For Terri (Bookworm4hire) on her birthday.
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Beckett entered the cells and saw Ronon stood in the centre, pacing back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fists.
The Syth guards were stood behind him, breathing down his neck, as he approached Ronon, "What did you do?" he said, his voice unskilfully hiding his anger.
Ronon stopped, turned to him slowly, and fixed him with an icy glare, "I did what I had to do to survive," he said.
Beckett looked at the man he thought he knew before him, "You killed him."
Ronon continued to look at him.
"He's dead."
"I know," said Ronon casting his eyes over the two guards.
"You didn't have to do that."
"You would have been killed if we didn't. Sheppard said he wanted to fight."
"You were never equally matched from the start. Sheppard had worse injuries than you and-"
"Exactly," said Ronon with a shrug, "I have a chance to survive in here."
"You've taken away his chance to survive," spat Beckett, his fingernails digging into his palms as he spoke, "I thought I knew you."
Ronon walked over to him and looked down at him with a small smile, "I guess you don't know anything."
Beckett shoved him hard and was surprised when Ronon actually moved under his strength.
Ronon didn't look angry. In fact, his face was a mask of neutrality.
"Take me out of here," said Beckett turning back to the guards.
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Mckay was sitting in the back of the puddle jumper, his legs propped up on the opposite seat, as he slowly ate a power bar. He'd been watching the screen with a keen interest, seeing the blinking dot move around the complex and back to a semi-large room.
Teyla came to sit beside him and she peered down at the screen, "You've been very quiet," she noted.
"Are you trying to say I'm loud?" Mckay asked with a hint of hurt.
"Well, usually, you have much to say." She offered him a warm smile that displayed she meant no offence.
"I just don't see why we have to stay here for the night. We could go in and get them both out now."
Lorne walked to the back of the jumper and dropped himself down into the seat opposite, "The Jumpers are in stealth. We're safe."
"I'm not talking about that."
"Well, we could storm the place now in the pitch black, or we could wait till morning at first light and actually see what we're doing. If it's an underground facility I should imagine its pretty dark down there. Blowing a hole in it and flooding it with light would be more beneficial to us." He crossed his arms over his chest and laid his head back against the wall, "You should relax."
"I can't relax," muttered Mckay as he screwed up his power bar wrapper into a ball, "We don't know what's going on down there."
"We will get them out tomorrow," said Teyla taking a power bar out of her own vest pocket.
"Do you have another one of those?" Mckay asked eyeing the bar up longingly.
She sighed and passed it to him.
"Well," he said as he ripped the bar open, "You wouldn't want
me to have a hypoglycaemic attack now would you?"
"Wouldn't
we?" snarked Lorne.
"Oh, funny, very funny."
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Sheppard was dragged from the arena and as he his legs struck something; he came to a slow consciousness. He didn't move. He didn't have the energy to do so and simply kept his eyes closed until he was dropped down onto a floor hard.
The smell surrounding him assaulted his nose and he had to keep from bringing his stomach contents up as another wave of stench wafted at his nostrils.
Somebody kicked his leg hard, there was a beat and they did it again. Perhaps checking he was really dead.
He heard sounds of movement around him, felt himself being picked up again and was dropped onto something soft and stinking. The door closed and he was left to the dark.
He opened his eyes and realised that there was, thankfully, still some light in the room. A crack from the hall was spilling through and illuminating enough of the room.
His brain was slow to meander back from the darkness he was currently in and it took him a while to assess his situation. His attention was brought down to what he was lying on and even though pain pervaded his every movement and white hot agony lanced his stomach, he managed to roll onto the hard floor.
From his knees he did a circle of the room and saw where he was. There were dead bodies everywhere. He had just been lying on a pile of rotting corpses, left himself, to rot alongside them.
He covered his mouth with a shaking hand and swallowed reflexively against his stomachs first instincts. He took a moment to dry heave against a wave of nausea and when he breathed in, he was forced into a paroxysm of coughing. The smell was unbearable.
He couldn't dwell on it too long. He had work to do.
He worked on sliding his jacket off his aching form and laid it down on the floor next to him, pulling out supplies he had stolen from Beckett as he did so. He had taken them in the hope that he could help Ronon if he arrived back from a fight and Beckett wasn't around to save him. He found it somewhat ironic that he was now going to be using them on himself.
