A/N: Sheppard thanks you for the hugs. And I thank you for all the awesome the reviews. I'm so happy you're loving this, even if it seems sadistic. Though this may sound wrong, I'm glad to see this story having a heart wrenching affect. It's what I was going for. It's kind of depressing me just writing it.

More disturbing whump ahead.

3

John drummed his fingers on the metallic arm of the Ancient chair to the tune of Free as a Bird. Of course, only he heard the music within the hard to hear taps of his fingers that barely registered over the spastic clacking of a lap-top keyboard. John's fingers had rhythm, but Rodney's fingers were the ones dancing. John didn't recall when they had brought a table into the chair room – tables, actually, half buried in mechanical clutter both Ancient and human, reminiscent of the garage of John's grandfather, the king of tinkering. John's first car had been a junk-yard jalopy he and gramps had played Frankenstein on and brought to life. Metal heap became Mustang, a beautiful Mustang ruined when John was eighteen thanks to a drunk-driver in denial. The creep would have gotten away with blaming John for the mess if the cop hadn't insisted on both getting a breathalyser.

It really did pay to wait until age twenty-one to start drinking.

" You're thinking too loud," Rodney said. " Stop it."

John glanced around. " Sorry." The chair room lighting was a little dim, but no amount of mental shouting could bring the lights up. Thus far, it was only him, Rodney, and the space junk being illuminated. He tapped the little bowl of goo in the arm of the chair, then pressed his fingers into it. The chair vibrated beneath him.

" Don't do that," Rodney flatly admonished. John snatched his fingers from the goo and eyed Rodney oddly.

" Buuuut... I thought that's what you wanted me to do?"

Rodney stopped clacking to slide around on his stool and face Sheppard. " Yes. But not here, and not now. Too dangerous. You have to wait." Rodney's patience was controlled, forced, playing nice with Sheppard to get what he wanted though Sheppard couldn't figure out why. Sheppard was the guinea pig, he was supposed to cooperate with the brainiacs.

Rodney should have been snapping at him by now. John was being purposefully annoying, because he was annoyed himself, and didn't want to suffer through it alone. He couldn't recall why he was here, and it was making him nervous. All he wanted to do was leave.

John huffed a breath. " Wait for what? Rodney, I want to get out of here. I don't feel good." He didn't. He ached, and there was an empty feeling in his stomach as though someone had dug a bottomless pit into it.

Rodney's face seemed to shift, gradually, imperceptibly, morphing into something John rarely ever saw – sadness.

" Sorry Colonel, not yet. I'm not calling the shots this time, so I don't know how long it'll be. Just... try not to touch anything, or activate anything, it's really important that you don't."

John tapped the tips of his fingers on the surface of the goo. " Why?"

Rodney rolled his eyes in irritation, and John felt a slight twinge of tension ease from his body at the normalcy.

" Because," Rodney snapped, " it's important. You don't want the wrong people seeing what these babies can do. What if they decided to use them against us? Or give them to our enemies? You can't trust anyone, Colonel. You of all people should know that."

John swallowed nervously, fingers tracing small lines back and forth over the malleable surface of the white gel. " Um... yeah, I do. It's just... It's just that it – you know," he looked at Rodney pleadingly, and didn't care that the physicist saw it. John swallowed again. " It hurts, Rodney. It hurts to wait."

Rodney was sad again, and it frightened John. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Where was the frustration, the petulance, the sarcasm...?

" I know, Colonel. You just have to hang on, for however long you can. Don't let them win."

John could have sworn the lights were fading out. John's heart made a mad scramble for his throat. " You, uh... You don't have to go, right? You're going to stay... right? I, um..." John coughed out a pathetic laugh at his own weakness. It died in his throat, which tightened to the point that he could barely breathe, and heated tears stung his eyes. " I don't want to be alone."

McKay pursed his lips. " You're not."

John smiled bitterly when two tears raced each other down his face. " I am when I wake up."

Then the world went black, because he woke up, but couldn't scream the name fading away into oblivion. A thick hand was covering his mouth.

SGA

Kace awoke to the clank and thunk of the prison door. Breakfast time, and if he didn't pounce on it soon, the stew would taste worse than it already was. He blinked filmed eyes, then rubbed the sleep gunk from them with both hands. When the fuzz that was the world congealed to a solitary sight, he rolled onto his side and gently eased himself - grunting and moaning against sore bones – into a sitting position.

