Credit: My beta, as usual :)

Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't claim to

Author's Note: She's baaack! Thanks for all of the alerts and reviews I got while I was gone! It was a real day brightener! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! And please PLEASE leave a review. There's only one more chapter but I would love LOVE motivation :)

ENJOY!

At first, Jagrin's words hadn't registered with John's hazy mind. But after feeling both arms being yanked out in opposite directions and held down firmly, he got the message.

His pulse began beating wildly and he started to feel the sweat accumulate all over his body. Sheppard also soon realized that he hadn't taken a single breath since his doom had been announced. The crushing sensation in his lungs reminded him and he finally gasped for air. However, the sound he made resembled more of a pain-filled cry and Jagrin chuckled in delight.

"My apologies, colonel," he laughed. "But it wouldn't be fair to your friend to let you have it so easy and painless, would it? This might even you up a bit."

Before John even had a chance to think, an excruciating wave of agony swept over him as he felt the first blow.

His body convulsed in reaction and he bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming.

Not giving him a moment to recover from the first gust, the whip snapped again, delivering the second agonizing mark on his back. He bore down on his tongue even harder, drawing blood.

Closing his eyes, Sheppard turned his head so that it was facing directly down towards the floor. He considered trying to knock himself out by beating his head against the hard surface. But then again, he didn't know what kind of penalty that would merit nor did he want to give Jagrin the satisfaction.

The third blow was far worse than the other two. It cut across both throbbing areas from the previous ones on his back, creating one massive pain region that made John feel like clawing his eyes out (– that was, if he had access to said claws.

The solid grip on his arms tightened with each blow, causing the circulation to cut off from his wrists to his fingers so that he couldn't even tighten his fists.

After the fifth or sixth blow, he stopped keeping count. It was all just one endless line of pain now, no longer separated by the fleeting pauses between each strike. The background was beginning to fade away. Not long after, the sounds did too – the sounds of the whip and the grunts of the soldiers who struggled to keep Sheppard down while he writhed.

Though he was silent, it was not so quiet inside his mind. Since he could not express the agony aloud, he had resorted to doing it inside. Every single expletive he could think of was vehemently cursed for Jagrin and every living, breathing Genii - but most of all, for Kolya.

The pain was gradually increasing and John decided to turn his thoughts to other things.

Elizabeth. He couldn't wait till he got back – if he got back – to hear her explanation for the delay of that team of marines he had demanded. He hated himself for going along with her plan, even if she hadn't the least idea that Kolya's maniacal minions were hiding out, rubbing their filthy, grimy hands together in eager anticipation to get – "AH!"

"Aagh!"

The last strike had taken him by surprise. He hadn't meant to let out the yelp of pain but there was a bit of liberation in that release.

"Ten more," he heard Jagrin mutter to the guards and John almost groaned aloud.

Quickly, he moved his mind to another subject - something else to occupy his mind besides the side-splitting agony that was tearing up his entire wondered how much Carson would be able to fix after this. No doubt the Scotsman would find a way to guilt it all on the victim. In a way, he didn't blame him. He was always slinking into the infirmary with the stupidest of injuries from doing the stupidest of things. But even after the incessant lectures and mumblings, Beckett always patched Sheppard up good and proper. But then off he would go, only to do the same exact thing.

A quiet hiss emanated from his teeth as the thirtieth or so blew across his back. The torture was getting far worse with each slice. But he managed to keep his mouth shut so far since the last regrettable transgression.

John flipped through the mental files of subjects in his mind as he tried to pick another subject to ponder while the agony was still ripping up his flesh. For some reason, he thought of his mother.

She was always gentle and sweet. In fact, Sheppard couldn't recall a single time she harshly disciplined him – though God knew it should have been regularly. But she usually left good old Dad to do the dirty work. Meanwhile, she occupied her parental time with cooking for him and his brother and mending "boo-boos" that were normally the result of rough play time between the two. He missed her.

Something else, he thought to himself.

But nothing else would come. His mind was determined to focus on the pain, using every available neuron in his brain to turn his attention to the torture.

He winced against the latest blow. That has to be forty something.

It was getting close to the end. He hoped it would be over soon so that he would be dumped back in his cell for another couple hours to recuperate, but only until Jagrin thought of another nasty thing to do to him.

"Get up," Jagrin's voice cut through John's thoughts, and jerked him back into reality.

He didn't even realize when the whipping had stopped. The wounds on his back were burning; not giving him the reprieve he had imagined he would feel when the strikes had come to a halt.

"Get up!" Jagrin repeated callously.

With a glower in the Genii's direction, he attempted to push himself up. It hurt like hell but he was motivated by the thoughts of getting the hell away from the hellhole and getting some rest back in his cold, dark little prison - which seemed like a Utopia from where he was standing.

The soldiers eventually grew impatient of Sheppard's pitiful attempts to get to his feet and they hauled him up by his shoulders. He didn't have enough energy to let out the scream that should have erupted when his serious wound was once again yanked at but the pain was alarmingly great. Whatever Carson had mended his shoulder with, it didn't hold together very well.

Once he was back up on his feet, the Genii began pushing him back down the corridors. His head was cloudy again from the pain and he couldn't tell right from left. The guards helped him by shoving him in the direction he was intended to go.

After what seemed like days, they finally stopped and John could barely make out his cell through his foggy vision.

Home sweet home, he thought grimly as he was mercilessly pushed inside.

His first instinct was to fall to the ground and just succumb to the much desired oblivion for as long as he could, but something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

A figure was sprawled across the floor in the close left corner of the prison. Once he crawled towards it and reached out to touch the chilling arm of the form, he remembered.

Thompson. How had he forgotten? He'd been swept away in his own misery and agony that he had completely disregarded the lieutenant.

"Thompson," he croaked. He pushed on her cold arm but there was no response.

Sheppard gulped as he pulled himself closer. With two tremulous fingers he reached out towards her neck and checked her pulse. He felt nothing. There was no pounding beneath his fingers and he felt his own heart stop.

Pushing past all feelings of hurt in himself, Pushing aside his own hurt, he forced himself to his knees. Leaning his head down towards her mouth, he listened for breathing. He prayed to feel just a small blow against his ear, just to let him know that she was still alive. But, again, he felt nothing.

He glanced toward the source of everything – the weapon in her abdomen. Slowly, he pulled the knife out of her body. She did nothing.

With his entire motivation to stay alive shattered, John's own body fell beside her, embracing the much awaited oblivion.

"You killed her, Johnny boy," Kolya laughed, "You couldn't save her. You can't even save yourself."