A/N - This takes place somewhere in season one. It will be four chapters.

John had no idea how much time had passed since he'd been kidnapped by the Genii. At first, he had tried to keep track of it by the changing of the light, but so little of it filtered deep underground to where he was being chained that he could never be sure if he was really seeing the sun rise or set or simply seeing flickering torchlight from somewhere else in the cave or even reacting to figments of his own imagination. Later, he had tried to keep track based on how often he was being fed, but after a while he started to suspect he wasn't being visited at regular intervals, especially when the manacles started to loosen around his wrists.

After a while, the fever had made everything start to blend together. Maybe he had been trapped in this cave, sometimes being violently beaten by Genii and often completely alone, for no more than a few days. Maybe it had been months. Time felt stretchy and cruel, and when he was alone, he was scarcely registering anything anymore.

The only thing he really still felt sure of was that no one would be coming for him. He had woken up on the Genii's homeworld after being separated from his team via a weapon best described as a grappling hook to the shoulder and a syringe of some clear liquid in his neck. But he had been blindfolded and taken through a stargate, so now, he had absolutely no idea where he was. His team would have no way of tracking him.

And the Genii certainly weren't going to release him. They wanted his military identification code, so they could use it to access Atlantis, and once he gave that up they would have no use at all for him. He would never betray Atlantis, but even if he were to, he didn't think it would help. He would be chained in this cave until he died, which, based on the aching hunger and raging infection in his shoulder, might be fairly soon.

He had tried to think of an escape plan, but, once the fever had really set in, that had become pretty difficult. So far, his best idea was that he could wait until he lost enough weight that he could slip his hands out of the manacles, and then make a run for it.

He knew it wasn't a very good plan. He just didn't know what he would do if he really didn't have anything.

John's eyes slipped closed. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd last been fed, but he suspected it was a while. At this point, the gnawing in his stomach rivaled even the pain in his shoulder. His body was shutting down.

Slowly, the sound of voices filtered into John's hazy fever delirium. He cracked his eyes open, just enough to see the outline of three figures, silhouetted by the dim light of the cave. They began walking towards him, and John froze.

"John?"

John frowned, and opened his eyes a little more. It almost sounded like...Teyla.

No, that couldn't be right. He'd gated around who knew how many times, he'd been thrown into a cave on a planet that was most likely uninhabited, he'd been gone for...a while. This had to be a trick, whether it was a product of his own fevered mind or some game the Genii were playing with him. Well, he wasn't going to let it fool him, however much he wanted to. It wasn't real.

Rodney didn't know what he'd expected, but this was probably worse. John had been missing for a week and a half, ever since the catastrophic ambush by the Genii. They'd only been a few hundred meters from the gate when the wicked-looking barbed weapon had burst through John's shoulder and he'd stumbled and fallen to the ground. Rodney had followed his shouted orders to return to Atlantis and come back with reinforcements, and he'd been regretting it ever since.

By the time they'd returned, it was too late. The Genii soldiers were gone, and so was John. Rodney had spent the next week and a half searching for something, anything, that could show him where they'd taken him.

In the end, it was Teyla who'd uncovered the clue that had led them to this cave and the man in front of them who was barely recognizable as Sheppard.

John was kneeling, his wrists chained behind him in a position that had to be pulling horribly at his injured right shoulder. Even from here, Rodney thought it looked infected. John's face was obscured by a combination of a thick beard and mottled bruises stretching over the side of his face, and his eyes were glittering with what Rodney thought must be fever.

Instinctively, Rodney took a step forward, and stopped as every one of John's muscles tensed.

"Sheppard?" he asked, hoping the sound of his voice would snap John out of whatever delirium he was currently trapped in.

"John, it is alright. You are safe now." Teyla stayed where she was, sounding so calm that even Rodney inadvertently relaxed. He waited for John to do the same, but the pilot stayed rigid.

"...can't be real," John finally muttered, so quiet that Rodney almost missed the words.

"What's wrong with him?" Rodney asked, and he was unable to keep the strain out of his voice.

Teyla let out an almost imperceptible sigh, the only sign that she was just as anxious as Rodney was. "He has just...he has been through much in the past week."

"We need to get the chains off," Rodney said. Then, speaking louder, as if John were hard of hearing instead of...whatever was going on, "John? Can you...we're going to get the chains off, alright? We're going to get you out of here."

John showed absolutely no sign that he had heard. Just continued to kneel silently, eyes aimed at the floor, still except for the faint movement of his chest and shoulders with each breath.

"No sudden movements," Teyla said as Rodney slowly approached John. John didn't react as Rodney moved behind him and knelt down so he could work at the cuffs. He didn't say anything as lifted his hands slightly so he could get a better angle, and didn't so much as wince when Rodney accidentally brushed the raw, damaged skin of his wrists.

