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He was fighting again, grabbing his opponent in a vice like grip, his fingers reaching round to hold his head in place, his knees in his back to arch the guy's spine and then-

Sheppard awoke suddenly, sitting up in bed with a gasp. He was drenched in sweat and he had a dull headache throbbing behind his eyes. It was the third night in a row since getting back that he had awoken in this manner, feeling sick and shaky, and pervaded by an ever increasing guilt.

He looked around the darkness of the infirmary. Beckett had been released the day previous and the room was still and quiet. Not even the usual milling about of nurses and staff took place.

He pushed aside the covers and swung his legs around to hop off the bed.

As his feet touched down onto the cold floor he heard some movement beside his bed and then a voice, "Where are you going?"

Sheppard turned, blinked through the din, and recognised the hulking form of Ronon, "I'm going to my room," he stated simply.

"Beckett told you to stay in bed."

Sheppard pulled his gown tightly at the back and walked over to him, his I.V tugging at his hand when he moved. He stopped and started to lift the tape, "I just want to go and get something from my room."

Ronon stood up from his place beside the bed and crossed his arms over his chest, "I'm going to get Beckett."

"No," said Sheppard holding up his good hand, "Look. I just want to get something and then I'll be right back. If I'm longer than half an hour I give you permission to haul me back here."

Ronon seemed to consider the request for a second but then asked suddenly, "What's wrong with you?"

Sheppard narrowed his eyes at him, "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? I haven't seen any evidence that you've been affected by what you had to do in there." He crossed his own arms, mostly in a bid to keep warm, but chiefly to show Ronon he was serious in his accusation.

Ronon merely shrugged, "Did what I had to."

Sheppard stared at him dumb founded, "You don't care at all?"
"I care. But I also value my life."

Sheppard leant against his bed.

"It would seem that you don't value yours."

"I do," said Sheppard. The moment those words came out of his mouth, he knew them to be a lie. He didn't see any problem with being concerned or self sacrificing. When it came down to it he could be counted on and often had to make the hard decisions for his team and city. Killing sixty Genii soldiers had been no picnic but he'd done it.

"You wouldn't fight, you were willing to be killed and then when you do fight you blame yourself for not having died."

"The military is supposed to protect civilians," said Sheppard, "That's what I'm supposed to be doing here and it doesn't change when I'm off-world."

"You're an idiot." He must have learnt that word off Rodney.

"Excuse me."
"You heard me."
"I'm going to my room," said Sheppard and he tugged out his I.V and then stalked towards the door. He was surprised that Ronon didn't follow, but then he assumed he was already radioing Beckett about his escape. He didn't care. There was something in his room that he wanted, he couldn't remember where he'd put it and it bothered him immensely.

He arrived at it in two transporter stops and managed to get into his room before anybody could see him in his rather fetching backless gown. First thing he did when he got in there was struggle into some sweats and a black t-shirt. He was panting and sweating by the time he managed to wrestle his top over his head. One quick check revealed he hadn't pulled any stitches and he was glad to be in clothes which didn't have a handy air vent at the back.

He set about going through his drawers, placing discarded items to the side of him, as he searched. After shifting almost the entire contents of his room he found what he was looking for and sat on his floor. He held the dog tags up in front of his face and read the intricate engraving on the surface.

Colonel Marshall Sumner.

When times got tough he'd bring these out and try to seek some kind of resolve from them. He knew it didn't bring Sumner back and he knew there was never an overt answer, but just by reminding himself of the man who he had taken the life of first on this mission, often helped him get things straight in his own mind. He'd get to this cross road and then try to imagine what Sumner would have done. After all, if things had gone another way, he would still be his Commanding Officer.

He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to go back to that planet. He needed to. Had to.

He was sitting in silence, holding the tags up to his eye line and watching them sway when his doors opened and Beckett, Ronon and Mckay burst in. They stopped and looked down at him. He guessed they had been expecting to find him unconscious and in need of medical care and instead they found him sitting on his floor staring at a chain.

"Colonel, what are you doing?" Beckett sat on the bed next to where Sheppard was sitting on the floor.

Sheppard palmed the dog tags, "I wanted a change of clothes," he said shoving the tags into his pocket.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," said Beckett.

"No, you shouldn't," said Mckay with a sigh, "And I shouldn't be woken up from my own bed to be on the search party to find you."

"You knew I'd come down to my room," Sheppard said to Ronon.

"What?" Mckay sighed, "You knew all along?" He yawned for effect.

"He could have changed tact's," said Ronon with a shrug.

"Well, I didn't and as you can see I'm okay and I'm coming back to the infirmary."

"Well, I'm going back to bed. Get some sleep Sheppard," said Mckay as he disappeared out of the room.

Beckett helped Sheppard up to his feet, "When can I get out of the infirmary?" Sheppard asked as they left his room.

"Not for a while longer. You're still healing."

Ronon walked behind them as their shadow as Sheppard used his hands along the walls to keep his balance.

"Well either way. I'm going back to that planet tomorrow morning."

Beckett reached out for his arm, "I'm afraid that won't be possible."
Sheppard spun round to look at him, "I'm not asking Doc. I'm going."
"Why?" asked Ronon as he stepped between the two of them.

