Author's Note: I told you there might be a sequel! I hope you guys enjoy this. I wrote it for Nanowrimo last month so it's a bit choppy. I'm editing as I publish so bear with me. Review and tell me your thoughts :)
It was one of those nights where all the windows had to be open in order to sleep comfortably. Florida nights could be unbearably hot. By opening the windows, however, one could achieve a perfect balance of coolness during the night.
Yet, a sheet of sweat still appeared on her brow. He noticed it as he kissed her. He didn't know how long it would be this time.
She woke up. That wasn't something he wanted.
Before he could slip away, she grabbed his face in her soft hands. Earnestly, she begged him not to go.
She reminded him of the time it had been since the thing that he felt obligated to right occurred – three years, to be exact. She reminded him of the child sleeping in the next room, tucked in his bed then, unfailingly dependent on his father.
While his heart strings had been thoroughly tugged, he'd been planning this for those three years. He had other priorities.
He loved her. Oh, how he loved her. And he loved that little boy more than he could put into words.
But he owed a favor to a good friend.
He owed a favor to himself.
And that night was the first step in repaying that debt.
Wiping her eyes with his thumbs, he bade one last goodbye.
III
Her phone rang.
Her husband cursed next to her and rolled towards it.
Flying into action, she intercepted his angry fist and grabbed it, not failing to wince at the flashing time of 0330 hours before answering it.
"Carter here."
"General, I'm sorry to call you so early. But we have a situation."
She already had a fairly good idea as to what this situation entailed but she asked anyway. "Regarding what, Colonel Lorne?"
"Flock is back on our sensors. It looks like they're up to something."
III
After three years, Eccelston had grown accustomed to the rigid prison schedule.
He had learned to love the monotony. He had even taken comfort in it.
It had given him the ability to zone out for hours at time, at some points, even days – which was a lovely escape from the ruminations on his imminent execution.
The warden frequently reminded him with a day-to-day countdown. Today was "T minus 14 days".
If that were meant to frighten him, Eccelston could only smirk in amusement. Ever since his training back in Australia as a young boy, he'd been accustomed to the regular assault of death. He'd often stared at it in the face on many occasions.
To have it come at an appointed time seemed laughable.
However, to have his unrelenting schedule suddenly become unpredictable seemed to terrify him more than anything.
The guard had not come by with his supper at the usual 19:00-19:05 time period.
It was now 19:34 and not a soul could be heard from his cell.
The silence was disconcerting and beginning to wrack at his mind more than any psychological torture he had ever endured.
Just before he had let out a desperate call to try and receive an answer, he heard the reassuring sound of combat boots thump through the echoing halls.
Gradually, Eccelston's breathing slowed and his pulse returned to a normal pace.
He waited eagerly to see the comforting shadow pass in front of his door, slip a tray through the opening and disappear until approximately 5:58 the next morning.
But as the figure neared, he noticed something strangely different about it.
The thoroughly hammered-in skills of his began to detect something amiss and immediately set off warning signals in his head.
Eccelston watched as the figure stood silently for a moment and reached for the door rather than the tray compartment.
His heart beat faster as the entry opened in a seemingly effortless fashion.
As the obstacle was pushed away, he was finally able to look into the face of his tormentor. It was not the warden.
But as he slowly began to recall from where he had seen this man before, he quickly realized that the real torture had barely begun.
III
He stared at the shell of a man sitting patiently on his neatly made prison bed.
There was a stark difference in the pitiful sack of bones before him to the eager assassin who systematically tore a hole into his life and then into his closest friend's.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked carefully.
The man licked his lips and replied in that godforsaken accent he had heard so often in his nightmares. "Am I right in guessing you're a dissatisfied client come to exact revenge?"
"I was never a client," he narrowed his eyes. "But I was dissatisfied. I've got the scar to prove it." He reached towards the back of his head and gripped the hair surrounding the injury.
The Australian chuckled. "You'll have to be a little more specific, mate. I've hit my fair share of men in the back of the head."
But the sudden shiftiness in his eyes gave way to his façade. This man knew exactly who he was.
"Enough games. I'm here for answers."
"I'll give them to you," he promised, "I ask only for my answers to my own questions in return."
"We'll see."
"Of you go then," he prodded.
"Where is Cale Sternhall?"
He chuckled. "Still holding a grudge, are we?"
All self-control shattered at that instant, and he pinned the prisoner against the wall and demanded an answer.
His courage didn't falter but he did reply in a stern voice. "I don't know where he is."
He released him and turned his back, trying to regain the composure he promised himself he would maintain throughout the mission.
"My turn, Mr. Sheppard," he reminded.
"Go on," he grunted.
"What happened to the guards?"
"They've been relieved until further notice," John responded bitingly. "You'd be surprised what an expired top-level security clearance can do for you."
"I wouldn't, actually."
"Why are you still protecting Cale?"
"Am I?" The other man shrugged and displayed expressions of mock confusion as he returned to his position on the bed, "or do I truly not know where he is on account of having been behind bars for the past three consecutive years?"
