AN: Sorry about the wait, chapter six and seven were new material so it took a little more time than I'd anticipated and it also means this is going to be a bit longer than I'd thought. Hope it was worth it! Thanks again to Linzi, gaffer and Shelly for beta, handholding and ideas!
Chapter Seven
There were a lot of things that made waking up from a sedative an uncomfortable process. The cotton-mouth, grogginess, and queasy stomach were the top three. But, waking up from sedatives when you were blind, that was a whole new level of bad.
This would make the second time he'd woken up this way since they'd fallen through the old airshaft, and unlike the previous time when John hadn't understood enough of what was going on to be truly worried, he did this time. Someone had walked into their house, tackled and drugged him, and now, as he tried to keep lunch down while listening to the sounds around him, John knew he wasn't going to like what happened when they knew he was awake.
He was on his side, lying on a bed, and in the distance he could hear water dripping. Leaky plumbing? Maybe somewhere in an older part of the city, somewhere that wasn't busy so they wouldn't be stumbled upon accidentally.
A scraping sound caused him to breathe slower and he tried to keep his eyes still. He needed to gather as much intel as possible before they knew he'd woken from the drug. As the sound moved nearer, he worried that there wouldn't be much choice.
"Open your eyes, Colonel, we know it's wore off."
The voice was deep, and raspy, like an old man that had smoked too many cigars in his lifetime. John had two options. Ignore him, and keep pretending, or face it now. His situation wasn't going to change as long as he pretended to still be drugged. Granted, it could go two ways. It would either improve, or it'd get worse. John's optimism urged him to believe it'd improve. After all, if killing him had been their intention, there wouldn't have been any need for all this effort of drugging and sneaking him off somewhere.
Pushing himself up, which was difficult because his feet and wrists were tied together, John peered into the never-ending gloom. "Great. I've been kidnapped by George Burns." The silent response was, of course, expected. He rolled his eyes, and hunched over to ease the ache in his back. Always make them think you're more confident than you really are.
"Judging from the tone of your voice, I'll assume that was meant as a joke," the man rasped dryly. "We aren't here to hurt you."
A loud shout came from across the room. "Speak for yer'self, Groton, he blacked my eye and I lost a tooth!"
"Groton?" John wondered aloud. "Doctor Groton?"
The scuffing sound of feet moving away and then something slammed into…a wall? "You imbecile! Why don't you go through our roster of members while you're at it? Tell him where our next meeting is at, or the name of our leader," grated the doctor.
"Don't get your…wind pants…in a bunch," John said. "I don't care who you are. But let me guess, you guys are the seedy underground rebels, and you want us to help you escape?" John had a hard time believing anyone would want to live like this, so it wasn't a stretch to figure out that two and two made four. The problem was in believing that these were the legitimate dissidents, and not plants to lure them into a set-up to find out Sheppard's intentions.
The feet walked towards him again. John really, really hated not being able to see. He knew there were at least two of these guys in the room, and he'd wager there were more. The footsteps came to a stop in front of him. "You believe it's a trap," Groton stated. "That this is a set-up where we get you to agree to help, then turn you over to Gadmere and his cronies."
John merely smiled good-naturedly. "That pretty much is it."
"We arranged for Ronon and Teyla to have the filing jobs." Groton moved forward, and the popping sound of the doctor's knee alerted John that he'd knelt down in front of him. There were tugs at his feet, and he realized they were being untied. Groton continued to talk. "Surely you considered that was more than coincidence?"
Coincidence, good luck – yeah, they'd wondered if the job was too good to be true. His feet free, John rolled his ankles, feeling the pins and needles as the blood began to flow freely again. "That's not a lot to put our lives on the line for." If this whole charade was a double play, then he was screwed. On the one hand, Groton was going to offer help in exchange for taking the members of the underground with them, if and when they did manage to escape. But on the other, if it was to lure him into going along with it, they'd be caught and who knows what would be done to him and his team?
"We know you've inserted Rodney McKay into the power plant, in hopes of creating a diversion. Is that enough?"
John felt his mouth go dry, which was pretty bad, considering the aforementioned cotton-mouth. "I don't know what you're talking about."
There was a frustrated sound to his right, and a woman's voice snapped. "We might as well not bother with them. They're useless. He's never going to trust us."
He narrowed his eyes in the direction the voice had come from. He might not be able to see, but he could hear, and that sounded a lot like – "Tamar?"
