Chapter 2

Being topside in the sun was a shock to the system after three days in the dismal dungeons of their captors.

Ronon squinted against the brilliant sunlight, wishing his hands were free so he could shield his eyes, but no such luck. The cowards now marching them at gunpoint to the Stargate weren't taking any unnecessary chances and had tied their hands behind their backs. He couldn't blame them. If he could get even one hand free, he would happily tear their heads off. Ronon knew he was good, as was Teyla, and if their hands were tied in front of them, they would most likely be able to take these guys on and go back for Sheppard. Like this, they were at too much of a disadvantage. He would wait. Maybe at some point they would make the mistake of removing his bindings…

For three whole days they'd been holed up in a damp cell with no clue why they were being held. Three days with not a single sighting of Sheppard and not a single word from their guards. Their silence hadn't bothered him at first because he wasn't much for talking himself, but when time and time again they'd refused to answer Teyla and Rodney's questions about Sheppard's whereabouts, it had begun to eat away at his patience…and that was normally in short supply anyway. One time he'd been quick enough to catch the wrist of the guard sliding their food in through a hatch at the bottom of the cell door. He'd jerked him forward, even heard his head slam against the solid wood. But then seconds later they'd been rushed by about a dozen or so armed men and he'd been stunned into submission. Not that he gave a damn about a stunning. He'd had enough of those to shake them off pretty fast. Surprisingly, no further punishment had been forthcoming, despite McKay's insistence that he'd signed their death warrants with his Conan act.

After that, their food tray had been shoved in with a pole, removing his opportunity to strike again. He'd waited, seething, figuring that eventually someone would show up who wanted something from them. Information, a chance at self-aggrandisement, target practice. But no one said a word -not a question, not a joke, not even a petty insult. It was as if their being there was inconsequential.

So apparently, now, they were being set free. None of them felt good about it. In his heart, he'd half-hoped they'd meet up with Sheppard on the way to the surface and they'd all be sent on their way together. But as they'd exited their underground prison it had been painfully clear that Sheppard was not returning with them. Whatever these people wanted, it involved Sheppard alone.

At the Stargate Teyla once again asked the question that sat heavily on all their minds. 'Please…tell us where our friend is. He has done no harm to you. Why would you keep him from us?'

Without acknowledging her words, one of their armed escorts began silently dialling a 'gate address. The others, five of them, watched on impassively. Not one of them opened their mouth to answer.

'What's wrong with you? Too stupid to put a simple sentence together, hmmm?' McKay goaded, his face red with fury. 'Conversation too tough for you knuckle-draggers?'

One of the men's eyes flicked in Rodney's direction, and for just a second it looked as though he might say something in return. But at the last moment he seemed to think better of it, averting his gaze to his colleague dialling the DHD and refusing to rise to the abuse. Rodney backed down, his sarcasm swiftly giving way to despair. Nothing they tried worked. No one was going to tell them where Sheppard was.

Ronon could feel Teyla's ire, the fury that burned deep in her even as tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. He knew she was thinking what he was thinking. That these bastards had killed Sheppard and that was why they wouldn't talk about him. 'I hope one day the Wraith find you. Maybe then you will break your silence when you are forced to beg for your lives,' she hissed, glowering at each one of them in turn. 'It will be no more than you deserve.' It was the worst curse that could be uttered in the Pegasus galaxy. No one wished death at the hands of the Wraith on another lightly. It would leave them in no doubt of her contempt for them, yet if they were shaken by her words, they showed no outward sign of it. Their faces registered no flicker of emotion.

The event horizon erupted into life with a rush, then settled back into an enticing pool of shimmering light. The men began pushing them all toward it, apparently now keen to be rid of them. Teyla and Rodney tried in vain to persuade the men to give them answers, but in the end, they were pushed through the wormhole to who-knew-where without any answers forthcoming.

