teAuthors Note: This hasn't been beta-read so I apologize if it has grammar/spelling errors in or if the characters sound a bit off. Please let me know what you think of this, complaints, suggestions; any feedback would be helpful as long as it is constructive.

Spoilers: For Season One episodes 1-14

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Stargate in any incarnations of course and I'm not making any money, this is just some harmless fanfic fun.

Chapter 8: Where I end and you begin

He laughed, a bitter ironic laugh, that could instill fear in any human because no one would ever believe it would come from one.
But it did, if he could still call himself that.
They'd done so much to him that he never knew what reality was.
They tested him, beating it out of his psyche but he resisted with every ounce of his being. Only every time it felt like they stripped him down and tore away what made him him.

Maybe they really did suck souls he mused. Nothing could surprise him anymore.
Life and death collided somehow, he wasn't sure which he resided in.
And there were more than one way to die; not just about body or spirit. They stole his essence, all that seemed to remain was his will that had outlasted his expectations, and of course his humour. Even in this he found the comedy, cruel as it was.

He laughed at the argument he witnessed. Outside in the corridor was his dear crazed Lili being chastised by her superior. It was possible the guy wasn't her boss, but a competitor. He'd often heard hushed wraiths lingering nearby, eager to study him he presumed – everyone wanted a piece of him. He should have been flattered if not for its literalness.

It was because she was failing. Maybe he was their challenge. Like a jar top no one could unscrew, the one to open it up proving their strength. Lilith couldn't break him with her voodoo and the others wanted a go, wanted the sweet kudos for when he popped open.

She hadn't broken him but it was destroying him, probably would kill him, felt like his own personal hell for sure. The ninth circle of hell, the worst – reserved for traitors. An omen to his fate he wondered, thoughts straying. He did that a lot, with what he could remember.

What she did damaged him, he could feel the degradation of his cells, that caused the migraines that drummed into his skull. They'd probed deeper and deeper and he'd resist, only giving them what was useless. Then they'd mend him and instead of weakening him it strengthened the resistance as if for every memory they sought they set off an alarm that locked it down. They still tried though, and every time he felt his memories slipping away, except those he gave freely.

He couldn't, in this state of the cycle, recall anything that they might want to know and was in no danger of giving it away. It gave him some comfort but now all he could remember were random bits of his life. Sonata in B minor that Lilith must have despised by now, other songs, his cherished piano lessons – all that he loved and he liked those memories since he'd lost his science to their torture. It was still there and would come back but for now those things, anything that could help the wraith was gone, unaccessible even to himself. It was preferable that way, he couldn't be forced to reveal what he couldn't know.

Then there were the less than pleasant parts of his life he still had, that filled the void, that soaked his thoughts in melancholy. His awful childhood, his failed relationships, stuff along those lines that Lilith loved to play with, throwing it back at him as a revenge for his resistance.

And then there was the reason for all this, that he clung to, the only thing anchoring him.
The green eyes boring into him, concerned, full of care.
Her deep dark red and brown hair, a face full of life as were her eyes. They had a light that danced in them, that he was sure he had made them do on occasion, eliciting the accompanying smile that sunk his stomach.
That was what kept his pieces together, closing in around the image of who she was.

In truth he barely remembered her, she was tied into what he needed to forget and details, events were as damned as his science was.
But he recognised her still, knew she was important – that he did this for her, that she'd be proud and yet sad for him too.
Not knowing what it was, who she was, sometimes made it difficult to go on.

However, he still battled, the plan branded on his brain. If everything else was ripped and erased from him that one idea would be left, he clung to it perhaps more than to her. He'd follow it through until she disappeared from his mind and on after, when he'd not know any reason and would therefore continue that one thing he knew.

Lilith was doomed and she knew it, she could see what it meant to him.
All her attempts were futile, tried in vain. He sensed this had never failed previously which was why she refused defeat, would not believe it did not work on him.
Even he wanted to know why that was. What was different about him that they'd never come across this before?

He stopped humming his sonata, concentrating as much as he could on Lilith.
There was a silence between her and Bob, the guy in charge or at least ordering her around. Bob seemed appropriate, a nice average name for an average not so nice life sucking alien vampire.
She entered his area, Bob scrutinising her movements for any disobedience.

She waltzed up to him coldly, if he didn't know better he'd say she was sulking, none of her usual adorable threats he'd gotten used to that set their anti-friendship.
'Morning' he said, not caring if it was or not. He judged it by it being the first time to see her since he'd been awake. He plastered a dopey smile on his face, imbued never the less with a sense of victory over her.
She snarled at him furiously and hissed at Bob too, storming from the room and lurching at Bob on her way out.
Poor Lili thought an amused Rodney. Unless he was mistaken she'd been reassigned, demoted, booted from the project. Only fair when she'd not produced results.