There was some more swearing to his other side. He shrugged. "I'm sorry, good memory, and besides, when you can't see, you start to remember voices a lot more than you normally would." John wasn't really sorry. "Besides, I didn't ask you to bring me here."
There was a sudden rush of voices chorusing together about how this was wasting time, and some other not so complimentary things. At least once, John exclaimed "Hey!" when it ventured into the derogatory. He even added, "I bet you park in handicap spots, too." It was a pointless jab, because they had no reference for it, but the comments that he was blind and would only hinder any escape, ate into his own internal fears.
Finally, Groton, clearly the leader of this particular bunch, shouted for everyone to be quiet. "John, I'm going to tell you plainly far more than I should, because by trusting you, I've given you a weapon against us."
Sheppard figured Groton was right about that one. If they let him go, they were taking a big chance. There wouldn't be anything stopping him from going to Gadmere and explaining he had some bad apples in the bunch.
"Gadmere ordered your residence to be placed under surveillance. It was. But the people running it are my people. We know you don't have any intention of remaining in Nokomis, and we offer our help in exchange for a way out with you. Not all of us agree with Gadmere's administration." The raspy voice grew tired. "There was a time when our people had free will, when we could live on the surface if we chose to take the risk. The airshaft you fell down was the last remaining option for our escape. We'd been planning it for two years, they are always watching, and in less than two minutes, your team ruined everything."
"Believe me when I say we didn't want to fall down and ruin your little escape plan," John drawled. In the end it didn't matter, because they had each other in a stand-off. "So, if we tell on you, you tell on us."
Groton shifted on his feet. "Basically, yes."
"Okay," John said. "You've got a deal." What else was he supposed to say, no? So then they could kill him, dispose of his body, and go kill his friends next? These guys were clearly amateurs. Of course, they were amateurs that had the upper hand and could kill them all, starting with him. He didn't know if they were the kind to do that, or not. Which was the point, he didn't know. But, they did have the promise of taking each other down if either one backed out. If it wasn't a set-up.
"Good."
John strained to hear what was going on. He heard movements, and it took all his will power not to flinch when he heard multiple footsteps approaching. Now that he'd agreed to what they wanted, they'd be taking him back. How they intended to do that, he wasn't sure, but he doubted they'd transport him out in the open.
Groton was still close, and now he leaned even further into John's personal space. "We'll be in touch with you again. Remember, my people are running the surveillance on your home. The hissing sound you heard when we entered earlier was a device scrambling any other outside eyes and ears that might be pointed your way. The device was fastened inside to the right of your door. If your door is closed, you won't need to worry, but if you ever need to leave and don't want outside activities being picked up, press it. It remains activated for two minutes, and will jam any electronics in a mile radius."
"Aren't you worried we'll use it to plan a double-cross against you?" John had to ask. It might be stupid, but he had to get more of a feel for who these people were. What he would've given to be able to look in the man's face and get a feel for his trustworthiness.
"I am," admitted Groton, surprising John. He'd thought they would've had some kind of plan to work around that problem. "But remember, I was part of the team of doctors that put you and your team back together again. You can learn a lot about a person's character when they are at their worse, physically and emotionally. The reason you're here, and I'm here, and you aren't in a jail languishing under Gadmere's justice, is because I think I can trust you. I know there's no way for you to feel the same, but remember, we could've turned you in at any time, and we didn't."
As John was moving to form a reply, he was grabbed on each side. God, damn it! He'd known they'd surrounded him, but what good had it done? He'd heard the movements, knew something bad was coming, and still it hadn't done shit for him because he was blind. He couldn't even see when danger was coming a mile away. "You don't have to knock me out, I'll go quietly," he offered hurriedly.
"I'm sorry, Colonel, but it won't work that way if we get pulled over. Don't fight," urged Groton. "We must get you back before your friends return home and realize you're gone, and go to the authorities. There's only one way to safely transport you without possibly giving our presence away, and I'm afraid that means you get to be 'heart attack victim number two' for the day."
As the needled pierced his other thigh this time, John struggled anyway. Telling him not to was like telling the drowning man to quit paddling. But as the drug whisked him back into unconsciousness, he at least knew how they'd gotten away with kidnapping him, and boy was his team going to be pissed when they got home…
OoO
"Oh, that's helpful, move the unconscious man around like a string puppet."
"It gets the blood flowing."
"Rodney, Ronon, you two are not helping. We need to find out what has happened to John."
"I wash drugged," slurred Sheppard. Shit. "Move," he ordered sloppily, pushing away from them, and lurching to his feet.