It occurred to Ronon that he had no idea where the Stargate was sending them. Certainly not Atlantis, but was their destination safe? Was it a planetary 'gate or one orbiting a planet? He dug in, anchoring his great bulk down to make sure he had time to share what could be his last thoughts with them before he departed. 'If you've harmed Sheppard,' he growled, 'I will kill every one of you.'

For just a second, he fancied he saw a flicker of concern on a few of their faces, but it was soon masked. He smirked, and before they could force him to move, he stepped backward through the Stargate, a fierce grin splitting his face…

oooOOOooo

A warm breeze blew across Sheppard's body. It agitated the skin on his torn back into a cacophony of agonies that drove him to a state of wakefulness he really wasn't ready to embrace. He snapped his head up, eyes open, immediately regretting it as sunlight blinded him. He dropped his head back to the ground and closed them again, too exhausted and pained to even think of moving again.

So…not dead then?

He supposed he should be relieved, but right now all he could muster was a sense of mild disappointment. Up until a second or two ago, he'd been passed out in a dreamless slumber and it hadn't been half bad. Now, instead of being dead, he was lying on his side with grit pressing into his perspiration-soaked, battered skin and the headache to end all headaches. If he was honest, he was struggling to see the upside to this turn of events.

Everything he'd been through, all the tortures, all the deprivations, every word in that last conversation, had been planned and weaponised to put the fear of God into him. To make him think he was going to die. Pure psychological warfare. And for what? He still knew little about them other than that they possessed a Genii weapon, and although that most likely meant they were Genii, at this point that was only an assumption. Assumptions could be dangerous things, and he tried not to indulge in them as a rule. So, all he had was a Genii gun as his single clue to the identity of his kidnappers. That and the fact he'd pissed of some older male enough to send his lackeys after him. Older male Genii? He'd known a couple, but neither of them was still around. Urgh! This not knowing was driving him nuts. That was incentive enough to tell him he had to get back home and start investigating.

He cracked his lids a fraction, allowing in a little daylight so he could gradually become accustomed to it again. It had only been three days, but with nothing more than candlelight to illuminate his cell his eyes had grown painfully unused to anything brighter. Photosensitivity. He could add that to the list of problems Keller would pop down on his charts. Considering how his body felt, it was going to be one hell of an inventory.

When he could eventually bring things into focus, he realised he was at the top of a rise, laid out on a patch of stony ground looking down into a lush green valley. Beyond that, at a distance of some two miles or so, there was a lake glistening in the sunlight, with birds taking off from and landing on its shimmering surface. It was beautiful, even from this angle, but he didn't have a clue where he was or how he'd got here. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. Some clues were etched into the dirt around him; wheel and animal tracks. They'd used a cart to get him up here, wherever here was.

Breathing easier than he had in days despite the ache in his ribs, Sheppard savoured the clean, fresh air and remained very still, unable to motivate himself to move at all. Everything hurt, and he knew the pain levels would increase at least ten-fold if he put his body under any form of duress. He just wanted to lie here until the aches all went away.

If you do that, you'll die…and you don't want to die, remember?

Yeah, he vaguely remembered thinking that when he'd had the barrel of a gun pointed at his head, but the urgency had left him, as had the adrenaline those thoughts had unleashed. Now he just wanted to sleep.

And drink.

He was so damned thirsty.

Of course, there was a lake of what looked like cool, fresh water a couple of miles ahead of him. And it was downhill, so at least there was that. He lifted his head and ventured a look around him. From the corner of his eye he could see something dark piled up near him. Could it be?

He rolled a little, hissing as the scabbed-over cuts on his back pulled open again. But he could see now that his clothes and boots had been left in a disordered heap beside him, dumped jut as he had been. He really hadn't expected that. He could pull on a shirt at least. Might stop the dusty breeze hurting his back so much.

