John didn't die. He dozed, in snatches, only to dream. About Sumner, the Genii, Ford, Teyla, and Rodney.
He was still stuffed in the corner, not moving. He just sat there, body tense, every muscle wound taut and aching. He figured Weir would send someone after them and John prayed they wouldn't come. He didn't want to be rescued. He didn't want to have to go back to Atlantis and tell Weir that everyone was dead. He didn't want to explain to her how he couldn't save them. John could not accept that kind of failure.
Failure was not acceptable at any level, but he was a realist and had long ago learned to accept that which he could not change. Accept it in general. But the echoes of all his failures resonated deep within him. Dex and Mitch from before Atlantis. Sumner and others since coming to Atlantis. And now his team. Ford, Teyla and Rodney. Gone. Because he failed.
John knew he had been powerless to stop their deaths. He could not choose them over Earth. Three people over billions. But that did not lighten the weight of the guilt that was pressing down upon him. He could feel it smothering him and he wished it was enough to crush him in this moment. But it would be his burden to bear for the rest of his miserable life.
The door to the box opened, silently, and John stirred but did not otherwise react. He no longer cared what happened to him. So when two guards pulled him to his feet, he didn't fight them. When they took him to the room where his teammates had been slaughtered, John was not surprised. He did not resist as they pushed him down onto the table. He lay, unmoving, as he was strapped down. Whatever pain they inflicted, he would welcome it.
He looked around the room in the moment before a strap was laid over his forehead, holding his head in place. The room was bright and clean again. Nothing left behind to remind him of what had happened. Not a speck of blood to be found. John let his eyes drift closed until he sensed a presence. He opened his eyes and the woman was beside him, leaning over him so he could see her. "I won't tell you where Earth is," John said softly. "I'll die first." He stared into her pale eyes but they reflected nothing.
Then the robed man suddenly appeared and seeing him brought back a rush of images that played out in John's head. Ford and Teyla and Rodney soaked in blood. The sounds of their screams echoed in his ears and John wished his hands were free so he could cover them. But suddenly the sounds and images faded and John found himself staring at the stiletto blade that had sliced Teyla's throat and cut out Rodney's tongue. It was clean and bright and hovering over his face. He knew what was coming.
"Where is Earth," asked the woman.
John laughed and said nothing. He saw the robed man's arm move then white-fire was exploding in his left eye. He heard himself scream, his throat becoming raw in seconds. The pain shattered him into tiny pieces, but he didn't care. He could focus on the pain and it kept him sane. This was better than the guilt, better than fear. It was better to suffer as his team had suffered. He didn't realize he had stopped screaming until something brushed his cheek.
Her hand. It was cold. She stroked his face and asked, "Where is Earth?"
He wouldn't tell her and they both knew it. John derived only a tiny bit of satisfaction from the fact that they, he and his team, would all die and the woman would have nothing to show for it. Not that she cared. But it had to mean something. John would make it mean something. He couldn't see too well out of his good eye. Everything was a blur. But he saw the shape of a blade in the moment before it plunged into his eye and this time he didn't hear himself scream.
He woke up with a jolt of awareness. He was curled on his side and he could feel the cold sweat that slicked his skin and made him feel damp, made him shiver. Pain burned in his eyes, reminding him of a sickening truth. He was blind. John shuddered at the thought, one hand lifting to his face, feeling the bandages wrapped around his useless eyes. His stomach clenched but he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. He didn't have the energy to be sick.
This was unexpected. Being alive. John had thought, when the blade had plunged into his other eye that he would not wake up again. And he had wanted death, he ached for it now. What was left? He had nothing to give them. Pushing himself upright, John scooted back until he hit a wall, then he felt his way into the corner. He pushed himself into it, knees drawn up to his chest. He wondered how long they would keep him alive. He wondered if it mattered.
How long he sat there he didn't know, but then he sensed a presence, just before a hand touched his face. He knew it was her. John didn't flinch away from her. There was nothing more she could do to hurt him. He no longer had any reason to fear her. So he simply waited and he was surprised when she took his hand and pressed something into his palm. John raised his other hand to feel it. A knife. In that moment he understood what she was offering him. He had been praying for death and now it was being given to him. He wondered why she would do this, not that it really mattered. He was almost grateful. Almost.
Reaching out to her with a shaky hand, John whispered, "Help me." He was relieved when she grabbed his hand and he didn't hesitate. He yanked her forward, into the blade. She didn't scream. She didn't make a sound, but John felt something warm and wet flow over the fingers holding the knife. He felt her body shudder. He held on to her as she clawed at his hand and then...nothing.
He felt nothing at all.
"Major? Major, can you hear me?"
John heard the voice but ignored it. Ford was dead.
"Major Sheppard, it is Teyla. You must try to wake up now."
