AN: SHEP WHUMPAGE! Need I say more? No, but I will! Or, maybe not.
Chapter 4
The past two days had not been the highlight of John Sheppard's venture into the Pegasus galaxy. Yesterday morning, he'd woken up with a splitting headache that none of Beckett's magic pills had even put a dent in. Of course, he'd underplayed how bad it was so that Carson and Elizabeth wouldn't worry. It was only a headache, after all.
When they had arrived on the planet, most of the town's people had been less than helpful. Sheppard was used to that, but it did nothing for his mood. When Karina had finally led them to the cliff face, McKay had poked and prodded at the device for hours, and the sky was growing dangerously dark before he finally agreed to come back the next day with reinforcements.
This morning, things had seemed a bit better. At least his headache had been gone. That was until the fifth hour of not being able to do much more than listen to Zelenka and McKay bicker. Then his headache had returned. Even then, he hadn't realized how moody he was acting until Teyla had pointed out that he was behaving like McKay. Part of him was almost glad for the crisis situation they'd been thrown into, it at least gave him something to focus on...
Of course, most of him was busy telling his stomach to stop flip-flopping as he was pulled from the cell. The shot of adrenaline when they had brought Radek back in, then turned and grabbed him, had eradicated his headache. Unfortunately, it had been replaced with gut-twisting anxiety.
"So, anyone wanna tell me what's going on?" he asked idly as he was shuffled through the previously unseen door at the end of the hall. The men surrounding him remained quiet. "Ok, I get it, you're the strong silent types. I suppose we can work with that. Are we going to visit anyone a little more chatty, maybe? Get this whole situation sorted out?" None of the men so much as looked at him. "Yea, ok, I guess we'll see when we get there, then." They walked briskly through a number of twisting and turning corridors. John did his best to map out their route as they walked, but it wasn't easy. The men were walking so quickly that Sheppard had to jog to keep up half the time.
After a few minutes, they came to a very large doorway, which hissed open as Gray-Hair waved his hand in front of a panel similar to the one set into the cliff face, only much smaller. Sheppard tried to see if there was any trick to it; but if there was, he couldn't make it out.
The guards half-dragged him to the center of what seemed to be a very large, dark, seemingly empty room with a very high ceiling. When they got to the center, John could see what looked like two very long extension cords hanging down from the ceiling to about 6 feet off the ground, about 8 inches apart.
Without warning, Sheppard felt the pressure of the restraints loosen from his left arm. Pressing the perceived advantage, he tried to twist and pivot away, but he only succeeded in pulling his arm free of the restraint. The gorilla of a guard standing next to him still held him firmly at his bicep. One of the other giants stepped up and took his right arm from Gray-Hair, wrenched it up over his head, and fastened the side of the restraint to one of the dangling cords. His left arm was then pulled back into it's restraint, and that side similarly secured. The cords then drew up towards the ceiling until John was stretched to his full height, but stopped short of making him stand on tiptoe.
"Ok, this is interesting," he muttered, still telling his stomach to stop squirming around so much. He tried pulling himself up off the ground slightly, to ease some of the stretch in his midsection. To his dismay, he found that his feet were now secured to the ground. "Very interesting," he said, eyes darting about, trying to figure out what his captors were planning. Finally, Gray-Hair spoke.
"Why have your people come here?" he asked, glaring at Sheppard. John kept his voice calm and neutral.
"We're explorers," the Colonel responded. "Why have you taken us prisoner?"
"You trespassed," replied Gray-Hair.
"Well, there were no signs posted, you know," Sheppard said nonchalantly. "You really ought to mark out your territory better if you want to be so touchy about people trespassing." Gray-Hair narrowed his eyes.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. Who are you?" Sheppard said. Gray-Hair stood up straighter, looking rather offended.
"I am Soren!" he said, as though it should have been obvious. John just took it in stride.
"Well it's nice to meet you Soren," Sheppard said, putting on one of his most winning smiles. "Now that we've been introduced, how about you let me down from here?" Soren ignored him completely.
"The woman is not of your people?" he asked. John sighed. Well, it had been worth a shot, anyway.
"Who, Karina?" Sheppard asked. "No, she's from--"
"Not the village girl," Soren snapped. "The other woman. She is not of your people, correct?" Sheppard paused to weigh his answer carefully. He didn't know why this guy was interested in Teyla, but he sure as hell didn't like it.
"She is a member of my team," Sheppard finally replied. Soren shook his head.
"Your people have always been difficult."
"Yea, about that, you keep talking about 'my people,' and I'm not really clear on what you mean by that," Sheppard said. Soren only nodded to one of the guards, who approached John, drawing out a lethal looking knife.
"Hey!" John exclaimed as the guard brought the point of the knife up to Sheppard's neck. The man pulled out the collar of John's shirt and quickly sliced through the fabric, cutting into the Colonel's skin in more than a few places. "Ouch! Is that necessary!" Sheppard yelped. His mind flashed to the image of Zelenka being dragged back to the cell naked and bleeding.
In an instant, all three of the huge men were working together to decimate his clothing. At one point, his feet were freed and one of the men grabbed his legs to remove his boots. Sheppard tried to kick at him, but only succeeded in spinning around once, twisting the cords that secured him to the ceiling.
The men untwisted him, then secured his feet to the floor again, fully stripped of all his clothes. This left Sheppard feeling far more exposed than he'd ever wanted to be. A band of pressure wound it's way around his chest, and he did his best to steady his breathing. He was not going to let himself panic.
Sheppard looked up and saw Soren walking towards him holding a large bucket. The gray haired man handed the bucket off to one of the taller men, who proceeded to pour it's contents over John's head.
"Oh, come on!" John cried as a noxious smelling oil coated his hair and slid down his neck and chest. The gorilla pouring the stuff made sure that some coated both Sheppard's arms as well. Within a minute, Sheppard was covered from head to toe in the sticky stuff, and rapidly becoming nauseous from the stench.
"Well this is disgusting," Sheppard mumbled, and immediately regretted it as some of the oil seeped past his lips and touched his tongue. The viscous stuff tasted even worse than it smelled, and he felt his stomach heave.
"Now then, if you will start sharing some straight answers, this will go much more smoothly." Soren said. "Is the woman of your people? An honest answer might well save her from facing this situation." As John replied, he did his best attempt at ventriloquism, trying to keep his lips from moving.
"I already told you, she's a member of my team," John said, sticking with his previous answer. "And that is an honest answer!" he added, doubting it would make a difference. He braced himself for what he figured was coming. He wasn't disappointed.
His body arched and he reflexively drew in a deep breath as every nerve ending on his skin caught fire. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. When the fire cooled to mere embers, John opened his eyes and found himself staring right at Soren.
"For the last time, is the woman one of your people? You, who call yourselves Ancients?" Soren practically spit the last word out, and John was so honestly surprised by the question that he remained silent for a bit too long for Soren's liking. The fire enveloped his senses again, and this time, a small, strangled cry broke from his throat before he was able to stifle it.
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End Notes: Good? Bad? Evil? Crap? Does nekkid Shep make up for nekkid Zelenka? Let me know!
(Oh, and my own comment... when they pored the gunk over his head, I kept yelling "Not the hair, not the hair!" Of course, then I realized that I was writing it and was therefore responsible for it... but I'll blame Soren.)