Strong hands that he was pretty sure were Ronon's, grabbed and shoved him back down. He groaned, didn't they get that he was going to be sick? Two doses of the sedative so close together, and his stomach had hung up a sign saying 'on strike' and left. It felt like everything he'd eaten in the past twenty-four hours was hanging there, sloshing and –
"John, right here," Teyla said, gently guiding his hands to the basin, and helping him to his side.
That was all he needed. Lunch made an appearance first, then breakfast. When it was over, he rolled away, thankful someone took the basin. He felt sweaty and sick, and if Groton was anywhere near, he would've happily punched the guy. His head was lifted, and a glass of water touched his lips. John pushed it away and tried to pull back into the bed. "No, not now," he said tiredly.
"There are pills here, with a note saying they will help. They are from Doctor Groton. It also says you will understand and that you should take one now, and the other in eight hours if the symptoms persist."
Sheppard closed his eyes tight against another wave of nausea. Teyla sounded confused, and he couldn't blame her. "When'd you get back?"
"Apparently too late," snapped Rodney. John heard angry footsteps fade away and knew McKay had stormed out of the room.
Frustration sucked. This time he let Teyla help him get a pill down, and then he let Ronon help him get changed into their weird version of pajamas. When it was over, he was left feeling like ten shades of white, and could only hope he would fall back unconscious, soon.
"Ronon, you still here?" he asked after Teyla had gotten his blankets adjusted.
"Yeah, you want me to find these guys and teach them some manners?" he asked gruffly.
Despite how miserable he felt, John couldn't hold back a wry chuckle. "Maybe later," he said. "Go make sure Rodney's not cooking dinner." That was McKay's way of coping lately. He cooked. The problem was, he sucked at cooking. Everything he made tasted the same. Might not have been a bad thing if everything tasted like chocolate, or peanut butter, or better yet, the two together – but everything came out tasting like peas. And thinking about the mushy insides of cooked peas and picturing the puke-green color made him hope fervently that the pill kicked in soon.
When the hop-thunk faded, John breathed easier knowing that Ronon would be there to keep Rodney from losing it. Second day of being home alone and playing Mr. Mom, and John got kidnapped, and drugged. What was it with him, seriously? Was there some kind of cosmic karma that had painted a target on his back and armed the galaxy with big ass 'hit me' darts?
"You should rest," whispered Teyla.
Crap. He'd forgot she was there. She'd been so quiet – "They're gonna help us," he explained, or tried to.
"I am not sure if this kind of…help…is worth having," she said stiffly, brushing the sweat-soaked strands of hair from his eyes.
"Beggars can't be choosers," he murmured. It felt painfully good to be back with his team, and not afraid of every sound around him. The pill was beginning to kick in, and sleepiness crept up. She was upset, he could tell from the tense silence, and on a whim, John lifted a hand towards her face.
She captured it with her own as his fingers trailed a line of wetness, lowering it carefully back to his bed. "We were not there for you."
"You're crying," surprised, he wondered if she'd done it before.
Teyla wiped his forehead once more, and pulled back. "It is only natural; we were very worried when we found you unconscious."
"I know," he replied softly. It was so quiet. A breath sounded like a shout. "It's not your fault." His eyelids were slipping down on their own accord. "We'll get out of this," he assured her, blinking to keep himself awake. As he drifted away, John thought he'd heard her say that she didn't see how.
OoO
When he woke up, John almost felt human again. It was late, and McKay was in bed, his even breathing comforting Sheppard back into a drowsy state. His stomach growled, and he lay there debating whether he wanted to leave the comfort of his bed to eat, or stay hungry and go back to sleep. In the end, he decided he could always eat in the morning, and fell back to sleep, counting Rodney's breaths instead of sheep. And he refused to think that he'd only stayed in bed because of any fear of going out there alone.
The next day he explained what had happened, and showed the device, which was right where Groton had said it would be. McKay and Ronon were pissed, and Teyla was unnaturally quiet. John asked Rodney if he'd managed to come up with an idea for rigging a diversion. When he said he actually had, then it was time to look at the city plans for possible locations on making their escape to the surface.
Now that they knew they could talk without the wrong people hearing, it was easy to make progress, but oddly enough, John missed the crosswords. Everyone had a rest day, and by the time night closed on them, they had a rough plan. McKay was building a remote control that could disable power to over half the city by shorting out a main. While the power was down, they could work under cover of darkness and cut through the steel in an area that wasn't far from their house. Groton's people would need to get them a blowtorch, or something that worked the same, to do the cutting.