He heard the urgency in her tone. Heard the fear. But she was dead too. Still, he felt compelled to open his eyes. To see what trick was being played upon him. To John's surprise, Teyla's face loomed over him. It was blurry so he blinked hard and he inhaled a gasp of surprise to realize he could see her. He wasn't blind. John slapped a hand to his face, feeling his eyes beneath closed lids then opening them to stare at his hand. Then he shifted his gaze to Teyla's concerned face. She was pale and her eyes looked huge and glassy. But she was beautiful. He golden skin was unmarred. John realized she was shaking. The hand on his arm was trembling. Feeling himself tremble, John pushed himself up so that he was sitting. He turned his head and Ford was standing there, looking as Shaky as Teyla, skin ashen-looking. "McKay?" John croaked.
"Present, present," Rodney muttered from behind him.
John turned and relief washed over him in waves. His team was alive. Alive. Yet that was impossible. He looked at them and whispered, "You're...alive."
Ford nodded. "Yes, sir. Seems like."
"What happened?" John struggled to his feet as he asked the question, body protesting. He curled an arm around his aching ribs and let Teyla help him stand.
"Not sure, sir," Ford replied.
Rodney had been pacing but now he pushed past Ford to face Sheppard. "We were separated. Me, Ford and Teyla were locked in some...cage. No windows. They took you somewhere else. We thought..." Rodney broke off and swallowed hard.
Teyla finished for him, her eyes locked on Sheppard's face. "We thought you might be dead."
"How long?" John asked, glancing at his watch. But it had stopped.
"We don't know," Ford replied. "Felt like forever." He shuddered.
John realized that his team looked, and acted, as if they were in shock. When he looked into their eyes he could see sheer terror. They were afraid. He understood that all too well. But he also understood that he had to be in control. That he had to be strong for them. "What happened to you?" He needed to understand if he was going to help them.
Teyla replied. "We were tortured." She did not look at him as she spoke. "At least, we thought we were. We never left the room we were in but we all felt as if...as if we were tortured and..."
"Killed," John interjected, sharply. "Butchered to death!" He felt sick again and he couldn't stop his stomach from clenching up. He fell to his knees and vomited until he brought up nothing but bile. He felt a hand on his back. Teyla's firm touch. "I'm okay," he told her, as he struggled to his feet. She gripped his arm to help then handed him a handkerchief. John didn't ask where she got it from or why she was carrying it. He wiped his face then fished in his vest pocket for the pack of gum he always carried. Only now realizing that they were still in full gear. His P90 was still clipped to him.
"You saw?" Rodney moved over to face him. "You saw what happened to us?"
John popped a piece of gum in his mouth and chewed hard before nodding. "Yes. I saw it all. I'm sorry." It was a useless thing to say, but he felt the need to say it.
Teyla touched his arm. "Did they torture you as well?"
"No." John wasn't sure why he lied, but it was out before he could stop it. "It wasn't real anyway. They were messing with our heads." And that, for some reason, scared him all the more.
"It felt real," Rodney whispered.
John watched him brush a hand over his mouth, as if reliving the moment his tongue had been cut out. The image was burned in John's head and his stomach clenched. He turned away, evened out his breathing, and then put on his team leader face. "Did anyone try contacting Atlantis?"
Ford snapped to attention. "No, sir. We woke up here, just a little while ago. Then we tried to wake you up. I didn't think...I'm sorry."
"It's okay." John moved to Ford and clapped him on the shoulder and it felt good when Ford reached up and gripped his forearm. Ford with both hands in place and standing on both feet. "We'll try now." John tapped his earpiece. "Atlantis, this is Sheppard. Do you read?"
A long moment of silence then a crackle of static and Weir's voice.
"We read you, Colonel. Where the hell have you been?"
"Good question," John replied. "How long were we out of contact?"
A pause then, "Thirty-six hours. I was just getting ready to send another team after you."
John froze. Only thirty-six hours? That didn't seem possible. He looked at his teammates and they looked as shocked as he felt. John was sure they had been gone for at least three or four days. "Well...glad you didn't," he shot back. "I think we can cross this place off the list of trade possibilities."
"What happened, Major?" Weir's voice sounded relieved, but still demanding.
"Tell you when we get back," John replied, then he tapped off. "Ford, dial the gate." And it should have been a shock to him that they were right next to the gate yet, somehow, it wasn't. He watched the Lieutenant do his bidding and a moment later the puddle formed. John exhaled a shaky breath then smiled at the others. "Let's go home."
He watched as Ford stepped through, followed by Rodney then Teyla. Before stepping through himself, John took one last look behind him. He found himself touching his eyes once more, expecting to find bandages. Expecting this to just be some fevered dream or hallucination. But then he shook himself and stepped through the gate. It was time to go home.