Thanks to everyone who reviewed. We are slowly winding this up now and there will be just one more chapter after this one. But Pete's not done with our Sheppard just yet... (grins evilly)
As ever, all feedback welcomed and appreciated..
"What is the code, Colonel Sheppard?"
Time had no meaning. There was only pain. Pain and questions; the one endless, the other repeated.
"We know you use a security code, Colonel. A code that tells your people to let you safely enter the city. What is that code, Colonel?"
A hand grabbed his chin, twisting his head sharply to the side, and he cried out as the movement intensified the hot, sharp, burning, screaming pain. Blue eyes, very close to his. Cold eyes, angry eyes. The voice that went with them was cold too. The fingers dug cruelly into his chin, holding his head still, and the blue eyes glared at him from mere inches away.
"You will tell us the code, Colonel."
His mouth felt dry. Everything hurt; pain rippled and spasmed up and down his body, trembling his muscles, making him gasp for breath. He swallowed roughly, trying to build up enough moisture to allow his voice to work. What came out was a harsh, cracked whisper, barely loud enough to be heard.
"Fuck you."
They might not have understood the terminology but they got the message. The fingers left his chin, pushing his head roughly aside with a snort of disgust. The blue eyes moved away and a solid impact to his midriff forced the air from his lungs, the flare of pain lost amongst the background noise, mingling with the endless agony that washed through him. It was a reflexive action to curl, brutalised muscles tensing, contracting, pulling the body into a defensive pose. Only he couldn't curl up, could only gasp helplessly for breath as his legs and arms jerked uselessly against the restraints.
He no longer knew anything but pain and confusion, had no concept of how long he had lain here quivering and moaning. He mind felt foggy, slow, and he couldn't remember a time when there hadn't been fiery, all-encompassing pain. The overload of agonising sensation flooded his brain, the cacophony of pain-receptors firing drowning out everything else, blotting out memory and conscious thought, everything but a bloody-minded stubbornness to not give in, not let them win. Everything was a blur of confusion. He could barely even remember why it was so important not to tell them anything but he held on tenaciously to one thought, to one idea: whatever they wanted, he would not give it to them. Whatever they asked, he would not answer.
A face loomed over him, peering down at him with what looked almost like sympathy. His jumbled thoughts threw up a name. Pete. Mengele Pete. A false smile and hard blue eyes. He groaned, screwing his eyes shut as a wave of hot, dark pain washed over and through him.
"Why do you insist on suffering so?" The voice was gentle, eminently reasonable. "You can stop this; put an end to the pain. Just tell us what we need to know.."
He opened his eyes, muscles tremors making his arms tense and pull at the restraints, thick leather, stiff with drying blood, digging into his raw flesh. Pete stood beside the bed, his smile firmly in place, a hypodermic held negligently between finger and thumb. John noted absently that the doctor's smile was genuine now, it lit up his whole face. He was enjoying this.
He held the syringe out towards John, teasing him with it, his voice soft, persuasive. "I can stop the pain for you, John. One small injection.. and your suffering can end. Just tell me the code, John.."
"Fff.. ffuu.." He wanted to scream and shout, howl his defiance at the sonofabitch doing this to him but it was getting hard to breathe now, his vision beginning to gray at the edges as his chest heaved, desperately trying to suck in air. He couldn't get the words out.
Pete's smile faltered, his face twisting with anger. "Stubborn fool!"
John didn't see the blow coming, stars dancing in front of his eyes as the force of it snapped his head to the side. He was stunned for a moment, his head lolling limply on the pillow. He tasted blood in his mouth. He could feel himself starting to slip, losing his grip on the world. The darkness beckoned him, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into its embrace. His eyes slid closed.
"Get away from him you, idiot! Something's wrong!"
Hands. He was distantly aware of hands roughly pulling up the scrubs top, prodding at his chest, something cold and metallic placed against his skin. Every touch, every tiny sensation sent pain flaring and jangling through him. He could feel himself starting to choke, his body jerking involuntarily in an autonomic response to the lack of oxygen.
"Dammit! We're losing him! His body can't tolerate the side-effects any longer."
He was floating in a sea of pain and confusion. He didn't even feel the needle sliding into a vein, was only vaguely aware of the hands holding his arm still as he jerked and convulsed on the infirmary bed. He was grateful when the darkness swallowed him up.
He woke up alone. A persistent, grumbling pain washed him from the comforting darkness, wrapped itself around him like a lover and dropped him, spent and shivering, on the shores of consciousness. He ached all over. It was an effort to open his eyes. White ceiling. It took a ridiculous amount of energy to roll his head on the pillow… every muscle felt weak and trembling. Four white walls, white door. Closed. The room was empty.
