STARGATE ATLANTIS

PRIMIS : THE HURTING

SGA SGA SGA

John sat low in his cot with his head resting against the surprisingly warm stone. A million emotions and scenarios now ran through his rather sore head. Contained in separate cells, it was going to be difficult to escape from their captives, and now with Carson taken away for 'questioning', John was on edge until he was brought back – and in one piece!

"How are you feeling, Colonel?" Lorne asked. He was in the cell furthest away from him and could not get a clear visual on his commander. He was worried after seeing the blood flowing from the wound on his forehead earlier.

"Like he will answer you truthfully!" Rodney piped up.

"Quit it, Rodney." Ronon grumbled. But that was Rodney's way of coping they all knew.

"I'm fine." John said.

"See!" Rodney started up again.

"I swear, if I was in the cell next to you…" Ronon left the suggestion hanging of what he would do to him.

"But you are not, Ronon…"

"No, but I have the misfortune of being sandwiched in between you both!" John shouted, and immediately lowered his voice when his headache raised up a notch. He clutched his head.

"John?" Ronon asked in concern, moving closer to the bars nearest John's side.

"Ah, my head!"

Rodney moved to John's other side. "When they come back, I'm asking that Carson get to see to you. Your head and face are covered in blood."

"Hardly 'covered', Rodney...and they are not going to do what you ask. Now be quiet, it's not helping my headache." John shifted on the cot until he was lying flat on top of the covers, running his hand over his face and wiping the blood on his trousers. "It's stopped bleeding now." He finally announced.

The shock of the bullet wound was lessening now, and John just concentrated on breathing slower and trying to relax for a few moments. His mind flashed back to his recent return to Teyla and his heart sunk. He promised he would come back to her – and he would keep that promise; but to vanish again, so soon after returning for so long…he couldn't imagine how she must be feeling.

And Torren.

John sighed and closed his eyes. He missed his son being with him so much it hurt. They had forged a tight bond; it physically ached him to be taken away from him. He sincerely hoped his vanishing from them would not impede on his already recovering mind. It may set him back.

The thought of doing that to him made John mad and he drummed his fingers on his stomach. He decided to replay the last few minutes in his mind. They had been thoroughly stripped of everything on them except their clothes – Ronon had looked grim after they searched him, so John took that for they had been VERY thorough with their search, and had left him bereft of any hidden knives. He remembered the journey in this man called Santana's ship. How it sung to him in all its glory. It was polished, finely tuned and he ached to fly it as it felt quiet and sweet to fly, like a finely tuned sports car. Inside their holding cell, there was nothing much to gain in information that could help them. It had been a simple cage construction, kept in the belly of the ship, he presumed; giving nothing away of what sort of people they were, and what they wanted them for.

Then they had been hit with the awful, biting cold wind of the strange white and blue planet that had made his head spin with a dizzying assault on motion with the swirling blue/white dancing ground. Nausea was a given, but he held it in check. When they landed, they had been herded out towards the near distant caverns, with him spotting instantly the cold weather gear their captives had donned. None for them. The message was loud and clear – you would not be escaping into the land anytime soon to take your chances; death would not be long in coming in these conditions unprepared. Then came the pleasant surprise of the warm caverns within; dimly lit stone surrounds, but with a warmth that took the chill out of him - the stone walls were not as brutal a temperature as they should have been. He wondered what caused the pleasant heat. Even their cells were equipped with a comfortable enough cot, small wooden table and a carafe of fresh water each.

John was starting to get a picture of a race of people that were not exactly out to completely care for their captives, but would afford them some measure of comfort. This, up till now, was not something John had known before. It came as a pleasant surprise.

But they had no sooner been placed into their individual cells, when they came and took Carson away. John shouted and protested; wanting them to take him first – but to no avail. The last he heard was Carson shouting that he needed to tend to him – that wrenched John's heart. Again, he was the one wounded and of need of the good doc's skills. The doc would be frantic about his health – it would leave him weak and open to suggestion. He just hoped he could hold himself together enough.

"I hear voices." Sgt Ross whispered, putting the others on alert and standing at their doors.

Carson appeared, walking by himself, and followed by two heavily built guards.

"What do they eat out here?" Rodney deliberated out loud.

"Carson. Are you well?" John asked, as one of the guards directed Carson to step back into his cell.

"Fine, Colonel. They never touched me. He just said I was now part of his 'Clan' whatever that meant! How are you?"

"Silence." The other guard snapped. "You!" He pointed to Lorne. "Out!"

Lorne didn't protest as he normally would as he really wanted to have a quick look John's way, so he stepped out and swung around to look him up and down without saying anything. The Colonel looked positively dreadful. He made the decision to not make a fuss and cause his commanding officer any more worry for him as he was being taken away.

