A/N - I apologize for the long gap between chapters, I've been having some problems with , as well as with my internet!

The morning of their second day in the cell was terrible, but in complete honesty, John didn't feel like he could complain. It could have been worse. They still didn't have any food, but John hadn't really expected any. The weather outside must have been mild, because the temperature inside the cell could better be described as cool than chilly. He had thought he might have a difficult time sleeping, because there was no real bed and his shoulder was still throbbing in time with his heart. But as it turned out, he'd been so exhausted that none of those things really mattered. John had fallen asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes, and he hadn't woken until the morning sun had filtered through the tiny window high above their heads.

"Good morning," Rodney said, a little sarcastic sounding.

John yawned and moved to sit up, freezing as his shoulder and ribs protested painfully. He might have slept fine, but now, his body was stiff from the thin straw mattress. He levered himself upright to sit against the wall, rubbing his good hand gingerly over his swollen cheek. The tender area stretched all the way from his cheekbone down to his jaw. It hurt to yawn, and John figured it would probably hurt to talk, as well.

"Mornin'," John mumbled, wincing. It definitely hurt to open his mouth enough to speak, which wasn't a good sign. He didn't think anything was broken, but it would be a while before the swelling went down enough to be comfortable.

"You look terrible," Rodney said bluntly. John looked across the cell at the scientist and grimaced. Rodney was back to looking pale and shaky, and his eyes were ringed by dark circles. John knew he must look pretty bad himself, especially with his face swollen and the fresh stubble that had grown in over the night, but he truly thought McKay might look worse.

"So do you," John answered, forgetting about the pain in his jaw. "You okay? Is it the food again?"

Rodney nodded miserably. "That, and it doesn't help that I didn't sleep at all last night."

"You didn't sleep?" John said blankly, feeling a bit guilty now for how quickly and easily he'd managed to get to sleep. He felt physically awful in a lot of ways right now, but tired wasn't one of them.

"No, I don't sleep that well even in a real bed, in a real room that isn't a prison cell," Rodney answered. "Hard to get my brain to shut down. All I did all night was toss and turn and think about how much trouble we're in."

"Oh," John mumbled.

"Not like you," Rodney said, but he didn't actually sound angry. "You snore, you know."

"No I don't," John answered automatically.

"Well, you wouldn't know," Rodney sniffed. "You were asleep, and I wasn't."

John was saved from having to answer by footsteps in the hallway. He stiffened, and Rodney glanced towards the door.

"Guards are comin'," John whispered.

"Oh god. Don't...please don't do anything...crazy," Rodney whispered back. "You're already hurt, and-"

"I'm not gonna lose you more food," John promised without thinking. A flash of something - surprise? thanks? - crossed Rodney's face, and he nodded. John pushed himself a little further back against the wall, trying to look proud and undaunted, while still non threatening enough not to anger their guards and lose Rodney his best chance to eat.

Getting breakfast, however, proved not to be an issue. The guards didn't even speak to John and Rodney, and John certainly wasn't planning on initiating something again. The cell door clanged open, John and Rodney both stayed still, and a small tray was deposited onto the ground. John made quick eye contact with Rodney - this seemed like a good sign.

The guard left without barely looking at the two of them, and closed the door behind him. John waited until the guard was out of sight, and Rodney, who was apparently taking his cues from John, managed to wait as well. As soon as the guard was gone, John scrambled forward.

Any breakfast was better than none, of course, but the food...wasn't much. John wasn't sure if it was further punishment from his escape attempt yesterday, or if this was just how they fed prisoners here. But all they had was a chunk of bread, which looked hard and stale but not moldy, and a pitcher of water.

John hadn't realized how thirsty he was until he saw the water. He wasn't exactly sure how long they'd been here, but he knew it had been well over twelve hours since he'd had any water at all. He'd managed to push the thirst to the back of his mind, distracted by his fear and pain, but now that he finally had the opportunity for some liquid, he found that his throat was parched and his mouth was so dry it was almost painful.

"Oh thank god," Rodney said. "Food."

"And water," John breathed. There were two glasses, and he filled each of them. That left the pitcher more than half full - if they rationed a little, this water would comfortably last them the rest of the day.

John drained his glass of water as Rodney tore the bread in half. Even though his jaw hurt to open, the water soothed his throat. He licked his lips, relishing the moisture.

"I don't think we should eat this too fast," Rodney said worriedly, eyeing his water.

"I don't think they're trying to starve us," John said. "And no offense, but you clearly need the food."

"I know, but you're...you're not supposed to eat too fast after you've been starving. It'll...it'll do things to your insides, like you know, damage your stomach and stuff, I don't know exactly. But neither of us can afford to throw up, so we have to be careful. We don't want to waste this food."

John sighed, but he wasn't really angry or even exasperated. "Mckay, we had a full meal on Atlantis less than a day ago."

"So? That's almost a day without food."

"It takes a lot longer than a day to starve," John said, as patiently as he could. "Plus, you had the protein bar. Your stomach's gonna be fine."