"Don't give me that garbage," Sheppard scoffed and approached him once again. "Every single one of you moles knows where each other are. You have those cliché senses of distrust. There's no brotherhood in cloak and dagger teams."
"I worked for Cale," Eccelston reminded him. "He didn't have to tell me anything."
"Then where –
"My turn," he interrupted with a grin.
John bit his tongue and allowed the slime ball to attempt an equally intimidating interrogation. He knew these types. They were all about mind games when they were cornered. Sheppard was surprised the man hadn't coerced the warden into simply letting him free on account of that one skill.
"How is Dr. McKay doing these days?"
"You would know better than me," he told him. "I haven't seen him in a couple years."
Eccelston laughed. "Mr. Sheppard, you can't expect an expert liar to believe an amateur like you at such an attempt."
"Where are Cale's safety zones?"
"Safety zones?"
Clenching his fists, John remained above the urge to strangle the man. "I know you have them – whatever it is you call those countries that you all resort to when you're in danger of being caught. Those fancy houses in Iraq, Greece, Egypt – whatever."
"I'm afraid Cale's houses are nowhere quite as exotic," the prisoner shrugged. "He prefers the classier areas such as England, Scotland, and the like."
Figuring that in his limited amount of time, this was the most information he was going to glean, Sheppard turned to leave.
"I believe I have one more question to ask," he halted him.
Not seeing the harm in allowing the bastard one last attempt to jab him below the belt, he waited.
"How is it that you can convince yourself of Teyla and Torren's safety while you're out gallivanting around with your new team of –
John's forearm was pressed up against Eccelston's esophagus before he could even finish.
Fixing the scrawny man to the wall, he seethed with fury. "You lied to me. You do keep in touch with the rest of them."
Amidst the choking noises, Eccelston remained rather unfazed as he only chuckled in reply.
Anger fueling him, Sheppard continued to throttle the man and would have continued to do so if it weren't for the blaring alarm that sounded.
They had finally run his badge through the system only to find that it was not only invalid but also had been recently tagged as a high-level threat.
He now had less than ten minutes to get what he came for.
Eccelston was just a pit stop.
He released him with a pointed blow of his elbow into the other man's throat.
Without looking back, he headed back out into the hallway.
It was difficult to circumnavigate through the many corridors, despite how often he had reviewed the layout beforehand.
The constant shouts and pleas of other inmates to be released didn't help his concentration.
Finally, he had found the lowest security clearance area at the bottom level.
It didn't take much longer to find the correct cell and unlock the latch. Surprisingly, they had not yet deactivated the key card they had given him.
Locking eyes with the inmate, he smiled. "Long time no see."
"You're late," he scowled.
III
"How did he manage to break into a prison?" she demanded, staring in disbelief at the projector screen erected in front of the room.
Intelligence officers dashed about as they continued to keep constant tabs on their target.
"All members of Flock seem to have been able to reprogram their top-level security clearance badges to look and act as legitimate ones – at least for a limited time," Lorne explained as he gestured to an example on one of the screens. "We've attached warnings and alerts to them as well but they don't appear any faster than the warnings of invalidity."
"How in the world…" Carter muttered. She herself was in the business of making the impossible possible with the handy tools of technology, but some of the trickery used by Flock still astounded her. It almost sounded like canonization when she wrote up reports.
"We've deployed a team to that area but for now their own men are attempting to apprehend him," the colonel told her.
Samantha looked up at the officer from the monitor. "We already know where he's heading and why he's there. We need to corner him."
Lorne shook his head. "It's too late. Two cells have already been unlocked."
Carter furrowed her brow as she tried to concentrate on her subject.
It had been awhile since she conversed with Sheppard. He'd been high and low in the past eight years that the Stargate program had been shut down.
She had thought that after the last off-world mission, in which they recovered a long lost teammate that had been especially dear to John, he would turn around for good.
He'd been acquitted of the false charges of murder, gotten rid of his drinking problem, and even started a family.
But there was one sacrifice for all of this – Rodney McKay.
A close friend and confidant of Sheppard's, he found himself unable to deal with the treason charges that held the scientist behind bars for the remainder of his life.
The general recalled having to oust him out of her office on one particularly aggravating occasion. The fact that she had refused to go along with his schema of locating the man who started the whole ordeal, thus possibly freeing Dr. McKay, brought out flashes of the old Sheppard from three years ago.
Since then, he'd been a thorn in her side in covert dealings.
Carter realized now that she should have known that the ex-colonel's target would have been the sensitive crimes prison in which Rodney was being held. But she had refused to believe him and his team, Flock, would ever reach that point in their recent string of what had been nothing but irritating misdemeanors.
Now the general was beginning to see where this man thought he stood. And that was above the law.
John Sheppard was her friend and she had respected him. But she feared that John Sheppard she had known had died with the Stargate program.
"Status?" she snapped, trying to regain at least the illusion of control over the situation.
The colonel looked down as he focused on the stream of information coming through on his earpiece.
His face fell as he looked up at her. "They're gone."
