Title: Rescue
Summary: What happens to Carson while he was left at the mercy of Michael in Misbegotten? Written in response to The Clubhouse's and GW's Carson Challenge for the week. Carson whump.
Rating: PG - 16
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing.
Spoilers: Slight spoilers for Misbegotten if you haven't seen the ep.
Author's Note: While this does take place in the ep it is VERY different from what more than likely actually happened so it's pretty much an AU. I've kept a few things from the ep the same but for the most part it's nowhere near the same. Hope you like it!
Doctor Carson Beckett lay on the bed in the temporary medical tent, staring at the cloth roof with cold determination as fear burned within him. He had no idea what Michael intended to do with him now that the main part of the questioning was over but if he was a betting man, he would bet that whatever it was, it wasn't good. He strained against the restraints that held him to the bed, biting deeply into his wrists and drawing little trickletts of blood slithering down his hands.
Despite the restraints, Carson did his best to bring a hand up to his currently aching head, wanting nothing more than to massage away the headache that was currently the byproduct of Michael's earlier questioning tactics. It hadn't been a fun experience to say the least but he was happy about the fact that he was currently still alive; he'd told the wraith all that he'd known about Colonel Sheppard's security measures (which hadn't been much) and he fully expected Michael to kill him afterwards but yet, here he was, almost wishing he was dead so the painful pounding within the confines of his skull would stop before his head exploded.
The hybrid walked in, his soulless, snake-like eyes staring down at him with such hatred it made him want to cringe. Stoically, Carson remained where he was, deep, ocean blue eyes staring back at his captor, defiance deepening the irises into bottomless depths. Michael may have him restrained and defenseless but there was no way the hardy Scot was going to give in.
"Ah good you're awake. Then we can get started." Michael walked further into the tent, stepping up to the medical table that Carson had previously been using. His pale, waxy hand glided lightly over every syringe on the workspace, pausing briefly over every single one, deciding which one to use first.
"What do you want?" Carson asked hoping he added as much venom in his tone as he could. He struggled against the restraints pinning him to the medical chair just to show he was feisty and wasn't about to give in easily to whatever the sadistic being before him had planned. It was obvious the gesture was lost on the Wraith when he turned around with a smile across his sneering face.
"For the moment nothing; you see you seem to enjoy experimenting on helpless beings and I thought I'd return the favor. Unfortunately since I do need you, I cannot fully experiment with you as you have done to me but I can show you exactly how it feels to have your DNA re-written, changing the very essence of what you are with a single dose."
The Wraith grabbed a syringe full of something Carson didn't actually recognize and hold it up menacingly in his face. He knew that Michael had been a scientist among his people and no doubt the hybrid had managed to make his own cocktails with the mixture of chemicals Carson and the team from Atlantis had willingly provided. Carson steeled himself against the feeling of the needle prick, hoping to rev his system up against what ever new sensation would soon be gripping his body.
Without further thought, Michael launched the syringe into Carson's right thigh, not bothering to take the clothing off or disinfect the area. He smile crudely when the medic gave a pained cry then pushed the plunger down, injecting the Scot's system with the paralytic poison.
Fire, hot and intense rocked Carson's body igniting every nerve ending with paralyzing white-hot pain. Bile rose into his throat as the fluid reached his system, making his stomach churn and empty the meager contents it had been previously given. He yelled in agony when it began to feel like he had been tossed into a bonfire and landed upon the hottest part of the flame. Within seconds – Carson swore - his blood began to boil, melting his flesh away with a quickness that would make the Ebola virus proud. His body bucked against the pain that ravaged it like a hungry animal desperate for food, the restraints biting deeply into the flesh of his wrists and ankles, the cloth of his pants, socks and shoes providing the only relief his lower limbs would feel.
Only when Michael had extracted every exquisite amount of pleasure at seeing his "creator" in agony did he inject the counteragent to the toxin. He was sure he could have gone longer but his ears weren't so he'd been forced to stop. He walked back to the table, grabbing several empty, massive syringes as he gently replaced the used ones then walked back to where his prisoner lay, whimpering, mewling and crying in gorgeous pain.
His keen ears picked up on a slow trickle followed by a plunk sound as liquid landed on the ground and when he spun around it had been hard not to dance in glee. He grabbed an empty vial and quickly held it under the doctor's left wrist where a steady stream of blood was currently streaming down. Once the vial was full, the scientist stoppered it then gently placed it on the now nearly empty table before he walked back to his captive.
