Author's Note: I owe a HUGE thanks to togitnj for helping write this chapter. She offered to beta in order to help develop my writing skills, but I think she ended up writing more than I did in the process (LOL). What can I say? This chapter was a mess. When I get time, maybe I can go back to chapter 3 and see if any of it is salvageable. In the meantime, the bar has been raised and I'm a bit nervous.

As always, I need to thank Rogue1503 for once again loaning me Nick and for keeping the encouragement coming, no matter what. Thanks for all the late night boosts from across the pond. To all of you who took time to review – thank you so much!

The Day of Reckoning – Chapter 4

Nick finished tying off the last suture and leaned back to inspect his handiwork.

"Nice job."

He looked up to see Kelly standing beside him. "Thanks. I was just checking the sutures . . . making sure I didn't pull them too tight. I want to minimize the scarring as much as possible. He'll have enough to deal with. I'd hate to think we added to it."

They stood in silence for a second. "Is he going to be okay?"

Nick looked down at her worried expression, reflecting that her respect and compassion for her patients made her one of the best nurses he'd ever known.

"He should be okay. We have the bleeding under control. He'll still need another unit or two of blood, but I think they rounded up some donors, so we should have enough."

Kelly smiled. Yeah . . . they have enough."

"What?"

"Well, according to Amy, they put out a call, and the next thing they knew, they had a room and a hall full of people wanting to donate. Even some of the guys off the Daedalus came over. They took the opportunity to lay in a few extra pints, but they eventually had to run people off."

Nick shook his head. "Wow. That's incredible. Too bad we can't tell him—he could use the boost. It'd be a good way to let him know he's back among people who care about him."

Nick smiled at Kelly's nod. "Anyway, back to your question; if we can keep the infection under control the next couple of days and he doesn't spring any more leaks, he should be fine."

"That's good, but it really wasn't what I was asking. I meant . . . will he be okay inside, from everything they did to him. It was just so much for so many days . . . the phrase 'the straw that broke the camel's back' comes to mind."

Nick sighed and looked back down at Sheppard. "I don't think anyone can answer that just yet. That he's made it this far says he's strong, emotionally as well as physically, but . . . I just don't know. We'll just have to give him all the support we can; let him know he's not alone."

Kelly nodded, but she was still frowning. "I'll get him cleaned up."

Beckett returned a while later to find Nick suturing Sheppard's head wound. They had moved Sheppard to a bed and Nick was sitting near his head, a light trained on the wound. Beckett stood and watched in silence for several minutes before Nick finally looked up.

"Checking up on me?"

"Aye, always." Beckett smiled. "Like I need to check up on you. I was just watching you work. Your stitches are smoother than mine, less likely to scar."

Nick grinned, but only for a second. "Thank you. I'm trying to be extra careful, but it's still gonna leave a scar. The wound was too deep and too dirty and went too long without treatment . . . a nice reminder every time he looks in a mirror."

Beckett considered that as he watched the younger doctor work. "He could always go back to Earth for plastic surgery now that the Daedalus makes regular trips."

"He won't," Nick said, tying another knot.

"I know."

When Nick finished, Beckett came over and helped him treat the rest of Sheppard's injuries. They checked on his chest and abdomen, putting a few stitches in some of the deeper cuts. They reduced his shoulder and secured it firmly. They each sutured one of the stab wounds on his thighs before bandaging them with Kelly's and Marcy's help.

Treating the numerous wounds on his back proved tricky. They ended up shifting him onto his left side and supporting that position with pillows so as not to put pressure on his wounds or suture sites. This was further complicated by the need to avoid tangling or pulling lines for the IV, transfusion, catheter, or monitor wires; they really had the makings of a tangled mess if they weren't careful.

When at last they had him situated, the four medical team members stood looking at the bloody mess that was John Sheppard's back. The pad they had applied earlier after cleaning his wounds was now bloody. They could barely see the carvings for the raw, weeping stripes caused by the whipping.

