A/N: (Hiding under desk) Yes I know most of you probably hate me right now after that last chapter, but remeber in the first chapter in the warning I said semi-character death. This is fanfiction anythings possible. But I'll give you all a hint about whats to come in the ending: Odds are it's not at all what you might be thinking.

Belisse: I couldn't help but chuckle at the beginning of your review, I have no idea if that was you're intention, but your review for chapter five (chapter four too) made my day.

elemental-sparky: I'm sorry that was totally not my intention. I hope you and Shep can make up.

The bastard Forza paid John a vist personally that night, about an hour after the fight had ended and all the guests had left. He praised John on such a good fight, on making him so much money, and informed John that he would be excused from fighting until his wounds fully healed. Forza didn't apologise for the torture or the choice of his opponent, and John knew he wasn't sorry. John just looked at Forza with dead eyes until he left him alone in his small room, with only the low, dying light of a lamp to chase away the shadows that lurked in the corners.

A doctor was sent to take care of John's wounds, not saying any more than was necessary and never looking John in the eyes. The doctor tried to give John something for the pain, but he refused, explaining that he didn't like being drugged up. It seemed like hours before he was finally left alone, and John thought about locking the door before he remembered that there was no lock. So instead he just curled up on the real bed he'd been allowed, with the thick, warm blanket pulled tight around his body, and tried very hard not to think

John thought, absently, that he should be mourning the loss of his friend, should be angry at Forza for putting him into that situation, should be regretting the choice he'd made to fight. John should've been a lot of things, but he wasn't. He'd thought he knew what is was like to be void of all feeling especially during the past months, but he'd been wrong. There had always been a glimmer of emotion in his heart, some spark of life, it had just been buried so deeply he'd thought he'd lost it.

But now, staring at the ceiling with his friend's blood on his hands, metaphorically speaking of course, he really was emotionless. John could have been killed in that instant, or been told that he was being set free, and he wouldn't have cared. It was all pointless now, John had sworn that no matter what these sadstic bastards that held him captive would never have the pleasure of breaking him and now they never would because he'd just broken himself in the Pit when that knife went through Rodney's heart.

Over the past couple of months, hell, if he was being truly honest with himself, over the past few years, he'd slowly been killing himself, tearing off pieces of his soul, sacrificing bits of his heart, for others and he'd been fine. Sometime after ending up in his own version of hell he'd changed, become dark and reclusive, but he'd been okay, he'd coped, he'd survived. But now… now he was truly broken. John wasn't going to fool himself he would never recover from killing Rodney, and a part of him didn't want to, because he shouldn't be able to. Killing your best friend was not supposed to be something you could just get over.

The night passed agonizingly slow, silent as a graveyard. Usually, John could always hear some form of movement, normally that of the guards checking on the fighters, but now there was nothing just silence heavy, thick, unbearable silence that pressed against him like a pillow, trying to smother him, trying to kill him. John shook his head and rolled onto his back.

He'd never dealt with silence very well, that was why he always tried to have other people around him, most people thought he did it because he liked being the center of attention, always had to have people around to worship him, and he'd used to think along those lines too, but lying there he realized that no he didn't do it because he wanted attention, he did it to chase away the silence. John thought about this new piece of information about himself until he was too tired to think anymore, and fell asleep.

John woke immediately, his subconscious screaming at him that he wasn't alone, that someone was in the room with him. John fought to keep his body relaxed and his breathing steady, focusing on not giving any indication that he was awake. Straining his ears, John deduced that the person was standing by the opposite wall, far enough away that unless they had a gun pointed at him, he had a good chance of fighting back.

With that thought in mind, John opened his eyes while sitting up. His body screamed at him, the wounds from his torture making themselves known, John repressed the urge to wince and fold up in a little ball of pain. Apparently, he'd reached that oh so fun stage where every minor movement hurt like a fucker. It wasn't surprising as quite a few of his wounds were on his back and every time he moved, he used the muscles in his back. It was not going to be fun for the next day or so.

It turned out to be Keeshaw that had walked into the room. He was leaning against the far wall with his arms folded across his chest. He was watching John and there was something in his eyes that John really didn't like. He glared at Keeshaw, wondering what in the hell he was doing there.

"You got us all pretty stumped 'Lantean." Keeshaw smirked. "You refuse to fight and get the shit beat out of you for it, only fighting after that friend of yours caves in and yet the boss still not only gives you the luxury room but let's you stay here and excuses you from fighting until you're all better. And not a one of us can figure out how you pulled that off. If you'd been any other fighter your ass would have been ours to do with as we pleased even though you'd won."

"Gee nice to know my fucked up life concerns you." The sarcasm poured off of John "Now, if you don't mind get the fuck out and leave me the hell alone."

Keeshaw's face darkened and he pushed away from the wall, hands clenching into fists. A vein started throbbing in his temple. "You watch your back, because the second you're back in your cell, you're ours again. Until then, you get to be free, but the moment that you get put back, we're gonna have a lotta fun you and me."

