A Place To Hide
John's never liked visiting the dentist. It's like clinical torture. The doctor with his white mask so you can only see his eyes. The array of interesting torture instruments prodding at the best pain points. The light above the chair, shining into his eyes and narrowing the world to a claustrophobic space filled with masks and metal in his mouth, which lingers long after the ordeal.
And the laughing gas. Because he's laughing, so they must have given him some. He's squinting up at the bright light, blurred by involuntary tears in his eyes, and he's laughing, his body shaking slightly.
The masked face hovers over him, eyes dark and inquisitive. "You may think you are strong enough to withstand this, but you will break. They all do."
He feels a metal band placed around his forehead and it comes back to him that it's not the first time, that the taste of metal in his mouth is his own blood, his tongue aching where he bit into it.
John lurches up from the chair and when he's unable to get up, he remembers the click of metal around his wrists and ankles.
It comes back, like a rush of blood to the head. Being dragged and pushed into the room, seeing the chair. He almost expected a nice nurse with a bright smile to usher him in.
He remembers making a quip about not needing any fillings and his captors reacted by trying to knock out the ones he already has and then picking him up off the floor and practically throwing him into the chair.
He knew the mantra off by heart.
Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.
But the click of the restraints shatters his resolve and inside his head, there's nothing but panic. He stares down the doctor behind the mask, looks straight into the dark eyes. He knows the doctor is smiling behind the mask, he can feel it even though it's behind a mask.
The doctor holds up a small device and puts it in front of John's face. Then he brings it down and touches it to John's immobile hand. The oval device lights up blue. How nice of the Ancients to leave these things around.
"How is it that you are able to activate this?" the doctor asks.
John smirks. "I guess it likes me."
"What is this device meant for?" the doctor asks.
"I told you before," John says simply. "I don't know."
The doctor's eyes hold John's gaze for a while and then he nods.
John clenches his jaw and grits his teeth because he knows what comes next. Pain. Some kind of pain. As soon as the metal band touches his forehead, he knows what comes next.
His body is limp, boneless, and they drag him back into his stone cell, letting go of him in the middle of the small room and allowing him to fall in a heap on the concrete floor.
His body is still feeling the shudders and his clothes smell of his vomit. The pain in his head had been so intense, his stomach had clenched and emptied out, not that there was anything in there to begin with.
His eyes are burning, the corners stinging where wetness has left them feeling raw. There's no energy left in his body at all. Maybe this is the time he won't make it out.
Slowly, John rolls onto his back, his head feeling heavy and his stomach rolling. He closes his eyes and thinks of ways to escape.
"Have you tried talking to them?"
John opens his eyes and looks at Elizabeth, who is watching him from the other side of the table, coffee cup in hand and the light breeze blowing through her hair as they sit there in the park.
"They don't feel much like talking," John says dryly, taking a gulp of coffee from his own cup.
"Maybe if you try to make them understand that we'd make good allies against the Wraith instead of making smart remarks it might be different," Elizabeth says with a small smile and warm eyes.
"But I like the smart remarks," John says, pretending to be a little hurt.
Elizabeth shakes her head and laughs lightly. John smiles and looks down into his empty cup, aware that time is running out.
"You can't give up yet," Elizabeth says quietly. "We're coming to get you."
John nods slowly, unsure if he believes her promise because he's lucid enough to know that it's a promise he's making to himself.
Someone is screaming loud in his ears and it feels like forever before he realizes that it's him. The pain in his head is like white heat, blinding and incinerating him from the inside. His eyes feel like the pressure inside them will make them burst and his throat is raw. His face is wet with sweat and tears and he tries not to think about the vomit and foaming at the mouth.
He tries not to think about any of it.
"Only the Atlanteans were able to make devices such as these work," the doctor says. "How is it that you are able to?"
John's body is shaking, his fists clenched tight and he tries to keep the mask of defiance in place, tries not to look afraid, but he is afraid.
The chair is bad. The chair is pain. The chair is bad. The chair is pain. The chair is bad. The chair is pain.
"I don't know," he rasps, because he can't tell. He won't tell.
The pain comes back and it lasts until his body doesn't even have the strength left to humiliate him against his will.
The crowd roars and everyone gets up, arms in the air for a moment before they all sit back down, watching the players on the field.
Ford takes a large bite of his hot dog. "You can't tell them about Atlantis. It'll be the Genii all over again."
John nods, biting into his own hot dog. "I know, but I can't reason with them either. They're only interested in getting more gadgets that light up."
Ford shakes his head. "Man, this is one screwed up galaxy."
John sighs. "Tell me about it."
The crowd lets out a united groan. John shakes his head as he watches the game. The Wraith are winning, the humans just about holding it together and running out of steam.
There'll be no Hail Marys today, John can feel it.
"Hang tight, Sir, the others'll find you," Ford says, so sure. "And I don't think these guys are going to kill you just yet. You've got information they need."
John turns and looks at Ford, one side of his face young and belonging to the kid that trusted John with his life and the other side of his face belonging to something that tried to take his life.
