A/N: I decided to post this one a day after the last one to apologise for being unable to update when I lost power, and because the story is coming along well and I am still a little ahead of schedule. Next chapter should be up either tommorow or the day after.
Finally the whumpage! Sheppard's not going to like what I have instore for him in this chapter. Old enemies are so much fun!
Where do I take this pain of mine?
I run but it stays right by my side
Until it Sleeps (Metallica)
Five months later
The sun was sinking below the treeline, golden light piercing the trees and the shadows. John squinted, raising the axe and splitting the last log of the day, sighing with relief His arms felt like jelly after an entire day chopping wood, and he wanted nothing more than to fall into a warm bed and go to sleep. Since Major Lorne and his team had found him he had never stayed on one planet for more than a week or so, drifting between worlds doing physical labor in return for coins, or, if the planet had no currency, a warm place to sleep and some food. He would be the first to admit that it wasn't an easy or enjoyable life, but he couldn't bring himself to settle down. Nowhere felt like home, so he remained homeless. The only good thing about the situation was that he was often to exhausted from the work to dwell on bad memories, some days he could even smile. Today was not one of those days however, though his entire body screamed for rest, he still felt the memories threatening to choke him. On such days the only way he could get any sleep was to drink himself into insensibility.
He hated acting like a drunk, hated having to rely on the alcohol to sleep without waking up screaming from nightmares, but it was either that or spend a night smothered by th grief and guilt, slowly feeling his mind begin to slip under the weight of memory and emotion. The memories were with his all the time now, Holland, Dex, Mitch, Sumner, Ford, countless others and now Rodney, every time he closed his eyes he saw them.
Shrugging at himself he turned in his last pile of logs to the man who had hired him, recieving a few coins in return. It wasn't much, but it would by him a bed at the tavern, a hunk of bread and enough tankards of booze to knock him out.
Walking into the tavern he plonked himself at the bar, the barkeeper looking at him sourly. This was the fourth night he had stayed in this tavern, two of the previous nights he had passed out at the bar, and he was pretty sure he had overstayed his welcome. He would leave this planet tommorow.
Ordering some bread and a tankard of the local alcohol, he chewed the bread reluctantly. He didn't have much of an appetite most of the time, but he was already losing far to much weight. Draining the tankard, he ordered another. The barkeeper grumbled something about drunken vagabonds, but he was happy to take John's money.
John was about to drink his fourth tankard when he felt someone move behind him. About to turn, he felt a cold feeling on the back of his head, he may have been a little tipsy, but he had enough wits to know what the feeling was, and he went perfectly still, his mind racing. Finaly, he opened his mouth and adressed the person holding him at gunpoint.
"I'd appreciate it if you waited until after I had drunk this tankard to blow my brains all over the bar. I paid half a copper for it, and it would be a terrible waste of terrible booze if I weren't allowed to enjoy it."
"By all means go ahead Sheppard," said a horribly familiar voice behind him, "I would hate for you to waste your half copper."
John felt a flash of pain in his chest, the voice bringing back some of his worst memories, fear and hatred overwhelming the grief and shame in all there strength.
"Kolya!" He spat out.
"Very good Sheppard, you're not as drunk as I thought you were."
He felt a sudded starburst of pain behind his left ear and everything went dark.
John awoke to the worst hangover he had ever had, thought was obliterated as his blood roared in his ears, every pulse spiking fresh agony until he wished his heart would just stop beating so he wouldn't have to hear his blood surging. The left side of his head was one big hurt, and he wonders why for a moment, before he remembers the smooth, hated voice and the pain of being pistol whiped. The reality hits him that he has been captured by Kolya, again, and that this time there is not even the faintest hope of rescue. Hoplelessness washed over him, despair dragged him down, fear tore at him, grief and guilt, his constant tormentors, stayed beside him, watching as he drowned in a sea of emotions. Ye through all this anger burned in his heart. Anger at the man who had tried to take his city, tried to kill his friends, tortured him without mercy or regret, feeding him to a wraith and watching as it ripped decades away from him.
And the anger felt good. For so long he had been empty and hollow, his heart ripped out by sorrow and pain. With rage coursing through his veins, he felt alive for the first time in a long time. Grimacing past his hangover, he sat up and opened his eyes, he would not let Kolya see him beaten.