His arms, mostly numb and next to useless, refused his first few mental urges to push him up, but with a great effort he was able to get them to move where he needed them to be to roll onto his knees and that was at least a start. He fumbled through the pile of clothing, alarmed by the lack of sensation in his fingertips, but able to grasp his clothing with great concentration and visual confirmation that he had a tight grip on them. His T-shirt would have been an impossible item to pull on in his current state, so he settled for his BDU shirt, and with much panting and pausing between waves of pain, he cautiously slid it on and allowed the fabric to settle over his wounds. It hurt, but it was somehow reassuring to have some clothing other than his boxers covering his battered body. It made him feel less vulnerable, he supposed. It was no surprise that his weapons and tac vest were missing, of course. Why would they leave him with anything as useful as that? They might increase his chance of survival, and he had the distinct feeling that wasn't in their plan. They'd left him with enough things to give him hope, but if he wanted to live, he was going to have to work for it.

He eyed his pants and boots now. He needed them, but just pulling on the shirt had almost wiped him out. It wasn't a question of whether he needed them, rather of whether he could get them on. He sat a moment, flexing his fingers as painful pins and needles set in. The manacles had cut deep, and the skin around his wrists was hot and swollen, probably the source of the infection his body was so desperately trying to fight. He knew enough about torture to know he also had some type of nerve damage and circulatory issues going on from the cuffs, not to mention all the muscle strains to go with them. He figured his shredded back was the least of his worries…as were his cracked ribs. If he was lucky, it was nerve compression and things might return to normal with some relatively non-invasive treatment and physical therapy. If not, he was looking at surgery, and that would put him out of commission for months, if not longer.

If he ever got back to Atlantis.

'You can do this, John,' he told himself, not feeling entirely convinced even as the words left his mouth. He groped through the pile to grasp his pants and pulled them toward him, pausing again when that effort also left him breathless. There was discomfort high up on the left side of his abdomen. The skin was dark with purple and black bruising just where the worst of the sensitivity was. He tried to see if it felt more rigid than usual, but his fingers gave him no feedback even as the pain spiked under his touch. It could be an internal bleed, but he hoped not. If he was lucky it was just bad bruising. He forced himself to focus. Was he going to sit here all day assessing his condition, or was he going to get to the Stargate where he could find people who could put things right for him?

After mentally preparing himself, he sat back on his butt and put his legs out in front of him, sliding his feet into the waistband and steering his legs in. Several times he lost grip when his feet got caught up in the fabric, cursing and trying again, hoping this time he had a good hold on them. Eventually, on the fourth attempt he managed to get them up far enough that he could roll back to his knees and hoist the waist up over his hips. Fastening them was almost impossible, but refusing to give up, he eventually secured them in place. Once again exhausted, he dropped onto his side and rested until he had enough energy to even think about dragging on his boots.

Finally, with more effort than he thought himself capable of, he was adequately dressed to make the journey – shirt on and hanging loose, pants in place, and boots on with the laces tucked in where he couldn't trip on them. He wasn't fit to pass a uniform check, but he was decent, and that was all that mattered right now.

Sheppard sat a while, hunched over, arms resting on his knees, gathering his strength while he surveyed his surroundings. Two miles downhill over uneven ground. On a normal day that would be a cakewalk, but today…

He stopped mid-thought, shielding his eyes against the sun to peer across the landscape. Was that a...? Oh, yes it was. In amongst a copse of trees he spied the vague outline of a Stargate set approximately another mile further on from the lake.

Two miles downhill plus another one on the flat. The sun was climbing, the heat building. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now. Setting his jaw, he pushed up, wobbled, almost blacked out, then found his balance. Every muscle in his body protested at once and his brain swam, and for a moment he thought about just sitting right back down again and giving up. But no, there was no way he was giving those bastards the satisfaction of coming back and finding him a sunburned husk if they chose to check up on him. They'd left him here to die. They would be disappointed.