Ford's right. This is one hell of a fucked up galaxy.
John lies on the chair in a heap, his eyes heavy and his ears ringing. His eyes slowly follow the doctor as he nears, the mask over his mouth never coming off. The doctor is close to John's face, close enough that John tries to jerk away.
A hand grabs his chin hard and pulls his face back so he is eye to eye with the doctor. John swallows, his parched throat burning.
"I can do this forever. It is why I have this job," the doctor promises. "You may think you are strong enough to withstand this, but you will break. They all do."
That's what made John laugh. Not laughing gas at all.
"Boy did you bet on the wrong horse," John says, laughing shakily, tears escaping from the corners of his eyes, burning trails into his skin.
"This is funny?" the doctor asks. "Why don't I give you something to laugh about?"
John musters up all the courage he can gather from his depleted body and grunts out, "Screw you."
As the band touches his forehead, his body provides enough adrenaline for him to thrash against the restraints and yell out a 'No!' before the energy waves cut into his brain and try to read it slice by slice.
John looks down at the ground and sees the doctor patiently waiting for the wheel to turn, so he decides the wheel won't turn. He'll just sit here at the top forever.
"That would not be wise," Teyla says.
John looks at her in her Earth clothes. "It's safe up here," John murmurs.
"For the time being, yes," Teyla says. "But there is a possibility that they may be able to find you."
John looks down again and the doctor is talking to his goons, making plans no doubt about how to get John off the wheel.
"Right," John says. He looks up and stares ahead. He has no weapons. He has no strength. He's outnumbered. All he has is places where he can hide for brief moments before the pain gets so bad that he blacks out or they begin to bleed in.
John looks at Teyla, unsure of exactly what it is that he wants to tell her, or wants to hear. Doesn't really matter. It's all in his head anyway.
"You must remain strong," she says, the set of her face insistent. "We will come for you."
John looks away and leans back, putting on his sunglasses. "That's what I keep telling myself."
Each trip to the dentist strips him of his hiding places a little more. The fairgrounds are filled with the doctor's goons, chasing him and searching for him.
He has to sneak out of football games, knowing that they're close by and getting closer.
The park is completely off limits.
The places he can hide are becoming smaller and smaller and he knows that when he finally runs out of space, everything that's kept hidden will finally be taken from him. Ripped right out of his head.
He laughs quietly in his pained delirium. Welcome to the Pegasus galaxy.
"Give him a minute and we'll try again," the doctor is saying to the chair operator.
John's been unresponsive between the moments they've been screwing with his head. He's been staring right past the doctor, his eyes on someone else. The doctor thinks John is close to cracking. He doesn't realize that John is finding ways to hide in open spaces, now that the hiding places are gone.
"I wonder what that blue thing does," Rodney says, standing by the chair and drifting off into his own little world.
John rolls his eyes and sits, swinging his feet off the chair and letting them dangle over the edge. "Will you focus, McKay? We're trying to find a way out of this place, not play with their Ancient toys."
Rodney's brows go up. "I'm sorry, Colonel, but that does not look like a man that's going anywhere for the time being," Rodney says pointing at the head of the chair and the expressionless man lying there.
John grimaces. "I don't look that bad, you know, considering."
"Yes, you look remarkably well for a man whose brain should be dribbling out of his ears."
"Thanks," John says flatly. "Now, how about you help me get the hell out of this place?"
Rodney frowns and then looks at John. "Seriously, maybe you should find out what that little blue device does. It could be something useful, if you can get your hands on it again."
John watches Rodney carefully. Is that what Rodney would do? What if the blue device is some kind of shield? A shield would be good. Right now, John wishes for a barrier that extends for miles so he can rebuild the broken parts of his brain.
John looks up at Rodney. "You forgot to tell me something."
Rodney looks a little sad. "I don't think you believe it anymore."
John swallows hard. "Say it anyway."
John's been lying on the ground since they dumped him there hours ago. He's moved enough to be able to see the small spot of blood that trickled onto the ground from his nose. Other than that small inch, he hasn't moved at all. His body feels as though it weighs a broken ton. His muscles ache from the constant spasms, his ankles and wrists sore from where the restraints dig in when he tries to escape the chair.
He can hear someone walking the perimeter of the room. After a while, a pair of boots stop right in front of his face.
John puts his palms against the ground and pushes up with every ounce, lifting his head to look up at the other man.
He stares at Sumner with stinging eyes, the other man's face old and lined before its time. Sumner seems to be watching him with something like pity. But Sumner's not really there and John finds the thought of feeling sorry for himself too appalling that he has to look away for a moment.
"Any wise words, Sir?" John asks, his voice rough.
He can hear Sumner crouching down and turns and looks straight at the other man's knees. When he looks up, he sees the face of Colonel Sumner as it was the first time he met him; arrogant and stubborn.
"This how you want to die, Major?" Sumner asks.
"Colonel," John says shakily, his chest heaving and bringing on a coughing fit. "I'm a Lieutenant Colonel now."
Sumner smiles with amusement. "Well, excuse me, Lieutenant Colonel, but can I just point out that I'm a figment of your imagination?"
