The throbbing running rampant around his skull woke him up. His finely coiffed hair even hurt. He had been with someone in the room.
"McKay?" He waited for a response. He opened his eyes as wide as he could. The room was unfamiliar; he could not remember why he was here. It was not Atlantis, although it looked a lot like it. He was pretty sure McKay should have been here.
"McKay?" He called out again.
Why did his head hurt so much? Somebody else was supposed to be here. He must have been attacked.
"Sir."
"Hunh? F-Ford?" Was he hearing voices now?
"Yes Sir."
"You're not supposed to be here." That much he did know.
"I think I am."
"No, Ford is gone. He is somewhere else." He did remember that.
"You need to get up and out of here Sir."
"What?" Confusion and a need to sleep were overtaking him.
"Go to the transporter Sir."
"You're right. Gotta go." Sheppard tried to get up, but fell back down. "Little help?"
"Can't Sir."
"Oh that's right, you're not here. But you are. I guess once a second in command always a second in command." Sheppard tried again feeling around for anything to leverage himself. He found the wall. His eyes were blurry and one was pretty much swollen to a slit. Random thoughts entered and left. Least of which was, where the hell was he?
It was Ancient in design, the interior told him that. He felt for a radio; it was gone. They or he must have been checking this place out. Then, where was his gear? Why was he alone?
He staggered out of the lab and found the transporter. The doors hissed open. He stumbled and fell on top of a pile of something. Clothes? He looked at the pile and scrambled backwards. Two dead marines looked back at him.
He could not remember them or their names. He should know them- right? This was bad. Whatever had attacked him had left this place.
He clumsily pulled the bodies out and stepped into the cubicle.
"Point and go Sir," directed Phantom Ford.
"Thanks." He pointed to what looked like the ground level. Nothing happened. He tried again, still nothing. He tried another level. Nothing.
"Guess I'm going to have to wait for rescue," mumbled Sheppard, "Or find the stairs."
"Guess so Sir."
He stepped out of the cubicle and examined the marines. No weapons and no gear, only dog tags. Burns and Ryals. He still did not remember them.
"Let's see if we can find the stairs." He held onto the wall as he staggered down the hall.
He opened doors and peered into each room. Labs and offices were all he found. He caught his reflection in one of the windows. Blood was dried on his temple and forehead. A large cut and bruise ran just above his eyebrows. Another bruise ran down the side of his face.
"That explains a little," he whispered as he touched the cut.
He walked up to the sixth or seventh door on the hallway. It opened and a golden light blazed making his good eye squint. He grabbed the door jam to steady himself. It was pretty. Then the pretty light moved and wrapped around his forearm.
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A/N: Please review and send support to Sheppard in his hour of need. Shiny, pretty things can be so distracting.