Strange Bedfellows

A/N: And the winner is... Enorm, the 100th reviewer! You get a... pat on the head:)

More f-bombs, just to let you know. Yeah, this chapter is icky. It could be considered rated R for attempted… well, you'll see. Yes, I know I'm a sick person. But I tried to keep it toned down. Don't worry, this is probably the worst it gets. I needed to put it in there because the rest of the story won't work without it.

Thanks again for all the reviews, and may I just say that you are all sick people? LOL. Loved the whumping, huh? And you want more! Jeez, you're so mean:)

Chapter 12: Playing Nice

Slowly, he regained consciousness. He felt like an creature who had been hibernating for the last few months, whose first taste of consciousness was its only in a long while. John was bone tired. How he had wished he had slept for that long. The two brief times he had lost awareness had been the only time he had slept in the last 72 hours.

John sat up and propped himself against the cell wall. Everything was heavy and his sides hurt like hell. To make matters worse, his killer headache had returned. And it was more than those little aches he often got when he spent too much time around McKay, listening to him yammer on and on about his theories on the flux compacitor¼ or something. It feels like someone went to town on my head with a sledgehammer. Again.

Despite the pressing darkness of the cell, John kept his eyes shut. The smallest amount of light sent searing pain through his skull. Yet even without his sight, he sensed Elizabeth's absence. The cell seemed colder without her. John wondered what they were doing to her, if she was enduring what he had endured. Risking a glance toward the entrance, he noted that Tiny had adopted his post outside the door. Thankfully, that meant he wasn't in the room with her. Still, the simple fact of not knowing what was happening to her was enough to make John more than a little nervous.

For the first time in his life, Major John Sheppard was truly scared.

-

Elizabeth was puzzled. She had been seated in the chair in the same interrogation room for little over an hour now, yet neither Hergon nor his cronies had touched her. She had seen what they had done to John, had seen his battered body being dragged back toward the cell as she herself was sent to be questioned. No matter how many times she had called out to him, his limp form had not stirred.

Now here she was, facing the same captors, yet not a hand was laid upon her. Elizabeth wondered of that was a good thing or a bad thing. They had just asked her questions - questions about Atlantis, her roll there, the technology¼none of which she answered of course. It made her uneasy - and suspicious- to have so many individuals in the same room as her, none but Hergon speaking or moving. She wondered what it meant.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Hergon ordered one of his men - Kropol, was it? - to return her to her cell. They had walked the entire way in silence with her knee only giving her minor difficulties. Kropol held her in a tight grip, one hand holding her wrists firmly together and the other, she was troubled to see, on her right hip. Had they been in any other situation, she would have used one of the self defense techniques Teyla had taught her. If his hand decides to wander any further, she stated to herself, I just might anyway. Although in this case, she much preferred John's method of self defense. In fact, it was he whom she had gone to first to learn the basics on how to defend one's self. Elizabeth had wanted just a simple combat move or two; she had in mind maybe flipping her opponent on his back or elbowing him in the face perhaps.

"Flipping him on his back?" he had asked her skeptically.

"Yeah, I see it in the movies all the time and I thought it looked really cool," she had replied with a smile she couldn't hide. Noticing the confusion on his face, she had continued in her best commanding voice, desperately trying to convince him. "And I think it would be highly beneficial for me to learn at least some defensive tactics, just in case something happens, not to mention everyone else on the base-"

"Liz," he had replied, still with the dumb look of befuddlement on his face, "why don't you just shoot him?" Then he had walked away, leaving her to stare after him with a look of bewilderment on her brow and eventually leading her to Teyla. That was the John Sheppard she had come to know and love: the childlike little boy trapped inside a man's body who had the simple solution for everything.

Not this time, she thought to herself.

Snapping out of her reverie, Elizabeth noticed they were in front of their cell. John was sitting against the wall, looking worn but staring hostilely at Kropol. Apparently, he didn't like the thought of the man's hand on her waist, the same man who had been leering at her the previous day. She gave John a look as if to say, "settle down"; she didn't want him in any more trouble than she had already gotten him into.

John relaxed but remained watchful as Kropol walked Elizabeth to the entrance. He was amused by John's clear hatred for him and roughly shoved his prisoner into the cell. As he did so, Kropol deliberately extended his leg, causing Elizabeth to trip and fall to the floor.

John was at her side as fast as his aching body would allow him to move, helping her up and moving her away from the loathsome scum. Kropol snickered at their obvious mental and physical distress and walked out, presumably back to his boss.

"I really don't like that guy," muttered John as he slid down the wall to the floor.

"No kidding. How're you doing?" Elizabeth asked.