John sighed. Another taken before him.

"Sergeants?" John nodded over the way to Ross and Grieves. "Did you see anybody else outside the door as it was opened?"

"No, sir." They said in unison. "Just a blast of even more warm air." Grieves added.

"Yeah. What's causing that?" Ronon asked.

John shook his head, but Rodney sniffed the air. "I'm thinking an inside hot spring. I smell slight sulphur in the air."

"Yeah, I was starting to think that." John agreed.

"Quite pleasant accommodation, this time round." Grieves quipped.

"Get no argument out of me." John said. "But why?"

"I don't trust them." Ronon added.

"Well, obviously." Rodney said. "You don't trust anybody!"

"I trust you…usually!"

Rodney started down his usual route of annoying the big Satedan, but his last remark made him speechless. A compliment from his friend that he didn't know how to reply to.

"He says, 'thank you'!" John broke the silence.

"Anyway!" Carson started. "John. You were shot. Is the wound still bleeding?" All business.

"Nah, it's stopped. What did they ask you?"

"I know you are side-stepping me, Colonel, but, they didn't ask me anything; other than to confirm I was a healer. Their main man, Santana is quite firm, but not aggressive…well, with me, anyway."

"Tell me what you saw?"

"John. You should lie down and rest. You were shot… in the head!"

"The bullet skimmed my head, Carson. There is a difference…and I told you, the bleeding has stopped. Now, what did you see? It's important I get an idea of what this place is like?"

Carson sat on the end of his bed and rubbed his eyes. "Only stone walls, John. Same as when we came here. All the corridors look the same."

"Rodney, would you stop pacing so I can see John through your bars." Carson stared at him.

"Fine." Rodney flung himself on his bed and stretched out, waggling his feet in annoyance.

"Now, Colonel. Look at me."

John looked to Ronon, who raised an eyebrow, and then reluctantly leaned his head as far as he could go for Carson to scrutinise.

"Looks painful. Your left eye is swelling shut and that's some bruise you are growing." Carson squinted from his distance away from him. "Wound has stopped bleeding, and I don't think it needs stitching, but I could do with placing a couple of steri-strips over the cut to keep it shut and stave out infection. You are one fortunate man, John. That could have been much worse."

Carson quietly studied the man when he failed to reply. His face was white, a slight sheen of sweat showing through where blood did not blanket. John looked at his hand that occasionally patted his forehead. It was shaking ever so slightly; but even slightly, was more than it should do; and Carson understood that John knew it. His eyes caught his and held them pleadingly; silently transmitting he did not want his health spoken about out loud. Carson understood. There was nothing he could do for him at the moment. No sense in transmitting to everyone what they all knew anyway. Whatever was ailing John before he came away, was still omnipresent, so he stepped backwards to his bed and sat down; although still watching him through his lashes when he could.

All remained quiet for the hour it took for Lorne to not come back, and for Ross and Grieves to also be taken away, leaving just the four of them.

"I need to eat." Rodney stated eventually.

"Oh, goodness, Rodney. They took everything off me, I had power bars in my bag as well." Carson said, standing to look in on Rodney.

"Shakes?"

"Not yet, but it will be soon." Rodney pouted.

"Doc?" Ronon got Carson's attention as he looked in on John lying on his bed in deep sleep.

"Is he awake?"

"No. He's shaking."

Carson flexed his fingers. "Ronon. Is he sweating?"

"He looks uncomfortable. Hotter looking than us, anyway, but it is warm in here. He seems out of it."

"Damn. I know he's in pain; and not only from today's injury, but from what happened when he was away. He has not had a single pain-killer all day…and now..." Carson didn't finish, just sprang to his feet, when John started to roll into a ball, freely moaning.

"Sheppard?" Rodney, forgetting his own hypoglycaemia for the moment, leaned into the adjoining bars. "Sheppard?" He shouted louder.

"Aargh. Hurts." John moaned between clenched teeth. An admission that didn't help their worries.

"Where, John?" Carson pressed. "Take some breaths and tell me."

Ronon crouched down and looked at John closely when he failed to respond. "He's scratching at his arm again…John, leave it alone."

"R'non?"

"Yeah, buddy. I'm here, but leave that leather on your arm alone or you'll make your arm bleed again, and you have enough going on with your face just now without adding to it." Ronon looked up at Carson and shook his head.

Carson bit his lip. Not being able to help John through this next bout of pain without an injection of pain killers would be hard.