"What is that?" asked Marcy.

Beckett sighed, long and sad. "I believe they whipped him."

Marcy grimaced. "Whipped? As in . . . with a whip, like they use on animals?"

"Aye, I'm afraid so. That's why we're goin' to clean these wounds again. If they did use one they'd used on animals, the potential for infection is high."

Kelly peered at his back, unable to stop herself. "How many . . . ?"

Nick tried to count, but kept getting lost where they overlapped or ran almost parallel. "Uh . . . somewhere between eighteen and twenty, I think." Nick shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"Alright people, we've got a patient to help," said Beckett softly, stirring them out of their stupor. "Let's get to work."

When done cleaning and bandaging, they tucked Sheppard's blanket around him.

"I think we're done," said Kelly. Her mind wandered and she found herself muttering, ". . . all the king's horses and all the king's men . . ."

"No," interrupted Nick, locking his eyes with hers. "We did put him together again."

Kelly looked at the floor.

"Aye, that we did," said Beckett. "I'll go get his team and give them a minute with him." He looked at his personnel before he left. "Good job, everyone. Good job."

They smiled at each other briefly—they had done a good job and they knew it. Kelly and Marcy left after straightening the area, but Nick decided to stay.

Beckett returned a few minutes later, followed by Weir, McKay, Ronon, and Teyla. Without speaking, they moved in and surrounded the bed. Beckett had brought them up to date.

"He looks so pale," whispered Teyla. The bruises on his battered face stood out in sharp contrast to his ashen features. Bandages covered his head, shoulder, and what they could see of his chest and abdomen. They were afraid to touch him.

"It's from the blood loss. His color should be better by tomorrow." Nick looked at his watch—past midnight. "Uh, by later today."

Elizabeth felt her insides tremble at the extent of Sheppard's injuries. What he must have endured for days, knowing they couldn't come for him . . . "Carson."

"I told you, lass. Barring complications, he'll recover. It'll be a slow and painful; don't be expectin' him to bounce back in a week because it's not goin' to happen. Most of his injuries aren't severe as in life threatenin', but they are painful and they'll be takin' a while to heal. We're goin' to have to give him time . . . and a lot of support."

"We'll give him anything he needs," said McKay, his voice trembling. "We left him in the hands of Kolya; the least we can do is make sure he has everything he needs now."

"Rodney, you had no choice. And you only did what he told you to do," said Elizabeth.

"Yeah. I just wish that made it easier to live with."

Ronon and Teyla nodded in agreement.

"The important thing to focus on now is helpin' the Colonel get better and helpin' him deal with what's happened. Don't let guilt get in the way of that, or you really will be lettin' him down." Beckett let them sit by Sheppard for a few more minutes, then sent them on their way. "He'll be heavily sedated the next day or two; he won't even know if you're here. So get some rest, and let him get his."

The infirmary might as well have had a revolving door over the next two days. Elizabeth and each member of Sheppard's team stopped by several times a day to check on his condition. As did a steady stream of other personnel, stopping on their way to wherever to see how the Colonel was doing. Beckett and his staff were on the verge of hanging a sign outside the infirmary door that gave a constant update on Sheppard's condition. McKay and Elizabeth in particular wanted to sit with Sheppard, but Beckett put them off the first forty-eight hours. They were changing his dressings frequently and watching his temperature closely, and Beckett didn't want extra people around.

On the third day, Elizabeth dropped by on her way to her office. She found Beckett checking Sheppard and making notes on his chart.

"How's he doing?" she asked as she walked up to stand opposite the doctor.

Beckett looked up from his notes. "Better, but not as well as I'd hoped. His blood pressure's up a bit and his temperature's down a bit, but I had really hoped he'd progress faster than this. I'm not sure what's going on. Maybe the infection is takin' more out of him than I'm allowin' for."