"Me? You're the one who just came back from an appointment with Dr. Doom. I should be asking you."

"Actually, it's strange… the entire time they didn't lay one finger one me." She looked at John's reaction which mirrored her initial one - one of surprise. Pleasant surprise, but surprise nonetheless. "Yeah, I know… I don't know what to make of it." Not that she wasn't thankful she hadn't suffered - as John had, she added guiltily - but a part of her could not help but wonder…why? She supposed she should just count her blessings and not ask questions. Though the pins and needles from the Stunner will still annoying the hell of her.

"Well, thank God is all I can say," he breathed with a sigh of relief. Fortunately, his worry had been for nothing. As for why she had come out unscathed…well, hell, he didn't give a damn. She had been returned to him in one piece and that was all that mattered to him.

"So how are you doing? You look…." She struggled to find the right words without hurting him.

"Like hell?" he finished for her.

She nodded with a sympathetic look on her face.

John chuckled at her honesty. He had always appreciated that about her; she never minced words. "Good, because that's exactly how I feel." John didn't want to tell her what Hergon had threatened to do to her. Instead, he closed his eyes and attempted to rest.

Elizabeth began to worry about their current predicament. John was hurt badly, she had a few injuries herself, they had no food or water, and God knew how long they would be stuck here… hadn't they come to the Klaans to resolve a food shortage problem in the first place? She rolled her eyes at the irony. It seemed to be one of those days. All she knew was that she wished Beckett was here, along with McKay who was bound to have a dozen or so Powerbars on his person alone.

"Hey, John? Are you awake?" she asked, even though she knew he was.

"Uh huh" was the weary reply. His eyes remained closed.

"I've been thinking…what could the Klaans and Wraith both possibly want with us?"

John opened his eyes and looked questioningly at her. He had tried specifically not to think about that. "I don't know…something to do with the city I assume."

Elizabeth nodded and was about to reply, but she turned over her shoulder to make sure no one, from either species, was listening. When she was satisfied, she continued. "That's exactly what I've been thinking. They would use my knowledge of the city and your ability to use Ancient technology to…do what? Build a weapon? Feed upon the members of Atlantis? Track down the Athosians on the mainland?"

John shrugged. He had to admit, he hadn't figured out the details yet either, which really irked him. But for now, he would just settle for getting the hell out of here. He couldn't give a shit about the plans of the Klaans and the Wraith.

Several hours later, a face they both really did not enjoy seeing showed itself in front of the entrance. Tiny opened the door to the cell and entered, a twisted smile plastered on his face. He strode up to John and placed himself in front of him, not saying anything.

"My turn, huh?" John asked, though he didn't expect an answer. Rising slowly to his feet, he followed the Wraith out the door. "Be right back," he called over his shoulder to Elizabeth. He made it sound like he was just going to the store to pick up a bag of groceries. No doubt she would be worried.

The two walked most of the way without muttering a word. The silence was deafening.

"You guys don't talk too much, do you?" he asked Tiny.

The Wraith continued to stare straight ahead with that perpetual look of malevolence their kind always seemed to exhibit. He did not answer.

Okay… John thought. Maybe the big guy's shy, doesn't like to talk.

Then after several seconds of silence, Tiny spoke. "One could say the same for you, Major Sheppard."

Touché, thought John to himself.

"Though that will soon change," Tiny concluded as they reached their destination.

John was once again sat in yet again the same chair in the same room. The door was shut firmly behind them as the two Wraith took their positions behind John. Hergon stood and looked at Sheppard thoughtfully, trying to decide how to approach the line of questioning this time.

"Major Sheppard, you have been here for several days now. We both now you cannot last much longer. Why not provide us with our information and we will release you and Dr. Weir."

John rolled his eyes. He knew the Klaans needed them. They would never be released until Hergon was done using them. At which point he'd probably kill us instead. "You know, this is getting really old, really fast. And as much as I enjoy your company, I'd really like to be getting back home now, so…." He braced himself for the expected blow from Kropol, but it never came.

Hergon contemplated his next move. "Major, what is the location of Atlantis?"

Okay, that came out of nowhere. John was a little stunned. Thus far, they had only asked who had the gene and who led Atlantis. Now they wanted the Gate address for Atlantis? It confirmed Elizabeth's and his theory, but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Probably not, he thought.

"Um, I forgot," John replied smugly.

Hergon bristled slightly at Sheppard's arrogant attitude. "I'm glad you find this so amusing, Major. I'm going to ask you again: what is the location of Atlantis?"

John knew if they were smart enough, they could access the DHD's memory and look up the Gate address themselves. But they Klaans weren't technologically advanced at all. They didn't even know how to use a gun.