His eyes went straight to the bed across from him, unoccupied. Glancing around he saw no huddled, shivering body anywhere. When had that happened? There were times, rare times, when Kace slept deep enough never to wake even if it was the end of the world. Days of self-induced sleep deprivation catching up to him, because sleeping tended to be a waste of time. Thanks to that attitude, he had missed the show. Kace grimaced in sympathy for his sort-of friend.

" And we were making such headway," he mumbled, then stood to retrieve the singular plate of sludge they called food.

SGA

John watched the balding man in the shimmering maroon robe eating from a heaping plate across the mirror-polished table. The food was meat and fruit, with a blue liquid in a crystal goblet beside the silver plate. John's eyes went from the man to the food, back to the man. Why was he here? John recalled something... he was supposed to be holding things, devices. Normally he would be, that much he recalled. Holding, then being hurt, then holding... holding, hurting, holding, hurting, la dee da and a screaming we will go. Mustang? Horse? Car. Pretty car. Pretty dead car. What's a car? John felt his eye twitch, and it hurt, but he wasn't holding anything. Okay, goody, hurting for no reason, why! He gasped at a brush of cold air at his back. Too cold, like ice, icicle breath. Who was breathing on him? No, breath was supposed to be warm...

" Sheppard," the man said before taking a bite, and John jumped in alarm. The man chewed, swallowed, sipped from the goblet. The scent of the food wormed its way into John's nose, and he shuddered with a painful longing to taste it.

The man dabbed his mouth with a ruby cloth. " There is really no point to this stubborn behavior. Your life can be a pleasant one here if you would just submit..."

Muscle in the shoulder twitching, then his hand, as though flicking something away. He couldn't control... why! He swallowed when his chest went tight. He wanted food so much. Just a little... No! No, it was giving into... into... into... what! What! WHAT!

The man took another sip. John knew this man. Did know. Was supposed to know. The name was eluding him. Add it to the collection, the list, of names that were supposed to exist but didn't. Okay, list of faces then, that was more like it, yeah. Faces he had, just not names to go with them...

" When you came to us, begging for help," the man was saying, " we offered you that help in exchange for one favor. You did not live up to that favor, so it is your own fault you are in your present position. You can easily free yourself from it, ease your agony, your hunger. Even earn your freedom home."

John's breath caught in his throat. Home? Home. What was home? Faces without names, names flitting on the edge of thought, answers, lack of pain, lack of hunger, man with the funny voice making the pain go away. Petulant voice, not funny voice, clackity-clack let's hope he comes back... what was that noise? A clacking, constant, the petulant voice, snorting derision. Yes, two separate people, funny voice and angry voice. Not angry; annoyed, snide, snappy, but nothing to be afraid of, just a friend. Friend, friend, what friend! WHAT FRIEND!

John's head throbbed, pulsed, pounded until he wanted to cry.

" F-friend?" John asked. He had a friend, friends, faces without names.

The bald man smiled kindly. " Yes, Sheppard, friend. I am your friend."

WRONG! Wrong, wrong, wrong! John's heart pounded in fury and terror, slapping his ribs, trying to beat itself to death rather than endure the bald man's stupidity.

" I can be your friend, your savior, if you would just do this one thing I ask. Then you can be free."

A pressure increased around John's wrist, and he looked at it, at the thick fingers wrapped around the frail looking limb. When had he gotten so decrepitly pathetic? Something was slapped into his palm, that round thing again. He liked the smooth texture of the metal skin, but not the vibration when the little lights blinked on.

" Activate it," said the bald man. " Show us what it can do. Then you may eat."

John's thin fingers tightened around the ball. Ball, like a baseball. Baseball? Yeah, sport, baseball. Throw it, throw the little sucker, smash it. Why? Because... Because... a reason, an important reason, John recalled that much. Very important, super important, so important, his life didn't matter, only the reason without a name, like the faces without a name. They were important, holding back was important. Why wasn't, just the nameless reason.

Enemy, mutual enemy. The really bald guy said that. He liked him. He didn't push, didn't lie. He had food. No pain from him.

" Sheppard?" the man wheedled. John gulped, and a hot tear slid down his face. This was going to hurt.

Oh well. Screw it all.