It was eerie, if Rodney were completely honest. He knew John would be fine now that they'd found him, he wasn't worried about that. John always was. But this was still...it was unfamiliar territory, and Rodney didn't like unfamiliar territory. He wondered if John was on drugs. He would feel much better about the whole thing once they had gotten John back to Atlantis, and Carson could take a look at him.

It didn't take Rodney very long to figure out the mechanism on the cuffs. He popped the lock with a bit of wire from his pocket, and then pulled the cuffs away from John's raw skin as carefully as he could.

"There you go," Rodney said. "You're free now. All set. You'll be good as new in no time."

John still didn't say anything or make any move to get up, but Rodney thought he saw his shoulders relax slightly.

Rodney stood up and kicked the cuffs a few feet away, in case John needed to hear the sound of the metal on stone to understand he was really free. "Alright then, now-"

Quicker than Rodney could follow, before he could even have a hope of reacting, John twisted. One hand swept up behind his knees, buckling them, and the other shoved hard at his thighs, knocking him over backwards. Rodney fell, landing on his arm with a sickening crack. Immediately, a lightning bolt of pain shot from his wrist to his shoulder. He gasped, still unable to process what was happening.

John pushed himself to his feet, looking unsteady but not moving any slower. Rodney squeaked and pushed himself backwards, clutching his injured wrist to his chest.

"Sheppard - John - it's me, McKay…. " Surely, the sound of John's name, the sound of Rodney's, they would snap John out of whatever this was. "John?"

John lunged.

They'd made a grave mistake when they'd unchained him. John didn't know why his captors had set him free, but he wasn't going to let them take him again. That was not an option.

John's legs were cramped and stiff, barely usable, but John only needed to take a few steps. He let the adrenaline coursing through his veins keep him moving. He'd already dropped one of them, the one that had unchained him, but John wasn't safe until they were all dead.

He'd start with the weakest. John half-jumped, half-fell onto the fallen man, pushing his left arm hard across the man's throat, choking off whatever he'd been about to say. He wasn't going to let go until his attacker breathed his last.

Then there were hands, wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him back. John choked out a guttural cry as fingers clamped around the bloody wound at his right shoulder. He twisted frantically, slamming his left elbow backwards, aiming for his assailant.

"I am sorry about this, John." He heard the words, still sounding too much like Teyla - or was that his imagination? - but the meaning was lost in his panic to escape.

It was only a matter of seconds before he was pinned. He struggled for all he was worth, but his muscles were slow to respond, and he was only moving with a fraction of his usual strength and speed.

He wanted to scream. This wasn't happening, they couldn't have subdued him so easily, he was never going to get another chance after this one. He wanted to scream and never stop.

But John wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. He clamped his lips shut and continued to squirm, hoping desperately that he'd find some weakness to exploit.

"Lieutenant Ford, we must sedate him. I can continue to keep him pinned, but I fear that I may injure him further. Please, hurry."

"He broke my arm!"

"McKay, we're kinda busy right now!"

The voices washed over him, turning into so much nonsense as John's thoughts blurred into senseless panic. All he knew was that he was losing his only chance to escape, and he couldn't have that. He had to...he had to get back to his team….

He struggled fiercely, his bare arms scraping across the rough stone floor. This much movement was making his injured shoulder cry out with pain. He panted for breath, trying to get any leverage against the strong arms that held him down.

And then someone else was next to him, and there was a small pinch in the crook of his elbow. Instantly, he felt something warm and heavy flowing through his veins. He closed his eyes, dragged them open, closed them again.

His last conscious thought was that it really did sound like Teyla, and it sounded like she was apologizing.

Rodney had broken his wrist twice, once when he was a child and had crashed into a tree while sledding, and once during the mandatory physical training he had gone through before being selected for the Atlantis mission. This most recent time was a fresh enough memory that he was quite certain his arm was broken now. He had known pretty much the instant his wrist had cracked against the rock.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Rodney wasn't really sure what was happening with John anymore. He had stopped paying attention. Instead, he was curled up on the stone floor, cradling his injured arm against his chest, trying to understand what had happened. Had that...had it really been John?

Rodney finally mustered the strength to sit up and look around. Teyla was slowly straightening up, leaving John lying limp, crumpled on the ground below her.

"What's…," Rodney's voice caught in his throat, and he had to swallow hard and try again, "what's wrong with him?"

"Ford just administered a sleeping drug," Teyla said worriedly. "He should wake up in an hour or two. I don't want to give him much more than that until we know...more about what has happened."

"No," Rodney said, shaking his head. "I mean...he attacked me. Right? You guys saw that? He jumped on me. He broke my arm."

Teyla's back tensed slightly, and she turned slowly towards him, eyes wide. "He-"

"My wrist," Rodney said, holding it out like it was an offering. Even that small amount of movement made his throat tighten with pain. "Look."