Step after faltering step he began moving forward, all the time focusing on the lake. That was the first part of the journey, and that was all he would think about for now. He just kept putting one foot in front of the other, eating up the ground between him and the water a tiny piece at a time. Occasionally he stumbled and fell, sometimes tripping, sometimes losing consciousness for a few seconds, but he didn't hesitate to pick himself up and continue. He pushed the pain to the back of his mind. It was an inconvenience, but it wouldn't stop him. He would get to that lake, and then he would take a few minutes to rest while he drank some water. He desperately wanted that water.

It occurred to him as he walked that this was merely an extension of his previous tortures. They'd known he was alive when they'd abandoned him, and they'd deliberately left him in a place where he could see the things he needed but had little hope of reaching them. Every step stole a little more energy, sapping him of his will and ability to continue. Thoughts of his pain had crept in again and he forced them down, refusing to acknowledge them. He would take this torture and get through it, just like he had for the past three days. He wouldn't let those bastards beat him when help was so close.

He had no idea how long it took, all he knew was that it felt like an eternity as the sun got warmer and his body more fatigued. The stumbles became more frequent, each one knocking a little more resilience out of him than the one before. But he continued to pick himself up, if a little more slowly each time, and forged on with his trek. Eventually, sheer stubbornness carried him to his destination, and he collapsed to his hands and knees at the water's edge, almost too exhausted to drink. Stretching out flat on his stomach, he scooped a numb handful up and sipped at it. The coolness he knew he should feel in his hand was distant, almost as if he was remembering it rather than experiencing it at that precise moment. It was the oddest feeling, but it didn't stop him getting the drink he so desperately needed. The soothing coolness was sheer bliss as it slithered down his throat and eased his dry mouth.

A few mouthfuls later and he folded his arms in front of him, resting his head on them for just a few moments. The temptation to sleep was intense, but he knew he couldn't allow himself that luxury. He had no idea what might be lurking on this planet so far unseen, and a beautiful watering hole like this would be just the kind of place to lure potentially dangerous animals in. It wouldn't do to get his head chewed off by the Pegasus equivalent of a lion after the lengths he'd gone to to get here. So, he allowed himself just a few moments of rest before pushing up to his hands and knees, splashing his face to revive his flagging will, and then getting back up to his feet again. As he was about to set off something caught his eye a few yards away. There, lying at the edge of the water on top of the thick grass was a canteen. Just lying there plain as day. It was obviously a recent arrival because it had pushed the grass down beneath it rather than being overgrown. Seriously? They'd left him a canteen? Did they want him dead or not?

He trudged over to it, picked it up and unscrewed the lid, tentatively sniffing at it. The canteen was empty but had an odd smell to it. Almonds. With a sigh, he tossed it to the ground and returned to the water to wash his hands. They'd left it there in the hope of finishing him off if he made it that far. The flask was coated in something like cyanide. If he'd taken a drink from it, that would have been the end of him. They'd figured on him being so desperate to take water along on the final stretch of the journey that he wouldn't check the flask.

A slimy green hand rose from the water, grasping his right arm. The rest of the body followed – sleek, dark hair pinned back by a headdress, a thick collar around her long neck leading into her dark fitted dress. Not her…she was dead…they'd killed her…hadn't they? He'd emptied his gun into her. There was no way…no way!

As the Wraith queen slammed her feeding hand into his chest it passed right through him, her image evaporating. Sheppard fell back, shaking. He'd imagined that? Thank God, but damn, did his brain have crappy timing. Hallucinations now? Really?

Once his heartbeat steadied, he staggered back to his feet. Just one more mile. He could do this.

He set off again, swiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve. It was hot now, but he knew that was the only reason he was losing precious fluids. His whole body was developing a kind of sickly feverish ache and seemed to be generating heat of its own volition, although his skin was a mass of gooseflesh whenever even the slightest breeze touched him. Yep, definitely an infection. He'd had enough of them in his time to recognise the signs. This was so not good. But he'd made it this far, he wasn't about to let a few microscopic bacteria finish him off now.