"It's, you know… around," he replied with a shrug. John was determined not to give Hergon and his men anything, even if they simply wanted to know the best place to get a burger. Once again, John prepared himself for a strike, but like last time, it never came.

"Your arrogance astounds me," Hergon spat. Then he nodded to Kropol, who nodded in return to his commander, and left the room.

John watched Kropol leave. Where's he going? Not once had anyone left the room during previous interrogations. Why now? He felt the fear well up inside him as he attempted to get a peek at where the man had gone to.

They spent the next few moments in silence, John's affixed to a spot on the far wall. He was beginning to hate that spot. He knew everything about it: its diameter, its color… he thought it even looked a little like a giraffe-

"Major, this is your last chance. I'm giving you a choice: you can either tell me if you have the gene, if you lead Atlantis, or the location of the Lost City."

Oh, he's giving me a choice. Well, in that case… John thought to himself sarcastically. "Hmm…" he said, pretending to heavily weigh his decision. "I don't suppose you know the meaning of the term 'fuck you,' do you?" He knew they didn't, but he assumed from the tone of his voice they would get the gist of it.

Hergon smiled. He would so relish breaking this one, even if it did mean waiting a little longer for the information he sought. "Very well, Major Sheppard. Return him to his cell. I will join you shortly."

Join us? John thought. Why would he want to see me personally back to the cell? What the hell is going on here?

As he was yanked up by a human he had not seen before, John noticed a metal object protruding from the waistband of one of the man's pants. His 9 mil. Son of a bitch… what is it, a goddamn trophy? This was the second man he had seen it with. Apparently, the primitive race was fascinated by the weapon but still unable to operate it. Which was a good thing in their case, John noted, because the safety was in the off position. If anyone were to accidentally pull the trigger out of curiosity… well, one can always hope, right?

John was led out the doorand down the hallway back to the cell. Unlike the silence during the trip down, he could now hear faint noises in the distance. Was that…crying? He cocked his head in uncertainty. It was too faint; he couldn't hear. And then another sound… another voice. Male.

He attempted to increase his pace, to get back to Elizabeth quicker, but the Klaan was holding him back. Major Sheppard turned to him and noticed he was smirking, but the man refused to meet his gaze, looking instead straight ahead. Whatever was going on, he knew about it. Something was wrong.

The remainder of the return trip seemed interminable. During that time, the voices had grown louder. Elizabeth's crying had now mixed with her screams and the male voice had begun yelling. Threats, it seemed. He could make out muffled words - bits and pieces of phrases.

"Please…don't… if you… John…" Elizabeth had cried.

"Stop… still… or I will… hurt… even more," was the reply from the unidentified male voice. It wasn't Hergon, this much John knew.

John tried once more to pull away from his captor, but his grip was too firm. He didn't remember the walk to the interrogation room being this long.

At last, they arrived in front of the cell. John was horrified at what he saw. Outside the cell were three fully armed Wraith, three Klaans, and as promised, walking down the corridor was Hergon. But it was what lay inside the confinement that truly stopped his heart.

There in the middle of the floor lay Elizabeth, hand bound crudely with a piece of cloth. On top of her was the source of the male voice: Kropol. He had a knife to her throat. John noticed it was his knife, and it drew several beads of blood from her neck. He also noticed her shirt had been unbuttoned almost the entire way.

John was pushed roughly against the branches which made the entrance to the cell, forced to watch the torment unfold in front of his own eyes. He watched her struggle against the larger man in vain, watched her spit in his face when he pressed down harder with the knife. A chorus of boos radiated from the crowd of onlookers. Did they think this was a game? Kropol violently slapped her across the face in response, tearing her lip open. He then pressed down on her injured knee with his own, causing a scream of pain to escape her lips. The crowd erupted in applause.

Elizabeth spotted John out of the corner of her eye. She immediately begged for his help. "John, please help me!" she sobbed. "John, help-" A scream, her own, cut off her words as the knife was pressed deeper into her skin.

It was killing him. John was merely several feet away, but might as well have been a galaxy away. He couldn't help her, and it was killing him. All he could do is look on in horror as the woman he had made it a personal mission to care for was brutally assaulted. The woman he cared about.

Hergon walked up slowly to John, stopping only a moment to watch the drama unfold. He hadn't planned it this way intially, but the two prisoner's obvious concern for each other was too good an opportunity to miss. Ever since he had nodded to Kropol in the interrogation room, a silent order to begin this phase of the plan, he had enjoyed watching emotions play out on the Major's face. It had begun with confusion, evolved into horror, and now grown into utter helplessness.

