Sacrifice
Chapter 10
John hung from the scaffold, his arms shaking from the strain of supporting his weight. He could feel the tips of his toes scraping the floor, but it wasn't enough to relieve the tension.
The whip howled again, and he tensed as it bit into his back once more. The pain was excruciating. The end of the whip was wrapped with sharp metal wire, and each lash cut deep into his skin. He refrained from yelling out, focusing his pain into hatred, remembering that Rodney had been tortured like this for days. For him, they were only into the fourth hour. Still, it seemed like he had been hung up here for weeks.
"It is useless to resist, Colonel. Just speak of the symbol, and I promise you will receive immediate medical attention." Worner's smooth, oily voice sounded close to his left ear, and John wearily lifted his head. Sweat from his brow dribbled into his eyes, burning and blurring his vision, and he blinked.
"Symbol? What symbol?" John gasped, knowing that he would regret goading the interrogator. Sure enough, the whip whined again, and cracked as it made contact with his back. John yelped, unable to control the sound.
Boom! Worner glanced away from Sheppard, his attention caught by….an explosion? Suddenly, the floor rocked, and rumbling was heard. Worner turned to the door, missing the smile that suddenly crossed Sheppard's face.
"What is happening?" the interrogator demanded. His reply was the distant sound of gunfire, and the shouts and screams of men.
"You're in trouble now," John whispered. He raised his head, seeing himself in the mirror, and wondering who was on the other side of the window. He looked like hell. His eye was caught by the irritated look on Worner's face. The interrogator remained still for a moment, looking like he was making a decision, then he heard the sound of boots pounding on the floor. His mind made up, he lashed at Sheppard once more with the whip, this time catching him across the chest.
"You think you've won, Colonel, but we're not done yet," Worner hissed. John ignored him, the agony of the whip lash coursing through his body. He closed his eyes as Worner ran from the room, two of his guards on his heels.
Seconds later, the furious eyes of Ronon Dex were peering into Sheppard's face, taking in the battered form. With an angry snarl, he produced a large knife and cut John from the scaffold. Teyla caught him, her arms gently leaning him against her body.
"Colonel? Are you okay? Can you walk?" Teyla asked, her tone urgent. John managed a nod, looking up as Major Lorne and the rest of SGA-2 burst into the room, weapons held high.
"Sheppard? Where is McKay?" Ronon asked. He still held the knife in his hands, his eyes constantly circling the room.
John closed his eyes, a different pain pooling in his stomach. "Rodney's dead," he whispered, and the room went still. Teyla's eye's widened, shock glistening in their depths. Major Lorne cursed, then spoke into his radio. Ronon merely stood frozen, only the slight twitching of his hands betraying his emotion.
"Are you certain?" Teyla asked as Ronon came to John's other side, and helped her support the injured man.
"Yeah, I'm sure," came the reply, and everyone in the room could hear the defeat in Sheppard's voice.
"Colonel, we need to go," Major Lorne said. John merely nodded, and still supported by Teyla and Ronon, began to stagger from the interrogation room.
Within minutes, they burst from the building, running towards a puddlejumper. John could feel his body shutting down, his head swimming and his legs starting to buckle. Without a word, Ronon hefted him up, tossing him carefully over one broad shoulder, the runner never breaking his stride. Teyla took position in front of them, laying down bursts of gunfire, and clearing a path. Behind them, Lorne shouted into his headset, recalling the other SGA teams, and one by one, the jumpers began to lift off.
Ronon clambered into the ship, carefully laying the now-unconscious Colonel on to one of the rear seats. Teyla yanked down the first aid kit, ignoring Lorne and his men as they rushed passed the off-worlders. Within seconds they were in the air.
"Detonate," Lorne ordered tersely. Lieutenant Brenner pushed a button and a huge explosion followed moments later, debris flying high into the air, flames and dust obscuring the ground. Lorne kept the ship hovering over the destroyed interrogation building, his eyes sweeping the area for survivors. Satisfied that the mission had been accomplished, he turned the jumper, following the other ships to the stargate, and back home to Atlantis.
oOo
Familiar. There was something familiar. John Sheppard swam lazily up from unconsciousness, doing his best to ignore the agony in his back, or the ache in his arms. Beep. Beep. Beep. He recognized that noise. Shifting slightly, he felt softness behind his head, inhaled the clean scent of freshly-laundered sheets.