Rodney made a disbelieving sort of sound. "Fine, but you should maybe be a little more careful. Since you didn't take any of the protein bar. You should eat your half kind of slowly, because I'm really not that great with people throwing up…."

Rodney held half of the bread out to John, looking at him impatiently. The hand holding the bread was shaking, and his face was the same greyish color that it had been yesterday, before he'd eaten. John looked back down at the bread that Rodney was holding. The portion looked very small.

"You go ahead and eat it," John told Rodney.

"What?"

"Take the bread," John said again. It might have been a bit late in coming, but John wasn't going to let McKay down again. He was supposed to watch out for his team. In this case, he was supposed to watch out for Rodney, who looked like he might faint if he didn't get as much food as possible immediately.

"Come on. You have to be hungry by now," Rodney insisted.

John was hungry. In fact, he felt like he was starving. His stomach had given up on hunger pangs and had settled into a steady, thin ache that left John feeling utterly drained. It had been over twenty-four hours since he'd last eaten. He'd meant to eat a protein bar at some point during the mission, but it had never really felt like the right time, and then he'd been preoccupied with running for his life. Now, John felt weak and shaky, dizzy spots appearing in front of his vision if he moved too fast. He wasn't sure if it was due to the blood loss or the hunger.

John gave Rodney another one-shouldered shrug. "A little, I guess. But I'm not gonna pass out without food. Eat it."

"I don't think that's a good idea…."

"Would it help if I made it an order?" John asked, trying out a smile that made his swollen face ache even more.

"No, I'm not very good at following orders, just ask anyone that knows me on Atlantis. See, I question things too much, and I've been told it's very annoying-"

"Eat the bread, McKay," John interrupted, cutting Rodney off before he could really get going. "Even with one good arm, I can still kick your ass."

Rodney looked up at John sharply. Painful as it was, John gave Rodney another smile to make sure the physicist knew he didn't mean it. Nodding hesitantly, Rodney took the bread back.

"Sheppard…umm, thanks."

John didn't know how to explain to Rodney that watching the physicist shake with hunger was about a thousand times worse than being hungry himself. He would much rather the physical feeling that came with an empty stomach than the tightness in his throat that came from watching Rodney starve.

Time started to trickle by. John was desperately glad he'd been left with his watch. It seemed like it would be all too easy to completely lose track of time in here. Without the watch, the only indication John would have about what time of day it was would be the sun, barely visible through their barred window.

He had never been very good at telling time from just the sun.

About an hour had gone by when they heard the sound of footsteps again. Rodney and John both scrambled back from the cell door, and Centero appeared in front of the bars.

"Good morning," he said.

He paused. John realized he was supposed to speak. "Good morning?"

"I just wanted to give you an update on your current situation. I've managed to make contact with Atlantis, and now-"

"Save it," John said viciously. He'd been determined to work with Centero, but now that he was actually standing in front of him, John realized he couldn't. He did not want to just sit here and let this man talk to him about how Atlantis had refused their request, how they weren't coming, how John and Rodney were on their own. Sometimes, it was better to not know those things.

Centero looked mildly offended. "I was just-"

"We don't want an update. We want food."

"I believe my guards brought you food this morning. Did something - ah, no, see, the tray is right there. I think the two of you have already been given food."

"It wasn't enough," Rodney said. His voice didn't sound very steady, but John knew Rodney well enough to suspect it wasn't from hunger, but fear. "We need...protein. You know, meat, eggs, cheese? Something like that."

Centero frowned.

"We're no good to you if we're dead," John insisted.

John was lucky that he was talking to a Duke, who had likely never missed a single meal in his life. John doubted he knew what real hunger looked like, or how long a person could withstand it. He seemed convinced.

"Very well," the Duke said quietly. "I will do what I can. Meanwhile-"

"Just the food, thanks," John interrupted. He and Rodney were on their own, and that knowledge was eating away at him almost as much as the hunger. Maybe, once the hunger was gone, he could face the other, but both of them at the same time were too much.

Centero nodded, looking vaguely affronted, and disappeared back down the hallway.

"Do you really think he's going to give us more food?" Rodney asked hopefully.

John shrugged. "Probably. I mean, he needs us alive."

"When?" Rodney asked, then looked ashamed. "Sorry, sorry, I know you don't know anything more than I do, it's just…."

"I know," John said, without really knowing what he was agreeing with. Still, he did know that Rodney's questions weren't actually annoying him. "I think it'll be soon, though. Why would he wait?"

"Okay. Okay," Rodney muttered to himself, then retreated back into his corner, watching the hallway anxiously.

The next few hours passed in relative silence, although it was much more companionable than the tense silence of the day before. John even thought Rodney dozed off at one point, although he awoke fairly quickly. For his part, John was back to pacing the cell, working out the kinks in his muscles and ignoring the sharp pains in his shoulder and ribs. He watched the passage, waiting for the footsteps and wondering what had gone wrong. What if he'd offended the Duke enough that he'd decided to withhold food?