Setting his sights on the copse of trees he knew enclosed the Stargate, he began the mammoth effort of reaching it before his body had other ideas. Thoughts swam through his brain, some clear, some more abstract. He thought about his team…wondered whether they had been set free too, or maybe had never even been captured. Then he worried about the fact they could still be in the clutches of his torturers. What if it was someone else's turn to take the beatings? Ronon could take it, and Teyla was tougher than she looked, but Rodney…the confinement alone would drive him nuts…cooped up there inside the belly of the whale.

Sheppard faltered to a stop. Where the hell had that come from? Sure, Rodney hated whales – he'd seen that first hand in that nightmarish mind-meld they'd gone through to get rid of his evil twin a few weeks back. In the back of his mind he heard a whale surface somewhere in the lake he'd left behind, shooting a spout of water out of his blow-hole. No way was that real, he told himself, refusing to look back.

'Keep going, Airman,' his old military training instructor's voice now snapped, right by his left ear. 'There's no room in the USAF for quitters!'

Sheppard flinched at the volume, his ear ringing for minutes after the phantom admonishment.

'Keep it together, John. Not much further,' he told himself, stumbling on.

Of course, he'd have to dial the alpha site since he didn't have any way of communicating with Atlantis. If he tried to go there, he'd end up like a bug splat on a windshield. He froze as he heard a skittering noise, looking down to see a blur of motion near his boots. Bugs! He stamped furiously at the dark shapes squirming around his feet, but didn't catch a single one.

And then they were gone. All of them in an instant.

He cursed himself under his breath for wasting vital energy on yet another fevered delusion. Ignore everything but the Stargate…stay focused, he ordered himself.

Three quarters of a mile to go, no more. He swiped the sweat from his eyes on his sleeve. 'You got this,' he rasped, striking out again.

Every step sent waves of sickening pain through him now. Sweat streaked down his face and soaked through his clothes, leaving them cloying uncomfortably to his abused skin. Maybe if he just sat down and rested a while.

'Not on my watch, Airman!' his MTI yelled, driving him on.

'Keep it down, would you?' he grumbled, pressing his hands against his ears to stop the ringing.

The sun beat down, and he could see his forearms reddening, felt tightness in the skin of his face and the dryness of his parched lips. Walking became almost impossible. He dropped to his knees at least a dozen times, all the time his MTI screaming at him to get up, keep moving, don't quit. Much as he hated that voice, it was the one thing that forced him on. The man had been a complete bastard. He'd called him and many other recruits pussies and far worse more times than he cared to remember during his training, and even if he wasn't really here, Sheppard was determined to show him what he was made of.

Through sheer will he eventually made it, despite all the obstacles and dark thoughts his brewing infection threw at him. He slumped across the DHD, trying to call to mind the dialling sequence for the alpha site. It wasn't easy; so many random and asinine thoughts were popping up unbidden now that his memory felt crowded out of his skull. He slid down to the ground, leaned his shoulder against the DHD and closed his eyes to shut out any outside stimulus, hoping that would clear his thinking. He just needed a moment of quiet to set his thoughts straight.

The address flashed into his mind in a sudden moment of clarity and he hauled himself up, slamming his hand on each symbol in turn before it could slip away from him again. The centre button engaged the wormhole and it flashed into life with an overwhelming rush that burned his eyes and almost burst his eardrums.

He let go of the DHD and staggered a few steps toward the gate, his legs buckling beneath him. He tried to rise again, but now his arms became useless and he fell on his face at the base of the concrete plinth the Stargate sat on.

He lifted his head to look once more into the shimmering event horizon, his heart sinking as his vision tunnelled.

If he'd just had a few seconds more…

A/N: Thank you to everyone leaving reviews, favouriting and following the story. It's good to know there's still an audience for these tales after all these years! Final chapter should be up by Friday.