The city plans showed it as being an old access route, and if Rodney had read the plans correctly, it looked almost like an elevator shaft. If that was true, then getting up might be a lot easier than trying to find a way to climb out. It was something they could ask Groton about.
Teyla got up from the couch as they finished, "I am going to prepare dinner." As she said it, Rodney was rising from next to John. "Rodney, I do not need help," she said sternly, before leaving for the kitchen.
If he wasn't so worried about her, John probably would've laughed, as it was, he leaned closer to McKay. "Does she seem…off to you?"
"Off?" spluttered Rodney. "I didn't even say anything and she just yelled at me."
"She didn't yell at you," Ronon pointed out. "McKay, you can't cook. Accept it."
"Knock it off," warned John. "I'm serious. She cried last night, when I was sick." He felt a little bad telling on her, but John didn't need her falling into depression now. He needed his team in as good as shape as they could be.
"She's moody," Ronon agreed, and he jerked back and forth on John's left.
Sheppard kicked a foot at the runner. "Stop scratching, you big baby, it's coming off next week. Has she been moody before?"
Rodney snapped his fingers. "PMS! She's got that woman thing going on." There was a pause and then McKay dropped back, bumping into John. The couch wasn't big enough for the three of them. "Oh, we are so dead."
"Damn," John muttered. It made sense. They'd been here for about six weeks. She probably had one in the hospital. "No wonder she's so emotional."
"What's PMS?" asked Ronon, confused.
Rodney snorted. "Painful Men Syndrome," he joked. "It's when all men should run for cover from women."
There was a loud bang, and Teyla said coldly. "I do not have PMS. What I do have is a house full of men who fail to clean up after themselves, continue to stay up late, eat poorly, heal slowly and get kidnapped and drugged."
"Oh, we are so not doing this," Rodney exclaimed, jerking so fast that it caused John to slide into him. "No confrontations. The sharing of all bodily functions stops now. I didn't marry any of you, we were not born to the same parents, and I have no moral obligations. We're a team, as in, we work together…oh geez, this is…I was never this close, even with my sister."
As politically incorrect as McKay tended to be, John had to agree with him. This brought a whole new meaning to the word teamwork. Even on other off world missions, they hadn't been forced into this level of intimacy with one another. Still, the situation was what it was, and Teyla was struggling right now more than the rest of them.
He was about to try and defuse the situation when Ronon opened his big mouth. "I had a sister," he confided. "She got like that once a month, too. I used to go on extra training sessions until she got married."
John cringed at the expected blow-up from Teyla, but it never came. Instead, he heard everyone get dead silent, and then footsteps stormed by him and out the door. He didn't know who to turn to first so instead he looked ahead. "Did you have to do that?" he berated.
"Do what?" Ronon rumbled. "She's being too sensitive."
"Right, and she was being too sensitive when she kept sticking a pillow under your leg in the evening when it hurt," John mentioned, rubbing a hand over his eyes. God, what a mess. "And McKay, her sensitivity saved you from cleaning the bathroom, and having a clean shaven face without losing half of your chin because your hand shakes so much you can't do it."
He got to his feet. "Face it, we screwed up. She's been pulling more weight than any of us, and when she finally needs some understanding, we ducked when we should've weaved." John reached to his side and pulled Rodney up, accidentally jabbing him in the chest before finding McKay's arm. "Now we've got to fix it."
Stepping forward first was a mistake, and he knew it as soon as his foot met Rodney's, and he started falling forward. John remembered that thought he'd had the other day, the one about if he actually did fall, he'd probably be scared of walking alone again…yeah. John did fall this time, and as he was trying to grab on to Rodney or Ronon to catch himself, he didn't get his hands up fast enough. He didn't even manage to soften it with a shoulder, because he couldn't see that the damn floor was coming up that fast, and with excruciating pain, John's face got personal with the ground.
"John!"
"Sheppard -"
"Oh, God," moaned John. He let Rodney roll him over, because his hands were now fixed firmly over his nose, and blood was seeping through his fingers. "Towel." It was trickling down his face and on to his neck.
Rodney rushed away, his feet heading in the direction of the kitchen. Ronon shouted for Teyla, and she must've only stormed as far as the porch, because she came in moments later and asked crossly, "Yes?" before seeing John on the floor with blood oozing down his face. "What have you done?" she asked, hurrying towards him. She sounded just like his mom did that time he'd crashed his bike into the motor home at the base of the hill. So much for riding with no hands.
"I tripped," John explained irritably. "We were trying to find you and apologize."
