A/N: And my fic wasn't inspired by obsessed1's latest one ("Trust") 'cause I started writing mine before reading obsessed1's… I have no real proof, only maybe if I refer you to older fics I wrote and posted where some details can get similar to some parts of my "It Does Count" fic (the one you're reading right now :P )
And I'm pretty sorry: I said this chapter would come fast and was going to be the last one, but it took a little bit too much time to write and the story got a bit longer than I thought... So this is not the last chapter, another one will come soon with this time the real end
so, yeah sorry again for the numbers of weeks it took :S
It only took a light jab to his chest and right where the bruised muscle and broken ribs were to jolt him awake with a choked yelp, a yelp that blurted out before the pain knocked the air out of his lungs. Though it was doing quite well to send a wave of knifing agony through his body… Shepard's hazel eyes shot open but remained unfocused as -being extremely disoriented and confused- he seriously wondered when did he fall asleep anyway… Maybe he blackouted?
Once his breathing settled and the awful pain in his chest became a little less excruciating, the colonel tried to make sense of his blurred and muffled surroundings: some voices he could not understand, an ugly orange-pink shape was standing in front of him and, he was sure of this thing, he was not standing up all by himself as his legs hanged limply under him. Iron grips on him to keep him upward as well.
Where was he again? What were those silhouettes? What happened anyway?
"What the hell's goin'on?"
John could only express out loud his confusion with this very slurred, hoarse and weak answer –was that his real voice?! How strange I sounded!-; trying pathetically to look around and put a little bit of his weight on his feet while frowning.
"Your weakness would disgust me if I was not a man of sense and sciences, a man caring about what should be done for the sake of my people…" The hairless figure before him said on a flat tone.
Sheppard felt discouraged realizing he had so much trouble trying to follow everything that was being said, only wanting to drop his head, to rest his chin on his chest and let the darkness of unconsciousness claim him once more. Everything that could ease his hell of a headache.
Though, the bald man standing in front of him decided he could not let his prey get away that easily with it: Mr. Clean reached for his ribcage and, again, pressed right on the spot where the alien knew he did some damages hours ago. We must know that the alien had heard bones cracking when he had to revive the human with his electroshocks while pressing to the captive's chest. But right now, the effects were immediate and the man he captured jolted and cried right away, before trying desperately yet weakly to free himself from the two guards holding him on his feet.
"Do not let him fall asleep ever again, at least not until we are done with him… And you, bring me the points board!"
The captor commanded his goons before approaching even more the injured man. One of those guards that were not currently holding Sheppard walked out the room. Mr. Clean grabbed the colonel's jaw none too gently and forced him to look straight into his unmoving eyes; before saying:
"You know you can still lose the points that speak of future punishments if you behave properly… I am reminding you because I doubt you will last several additional hours if you keep on the way you started…"
Sheppard swallowed compulsively and tried to shy his head away from his captor's grip, though the words were slowly being processed by his brain: he hardly remembered being in pain every time he was being smug and defiant, and of course he did not want to suffer all this once more… Does it count if he only remained silent? As if he was conscious enough to think of something appropriate as an answer to a sick questioning anyway...
"I assume you understand what I am saying. So let's start with the interrogation right away, we cannot waste any more time: the objects you used were weapons, we saw you and your friends killing some of my men with it… Where did you find those so powerful weapons?" The bald man began asking.
Weapons? The P90s he meant? Sheppard had some flash of memories: his team and he were running for the 'gate as some primitive looking men hidden in the forest were shooting crossbow bolts looking projectiles at them from behind the tree line. Right. And then he probably was knocked hard on the head.
But this memory also explained, to a confused Sheppard suffering from a nasty concussion, why his captor was so found of SGA1's technologies… They needed beter thing than primitive sticks and what the human explorers had looked just right.
The guards shook John like a rag doll as he was going to lost consciousness again without even noticing it… It startled the colonel quite a lot as his vision slightly cleared on the bald man's face.
"Where did you find your weapons…" The captor growled…
Oh yeah, thought Sheppard, that was what they were asking him! The colonel faintly shook his head but Mr. Clean would not release his jaw from his too tight hold. Damn, anyway,he considered woozily answering, slurring and drawling when he finaly did so:
"S'meone gave it to me I guess…"
"Who gave it to you?" The bald man asked.
"I… uh… I don't r'member his name…" Sheppard answered slowly, frowning as he was trying hard to think and remember clearly; far from realizing he was going less coherent and lucid.
"His name?!..." Exclaimed the captor.
"Yeah 'cause he's a new guy at the armory, I didn't have enough time t'learn his name…" Explained John, fighting to keep his eyelids open…
Damn his head ached and he was starting to lose the sensation in his arms since the guards holding him upright were gripping him too forcefully.
Close to them, the guard that left came back and set the wooden chest of drawers like furniture, its shelves facing the colonel.