Finally, John heard footsteps, and both his and Rodney's heads snapped towards the hallway. A guard appeared, holding a ring of keys, but no food.

"Hey, where's the food?" John asked, voice a shade more hostile than he had intended. The hunger was getting to him, making it even harder to control his shaky temper.

"Against the wall," the guard snarled, unlocking the door.

John stood his ground, dimly aware that he was shaking now, too. "My friend here needs some food, or he's gonna die. Just talk to your boss."

The guard stepped inside the cell, and John took a half-step towards him. "He needs food," John insisted again.

"I said against the wall," the guard repeated, and before John's exhausted brain and body were able to process what was happening, the guard had grabbed the back of John's neck and shoved him face-first against the bars.

John gasped as a white-hot pain exploded in the center of his face. He blinked, and he was on the ground, his good hand going to his nose as blood began to steadily pour out.

"Do not go behind our backs again," the guard snarled. "You need food, you ask us. You need water, you ask us. If we give it to you, we give it to you. If we don't, you don't get any."

John had no idea what sort of fucked up politics he had somehow accidentally entered into. He truly hadn't meant to offend the guards when he'd asked for food - they hadn't even been on his mind. And now-

John brought a tentative hand to his face. He'd broken his nose before, and he didn't think this was a break. But blood was dripping down his face, flooding his mouth and dropping to the floor, and John knew that even if his nose was intact, things had suddenly gotten very, very bad.

"But-"

"No buts. Don't do it again."

John didn't even have time to brace himself for a swift quick to the ribs. He collapsed to his elbows, and it took all his willpower not to immediately curl in on himself. For a few terrifying seconds, his lungs seemed to have forgotten how to be lungs, and it took a long moment before he could breathe properly again.

By the time the spots had cleared from his eyes, and he could actually look around, a second guard was opening the door to the cell again. Another tray was put down in front of John. It contained two bowls full of some completely unknown substance.

This guard didn't say anything to John, or even look at him. He just set the food down and left, slamming the cell door behind him. John heard two sets of footsteps retreat, and then the guards were gone.

Slowly, John sat up. The dizziness wasn't as bad as he had expected, although between the blood he'd lost from the wound in his shoulder and the new blow to his face, he certainly didn't feel good. His head spent a few seconds swimming, and he wondered if it was still possible for him to throw up, when all he'd had for well over twenty-four hours was water.

He put a tentative hand to his face. The blood from his nose already seemed to be slowing, although he was sure he must look like a mess. If there was one thing he knew, anything on the face tended to bleed a lot.

"Oh god, oh god," Rodney whispered, scrambling to John's side. "Oh wow, Sheppard, that's...that's a lot of blood, oh god, that really can't be good-"

"'Sokay, it's not broken," John said thickly, spitting blood onto the floor and swaying slightly at the motion. His bad arm took this moment to send a sick shudder of pain up his spine, and he tensed. "I don' think."

"How do you know?" Rodney asked, his voice getting higher. For a horrible moment, John thought that he might end up having to talk Rodney down from a panic attack, which he wasn't sure that he could manage without passing out. But then, he felt Rodney's hand on his good shoulder, steadying him. This wasn't McKay's out-of-control panicked voice then, it was his taking-control-of-the-situation panicked voice.

John took a deep breath through his mouth, waiting for his head to clear a little more before he answered. He thought that he should probably shrug off Rodney's hand, but he still felt a little wobbly, and as much as he hated to admit it, it felt nice to have someone there.

"Well? How do you know it isn't broken?" Rodney asked again. "It...it looks pretty broken to me, there's blood everywhere, and I think you're going to have a black eye…."

John reached up and gingerly felt around his tender face. The swollen area from his cheek to his jaw still hurt, but that wasn't a surprise, so he ignored that and cautiously touched his nose. He still didn't think it was broken, but it hurt to the touch, and he knew it would bruise and likely swell, at least a little. His right eye was also tender and painful, meaning McKay was probably right about the black eye.

"I've broken my nose before. Don' think this is broken," John mumbled, spitting out another mouthful of blood. Wincing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head back, trying to ignore the throbbing from his nose and the blood beginning to trickle down his throat.

"Of course you have," Rodney muttered, sounding exasperated and very worried. His hand was still on John's shoulder.

John wasn't sure what to do with this new side of Rodney. Every time he thought he had the scientist pegged, McKay did something else to surprise him. Rodney had just told him a story about passing out at the sight of blood, and now he was kneeling next to John while John was absolutely covered in the stuff. Perhaps even more surprising than that, he was kneeling next to John while there was a bowl of food a mere few feet away. Had this been just under the surface the whole time, but John hadn't been giving Rodney room to show it, or had Rodney just needed to be pushed to his absolute limit before uncovering his own strength?

John guessed that it was probably the latter. He hoped desperately that it hadn't come too late, that they'd be able to find some way out of this. If they did manage to get free and get back to Atlantis, he didn't think he'd have to be so hard on Rodney from now on. The physicist was coming into his own.