"Colonel Sheppard? C'mon lad, open your eyes," came Carson's gentle lilt, and John knew he was back on Atlantis. Relief flooded through him; he was home. But – there was still something wrong, wasn't there? Unaware that he was frowning, he searched his memory, trying to remember……..Suddenly, John's eyes flew open, and he shouted out a name as he struggled to sit.
"Rodney!" He gasped as his back screamed in protest, and Carson's hands pushed him firmly back on to the bed.
"Shhhh….okay, lad. It's okay," Carson said, trying to reassure Sheppard. He peered down at John's eyes, seeing the shock and disbelief dissolve into acceptance. It was true – Rodney was dead.
"Carson? Is he all right?" Elizabeth's tense voice shifted John's attention from the horrible memory of Rodney's death to the taut face of his expedition leader. Sorrow and exhaustion reflected in her eyes, and she sat on the side of John's bed, running one hand soothingly up and down his arm.
"Aye lass. He just needs to shake out the cobwebs," Carson replied. He kept his hands on the Colonels' shoulders, watching as John shut his eyes. Satisfied that the man would remain in bed, Carson busied himself checking the monitors.
"John. I know that this is difficult. But, can you tell us what happened….to Rodney?" Elizabeth's voice caught on the scientist's name, and John felt her hand go still on his arm. He reopened his eyes, focusing on the people surrounding his bed: Teyla, Ronon, Carson, Elizabeth and Radek. The pain of one face missing was almost physical, but he managed to nod, his face hardening into a mask.
Slowly, pausing often to swallow his emotion, John described the confinement, the torture, and finally, the death of Rodney McKay. He spoke in a monotone, pretending he was just debriefing Dr. Weir after a normal mission, doing his best to maintain his legendary control. He didn't tell them Rodney's last words; it was too fresh, too painful and far too personal. Nor did he mention hearing the physicist's voice after his body had been taken from the cell. But, as he finally raised his face, he could see that he had told them enough.
Rage. Loss. Regret. Pain. All these emotions were mirrored in one form or another on their faces. Teyla was opening crying, tears running down her face in twin trails. Elizabeth looked to be miles away, her gaze distant, but her hands now trembling. Ronon and Radek both looked ready to kill, a normal façade on the runner, but truly a frightening countenance on the little Czech physicist. And Carson – normally the most emotional of the tight group of friends – just looked lost.
John closed his eyes, leaning back on to his pillow. His throat was tight and his stomach felt uncommonly hollow. Suddenly exhausted, he heard Carson order the others away, that he needed to rest.
Rest. Yes, that's what he needed. To rest. To sleep. To forget that he alone had survived a terrible ordeal, that a horrible price had been paid so that he could be here, alive and safe, surrounded by his friends.
"Colonel?" John lurched awake, his eyes popping open. Carson gave him an apologetic smile, then reached into his pocket.
"You had this with you when they brought you in. I thought you might like to have it." John watched through blurry eyes as Carson placed Rodney's jacket patch, with its bright red maple leaf, into his one hand. Tears flowed from his eyes as he clenched it tightly, and, to his amazement, he saw Carson's own eyes begin to water as well.
"Colonel, you're probably going to be blaming yourself for this, but that just isn't so. That interrogator – that Worner – is the one responsible for Rodney's death, not you. Try to remember that." John didn't answer, just held the patch tight in his hand. Carson stood for along moment, wanting to offer the man comfort, but then sighed. Acceptance required time.
John shut his eyes, the coarse fabric of Rodney's patch clenched in his hand. As sleep began to overtake him, he remembered sitting in the cell, hearing Rodney's voice in his head.
You need to escape. You need to live.
The first he had managed, with some help from his friends. But the second? Right now John didn't think he could feel any more empty – or any less alive.
TBC