"I meant: what people or what superior civilization gave it to your team!... Ah, it does not matter… Where are your people located? What address shall we enter in the Silver Ring of the Stars to find them?" The bald man nearly lost his cool in front of a divagating man, but quickly kept on his interrogation.
Sheppard did not answered: he had that feeling, something that was telling him he could not possibly tell such a thing to any stranger. He was confused, seriously confused and dizzy, but again there was still some sense lying deeply under the mud and the fog in his mind… He flinched as a wave of pain caught him when he tried to take a deep breath, but he would never give up and tell the alien anything:
"Add me a point…" He simply muttered; giving the feeling he became slightly more lucid suddenly.
"Excuse me?!"
"The tiles… you can already add me a point: I won't answer this…" The colonel repeated and slightly slurred, though he was determined to not reveal anything he felt he should not, no matter if he had hard time remembering why he should not, in fact…
For what seemed to be an eternity for the colonel -since holding his gaze up into his captor's eyes alone was cruelly spiking his pounding headache- the bald man and the one with wild dark hair stared at each other: the injured one trying to show he will not give up, and the other one probably scheming the fastest he could to find out how he should react.
Yeah, dizzily thought Sheppard, he was clearly thwarting the man's evil calculation and methodical torture system; that itself meant another point for the good guys, but not the kind of point that mean punishment, but the kind that… never mind… John knew what he meant by thinking this and that was the only thing that mattered right now, this and defying Mr. Clean that sucker. And also to not tell anything he felt he should keep to himself.
Though his mind was wandering as if it refused to follow a straight line or pattern, and soon he found himself wondering about the fact he forgot why he seemed to be trying to gain some more time: was he waiting for something?
Yet he had to leave this question for now; something drew him back to the present moment quite brutally: well, in fact, when two muscular brutes start to press firmly on your shoulders and squeeze your trapezius –which is in fact not only painful but a little bit paralyzing as well- to force you to get down on your knees on the floor, it kinds of snap you back to reality easily.
So Sheppard grunted and barely tried to fight as he was forced to kneel in front of his captor… Maybe the bald man commanded something particular to his guards while the colonel was shortly out of it…
Then the Atlantis's CO felt a large hand gripping his hair and pulling forcefully his head back until his throat was exposed, Sheppard being too weakened to resist. Were they going to slit his throat like butchers do with pigs? His puzzled mind and abused brain could not process efficiently all what was happening, and it was only when he tasted a new foul taste and felt something dry and leathery on his tongue that John realised with shock that the guards forced something in his mouth…
He opened wild eyes, trying to fight with the little strength he had or to spit out that thing in his mouth, but the goons pulled on the thing and when they let it go, Sheppard realised it still was gagging him… Damn, they gagged him with a belt or something like this didn't they?! His angry protests –that would have surely been slurred anyway- were too muffled to be heard and trying to pull free or to bite down the leather belt was useless…
As if John's weak struggle was annoying them, the guards suddenly pushed him forward and brutally tackled him to the ground, flat on the stomach, his arms still pulled back. That sure threatened to knock him out cold the injured man because of the shock to his brain the movement caused, but also by putting weight on his injured ribs. All he could see was shooting stars, he thought he could not breathe at all anymore and all he could feel –but the knifing twinge in his chest- and hear was the painful throbbing in his skull… Yes: it was so overwhelming he thought he could hear his head hurting at every heartbeat…
Or maybe it was the blood pumping in his ears he could hear, it was hard to tell.
Were they going to chop his head off? Perhaps, it will be less excruciating being dead, no? No, no he can' get killed! Ok, it was a very dumb question in he first place.
"Pick the left one… Make sure you replace the bone in the socket, or else we will not be able to move him anymore without doing much more damages…"
A voice, sounding so far away even if he knew it was not, said calmly. Although something sounded really dreadful in this command, so much Sheppard paralysed a short moment and tried to make sense of this. There was that sense of alert that was making his heart beat so hard he thought it would jolt his injured ribs even more.
Yet it seemed Mr. Clean was out to win the set by many points for the bad guys as it seemed he would not let his captive get away with those sharp replies. In fact, John felt the hands on him tightening on his arms, some others keeping his legs and his body flat on the floor as other guards joined the two others.
Then the hands on his arms moved slightly on his left: a caveman-like guard relieved the pressure on the upper arm as the second holding the lower arm began to pull on it backward until it started to twinge a little…
And they finally executed Mr. Electric Eel's dreadful choice of punishment: the one pulling on the arm suddenly did it even more brutally and at this moment, the second guard that released his grip not so long ago gave a harsh push right on Sheppard left scapula… They could all hear the sickening and muffled "clok!" quickly followed by a muted cry of agony from the gagged colonel.
They did it; they dislocated his shoulder only because their leader wanted so, only because the captive snapped back. That brutality would disgust many of his Marines...