SGA SGA SGA

Back in his office, Santana leaned back in his chair and thought about the day's activities. The gleaning of Amitiyaz had gone well. They had rounded up some men, eager to be free of a desolate and troubled world; even more so, ironically, now that the wraith had departed. He knew some still remained; defiant in choice or capture. Those they had rounded up; after hardly any persuasion, had voluntarily joined his Clan. Things were picking up…and yet.

Santana poured himself a drink of his special brew and screwed his eyes up when the fire hit the back of his throat. He coughed and smiled. That hit the spot.

He leaned back in his chair again, and toyed with the hand gun of their leader. Reports that he was unwell came back from his men when they had brought two more of the man's soldiers to him. All had refused point blank to join his Clan, so they would be kept separated for more questioning in the morning to see if they changed their mind.

Santana smiled. He knew a worthy foe when he met one. He knew the man would be worried about his men, but Santana also knew that by returning the obviously non-military healer to him, he had offered a placating deal for now.

Now…to see to his wound or not? It was obvious something other than the shot to his head ailed him. Santana twirled the gun around in his fat finger. "How many people have you killed or injured, then? Hm." He spoke to the inanimate object.

Santana pressed a button on his desk, and it was not long until Stron stood before him. He silently asked what he required with an asking look.

"The healer…Carson. Carry this bag and allow him see to their leader's health. Do not leave them alone together for too long though; just enough to treat him." Santana handed the bag over. I will be watching.

Stron nodded and was soon striding towards the cells, followed by Santana, who was, as usual, paying attention in the background.

SGA SGA SGA

John writhed on the bed in abject pain. It was horrendous for his friends to watch. It was worse for Carson. He knew he had the medication to hold back this illness, and it was breaking his heart to see him go through all this unnecessarily.

The more John shifted on his bed; pressing his bruised and bloody face into the pillow, the more blood was smeared on the bed clothes. He had opened up the bullet wound again and a slow trickle of fresh blood, bright and worrying, mixed with the dried and crusted from when it first happened.

He was in hell.

John knew his friends were there. Subtle. In the background. In truth; he was down the tunnel again that wanted to draw him in for good. It taunted him with a promised coolness to cancel out the uncomfortable heat that had taken over his body. The heat was smothering, lacking in air and it was almost too delicious a concept to go down the tunnel knowing it would end there and put out the fire of his burning body.

Cruel, teasing thoughts of Teyla and Torren being with him, and more than happy, were then swept away in a current of moving dreams and reality. There were times he caught sound of Rodney shouting at him; trying to rouse him. He heard him cry out to their captives to somehow come and end his suffering.

Wait. Carson was there.

He could hear him speaking urgently also - why can't he give him his shot? He wasn't addicted, as Carson first suspected…was he? Was Carson now withholding it from him? No…Carson, I need it…

Johns mind went black.

SGA SGA SGA

The large door opened and all friends turned to watch another large man, carrying Carson's bag, enter their cell area. He paused only long enough to seek out Carson's door and then opened it without a word. Carson stared at him, unsure of his motives, but eyes lighting up when he saw his medical bag.

The large man waved his arm, and beckoned Carson out of his cell and towards Johns.

"Give me my bag." Carson demanded, niceties out of the window.

Ronon and Rodney hugged their flanking cell bars and watched Carson walk fast towards John's cot in the now open door. He fell to his knees beside the bed and grabbed hold of John's head to keep it still. He felt a slight bump against his thigh and turned to watch the large man place down his bag and retreat out of the cell, but kept watching from where he leaned against the far wall. The large door remained open, but everybody was too busy watching Carson turn his bag upside down looking for the silver flask containing John's meds to notice Santana watching quietly in the shadows; hardly a breath left his body, as he watched the healer desperate to help their leader.

"Ca'son…" John flailed his good arm wildly about in the air.

"John? I'm here, John. Just hold on for now." He caught his arm, but just held it whilst he searched madly for the injectors.

"Dammit! They are not here!" He looked up in disbelief.

"What?" Rodney asked.

"The injectors with his pain meds. He needs one to put the pain at bay. He won't be lucid without these. Dammit! They must have kept them." He turned to the big man but he remained standing, uninterested in the proceedings.

Ronon started pacing, dreadlocks flying when he turned back to look at Carson, who was taking John's vitals. "Is there anything else you can give him just now?"

"Nothing to take the pain away, no. He's way overdue as it is. Nothing here…" with that he flung the rest of the medications in the bag. "…will touch it."

He rocked back on his heels for a moment, just looking at John. "I'll give him some morphine. It will make him loopy, though, when he wakes up. He hates it. But it's all I have."

Rodney had paled. "You mean, what you made up for him is stronger than morphine is?"