After a long time he managed to lift his head enough to look down at himself. White and red and brown. The sheets, the coarse white fabric of the scrubs, were stained and spattered with blood. His blood. Fresh, red blood and drying, brownish blood. He wondered absently how long he'd been here. How long they'd let him writhe and scream under the influence of that awful drug while they fired questions at him, beat him when he refused to answer. His arms hung limply in the restraints. He could barely feel his right hand anymore, just a vague, irritating, throbbing numbness. How long had the blood supply been restricted? Long enough to do permanent damage? He wasn't surprised to find leather restraints now fastened around his ankles too. It worried him that he couldn't recall them doing that.
His memories of the time since Pete had plunged the needle into his thigh were jumbled, confused, a welter of pain and disorientation. He suspected the main purpose of the drug was to confuse and disorient, to make the subject more pliable, to break down their resistance. The accompanying pain was just a happy coincidence.. one Mengele Pete had been more than happy to take advantage of.
He knew he should be doing something, taking advantage of the time alone to try and find a way out of here, but even he had to admit it seemed hopeless. He was trapped in this bed, his arms and legs restrained, and even if he wasn't he doubted he could even get as far as the door, the way he felt right now. His entire body ached and he felt as weak a newborn kitten. He was starting to realise that the only way he was getting out of here was with some outside help. He wondered vaguely where his team were, if they had any idea where he was.
Tired and weak or not, he couldn't help the involuntary tensing of his muscles as the door opened.
Mengele Pete got straight down to business. He had a new lackey to replace the dear departed Muttley and the new guy was eager to impress the boss, his hand hard and heavy on Sheppard's cheek as he pushed his head over to the left, twisting John's neck painfully, pressing his face into the pillow.
Pete's voice was mild, conversational, as he made preparations that Sheppard couldn't see, metal and glass clinking somewhere to John's right.
"There is no more time for pleasantries, Colonel Sheppard. You have wasted far too much of my time already with your pointless stubbornness. It was really quite foolish of you to hold on for as long as you did; the side effects of my little concoction are very hard on the body, they can be quite lethal if allowed to go on too long."
John could hear the smug smile in Pete's voice, his words growing louder as he leaned over the bed. "I'm afraid we won't be letting you go quite that easily, John."
Sheppard's cry was muffled by the pillow as he felt the unexpected prick of the needle in his neck. Pete didn't bother to be gentle as he plunged the hypodermic straight into the vein and John couldn't help his neck muscles from tensing at the sharp pain. The new lackey pushed down harder, pinning John's head in place, as Pete depressed the plunger. The rush was immediate, the vein immediately carrying the drug the short distance to John's brain.
He was only vaguely aware of the release of pressure on his face. He didn't move his head, couldn't move his head. He was utterly limp. He was floating.
Pete's voice echoed oddly. "No more time to waste, John."
Sheppard was lost, drifting in a sea of sensation. He felt hot all over, his muscles loose and relaxed. His head swam dizzingly.
"What is the code, John?" The voice sounded tinny, far away.
What? Code? He struggled to focus on the voice but everything was blurry, the room shifting around him.
"Give us the code, John." The voice was reasonable, persuasive. He frowned, trying to see who was talking to him, and managed to focus on blue, blue eyes and a warm smile. Blue eyes.. he knew someone with blue eyes, didn't he? Someone who was… was a friend..
"Are you my friend?.." His lips felt thick and clumsy, his words coming out garbled and slurred.
"Yes, John, that's right. We're your friends and we need your help. You need to tell us the code, John.."
He drifted, his thoughts tumbling over one another, tangled and confused, his body feeling at once heavy and extraordinarily light.
"John!" The voice was sharper now, a hand on his shoulder snapping John out of his reverie. "You need to help us, John. What is the code to the city?"
"The code?" Code to the city. The city. He had a sudden image of towering spires, stained glass windows, walls in delicate hues of blue and green. He smiled dreamily. It was beautiful.
"Yes, John. Our city is beautiful. We need to go back there. We will take you back there with us, John, but first you need to tell us the code."
The city. He wanted so much to go back to that beautiful city.
"The code.."
There was a loud noise somewhere nearby. A crashing, banging, terrifying noise. John opened his eyes in confusion and saw the blue-eyed man flinch. His tangled thoughts threw up an odd word. Ex-ploh-shun.
Fingers gripped his chin, turning his face to meet those blue, blue eyes. There was emotion in that face now, the blue eyes were filled with… with fear?
"There's no time left, John! You have to tell us the code! Please! They'll kill us all!"
Kill? Kill who? Who's they? Nothing made any sense.
The was another loud noise, much closer now, and the blue-eyed man let go of his face. There was shouting, screaming, a loud staccato rattle of noise, and the blue-eyed man's voice had turned red and angry, shouting and yelling at someone.
There was a loud crash and the door to the room flew open.
TBC...