He slowly pulled his t-shirt up and breathed in deeply against the sharp pain that pulsed in his side. The wound was open and bleeding. His ragged flesh slick with his blood and sticky to the touch.
He reached out to go through his supplies. He'd taken some gauze, a syringe, a vile of antibiotics and some stitching equipment. Beckett had been so engaged in going over Ronon's injuries and in turn Ronon had been distracted enough, for him to slip out what he knew to be vital field equipment.
He looked down at his stomach and swallowed. This was going to hurt.
His fingers were shaking as he pierced his flesh with a needle to effectively sew up the wound. He knew there was the possibility that he could have internal bleeding but right now he just needed to stop the bleeding. When he had tied off the last bit he began to unbind his broken ribs. Relieving the pressure hurt more than he would have expected and his breath escaped in low rasps. He was trying to be quiet through all of his first aid but even being quiet could not stop the light headed feeling he was getting. He hoped he didn't pass out before he got a chance to get out of here.
Once his ribs were unbound and the pressure was no longer there to stop that particular pain, he placed some gauze on the stab wound and wrapped the binding around his middle as tight as he could.
He moved onto the antibiotics and gave himself a shot in the arm to help his immune system deal with the sudden injury. Who knows what kind of hideous infections he had picked up just being in that room. He figured, later on the line, he probably would have some kind of infection but right now he wasn't concerned about his life. He was concerned with getting Ronon and Beckett out of this mess, at whatever cost.
He slowly got up to his feet, wavered a bit, and then weaved towards the door. He was just about to head out when something from the darkness caught his eye. He moved forwards cautiously and the familiar face staring back at him, with lifeless eyes, was barely recognisable as being Gabe.
"Gabe," he said moving over to him and shaking his head. His injuries were extensive and had been quite obviously fatal.
He took a moment to be still and silent, reaching his bloodied hands out to close Gabe's eyes.
"I'm sorry I couldn't save you," he said into the darkness and he stood up.
He reached for the door handle and was relieved when it clicked out of place.
Nobody needs to lock a room full of dead people after all.
He took in a deep, steadying breath, and then poked his head out into the corridor. It was empty. He slipped out quickly and headed in the direction Beckett said he had seen the weapons store. That would probably be guarded, but he had managed to stash a knife during the fight, so he was going prepared.
Sheppard negotiated the corridors quickly, throwing glances over his shoulder now and again to make sure he wasn't being followed.
He was stooped over and listing to one side, but his side was flaring up, angry at his movement, protesting every breath he took. He felt a mess, but adrenaline was pushing him on at the moment. He would have to deal with the consequences of that when it ran out.
He approached the weapons store with as much stealth as he could muster, pushing himself into a niche when a guard went by oblivious to his presence.
The guard by the weapons store had his back to him and all he had to do was sneak attack him and take him by surprise. Problem was, his hand holding the hunting knife was shaking and he didn't know if he had the strength to pull off such a move.
He hated being sick, and he especially hated being injured to the extent that it effected decisions like this.
He stood still for a further minute, poking his head around to check the guard was still looking away from him, and then slid out and along the wall as slowly as he could.
He was forced to hold his breath so he could both hear the amount of noise he was making and also to stop the guard from hearing him.
His chest was burning, his ribs were grinding, and his stomach felt as though it was on fire.
In one quick, practised, movement he grabbed the guard by his head, slashed the knife across its neck and then dug the knife into its back just to be sure. It crumpled down onto the floor with a dull thud and Sheppard too went down to his knees. Energy spent.
He watched as blood started to coat the ground and with a sigh he moved over to the door, kicked it open with the back of his foot, and proceeded to drag the heavy guard into the weapons store.
He managed to haul him over to a wall and he closed the door and dropped down into the centre of the room.
He just needed to catch his breath before he headed out again.
His vision was swimming as he sat there and he lifted his t-shirt up to see that the bandages were stained with blood.
There was the distinct possibility he really wouldn't make it out of this alive.
TBC
All grammar mistakes are mineā¦.I kinda suck at it, but I'm learning.
Review please.
Okay I'm going away for a few days so expect the next update around Tuesday night. RL sucks huh?