"Major Sheppard," he began, whispering. "You can end this. All you must do is tell me what I wish to know and I will put a stop to it. She doesn't have to suffer like this."

John continued to watch Elizabeth struggle against Kropol as he began to take his belt off. There was no stopping him save one way. John turned to Hergon and opened his mouth to speak when he remembered something. The man behind him had a gun, his gun, tucked into the waistband behind his back. John pursed his lips in concentration, trying to remember how many rounds he had left. He had emptied an entire clip at the Wraith Dart plus two more rounds, so that left… eight bullets. But there would only be time for one, maybe two shots. He would have to time this just right… Hail Mary…

With the element of surprise as his only aid, Sheppard elbowed the man behind him in the stomach, causing him to release his grip. He then pushed him into Hergon, forcing them both to stumble backwards, but as he did so, he grabbed the pistol from the man's pants. Turning back toward the cell, John poked the muzzle of the 9 mil through one of the openings in the branches. He hoped to God hid aim was good - a miscalculation by mere inches could fatally wound Elizabeth. With one last look down the sight, he pressed the trigger twice.

The bullets found their mark, closing the distance to their target in mere milliseconds. They hit home in the center of the back of Kropol's head even before the empty casings clanked to the ground.

But John didn't have time to admire his marksmanship. As soon as he had finished the second shot, he had immediately turned around and aimed at the crowd of onlookers, hoping to take at least a few down with the remaining six bullets. As soon as he turned, however, Hergon blindsided him, crushing him under his bodyweight against the entrance. The gun was knocked loose as Hergon slammed his hand against the nearby stone wall. It fell to the floor with a resounding thud.

Soon the mob was upon him. John didn't struggle as both Wraith and human forced him to the ground and pummeled him into submission. He knew it would be futile. Sheer numbers suggested it, not to mention the strength of his opponents. Besides, he had accomplished what he had set out to do, and everything else was now secondary. He slipped into a blissful rest.

-

Elizabeth had seen the ordeal unfold before her eyes. She had watched as Kropol pressed John's knife harder against her throat, warm blood trickling down her neck. She screamed for help, not even sure of what she was saying. And then she had seen John, pressed against the entrance and watching, powerless to do anything. The hurt in his eyes had told her of his inner agony at being forced to watch.

The ensuing seconds passed like years in her eyes. There was no sound for Elizabeth, just the sight of Kropol looming threateningly above her. Then suddenly, she saw him freeze. A look of shock was frozen on his face. He didn't move for the longest time… and then he began to teeter slowly on his knees. She didn't know what had happened. Kropol then began to slowly fall toward her, gaining momentum as he fell like a tree falling in the forest. He landed heavily atop her.

Elizabeth was still utterly confused. Was he dead? She reached up, attempting to push the weighty man off of her, when her hand accidentally brushed the back of his head. Her fingers came back slicked in red. Blood. But how…? she wondered.

Looking up, Elizabeth noticed a struggle occurring outside the entrance. John was being forced to the ground as a - was that a gun? - fell from his hand. She watched as men and Wraith advanced upon him, beating him. He hadn't even resisted at all. Once he was unconscious, an enraged Hergon tossed him roughly into the cell and began to conference with him men.

The entire time Elizabeth had been lying under the body of a dead man. It had not registered until now. She panicked and began to push Kropol off her, but he was too heavy. Tried as she might, he would not budge. Finally, with the use of her legs, she crawled out from under him and scurried to the corner, as far as she could possibly get from the corpse.

Elizabeth brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, making herself as small as possible. She noticed she had Kropol's blood on her hands. Rubbing them furiously, both together and on her jacket, she attempted to get the crimson stain out, but it remained. She rubbed faster and faster in a worried frenzy, but the tint stayed. For how long? she wondered. Would she be cursed with this stigma all her life as a reminder of her failings, her faults?

The conference broke and several men entered to gather the body of their fallen comrade and the knife. Elizabeth prayed they wouldn't notice her in the corner. They did, but did not advance in her direction, choosing instead to cast hateful looks in at her as they carried the body out.

The men gave a kick to another prone body on the floor as the exited. This one was breathing, but clearly unconscious. Who is that? Elizabeth asked herself. She thought he looked familiar; his unruly dark hair, his black shirt, the five o'clock shadow he always seemed to have reminded her of someone she knew, someone she cared about… but she couldn't place him. Who was he? No, she did not know this man and therefore could not trust him. Elizabeth felt herself sinking further and further into the corner, attempting to escape the unknown and blocking out the awful memories. She fell into a blank nothingness.


Oh, I am SO sorry. I didn't want to do that, but it's necessary, okay! You'll see. And it's not like it actually happened, just almost happened... I am so evil. Forgive me?