"Because……. this is eating me up with guilt," he admitted and surprised himself. Ah to hell with it, for once he was going to do something for himself. It wasn't productive for him to be feeling sorry for himself and if the only way to overcome it was this then he was going to do it, "I want to go back and see if there's anything left there."

"And what if the Syth won and they attack you?"
"We'll be in a Jumper in stealth. I just need to see with my own eyes what state I left that place in. If prisoners did survive some of them could be injured and in need of help."

"Elizabeth won't allow it," said Beckett.

"She will if you say I'm medically fit to go."

"You know I won't do that."

"Beckett, you, me and Ronon. We saw that place. We lived it." He locked eyes with him, " I need this."

Beckett pushed him on, "I'll think about it."

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When the Jumper landed in the arena and the team stepped out into it Sheppard stopped at the bay door to survey the area. His heart was hammering in his chest so hard that it felt as though it was going to burst through and out onto the floor.

"You okay?" Beckett asked. He'd made it a point to come with him. He wasn't firm in his support for him to go off world but he knew that it would be therapeutic for Sheppard to do so.

Sheppard readjusted his hold on his P90 and stepped forward, "I'm good Doc."

The arena was deathly quiet, and the smell that assaulted them was over powering and unmistakable as death. Blood splattered the arena walls and the air seemed thick.

Sheppard turned to Mckay as he was looking at his laptop and asked, "Any life signs?"

"None."

Sheppard nodded, "Okay fan out." He didn't know what he was expecting to find. He guessed by now it was morbid curiosity coupled with facing his demons.

As the rest of the team disappeared he set off through the hole in the arena wall and moved upwards to the galley area. He passed a few bodies in the corridors, stepping over them carefully, and apprehensively glancing at them for signs of movement.

When he arrived at the galley he was wasn't fully prepared for what he saw there. He had seen death, witnessed it in war, and been able to be detached from it, but many of the bodies lying about the place he had got to know by association and he felt his mouth go dry. He placed his hand over his mouth to staunch the smell.

What he did notice was there were a lot of Syth bodies around. Broken and bleeding, hands reaching out in one last attempt to get away, eyes open and unseeing.

"You okay Sir?" Lorne asked when he came up to the galley and saw Sheppard leaning over one of the bodies.

"We could have prevented this," Sheppard said getting up into a standing position. He felt his side flare up with the memories this place was affording him and didn't turn back.

"A lot of the bodies appear to be the.."

"Syth."

"It looks like some of the prisoners got out of here."

Sheppard threw him a look over his shoulder, "That's something I guess."

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you beating yourself up about this?" Lorne asked as he stepped over a body and came to stand beside his commanding officer.

There was no answer. He could see that Sheppard was paling; his demeanour was one of taught pain, his mouth creased into a wince.

"When I was in Iraq I was a prisoner of war," said Lorne trailing his eyes over the seats and the red and black blood. His own memories forcing him into a state of trance where every feeling and smell gave him sensory overload.

"I read your file," said Sheppard walking over to one of the seats and sitting down on it. He rested his P90 across his knees and listened to the distant chatter of the rest of the teams as they searched the complex. Their voices echoed toward them and he couldn't help but think back to the pained echoes in the cells and the roar of the chanting crowds who watched the bloody fights.

"You know. I was in a cell for three weeks," said Lorne as he leant against the balcony. He kept his stance loose and informal. Sheppard wasn't the type of officer who commanded that of his men. He never stood on formality and that was why Lorne liked him. He saw it as respect, a comfortable ease, not an insult.

"I got to know the guy, the Iraqi, who bought me food. We often talked. I wouldn't go as far to say we were friends but there was a mutual respect there."

Sheppard wasn't looking at him; he was staring down at the dead Syth at his feet.

"When it came down to it and I had a chance to escape, he stood in my way."

"What did you do?" asked Sheppard as he rubbed at his face. His own POW memories returning to haunt him alongside his present ones.

"We fought. He was fighting for what he believed in and I was fighting for what I believed in. Didn't mean I condoned it all the same, that's just the way it was." Lorne looked down at the Jumper and could see that Mckay was standing in the doorway. Obviously nervous. He smiled softly. "Neither of us had a choice. He couldn't just let me walk free and I wanted to live."

"I snapped a guy's neck. He wasn't fighting for that kind of cause. He was a civilian," Sheppard edged forward in his seat and leant forward.

Lorne took a gamble, stepped forwards and dropped his hand down onto Sheppard's shoulder. He expected him to flinch away or lash out but he didn't react at all.

Sheppard looked up at him.

"Of course he was Sir. He was fighting for his survival and so were you."

Sheppard nodded slowly and then dropped his head wearily down to the floor.

"There's nothing here," said Ronon as he joined them on the galley. He looked at the two men, standing inches apart, their faces reflecting a conversation of pain and sorrow.

Sheppard stood up, could feel the sweat collecting on his forehead, warning him of impending strain or perhaps collapse, and weaved his way towards the exit, "Time to go," he said. He reattached his P90 to his fist, his hands were still shaking. He knew he wouldn't get over this overnight but Lorne had certainly put things into perspective for him. He'd make a good Commanding Officer one day.

"Are you okay?" he heard Lorne ask him as they moved down the corridor.

Sheppard turned to him, "I think so. I survived didn't I?"

THE END

Hope this all felt okay. Felt natural to leave it there. After all what else could be said. You could go round in circles with this kind of moral dilemma.