Elizabeth reached down and took Sheppard's hand in hers. "Think I could stay with him a minute? Or do you still think it'd be better—"

She stopped at the sound of a low moan. Sheppard breathed in sharply and then grunted. Elizabeth and Carson glanced at each other and then back at Sheppard, then Beckett leaned over and gently tapped Sheppard's cheek.

"Colonel? Colonel, if you can hear me, open your eyes a minute."

"John, it's Elizabeth." She squeezed his hand. "You're home and you're safe. Carson's going to take good care of you."

Sheppard's eyes fluttered a few seconds and then slitted open. "Home?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, John. You're home. You're going to be okay."

Sheppard shivered and Beckett pulled the blanket up a little higher. "Colonel, can you tell me how you feel? Are you in pain?"

Sheppard lay with his eyes barely open and looking at the ceiling, breathing heavily. After a few seconds, a tear ran down one cheek. "Should have . . . left . . . me there . . . to die." His voice was so low that they only heard him because they were leaning over him. He sighed and closed his eyes, and was asleep again almost immediately.

Elizabeth's brows were creased. "Why would he say that?"

Beckett looked flabbergasted. "I have no idea." He looked down at Sheppard, his face troubled even in sleep. "But if that's what they've gotten him to believe, it explains why he's doin' so poorly. We may have a much bigger battle than I first anticipated."

Elizabeth ran her fingertips down the bruised side of his face. "What have they done to you?"

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Pain was the first thing of which he became aware—a dull aching and burning throughout his whole body. Slowly, though, the pain began to pull and claw at him, and he became aware of things touching him, making his skin crawl and itch and burn. His back and abdomen were on fire, while his head and everything else throbbed intensely. He gasped as he opened his eyes, struggling to take a deep breath and blinking heavily until adjusting to the lights. Where was he?

Voices. Familiar voices. He was in the infirmary in Atlantis. What had happened and how he had come to be here? He tried to move, but his right arm was immobilized and pain shot through his shoulder. And then he remembered his wrists shackled above his head . . . being so weak he couldn't support his weight . . . the soldier on his right dropping him an instant before the one on the left, yanking on his right shoulder . . . The feel of his arm being wrenched from the socket. He closed his eyes as the four days of captivity came rushing back at him. His headache found the up escalator and his stomach clenched with nausea. He swallowed hard; as badly as he hurt, he couldn't imagine how much pain vomiting now would inflict. So he laid still, calming himself and gaining control, forcing the bile back down his throat.

Sheppard opened his eyes again. He could see and feel tubes running in and out, along with the wires of several monitors. He wondered how he had made it back to Atlantis and how long he'd been here. He had no recollection of being rescued, and how would they pull that off anyway? Why wasn't he dead? His remembered that his last thought had been that he was a dead man.

He also remembered not caring. It would have ended the pain, and maybe he even deserved it. The faces and voices of all the Genii he had hurt with his actions came crushing in on him and suddenly, he couldn't breathe. He coughed and moaned as he fought to bring air into his lungs, but his vision began to cloud. He could hear the rapid beat of the heart monitor as his pulse climbed and climbed.

And then he could breathe. As his breathing slowed and he relaxed, he felt an oxygen mask being held to his face. He felt hands on him.

"That's it, Colonel. Just breathe deeply and slowly. Try to relax."

After several long minutes, he managed to open his eyes again. Carson Beckett stood over him, worry lining his face.

Sheppard batted at the oxygen mask. "Sssokay," he croaked. Beckett removed the mask and looked down at him, watching to make sure he really was able to breathe properly. Sensing what was coming next, the doctor slipped Sheppard a couple of ice chips. Then he fussed with the monitors and IV line for a minute before pulling up a chair.

"How's the pain?" he asked.

"Manageable," Sheppard whispered. He didn't have the strength to talk any louder, and that annoyed him. "How . . . how did I get here?"