The first thing he noticed was that his hands were bound in front of him, and that he was in a dusty cell, three walls made of solid stone and one made of iron bars, affording him no privacy whatsoever, a straw stuffed pallet in one corner and a bucket for waste the only comforts, and a small barred window in the back wall letting in the dying light of evening, his TAC vest was gone. The second thing he noticed was the heat. It beat down upon him like a hammer, drawing the moisture from his body at an alarming rate. The cracked feeling of his lips and the dryness of the air brough back memories of another dry desert on earth, unwelcome memories. Things had not gone well in Afghanistan. Then again, when had things ever gone well for him.
His musings were interupted by the sound of booted feet, and he stood, straightening his back and holding his head high, turning to stare through the open bars at his captor. He was aware that he didn't exactly look intimidating, his black BDU's were stained, rumpled and torn, underneath the shirt and t-shirt he wore he knew his ribs were all too visible, his face guant and scruffy after a day or two of not shaving. More than that, there were dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. He was a mess, but he still faced Kolya with hate and defiance in his eyes.
"Ah Sheppard, I see you are awake. Good, I don't want you to be wasting our time together with sleep."
"Cut to the chase Kolya," He rasped, his throat dry, "What do you want from me? Obviously you know I am no longer part of the Atlantis expedition, you won't even be able to trade me for a god damned paperclip!"
Kolya chuckled darkly. "Yes, I know all about the incidents that lead to you fleeing Atlantis. even if I could trade you though, I wouldn't, you are far to valuable to be swapped for some C4, or even a Jumper."
John beamed at Kolya, "Well, I am very flattered. But of what possilbe worth could I be of to you?"
Kolya stared directly into John's eyes, a stare of such malice and sadistic intent that it made John sick to his stomach. "Entertainment, Sheppard. I Still have not fully repaid you for the deaths of sixty of my soldiers. Believe me, you will suffer for every man of mine you ever killed, then you will suffer for everything else that I feel you deserve to suffer for. When we have run out of things to punish you for, I will make you suffer just for the fun of it."
His eyes danced evily, "I will enjoy breaking you're spirit, John Sheppard. If I enjoy it enough I may even reward you by letting you die."
John met his gaze unflinchingly, refusing to let Kolya know that he was afraid. He could admit to himself that he was absolutely terrified, he knew what a sadistic bastard Kolya was, and the prospect of being kept alive just to be tortured for the man's enjoyment was beyond horrific. But he would not let Kolya break him.
Kolya picked up a canteen of water and tossed it into the cell. "Drink that," He said flatly, "I will not let you die from dehydration and spoil all my entertainment."
"You're too kind." John snapped, taking a long sip of warm water.
"I'll leave you to enjoy your cell Sheppard. You would be wise to rest while you can, your punishment begins tommorow morning."
Without another word he walked away. As soon as he was out of sigth, John sat heavily, taking another sip from the canteen, and sighed.
He wasn't getting out of this one, even if someone still cared enough to rescue him, no one knew where he was. Even if there was another starving wraith in a cell next to him, he would not be allowed to escape again. His luck had well and truly deserted him this time.
Yep, you are 100% screwed Sheppard, he's going to torture you until the day you die.
No shit McKay, tell me something I don't know, he thought back at the voice in his head, realizing a second to late that acknowledging it wasn't the best idea, and wondering, not for the first time, if he was really losing it. Certainly if anyone knew he was arguing with his dead friend inside his head they would assume he was crazy, and he wasn't so sure that he wasn't anymore.
With a sigh he lay down on the pallet. Crazy or not it didn't really matter here, he was pretty sure that Kolya would eventually drive him insane anyway.
He woke with a start as he heard footsteps outside his cell, sitting up to watch warily as Kolya ordered the door opened. He might have considered escape if it weren't for the two triple barreled shotguns aimed at his chest by two of the four guards, as it was, he stood without a word, his face calm, he just wished he felt as calm as he looked. The two guards that weren't aiming weapons at him walked into the cell and seized him roughly by the shoulders, dragging him out of his cell. Defiantly he shook himself out of there hold, standing on his own two feet, "I'll walk thankyou." he said proudly.
The two guards looked at Kolya, who nodded, "Very well Sheppard, but if you attempt to escape I will order one of the guards to put a bullet in your kneecap."
