PROTECTIVE INSTINCTS part 4

A/N I'm really touched and excited by all these reviews. Thank you all, very much. And now, on with the story...

John Sheppard woke up face down on a narrow bench. There was a faint but unmistakable smell of disinfectant. He tried to get up, but was unable to move, due, he discovered, to the fact that he was securely strapped down. He squirmed, testing the strength of the restraints, but they held firm. He could hear voices talking over him, discussing him. They hadn't realised he was awake.

"I refuse to do that," said voice number one, horrified.

"It makes little difference, he is unconscious anyway," said voice two.

"He could wake up at any time, and I will not lower myself to your level of barbarity."

"If he wakens, then we will know much sooner how effective the device will be. It is the Council that has made this request doctor, whether you wish to proceed or not. Please see that it is done."

"And I will, but not without an anaesthetic."

Stunned, Sheppard realised they wanted to perform some sort of surgery on him, and at least one of them wasn't bothered if he was awake or not. He struggled harder, and the two individuals speaking realised he was cognizant.

"He is awake now," said voice one, "and as I said earlier, I refuse to comply with the Council's request on someone who is not sedated. Let me make myself perfectly clear, this is a delicate surgery, and requires the patient to lie completely still if it is to be successful. I cannot guarantee the results if I have to proceed on someone who is fighting all the time. And trust me, he will be fighting."

Sheppard held his breath as there was a pause. There was no way he was going to lay still and let them do – whatever it was they wanted to do. Frantically he tried to loosen the restraints, but only succeeded in taking the skin off his wrists, leaving the cuffs slick with blood.

Voice two spoke up again. "Very well, but this must work doctor, and we have to know soon if it has worked. Anaesthetise him if you wish, but do not fail."

Sheppard felt another needle slide under his skin, and before he could open his mouth to protest, he was asleep again.

The next time he woke, he was back in the original cell. Groggily he sat up, head spinning, wondering what had happened this time. Abruptly he remembered, and sitting up straighter, felt all over himself for any incision marks, but could find none. He felt…different, though he couldn't put a finger on what it was.

The door to his cell opened, and he looked up dizzily. Councillor Jaq'an stood there, flanked by two of the guards that Sheppard had gotten to know unfortunately well. Jaq'an looked down at Sheppard contemptuously, but said in the same oily voice, "Ready to go home now, Major?"

"Wha'?" began Sheppard stupidly, still under the influence of whatever drugs they'd given him.

"Dr. Weir has been successful in negotiating for your release. Come."

Sheppard tried to stand, but was unable to get up. There was a faint hissing noise in his head. The guards picked him up, and tied his hands again. His wrists hurt, but it felt distant. He didn't really notice. 'Helped' along by the guards, he was taken back to the Stargate where he saw Teyla and Ford along with a couple of marines waiting to take him home, but something didn't feel right. He didn't want to go; there was something wrong with him, something that was making him feel that taking him back might be dangerous to Atlantis.

He turned to Jaq'an, not quite believing. "Is this real?" he slurred.

"It is, Major," replied Jacq'an smoothly, pushing him forward towards his team then stepping back. Sheppard would have fallen if it weren't for the quick actions of Ford and Teyla who stepped up smartly and caught him before he hit the ground. Without another word, the Suventan delegation turned and walked away.

"Good riddance," muttered Ford, turning his attention to his commanding officer. "Are you alright sir?" he asked, noticing that the Major didn't seem quite with it. He started to undo the bindings around Sheppard's wrists, but stopped when the Major grabbed his hand.

"Leave them on," whispered John peremptorily.

"But Sir –" began Ford.

"That's an order, lieutenant."

"Yes sir," replied Ford. "Let's get you home, Major. Dial it up," he ordered one of the waiting marines, and after the wormhole established itself, assisted him home.

Sheppard finished his account, and lay back, exhausted. The headache had become an eight on a scale of one to ten, and the whispers were louder, buzzing in his head, trying to get him to do something. He fidgeted, pulling at the restraints again, wanting to hold his head, try to block out the susurration of distant voices.

Beckett had said very little during the tale that Sheppard had told him, but the anger was back, and he was struggling to control it. He glanced at the Major, and noticed the line furrowing his forehead, and the way he was fidgeting, pulling gently at the cuffs holding him down.

"Headache bad?" he asked sympathetically.

Sheppard nodded briefly, trying to move his head as little as possible. "The whispers are worse. Is there anything you can give me to stop it?"

"Whispers?" Beckett asked. This was the first he heard of those.

"Yeah, whispers in my head, like far away voices. There's something they want me to do, and I don't want to do it. But the more I resist, the worse they get, and the headache gets worse too. You've got to give me something, Doc."

Sheppard didn't want to sound like he was whining, or worse, begging, but something was going to have to give soon, and he didn't want it to be him. "Please?" he whispered begging anyway. "I don't know how much longer I can hold out."

He was aware that Beckett was fiddling with the IV port in his hand, and risked opening his eyes to take a look. A warm fuzziness spread through his veins, and his voice sounded slurred and distant when he said, "Better. Tha's better. 'nks…doc…" and he began to slide away, grasping suddenly at Beckett just before he went completely under. "Don' take…off the…cuffs…" and he was gone.

Beckett stood a while longer looking at Sheppard sleeping. His face had evened out, and for the first time since they had got him back, he looked peaceful. Which was more than Beckett himself felt. He knew that Sheppard had given him the bare bones of what had happened down there, that he'd left out a lot, such as a man's fingernails didn't look like that just because he'd cut them a bit shorter than normal. He'd seen the bruises, some of them boot shaped, that covered the Major's body, and the burns… he could go on, but instead decided to do a more thorough examination, looking for signs of recent surgery. He called one of the nurses to help him turn the sleeping figure over.

TBC