Beckett continued to watch him. "What do you remember?"

Sheppard really didn't feel like talking about that right now. "I . . . I remember being a prisoner of Kolya for four days. What I don't remember is how I got back to Atlantis."

Beckett shifted in the chair. "Kolya sent you back through the gate. He said they were through with you. My guess is he didn't think you would live. If you hadn't gotten here when you did, you wouldn't have."

Sheppard closed his eyes and suddenly saw Kolya in his face, holding a gun to his temple. He heard him pull the trigger and Sheppard jerked, his eyes coming open as he tried to sit up. He didn't get very far—pain exploded through his body from a thousand different sources, and he cried out as Beckett eased him back down to the bed.

"Easy, son. You're safe now. Just take it easy."

Sheppard's eyes were glassy and Beckett called to one of the nurses for some pain medication. "You're going to be okay, Colonel, but you've got to take it easy, try not to move. It's going to take some time to heal." Beckett took a syringe from a nurse and turned to inject it into the IV port. He handed the empty back to her and then turned his attention back to Sheppard. "The pain should be better in just a minute. Hang in there. We can talk later."

Sheppard's eyelids began to droop as he mumbled. "Nothin' . . . to talk . . . 'bout."

Beckett sighed as he watched Sheppard drift off. "You're going to make this hard, lad, aren't you?"

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It was the next day before Sheppard came to again. The pain seemed more muted this time and he figured that Beckett must have been doling out his special cocktail. He heard a tapping sound and knew that it could only be one thing; he carefully shifted his head to see Rodney typing on his laptop in a chair next to the bed. The sound was normal and comforting, and he was content to lie silently and watch the man work. He noticed that McKay looked like the brother of one of the soldiers that he had killed. Disturbingly so. As he watched McKay's face, fear began to rise. McKay's face began changing into the face of one of his tormentors.

McKay stopped typing when he saw movement. "Colonel? Colonel, what's wrong?" He put his laptop down and stood up, moving toward Sheppard.

As McKay moved toward him, Sheppard began to panic. "No . . . no more! I can't do this again! No more!" Sheppard scooted back, away from McKay.

"Colonel . . . John, it's okay. It's Rodney. Just stay put and I'll get Carson." He reached out for Sheppard to offer comfort and try to get the injured man to lie back down.

Sheppard watched in horror as the face changed to Kolya's, smiling as he moved in for him. He jerked to the far back corner of the bed, pulling out the IV and ripping most of the monitor wires loose. He would have fallen if the rails had not been up. "No! Not going back!" Sheppard pulled his knees up to his chest, his hands sandwiched between his legs so they couldn't shackle him again. He could remember what it felt like when they released him at the end of the day, his arms completely numb. "Can't go back . . . no more . . . no more . . ." he chanted as he rocked back and forth, crouched in the corner of the bed.

"Carson! Carson, get in here!" McKay wanted to run for Beckett, but he was terrified to leave Sheppard; he had ripped everything out and his bandages were starting to soak through with blood.

Beckett and several nurses came running across the infirmary. "What is—" he began, until he saw Sheppard curled up in the corner of his bed. "Oh Lord," he murmured. "What happened?"

"He just freaked out, Carson. I swear, I didn't do anything. He woke up, he looked at me funny . . . and then he just freaked out."

Carson turned back to Sheppard. "Colonel? I'm here to help you, son, you have to let us—"

One of Kolya's goons was coming after him. He couldn't go back. He just couldn't. He tried to go over the rail, but hands grabbed him and shoved him down on his belly. He struggled against the hands pinning him until he felt the stick in his shoulder. A few seconds later, he began to feel slow and sluggish. They had drugged him. "No, can't . . . do it again, please . . . just kill me . . . can't go back . . . please . . ."

As Sheppard lost consciousness, he realized that he was being held down against a soft, pleasant surface and not the dank earth floor of his cell. Where in the heck was he?

TBC