"Yeah, well, sometimes I forget too."
"No you don't," Sumner says knowingly. He gets up and looks around the cell. "Will that be all? Colonel?"
John watches the other man, fading away a little as John's succumbs to shivers. "I don't know what to do."
Sumner gives John a long look and then nods. "You flew a goddamn nuke into a hive ship with every intention of blowing yourself up. You think that was some kind of plan? You won't know what to do until you do it, Colonel. That's your thing, isn't it?"
Sumner looks down at his chest and his shirt just seems to fall away, revealing a Wraith hand print with a bullet wound at the center.
John wishes someone was around to do for him what he'd done for Sumner.
One of his hands is released from the restraint and they put the blue device in his hand because he says he can make it work and tell them what it is.
The doctor's eyes are wide with expectation, locked on the blue device.
It begins to glow and John is almost asking it what it does, what it can do for him.
For a long time, nothing happens and John wonders if it's nothing but a fancy light. But then, his hand begins to glow blue and tingle with warmth. The blue glow and warmth gradually travel up his arm and before long, his whole body is cast in a blue hue and he can feel something mingling with his blood. Something strong.
John lifts his other arm and the restraint crumbles as if made from sand. The doctor orders for his staff to fire on John, but the bullets bounce off him, ricocheting around the room.
John gets up from the chair and points at the doctor and the tip of his finger sends out a blast of energy that makes the man disintegrate on the spot. Everyone else runs.
The body shield, or whatever the hell it is, seems to feed him with energy. He's able to find his way out of the building, facing off anyone that comes his way.
He's able to find his things and run from the building and find the gate. He dials the gate and sends his IDC code. He steps through. He comes home.
It's that easy.
He makes jokes about it being the worst vacation ever. About getting fed up of waiting to be rescued. About thinking he left the oven on. They all laugh.
The end.
"Give him a minute and we'll try again," the doctor is saying to the chair operator.
John stares numbly, the split-second dream broken.
"Why do you keep fighting?" the doctor asks.
He would tell the doctor it's all he knows, but he hasn't even the energy for words. So he just stares and continues fighting.
In his sleep, he's aware of loud chaotic noises, not too far from him, but ironically, it's a gentle coaxing voice that wakes him up.
He looks up into warm brown eyes, filled with concern, a hand on his cheek.
"Colonel?" Teyla asks, clearly worried.
John pulls away from her touch and shakes his head. "No. This isn't real."
"I assure you, Colonel, this is very real," Teyla says, seriously. "We must leave immediately."
John looks around the cell, seeing the door open. This has happened so many times. He can't keep doing it. It's driving him insane.
Teyla seems to sense his concern and takes his face in both hands. "Colonel, we must leave now. Please."
John hesitates for a moment, hating that he's so far gone he can't even tell what's real. "What the hell," he says. "I guess I can do this once more."
Teyla looks confused, but helps him to his feet nevertheless. He leans heavily on her as they head out, his feet unsure of what they're supposed to do and his head spinning.
Before long, a familiar figure comes barreling down the corridor, handgun at the ready.
"Hey, McKay," John says, slightly breathless. "Good to see you again."
Rodney stares at him, never bothering to conceal the horror at seeing John in this state. "Thank god. You found him," Rodney sounds out of breath. "Okay, uh, let's switch. I'll take him, you lead the way."
Rodney puts John's arm around his own neck and then grabs John around the waist and seems able to drag him along whether his feet work or not, Teyla walking on ahead with her P90 at the ready.
Rodney is quiet and focused. That's the way with him. When there's silence, he has to be the one destroying it, but when there's chaos, he has no problem doing what he has to do. His face is set with determination as he half-carries John towards the jumper.
By the time they get there, John is barely aware of how many people are laying down cover for him and who they are. He just hangs onto Rodney and Teyla's voices telling him that they're nearly there.
Lying on the floor of the jumper as it speeds away, John looks up at Rodney's concerned face.
"Anyone tell you you're way heavier than you look?" Rodney asks with a frown.
John gives a small laugh, insanity scurrying around like insects under his skull. Then he passes out, fully expecting to wake up in the chair again.
The first time it happens, he doesn't actually realize it's happening. In fact, he thinks it's real. Maybe it's just Beckett taking a precaution. Maybe all the staff in the infirmary are taking precautions.
The next time it happens, it's both Rodney and Zelenka. John figures they're involved in some kind if experiment, maybe that's why.
He only realizes what's happening when his head begins to throb under the bright light and all the senior staff are sitting around the briefing table. Each and every one of them, looking exactly the same.
Elizabeth asks him if he's okay, because he looks a little pale. Her voice isn't even muffled. It's perfectly normal.
He says he's fine, but hurries away at the end of the briefing and it's when he passes everyone else that he realizes they all look the same.
They all look at him with dark, violating, eyes and they all wear that same mask the doctor wore, their mouths hidden from him.
In the dark of his quarters, his head pressed against the door, he wonders where he is.
Home?
Or has he finally found a new way of hiding?
The End