Rodney was back, and shoved a towel in his face. He gingerly pressed it against John's nose. "Pinch it," instructed McKay. "And tilt your head back."
John did, and tried not to gag against the blood that started to go down his throat. "Don't you have something to say, Rodney," he prodded, giving in to the tickling need to cough.
"Do not tilt your head back," instructed Teyla, guiding his head into a down position. "Doctor Beckett taught us that it is safer in this manner."
"I used to get these all the time as a kid, and my mom always had me tilt my head back," argued McKay. It was Rodney's hands this time that tilted John's head up. The blood going into his stomach was beginning to make him feel sick.
Silence again, but after a few beats of time, Teyla guided John's chin downward with gentle fingers. "I went to the training, and I trust Doctor Beckett over your mother."
Moments later, Rodney's longer fingers titled his head back up. "It always worked for me."
John had had enough. Of course, that could be from the blood that was once again running down the back of his throat. "Stop it," he said, his voice cracking as he gave in to another cough. "You're making me seasick." John cleared his throat and tried again. "Rodney, you've got something to say, and arguing about the right position of my head isn't what I meant."
The lack of a response made John wonder if Rodney was going to give, but just when he was about to prod the man, McKay spoke reluctantly. "Yes, yes. Teyla, I'm sorry. I was rude and inconsiderate, PMS does not stand for 'painful men syndrome' and please don't let me butcher my face tomorrow." McKay may have rushed it, and he may have said it grudgingly, but John figured it sounded genuine enough. What surprised him came a moment later. "And maybe my mom was -" there was an awkward sound like a cough and a huff mixed together before Rodney continued, "- wrong."
"I accept your apology," Teyla said, and she tilted John's head firmly down. "Keep it there, John."
He swallowed against the salty metallic tang in his throat; maybe he would listen to Teyla and not Rodney on where to keep his head. With McKay's apology finished, that left "Ronon," called John, his voice muffled by the towel and the position of his head.
The runner shifted awkwardly behind him. "I'm…"
"Ronon -" Come on, big guy, John urged inwardly. "Just get it out. It's like pulling a band-aid, the faster you do it, the quicker it'll be over with."
"Fine," Ronon grated. "Sorry. I'm sorry. There. That's all you'll get out of me." Hop-thunks echoed across the room, but he paused before he left and called back, "And…thanks for the…pillows."
The sudden laughter startled both John, and judging from Rodney's leg knocking into his side, McKay also. Teyla was laughing, and it wasn't small or light, or short, but deep and long and infectious. John found himself grinning around a blood-soaked towel, while Rodney asked them both what was so funny.
"Go fix dinner, Rodney," Teyla said warmly. "I will get John cleaned up."
"Really?" McKay sounded as amazed as John felt. "Right, I'll just…go make dinner." He got up, and walked off towards the kitchen.
Sheppard shook his head. "I'm not eating tonight."
Teyla pulled the towel away, and tilted his head up. "Yes, you will. The bleeding has stopped. " She pulled on his arm. "Come to the bathroom. I'm afraid you are a mess."
"Aren't we all," he muttered.
She guided him towards the rope. "If I was more emotional than usual, it is only a normal reaction to the situation and nothing more," she explained next to him.
"We didn't mean -"
"Yes, you did," she said dryly. "But men can be blind to many things."
The wording hit them both at the same time. She started rushing into an apology, and he started telling her it wasn't important, and all they accomplished was talking over each other. John stopped, and let go of the rope, fumbling till he had both her shoulders in his hands. "Teyla, stop worrying about everything."
Things were quiet in the hall. John could hear some banging coming from the kitchen, and then there was an intermittent thud coming from Ronon's room. He'd gotten a small bouncy ball last week and had taken to bouncing it off the wall, driving everyone nuts with the noise. "I thought you hid that?" he asked, turning his head towards the noise.
Teyla shrugged under his hands. "I did. He found it. If I get it again, and promise to not worry quite as much, will you hide it in your room?"
"Deal," agreed John. He let his hands fall, and she guided him the rest of the way to the bathroom. "And I'll even do one better. I'll give the ball to McKay. He'll have it painted like Mars and part of a model solar system by the end of the week."
"Maybe…you should just hide it," she offered diplomatically.
John smiled. Yeah, maybe he should. McKay would probably be pissed if Ronon played handball with Mars. Teyla finished cleaning his face, and they went to the kitchen. John groaned again. Dinner. Two more weeks, he thought. If everything went right, just two more weeks.