanted to pass out. Forget being macho, he wanted oblivion and he wanted it now.
Please.
It wasn't to be.
He heard Anubis, but his voice seemed a long way away and he didn't catch the order, which really should have worried him more than it did. His eyes opened in time to see a Goa'uld torture stick placed against his arm, and then all was pain again.
Pain, followed by a few seconds of ragged breathing, followed by pain…the cycle went around and around, and his voice grew hoarse from his screams.
But he didn't pass out. Why? Why did his body have to be so strong about this? Why couldn't it just let go? The thoughts came in the brief, all too brief, moments between the all-consuming pain.
He didn't know two hours had passed since they'd started on him. Didn't know anything but pain, followed by pain, followed by more pain.
And then his body finally had enough and let go.
Anubis ordered for him to be taken to a cell and for his injuries to be tended, and for food and water to be provided when he awoke. He wanted this prisoner to last for a long time. A very long time.
Over the next several days a pattern was established. Two or three hours of torture followed by two or three hours of rest. The preferred weapon was the torture stick, or sticks as they sometimes used more than one on him at a time. Sometimes they would vary it by beating him, being careful not to cause life threatening injuries. Anubis wanted this to last, wanted him to last, to survive for days, weeks…months even. He wondered if Anubis was getting some kind of sick enjoyment from it all.
He sank into a world of pain and fear and despair. There was no hope of escape, and all hope of rescue had left him early on. He had no idea how long he'd been here, but it felt like forever.
Sometimes he'd dream about before; before the pain, when he was on Earth. When the only pain he had to deal with was emotional, and that could be pushed away, ignored, even forgotten at times.
He dreamt of his sister; wishing he could see her one more time and apologise for cutting her out of his life. So stupid, short-sighted. So unfair of him.
He dreamt of Carter; wishing he'd been less of a jerk around her, so that maybe she would like him, even want him as a friend. Or more.
He dreamt of his old life; wishing he'd found someone to trust, to call a friend, instead of pushing everyone away. Afraid of being hurt. Afraid of hurting, of being a disappointment.
He dreamt of a life without pain, but it was just a dream now. A glorious dream, that teased and tormented him. He'd rather have the nightmares. At least they didn't taunt him so.