He half sat in the diagonal restraining apparatus, an odd cross between coffin and cage fixed so he lay in it. Gravity held him back, as did the cuffs on ankles and wrists and the main bars crossing over the front at his chest and legs.
He expected Bob to join him, introduce himself, get the niceties over and done with but he never did. Watching patiently from his position for a minute, then leaving in the opposite direction to Lilith.

For once since he'd met Lilith he actually feared them again. Lilith had been constant in her unfriendliness and methods. This made him worry, he struggled to work out what they'd do now.

Maybe they'd kill him. Nope, he scrapped that thought almost immediately, they'd gone to too much effort to do that. It was egotistical, as he was prone to be, but he was too important. They'd have plans, ones which he couldn't imagine. Bob was the new guy, full of ideas, and who knew what instruments of agony he might bring in with him. Which would be a really bad thing considering they'd heal him. They'd return the knowledge to him first. With Lilith's way he could resist easily and though painful it was another type than that of his body.

But real torture, not just the psychic or psychological, would be a different matter.
Lilith never used anything more than bruises and cuts, stab wounds at worst which she healed along with the rest.
He'd gotten the distinct impression she found that sort of thing rather distasteful, like mashing up your food, not something she wanted it appeared. Perhaps it was even because she had a bizarre fondness for him, a protectiveness – that only she could hurt him and she could take the pain away but she wanted to break him her way and his resistance earned him some respect even though she believed she would ultimately prevail, that he'd fail one day.

But she'd had her days and his hadn't come to that – it had come to Bob and Bob was a lot older looking, wiser he'd bet, certainly patient.

He hoped Bob didn't think of that method, or he'd have to bite his own tongue out rather than be able to tell him anything. Of course it'd save on the screaming too he added morbidly to his inner monologue. Funny how thoughts like those were getting more and more usual.

It was several days later that he'd become most afraid. They hadn't administered the drug this time and his mind was still numb, memories leaving gaps where they had not returned.
They couldn't have what he knew if he didn't know. And they'd been feeding him well too, wondering if they were fattening him up. Restoring just enough to his body but not allowing him real strength, giving what was necessary for what they had in mind. It seemed more and more likely Bob wanted to trade years for information, i.e. you tell me this and I won't age you a decade in a second.

The only good, though not comforting, thought was they'd run out of years at some point.

He wished he'd had an escape plan figured out but nothing here never left any openings or any inspiration. The single point of weakness were their limited numbers on such a huge ship.
They were the caretakers only and seemed to be just four of them for sure – Lilith, Bob and two nameless guards that might suit being called Flotsam and Jetsam.
Then there was the whispers he'd heard outside his room on several occasions, making it more likely their numbers were six to eight strong based on what he'd seen.
It was a wild guess really and pretty useless, coming from what little he knew but having no use to him.
But it fueled a small glimmer of hope in his dull spirit. Something good as he slipped into a fitful dreamless sleep.

There was a painful ringing in his ears, buzzing and shrieking all in one that made his already damaged head ache.

He opened his eyes briefly to alternating lights, flickering between white and blue. He shaded his hypersensitive eyes from the hurtful contrast.
Then he realised the significance of what he'd done. The impulse to cover his eyes had been instinctive, done without thought but he remembered he shouldn't have been able to.
His hands were free, marked by the inward spikes used to prevent movements of captives, but free and flying about as he commanded, waving his arms around ecstatically.

He stepped out of the restraining unit, overjoyed to be standing on solid ground before the strain overtook his weak muscles and his body hit the floor full force.
He lay there gathering strength, flexing his limbs gently and cringing at the agony it caused.
Finally he pulled himself up, staggering to the table nearby, using it to sturdy himself.
He looked at it and grinned, they'd been so confident to leave all the items sprawled across it, never removed after Lilith's last interrogation when she'd questioned him on the curious objects they'd not figured out entirely.

He glanced across picking up everything he could fit on him, devoid of his original black vest which had a plethora of pockets.
There was one item he felt tug at a memory inside. Some numbers associated with it sprang to mind and he entered them into the small keypad. Nothing much happened except for the display which had changed to show the word transmitting. He figured it to be good, it was one of his peoples. Could it be a beacon, would they come and get him?
Even so he knew he had to get of here, he gulped unsure of how this would work out but ventured into the dark corridor bravely.

The alarm lights set his nerves on end, hurting more each second. The pattern of light and dark disorientated him and often he thought he saw them coming for him, but it was only a ghost created by his mind. A trick of the eyes that might not be coincidental, it would make sense to confuse the escapees, make them cry or shoot out revealing there position.
He wasn't going to be foolish enough as that, unlike whoever it had worked on in the past.

He scanned the area with a small white device that seemed to show his location, not so useful on its own without knowing how to get out. He fiddled with the many buttons frustrated by it, feeling his mind dumbed down and lacking the knowledge that should have been present. He was in shock or something like it, getting worse as he progressed – he needed to get out as soon as possible. The final jab at the gadget did something, showing a wider area, less detailed but he saw what he hoped was an exit, at least for him.
Only it also showed a holding cell, dozen of life signs filling it, off to his left.