"Rodney." Carson said slowly, but cautionary. "The man is dying…I have no cure. You, yourself, helped me to discover that. So I would have thought that was obvious by now." He said it quietly, but the words finally hit Ronon and Rodney like perhaps they hadn't before, and when they had had a controlled area in the infirmary that promised a future discovery that could save their friend.

Ronon pressed his head into the bars and watched as Carson injected a now delirious John with Morphine and some antibiotics for the head wound. A packet of medicinal wipes was next, and Carson slowly and methodically cleaned his face of the sticky blood, revealing a large blue/purple bruise on his forehead and a deep enough long straight wound that he gently pressed together with one hand and placed three steri-strips over to keep it in place with the other, now that John had settled into sleep once again and had let go of his other hand.

Carson watched his chest go up and down whilst he took more of the wipes out of the packaging and cleaned his bloodied hands and neck.

Then. "His temperature is high; as is his blood pressure". Carson tutted.

"Check his arm." Ronon asked. Carson nodded and untied the leather laces that Ronon had criss-crossed tight earlier, and had lovingly made for him. The kind deed brought an unexpected tear to Carson's eye. He wipe it away quickly. "Good work, Ronon. Really well made." Ronon did not reply, just watched Carson anxiously for the revealing of John's skin.

It was red, rough and oozing a grey coloured liquid. "Looks slightly infected again."

"He will keep scratching it. Even under the leather."

"Aye. But the leather has protected it much better than a bandage could, Ronon. You did will with that."

John shifted on the bed again and everybody stilled. He coughed and grimaced in pain before curling into a ball, but not waking up.

"This…sleep…won't last long and he'll be awake again. I don't know what to do for him next." Carson said out loud and not to anybody in particular.

Then Ronon was moving fast to his door. A noise and shift in shadow had alerted him. He looked wildly to the man that never spoke whilst he watched them, and then he strained to look out past the open door and into the corridor beyond, but he could not see far.

"Who's there?"

SGA SGA SGA

Santana was watching, with great interest, the struggle for the doctor to help his friend feel better. If he had heard right – the man was dying. Santana wanted to know more.

This new diverse group of people were proving to be very interesting indeed. Just why the leader had picked such an odd assortment of men to be with him made Santana very curious to know more about them – and indeed, why they had been on Amitiyaz in the first place. With that in mind, he strode forward into the room. The larger man, with a fierce stare and protective stance, had sensed he was there anyway. He would have liked a man like him as his second. Perhaps he could be persuaded to join him.

SGA SGA SGA

Ronon flew at his locked door when Santana appeared out of the shadows. He knew somebody had been there all along, but he hadn't expected Santana himself to be so furtive. He was a strange character that he just hadn't quite figured out yet.

"Is this what you were looking for?" Santana asked, twirling the silver flask in his fingers.

Carson walked out of the open door, only to be held back by Stron. "Give me that!" He stopped dead and stared at Santana. "Come on, man. He needs it."

"What is in it, and why?" Santana had been curious after all.

Carson sighed. "Medicine that this man needs. He has a…a…well, I don't know what he has to be honest. But this medicine helps with the pain." Carson dared to reach out his hand, palm up.

Santana nodded for Stron to step away. He unscrewed the top and allowed one of the injectors to fall into Carson's hand. "One for now." Was all Santana said in reply as Carson swiftly ran to John's side.

He had already given him morphine, so with the added dose of the even stronger painkiller, he would be one drugged out Colonel when he eventually woke again. Still, he needed it.

A quick glance up at Ronon's concerned face, and Carson took John's warm arm and injected the contents with one push before placing the arm over his stomach. He turned to Santana. "There's a chance he will be sick when he wakes. I need a bowl of some kind, and some linens to clean him up. He will be okay after a while." He hated to make him sound weak. The total opposite to how his nature was.

Santana moved to walk off. "Thank you." Carson, said.

Santana turned back. "I will be keeping the rest of these for now. You can stay and tend to him in his own cell for a time."

Santana patted Stron's forearm and pointed to Rodney's cell. "Bring him."

"What? No…wait!" Rodney started to protest. "You can't take me away from here!"

"Silence. Do not think I am as good natured enough as to obey your whining requests all day!"

Rodney looked at Ronon, Carson and back to Santana again, before unwillingly following Stron out of the cells.

"He need to eat!" Carson shouted at their departing backs. Ronon glowered.

Santana wiped his face, tired of these peoples demands of him, but followed Stron and the ever moaning, Rodney, down the halls to the interrogation room.

Back with Carson and Ronon, John slept on in a drugged induced sleep.

"We are not painting a very strong picture with this guy, are we?" Carson said unnecessarily, whilst watching John sleep.

Ronon slid down the bars to sit on the floor, also watching his friend. "Nope."

SGA SGA SGA

To be continued….