The CO tried to twist, groaned, tried to shout and curl on the ground, fretfully trying to escape from the hands holding him flat against the dusty floor with this rush of adrenalin. He was blinded, deafened and unable to think because the pain in his now completely irresponsive left limb.
Did they tear off his entire arm? Because it surely felt like it; and he barely passed out when once more they pulled on his limb while holding in place his shoulder. Sheppard felt his bone moving again and going back into its socket, but it did not subdue much the knifing pain in his shoulder as, once more, he let out a sharp yelp, shocked by so much aching at once.
Did he pass out? He probably went close to this dark abyss: he barely noticed the fact he was released then, or the fact the guards retracted and backed off a little bit, staring at the shivering body on the floor that was faintly trying to roll on its back while clasping dearly his abused limb. Yes, it was about all he could recall: he was now lying on his back restlessly stirring and twitching, wincing and clenching his jaw as he was waiting for the pain to ease a little.
At least he could still clench his left fist, meaning they did not damaged any nerves while cruelly playing with his shoulder, but that alone would spike the pain in his entire arm and nearly draw tears to the man's eyes. And taking deep breathes was also impossible because of his other injuries, as if it was not enough already…
Sheppard felt as if he spent days like this, tense from trying to hold back the pain, before his mind could process a little bit more than this agony: slowly, carefully, he let go his injured limb to reach clumsily for his leathery gag. His hand was shaking as he took it off his mouth; he cough a little and gasped for air, hoarsely whimpering, then quickly secured back his injured arm.
He was about oblivious to his surrounding for a few more minutes.
One of the guards removed the leather belt probably in case the man wanted to use it as a weapon somehow. Still, he could not care less right now since fighting the overwhelming pain seemed more important. He had to fight it, or else he felt the pain was going to drive him sick once more, even with his stomach already emptied.
Something suddenly fell on the floor just beside his head and, when he was slowly and dizzily dragging his attention on the thing beside him a boring voice started to talk. Though the pilot could not help but noticed the thing was a tile. Where does that comes from?! His fogged mind wondered. Oh, yeah, the abacus!
"I hope you will understand soon that you cannot keep on this way; you will simply die in a very slow and unbearable way. This recent injury should remind you that I am serious and that you need to know I am ready to execute any other punishments if it rewards me with the needed information."
Mr. Clean paused, but Sheppard only answered by a pained but frustrated groanso the bald man kept on:
"I will ask you again: what is the address to your homeland? Which symbols?"
Homeland? Damn, he wanted so much to be back there… no, not Earth, but Atlantis, Atlantis sounds more like home… When did it become so in his mind? Good question; his mind wasn't clear enough to ponder on that much longer. Yet he was sure of two things: he missed this sweet giant city-like Ancient outpost and he wanted his team to be alright.
Alright, but there to get him out of this cell. And he also wanted Mr Clean dead! Yeah, dead with that bastard's very own slate tiles breaking his jaw and skull! We'll see if he still enjoy counting this way after that…
Ok that makes more than two things… Whatever.
However, by letting his thoughts wander this way, an idea struck him hard: they knew nothing about Earth technology; they only knew that what fired on them were weapons, but how could they know about the rest of his military gears? So he could pretend he needed something from his equipment they took away from him. He could tell them he needed the so called something in order to remember the address; even if he will never tell them about it anyway, if only he could remember it clearly…
Overall: it sounded like a good idea!
But what could he need right now to escape?
Water, yes: he wanted his canteen to wash away the awful taste of the leather belt; he was so thirsty suddenly…
No no no! Sheppard shook faintly his head in disapprobation with his very own thoughts –and regretted it when the slight movement threatened to knock him out cold- realising there was not real use to drink right now…
He was stopped brutally in his considerations when a foot unexpectedly nudged at his injured shoulder, sending wave of utter pain all along his arm and chest. Sheppard cried out and tried to roll on his side, planning to move on his hands and knees before getting up. But his attempt miserably failed, leaving him still flat on his back and only struggling in vain to shift his weight to one side.
It was truly hard to tell which position was going to lessen the pain, if only there was one.
"I will not let you faint again! What are the symbols to your world? Answer me!"
It was the bald man and Sheppard could have been nearly victorious to hear the anger in his tone… does it count as a point for him? In any case, John had just the level of alertness he needed to at last execute his new -and probably messy- plan. The more intelligible he could, since he was just too drained and light-headed now, he replied:
"I… I don't r'member… my head hurts a lot…"
"You do not remember?!... " Repeated the captor, as if he could not believe it.
"But I wrote it s'mwhere… s'mwhere on my stuff…"
Sheppard kept slurring, trying to get a good look at the man standing over him through the blurred haze of his concussion.
Mr Electric Eel seemed to be considering the possibility a short moment before facing one of the guards still surrounding the injured man. A short moment while John could not help but wince when he tried to suck in a breath a little bit deeper than the others…
"Go gather his equipments…" He simply ordered... and Sheppard was truly smiling inwardly when he understood what just have been said.
To Be Continued ;P