John merely nodded and followed Kolya as he opened a door into a seperate room.
Walking through the door, John felt his pulse begin to race. It was a large room, in one corner there was a chair bolted to the floor and fitted with restraints, In another there were chains hanging from the ceiling and shackles on the floor, the third corner had a table like contraption also fitted with restraints, and the fourth corner was devoted to shelves displaying a wide range of unpleasentness, whips, knives and things he didn't have a name for, and a brazier that was thankully unlit. The centre was left empty.
"Welcome to my entertainment room Sheppard," Kolya said smiling maliciously, turning to the guards, "Secure him to the chains."
Without waiting for the guards to grab him once more, John walked to the chains of his own accord, his jaw set, and spread his legs so that the guards could shackle his ankles. The guards stared at him, surprised by his compliance, and then hurried to secure the chains when Kolya glared at them.
Cutting through the ropes that still bound his hands, they removed his BDU shirt and t-shirt, before fitting the restraints on his wrists and pulling the chains taught. His arms were spread out from his body and slightly raised, in such a position so that if his legs could no longer support his weight the chains would hold him upright.
Kolya walked up to him, "Today you will be punished for the death of one of the sixty men of mine you killed." He pulled a grainy black and white photograph out of his pocket, showing it to John. The man in the photograph was dressed in the Genii uniform, smiling proudly. John's heart twisted with regret, he wished that this man's death had not been necesarry, but it was the price of war.
"His name was Idon. He was the son of one of my oldest friends, and you killed him. For that you must pay."
John refused to turn and watch as Kolya browsed the shelves for something to 'punish' him with. When he walked back into view, he was holding a knotted whip.
"Today you shall be thrashed. When I determine that any more lashes would be to dangerous, you will be beaten, then you will be left to hang there until sunset. After that, I will no longer hold you responsible for the death of Idon."
John remained silent. If he spoke he knew that Kolya would hear the fear in his voice.
"Very well, if you have nothing to say, we will begin."
He heard Kolya moving behind him and tensed, trying to make himself ready for the pain he knew was coming. Try as he did, he was not prepared for the sudden blow, and the line of fire that opened up on his back, and he bit his lip to smother the cry of pain that threatened to escape. Before he had time to recover the next blow fell, and the next.
His world became a haze of agony, each strike worst than the last, ripping and tearing the flesh on his back until it felt like someone had doused his back in gasoline and lit a match. The pain continued, each blow making him flinch, his legs shaking, until they collapsed and he couldn't remain standing. Even then the punishment did not stop, and he drifted in a world of hurt, aware only of the pain, until someone threw a bucket of water over him.
He gasped and spluttered, snapping his eyes open and seeing Kolya standing before him, the whip held in his hand, covered with blood, his blood. Taking out a cloth, he wiped the whip clean, coiling it and handing it to one of the guards, who replaced it on the shelf.
Kolya pulled out a pair of leather gloves and put them on his hands, flexing his fingers and making a fist. He struck at John without warning, his fist driving into his solar plexus and making the air woosh out of his lungs. Another blow to the side, one to the face, one to the ribs, John stopped trying to count and just let the pain envelop him, smothering all thought. All he felt was the burning fire of his torn back, the bruises forming all over his body, and repetitive smack of a leather clad fist hitting his body, a fresh pain making itself known with every punch.
He wasn't even aware of it stopping, all he knew was that no more blows had landed for a long time, or was it a long time? It may have only been a minute. He drifted, expecting another blow at any moment, sometimes passing out only to wake with a jolt, his arms screaming in agony at taking his weight. He opened his eyes briefly, but couldn't see anyone nearby, so he closed them again and drifted.
Suddenly the chains went slack and he fell to the floor, grunting in surprise. His hands were unshackled and quickly tied in front oh hime one more, his ankles were released, and he was dragged out of the room, not even trying to stand under his own power this time.
As soon as he was thrown into his cell, he crawled into his pallet and curled up in a ball on his side, wincing as it pulled the lashes on his back, instantly exhausted despite the agony that seared through his body, and felt his remaining strength seeping out of its body, taking awareness with it. If this was death, he no longer cared.
A/N: Please review, I have absolutely no idea if anyone is actually enjoying this story or not :(