John lifted his arm over the arm of the chair, turned his wrist, and literally dropped the ball. It clanged, silence fell, John didn't even look at the balding man. Suddenly, he was yanked from the chair to be thrown to the floor. He fell sprawled, wincing at every bone's revenge toward rough treatment. He struggled to rise, only to have himself yanked upright onto his knees by the hood of the shirt. The hood was pulled up, and the collar tightened around his throat. He gagged, only to become distracted from choking by the red-hot sting of pain across his back. He screamed, arching his spine.

The balding man came around to John's front, wiping clean a thin, metal switch. He poked John in the chest with the sharp tip of that switch, drawing blood that spread a tiny dot amidst hundreds of other red dots.

" Let this be a lesson to you, Sheppard. Your refusal will only prolong this madness. You will activate this item, or you will suffer until the end of your days, however long that might be."

The balding man raised the switch and struck in across John's jaw, snapping his head to the side. Warm blood traced heated rivulets down his jaw, his neck, all the way to pool in the hollow of his collar bone. The man went back behind Sheppard. John tensed, cringed, hunching his shoulders, trying to pull away, breath coming fast, bringing with it a sound like a whimper. Mistake, big mistake, probably, he wasn't sure. The reason, only the reason mattered, the nameless reason, behind which were the nameless faces. That's all that mattered.

This was going to suck. It always did. He clenched his jaw, sealed his lips, doing what he could not to give the balding man the satisfaction of another scream.

He heard the whining rush of air as the switch was lifted. Time halted. Then, the door boomed open.

" Your judgeship! Your guests have arrived."

" Oh, blast it all!" The switch whined, but no pain followed. Every molecule of tension siphoned from John's body, and he would have fallen bonelessly to the floor if he hadn't been held up by the hood.

" Get him out of here before they see him. Now!"

John wanted to laugh, but it became caught in his throat when he was yanked to his feet by the hood, and dragged from the room by both arms.

SGA

A clang, and thunk. Kace bolted upright and watched the corridor beyond the cell. Gorek arrived, trailed by two thugs dragging a limp, lifeless Sheppard. Gorek palmed the lock and actually kicked the cell door open. Sheppard was dragged in and dumped like a discarded sack onto the floor. Gorek departed with a final vicious boot to Sheppard's ribs. " Grow some brains, you worthless piece of filth," he snarled, and strode furiously out the cell. Once out of sight, Kace rolled from the bed and onto his knees by the motionless form. The back of the shirt was soaked with fresh blood, darkest at the newly formed rip that went from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Kace parted the tear, and sucked a breath through his teeth at the deep, oozing gash. A metal switch was the culprit. They cut cleaner.

Kace attempted to put a hand on Sheppard's shoulder to shake him. He barely brushed the area when Sheppard scrambled up, then scrambled backward until he ran into his own bed, huddling, hugging his knees to him, staring out the bars with a feral look. Lines of blood were painted down his jaw and neck, ending at where it soaked into the collar.

Kace clasped his hands to his own knees and sat back on his haunches. " You okay there, friend?"

Sheppard pulled his animal gaze from the corridor to place it on Kace. Kace gestured at him.

" You should really do something about those cuts. They'll get infected." Considering if he wasn't already infected. He had plenty of cuts that should have made him sick by now. Kace suspected Harl didn't let it go that far. Or maybe he did, but didn't let it go as far as Sheppard dying. He'd caught a few gashes that appeared to be stitched.

Sheppard blinked, twitched, and looked away again back out into the corridor. Kace sensed fear, more pain (surprise, surprise), and anger, boulder-loads of anger. Kace smirked at that.

" That's it, friend Shep. You fight anyway you can."

Sheppard's reply was a small cough.

TBC...

SGA

A/N: Okay, here's kind of the deal with this story. I've got about eleven chapters written thus far, so you will be knowing Sheppard's fate. It's the rest I'm having trouble with – the after math. I mean, I have a basic idea of what I want, of where it's going, I just don't like what I have in mind for the ending. It's an okay ending, I suppose, but I know I could do better is all. I kind of left things open for anything to happen. So updates will continue to be slow in coming, and I apologize.

There's a chance I may offer a kind of co-authorship on this story, though I'm not decided as of yet. I just have a major problem with the ending because it just isn't enough to me – too simple I think. If I do decide to take up help figuring an ending, I'll give more details into my dilemma, and whoever helps will get credit for the ending. Heck, I'm willing to let more than one person help. Maybe make it like a contest to see which works best or something. I don't know. Like I said, not finalized. But if you'd like to get in on this, just let me know, and if I do decide to take up help, I'll reply with the details. I like this story, and don't want to skimp on it.