Silently he called to four of his colleagues and only when they arrived did he release the restraints. "Don't bother trying to escape. You won't get far," he warned in a growl as he roughly disrobed Carson, stripping his clothes easily away from his torso and legs. "I need some samples and I'm afraid you don't qualify as worthy for a sedative."
"I did everything I could to help you," Carson said. His voice was gruff from the screaming and his throat hurt from the stress it had been put through.
"No Doctor. You did everything you could to help yourself," Michael snarled, holding up a horribly long needle in the prisoner's face. "And now, so am I." Giving no thought of remorse, the wraith stabbed the needle harshly into Carson's right side, pushing deeply until he reached the liver. Pulling back on the plunger, he sneered as he listened to the whimpering and moaning coming from the man below him.
Michael held up the needle full of liver fluid, smiling evilly down at Carson. With a fantastic flourish he put the full syringe down and picked up another empty one then looked down at the pained man. "One down several to go."
"Carson!" Lt. Colonel John Sheppard called loudly as he ran into the mostly settlement, his hazel eyes searching with a frantic quality for any sign of the CMO. There had been a few left as an offering to the wraith but the small team had quickly rounded them up, sitting them on the damp ground smack dab in the middle of the village of tents. Footsteps both light and heavy could be heard around him, his ears pricking up at the sound but he knew that the only people currently on the planet that were allowed to move were he, Ronon, and Teyla so he quickly relaxed and continued his search.
Michael had apparently tried to disguise the medical tent, using plant life, mud and a basic tarp to cover the cloth in hopes of stalling them even longer. John hated to admit it but it worked and it took him a good five minutes to puzzle it through; he blamed it on the sheer blackness of night on the planet but inwardly he knew it was because of an overactive sense of panic and fear of what state they would find Carson in. Two wraith hybrids stood guard outside the tent, one bigger than the other, and the Lanteans each picked a side, silently flanking them, preparing for the attack.
With a silent signal to the two waiting members of his team, John signaled a "Go!" and before the still transforming wraith had a clue what was going on, a limber Teyla jumped out of the night easily taking out some of her frustration on the confused creature before snapping its neck. While Teyla got out some anger, John slipped a knife into the chest of the other wraith then stabbed him in the back just to make sure that he stayed dead. A grunt in the not so far off distance told John that Ronon was currently having almost as much fun as Teyla just had while on his search for the rest of the men but a quick flash of black and tan brought his attention to where the Athosian was currently running into the tent and straight for an unconscious Carson.
John couldn't help a wince at the state of his friend as he swiftly released the bruised and bloodied wrists from the restraints. A flap from behind him told him that Ronon had just entered and a metal dingling sound told him that he carried several dog tags connected to chains. He moved down to Carson's legs, inwardly cringing at the sight of the deep bruises surrounding huge puncture marks. "Did you find the others?"
"They were fed on," Ronon answered with a shake of his head. "There's not much of them left." He wrapped the bulleted chains around his hand and stuck them into his coat pocket, his brown eyes never leaving the still form of the doctor and his friend for a moment. Anger began to bubble in his chest and for a moment he wished he'd done more damage to the filthy wraith that had attacked him before he'd killed it. It had surprised him how quickly he'd bonded with the people on Atlantis and more specifically Colonel Sheppard and those closest to him but now that he had, he'd be a rahashawck's* fool if he let anyone hurt them.
Almost distantly Ronon heard John beckon Teyla's help in getting the doctor up and off the bed snapping his attention back to the here and now. The Satedan marched up to the medical chair (which also acted like a bed he noticed) and slipped gentle, caring arms under Carson's lower back and knees, easily lifting the unconscious man before he walked out of the tent and back to where the jumper sat waiting to offer them safety and cover.
The rear hatch door opened seemingly of its own accord but Ronon knew that it had done so upon John's (more than likely) insistent demand. He knew that most of the technology on or from Atlantis responded differently Sheppard and though he didn't know why, most of the time he was grateful for it since it more often than not led to them getting away just in the time to miss being bludgeoned, speared, forked, stabbed, or sliced by whatever angry villagers they happened to come across. Boots echoed on the grated flooring signaling Sheppard and Teyla passing him, allowing enough room for the hatch to close while he softly placed the doctor onto the semi-cushioned bench.