He cursed his conscience and headed that way confident he could free them, he was smart enough to figure it out a second time. Though he wondered if he'd ever dealt with this or known how to a first time.

Once there he felt jittery, the crowds shouted and screamed out begging for a fellow humans help. He wanted to be able to do something but felt as helpless as them, no memories surfacing as he looked around. No amount of their tugging at the webbed bars moved the door any. So close to escape but he couldn't leave them there to die, the situation really sucked he thought, hating the pun that he'd made. His head pounded, he couldn't think straight and their pleas didn't help at all. He vented all his pent up rage into the wall, surprised when it gave way, hitting something like a vein underneath the skin of the ship.

He cried out, screaming swear words and cradling his broken fingers, lost in the pain until he realised the pleas had turned to cheers. Looking up he saw the doors ajar, a small gap which the children were squeezing through first, the adults queuing up behind anxiously.

They gathered round innocent but fearful faces looking to him for answers. He sucked his bloody knuckles, trying desperately to rethink his actions now that they'd involve countless others. He couldn't be reckless and they'd have no time to wait for rescue, finding it difficult to evade in a party as large as this. Everyone would be following him, he knew he needed to dial home where help would be since soon he wouldn't be any good to anyone. He rounded them up vaguely making way to salvation; the Stargate.

He pressed down his good hand onto the penultimate symbol. The people crowded the gate area, glancing up and around nervously, watching for the inevitable task force of darts that would be sent to return or eliminate them.

The double vision returned as he racked the deepest crevices of his mind for the briefest flash of what he required, the last symbol. Tit was the ticket to safety, to warm gentle hands and rest. He could sleep for an eternity by now, but steadied himself on the dhd because he wasn't finished yet.

Every time he sought a symbol he felt himself succumb to this stupor further, the recollection of each taking from him far too much. He was near the end of what he could bear, his eyes already giving in slightly but he forced himself to the task at hand, the lives of a hundred people depended on it.

He punched the final one in, fingers only just strong enough to be able to, and the wormhole stabilised before them all.

The gate room sat in silence until Grodin spoke up. "Should I disable the shield?"
"Yes"
"No"
Weir and Sheppard glared at each other, their contradictions throwing Grodin who still had no definite instruction.
"It could be the wraith." he told her forcefully.
"It could be Rodney." she countered angrily.
"You willing to take that risk? Put one person over everyone else here." he asked his eyes narrowed in disbelief.

She didn't answer him, directing her response to Peter instead. "Disable it this instant."
Peter looked across to Sheppard, unsure what to do. Sheppard nodded in confirmation of her order despite his unwillingness and gave a quick signal to his men to get in position and be prepared.

A few seconds went by before any one appeared.
When it did it was a river of people. Scared, running through the event horizon. The group diverting to either side of the room, flanked by Bates and the teams under his command. The fifty or so people already through the gate appeared concerned at this but calmed down, standing still whilst others continued coming, numbers trailing off slightly.

And then he emerged in the centre of it all, walking on slowly unseeing, showing no sign of stopping.

She couldn't say a word, Sheppard's face clouded with confusion. No one else said anything either apart from Carson's utterance of bloody hell.
There was a sense of relief seeing him, a gratefulness to anyone listening that he had been returned to them but she realised something was very wrong.
He trudged on, tranquil, as if completing a command already set. There was no recognition on his face, his eyes only blank and unfocused.

She shuddered. Rodney McKay was not there with them. His body that approached was a shell, left hollow. Where there should have been emotion there was none, not something, not anything, let alone what she could identify a the man she cared for.

He came to a full stop a metre in front of her, saying and doing nothing as she searched his dead eyes. Who she saw was lifeless, simply carrying on like the twitches of a corpse, the actions set by the signals sent to the nerves before death had occurred.
He was different; a scruffy beard, his hair had grown an inch longer hanging messily over his forehead and tapered into spikes in places by blood. He was devoid of his black military issued vest, wearing the tattered remains of his favoured blue top with abrasions and cuts showing through the tears. However, none of this disturbed her, it was that his once vibrant blue eyes seemed dimmed. She was sure he'd comment if he was seeing this that there was nobody in, an empty house with no one home.

Even in his return she was missing the man she knew, her heart crushed by this, hurt more to see him so than to think him truly dead as they'd all thought for the past month or more.
For a flash she thought she saw something as his eyes swam deliriously, losing focus completely. His shoulders slumped too before he swayed momentarily; collapsing as his eyes rolled into his head.

Then all chaos let loose

A/N: Only three more chapters to go and will be alot less tense but just as angsty. Hope everyone if enjoying it (despite the evilness of the whumping of course).