It could have been worse. There were no shards of bone sticking out of Rodney's wrist, it wasn't even obviously misshapen. But it was already starting to swell, and turn an ugly reddish-purple color. Teyla sucked in a small breath.

"What's wrong with him?" Rodney asked again, fighting the urge to back away from John's prone form. That was ridiculous...right?

Teyla shook her head. "I don't know. He has been through much. Hopefully, he is only confused. We shall know more when he awakes."

"And if he isn't?"

"He'll be fine," Ford snapped, and Rodney decided not to press the issue. Besides, his wrist was beginning to throb harder. He tore his eyes away from John, who looked awfully still lying there, and looked back down at his arm. Unfortunately, that just seemed to make the pain worse, and he winced and glanced away.

"Rodney. Take this," Teyla told him, offering him a few pills. Rodney nodded and swallowed them, then got gingerly to his feet. He clutched his arm to his chest, waiting for the pain to abate.

Behind her, Ford was crouching down beside John, two fingers feeling for the pulse at his neck. Rodney watched, momentarily frightened. John did look so eerily still, what if they'd given him too much….

But Ford nodded and turned to Teyla. "We need to get him back to the jumper. Can you take his other side?"

As he spoke, he draped the Colonel's left arm across his shoulders and straightened up, frowning. "Shit, he's a lot lighter than I remember."

Teyla's mouth thinned as she went to support John's other side. "They must have been starving him."

Rodney felt a wave of anger directed at the Genii guards who'd kidnapped, beaten, and starved his friend, anger at an intensity he wasn't used to. For a moment, he wished there had been more men waiting at the entrance of the cave, more people who could pay for what they'd done for John.

But as quickly as it had come, the anger was followed by a sickening feeling as he remembered the dead look in John's eyes as he'd attacked. As badly as Rodney had wanted to rescue John, he wasn't sure if the man they'd found was the man that had been taken.

The walk back to the jumper seemed to take hours, although Rodney knew it had only taken about fifteen minutes on the way in. Even accounting for Sheppard's deadweight, it couldn't possibly have been as long as the five hours it felt like. Rodney jumped at every sound, imagining anything from Genii guerilla soldiers to John having awoken and gone berserk again.

By the time they got back to the jumper, Rodney's already stretched-thin nerves were in tatters, but at least the pain medication had begun to kick in. Or maybe the fringes of the panic attack he desperately wanted to give into were disguising the pain. Either way, Rodney supposed he was grateful.

Rodney was so strung out that it took him a second to realize that someone was calling his name. He looked up with a start, and realized that Teyla was staring at him, still keeping one arm wrapped around John's limp body.

Rodney shook his head slightly to clear it, trying as best he could to keep his breath from shaking. "What?"

"You are needed to open the jumper," Teyla said.

"What?" Rodney said again. Open the jumper? That was...

That was John's job.

Rodney nodded slightly, and put his hand on the control panel. Somehow, he had forgotten that neither Ford nor Teyla possessed the necessary genetic makeup to fly the jumper back, and with John obviously incapacitated, that meant the job would fall to him.

Rodney tried to hide the fact that even just thinking about flying the jumper made his wrist hurt so badly it was all he could do not to cry. Not to mention the fact that he was really barely qualified to fly the jumper at all, he had only really flown it on a few select missions, and never on pain medication, never with a broken wrist.

But John was pale and small, face a mess of bruises, chin limp against his chest, and he clearly would not be flying the jumper any time soon. And anyways, Rodney still wasn't entirely the thing they had brought back even was John. He knew he had absolutely no choice in the matter, but that still...didn't mean he had to like it.

Teyla must have been able to read something of this thought process in his face, no matter how much he was trying to hide it, because she said, "I'm sorry, Rodney."

"I-" Rodney broke off, tucking his arm more firmly against his chest as it gave a particularly nasty throb, "I'm not sure I can...do this."

"I've seen John fly plenty of times," Ford said, surprisingly kindly. "I'll sit next to you, and I can help too, even if I can't work the controls myself."

Rodney nodded slightly. He appreciated the effort enough that he refrained from mentioning the fact that, considering his broken wrist, the controls themselves were going to be by far the biggest problem.

But, since Rodney didn't really want to stay stranded on an alien planet barely a stone's throw from a colony of Genii, there was nothing to be done but to do it. Within the span of a few minutes, John was settled as comfortably as possible in the back, Teyla kneeling next to him, and Rodney was seated anxiously at the controls.

Rodney took hold of the joysticks, trying desperately to ignore the sharp burst of pain pulsing through his wrist. Cautiously, he brought the jumper off the ground, still half-expecting to hear John's voice in his ear, telling him not to be so hesitant with the controls. He closed his eyes, trying to bring himself back to the present. Then, he remembered that he was flying a huge hunk of metal, and having his eyes closed was probably a terrible idea. Equally quickly, he snapped them back open to find Ford staring at him worriedly. It was going to be a long flight back to Atlantis.