Beeping sounded through the ship as John fired it up, waiting only for confirmation that everyone was settled and safe before he kicked the engines into overdrive, anxious to get Carson some real medical attention instead of what little Teyla could provide. He contacted Rodney, informing the impatient scientist of the situation and that they were clear of the planet so he could feel free to light it up in their absence.
The jumper bumped a little, knocking its occupants around as it landed in the docking bay of the wraith ship and the hatch lowered letting everyone out. John let out a long held breath of relief that they were actually safe but one look at Rodney's face as they entered the control center told him that they had a while to go before they could leave. Of course it was never that easy.
By the time they'd gotten everything settled they were all on the jumper and a now awake Carson was arguing with John about his decision to destroy the settlement and the people in it. It made sense to all of them since it was Carson's job to save lives and while it wasn't John's job to destroy or take them, it was his job to ensure the safety of the many rather than the few. They all understood Carson's position and frustration but there wasn't anything any of them could do about it so they ignored him as they made the trip back to Atlantis, allowing him his space and freedom to rail.
John knew Carson had a forgiving heart but he also knew by the sidelong glares and the flat out refusal to look him in the eye that it would take a long time for the doctor to forgive him his decision. It hurt knowing he'd let his friend down in more ways than one and it was a decision (like that of killing Colonel Sumner) that would haunt him every day of his life but if he had to do it over again – he would in a heartbeat.
Later that night John headed for the infirmary where Carson was currently being forced to stay. Though he truly did want to see his friend, the Colonel was dragging his feet, slowing his progress to the medical facility as much as he could hoping that no one besides the staff would be there by the time he got there. He walked through the doors then went over to the doctor's bed.
Carson lay semi-upright, supported by more than a couple pillows and covered in the infirmary's standard mint green blanket. He wore a medical gown to allow easy access to the wounds so the staff could ensure nothing was becoming infected during their routinely checks. His head was laid back against a pillow and his eyes were closed but John could tell from the erratic breathing pattern that the man was not asleep. To prove his point, two deep blue eyes opened upon his entrance and focused on him so keenly that the Colonel began to fidget under the scrutinizing stare.
"Hey doc, how are ya feelin?" he asked almost lightly as he stood at ease beside the bed.
Carson looked at the military man to his right with new eyes. He knew the Colonel had been forced to kill to protect those on Atlantis but it wasn't truly until today that it actually registered just how many times it had happened and just how many innocent people had died as a direct result. Betrayal swirled in his stomach, causing the already uneasy organ to toss about like it lay in an unsteady boat that was being destroyed by waves of an angry and stormy sea. He couldn't understand how the decision to kill dozens had come SO easily to the man currently before him, practically begging for his forgiveness.
Oh sure, John hadn't said much other than asking how he was feeling but his demeanor screamed, "I'm sorry," and his posture, while also looking at ease, was guilty. Carson couldn't tell what exactly his friend was sorry for but if he had a guess it would be for leaving him on the planet where he was, essentially, tortured by a madman and experimented on. Yet there was something else in the hard hazel eyes that his mind frantically searched to define. He looked away from John and focused his attention on the pastel green blanket while his mind spun as quickly as a hamster on a wheel.
Recognition dawned on him bright as the morning sun and his head snapped back to where John stood looking dejected and sad. He'd seen that determined, stern look before – the night John had been forced to shoot his CO straight through the heart. Yes there was guilt at leaving him on the planet, for not taking care of him as it was, but there was also guilt at having to kill the people on the planet.
His heart, which had previously been aching so badly he'd almost wanted to cry, now felt one hundred times lighter and he knew a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Carson knew for sure that the man he'd always known was there hiding beneath the mask of military indifference and determination to perform at the highest standard.
"I'm better," Carson finally answered at long last, offering a warm smile of friendship – one that was quickly returned and twice as bright. Beneath the warmth of the smile, the doctor could see the worry filling the hazel eyes so he reached out a hand and used it to give an assuring pat on the lean, muscled arm. "Don't worry Colonel. I'm going to be fine."
For once the placating and soothing words weren't said just to assure. For once the actions and smiles weren't forced or fake. For once everything was done in earnest honesty because for once Carson knew that he truly would be fine. He had his friends and family there to support him and that was all that mattered.
~fin~