With that, Keeshaw stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and John sighed. He really shouldn't have been such a smart ass, it only lead to trouble, but he was always bitchy when he was hurt, kind of like Rod-- John stopped himself, nope he wasn't going down that train of thought. Shaking his head John winced at the pain when his wounds protested at the movement, and very carefully lay back down on the bed.

The one good thing about sleeping was that it let John think about things easier, it gave his brain a chance to play catch up with everything else and assess things. While sleeping his brain played catch up while simultaneously telling his heart to shut the hell up for a little bit. The previous days events kept playing out inside John's head like a movie with everything in perfect clarity. He could look at it all and see every little detail, hear every sound. He could see, with perfect clarity, the exact moment Rodney died.

Thinking about it John realized that he wasn't exactly empty anymore, but it was as if his emotions had been dulled, giving only faint echoes of the true, raw emotions he'd once been capable of feeling. Sadness, regret, anger, it was all there, but faint, like a whisper half-heard in the night. It was a coping mechanism John had developed over the years, a technique that let him deal with things slowly, easing him into things. John had never been more grateful for it than he was right then.

Two days after the fight, John asked to be taken back to his cell. He couldn't rest in the luxury room, it was a constant, painful reminder of what he'd done, and if he ever hoped to get his life back to some resemblence of normal he had to get out of there. The guards were delighted, as John knew they'd be, but it was a small price to pay for being out of that damn room.

John's cell was just as he remembered, small, dark, and very depressing. He stepped inside and listened to the door being locked. Sighing, John sat down in the corner and looked at the marks he'd made on the wall. Prying a new rock chip off the wall he made two more lines, even though he really had no idea how many days he'd missed while he was unconscious back at the beginning of all this mess.

The only thing different about John's cell was that now he had a little call button that would fetch the doctor. Or at least, that was the idea. In truth, it probably wouldn't work because all the button did was flash a little light at the guard station which would alert the guard on duty that he wanted medical attention. John really doubted that they'd be in any big hurry to get the doctor.

John could hear the other fighters talking, whispering amongst themselves, hearing his name mentioned numerous times. John couldn't blame them his fight, and what had happened after it, was good news. First, who his opponent was, then their shared torture, then their eventual fight, his win, and then being given a pass on fights until he was healed; it was all something to talk about. A couple of the fighters tried talking to John, and ask him questions, but he just ignored them until they stopped trying.

The sound of booted footsteps made John tense and huddle in his corner. He listened closely, most of the guards had their own unique walk and only one of the guards had a little pause in their walk: Keeshaw. He appeared in front of John's cell a second after he realised who it was, and leered at him.

"Well if it isn't his holyness, come to pay us low lifes a vist." Keeshaw mock bowed.

"So nice of you to come back, now we get to have our fun." Keeshaw didn't like John's silence, or his stillness. Giving John a hard, cold look filled with hatred Keeshaw started to open the cell door.

Sighing John fought back a momentary urge to cry, before standing up and reluctantly moving away from the shadows ready to meet what ever Keeshaw dished out, head on. John hated the look Keeshaw had in his eyes, it never failed to make John feel like a worthless piece of shit, which normally wasn't an easy thing to do.

A muffled explosion sounded close enough to make both John and Keeshaw freeze. Startled they both looked at each other for a second thinking 'What the hell?' before snapping back into themselves. Forgeting about John, Keeshaw rushed off to see what was going on and John just stood there trying to hear what was happening.

Mostly all John heard was the guards rushing about and shouting at each other, but he also heard a couple more explosions; if he didn't know any better John would have sworn he was hearing gernades as well as a few things of C4 going off. What the hell was going on out there?

His answer came when he heard a P90 being fired near by. Rushing forward, leaning against the bars, John allowed a small smile of relief to form as he watched Lt. Ford and Sgt. Markham come jogging up to his cell.

"Major Sheppard?" Both soldiers stopped cold, shocked as hell when they recongnized the form of their CO. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well I heard so many good things about the room service around here I just had to check it out and see if all the talk was just that, talk." John replied sarcastically, momentary relief rushing through his veins like a drug. "What the hell do you mean what am I doing here?"

"Sorry sir, you just caught us by surprise no one had any idea you were here. We came to get Dr. McKay, he was taken from off world a few days ago, but luckily one of the other scientists got a look at the DHD, unfortunitly it took us a few days to get the right address together and a rescue team ready. Have you seen McKay around here any where?" Ford explained as he opened the cell door using the key he'd swiped off one of the guards.

"Yeah I saw him, but it doesn't matter because you're too late he's dead." John ducked his head down not able to meet Ford or Markham's eyes. The three stood in mornful silence until the sound of all the other fighters demanding to know what was going on broke them out of it. "Look you two stay here and get them all out of here." John started to jog away but stopped when he felt Ford grab his arm.

"With all do respect sir, just where the hell do you think you're going?"

"I've got some unfinished business to take care of." John answered grimly, twisting free of Fords grip. "Now get these people the fuck out of, that's an order Lt."

John stopped long enough to rob the dead guard by the door of his baton and gun. He gripped the gun tightly, letting the burning cold of anger and hatred swell up in him, dispelling the relief of being rescued until he was nearly numb. Only one thought existed in John's mind now, and it was the thought of a face with blue eyes and a briliant mind.