He awoke with a start, and sat up with unseeing eyes and pounding heart. It took a long moment for the room to come into focus, and for the memories to catch up with his surroundings. His heart pounded with the frantic beat of unknowing terror long after he'd realized his place. He waited out the autonomic response, then lurched to his feet, bracing himself against a wall as the motion set his head spinning. He felt hot and lightheaded. How long had it been since he'd had a drink? He couldn't remember, but he couldn't take the time to sip from the sink now.
The voices that must have woken him still drifted as unintelligible murmurs through the locked door, and he planted himself just in front of the mattress. He took a deep, calming breath, and waited.
The door opened.
Two of his "friends" from escort duty entered first, glaring at him and working restless hands over the smooth wooden clubs they each held in worryingly eager readiness. They were followed by two doctors or scientists. At least that was his guess – they both wore long, pale orange coats that clashed magnificently with the off-white walls, and the woman held a clipboard that she absently riffled through between nervous glances at the guards.
He watched her curiously, wondering with amused irritation when or if she'd bother to look at him directly. When she did, with a sudden stern snap, he was disturbed by the cold indifference on her face. A chill shivered down his spine and he clasped his hands behind his back to conceal his clenched fists. He returned her gaze with as much defiance as he could muster, and waited for her to speak first. He would not give them the satisfaction of begging for information.
"You are Lt Col John Sheppard?" She pronounced his rank "Elt Cole" and he snickered to cover his surprise. He hadn't told them anything. Not even his name.
"Not that you care, but it's Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, and yes, that's me. How exactly do you know that?" He tried to sound conversational, but the question came out a bit forced.
She squinted her bright green eyes in response, dug in her pocket and held out a silver beaded chain with two silver tags. "These are yours, yes?" They were his dog tags.
John stiffened in rage as the chain swung carelessly from her fingers. You didn't take a soldier's dog tags. You just didn't! Not unless you were already dead. He choked back the morbid thought, angry with himself, too, that he hadn't even noticed the tags were missing until now.
His hand drifted to his empty chest as if of its own accord, and he took a single aggressive step towards the woman. A stick of wood attached to a burly arm halted a second, and John glared at the guard, stopping himself with difficulty. When he looked at the woman again, she still held out his chain, the question still fixed on her impassive face.
"They're mine," he rasped.
"Good!" She dropped them back into her pocket with a soft clink. "So we have something to call you. Why did you come through our Stargate, Lt. Colonel John Sheppard?" This time she pronounced every word with special care.
"Straight to the point. I like that." He stopped, raised an eyebrow.
"Why did you come here?" she repeated, more sharply.
"You can call me Colonel Sheppard, if you want. Or just Sheppard. Or just Colonel, actually. When we really get to know each other better, you can call me John…"
"Why were you following our traders?"
"Following?"
"You were seen on Gellan."
"Nice place, I hear."
The woman nodded, almost as if he was only confirming some unknown expectation, and she exchanged a solemn look with the male scientist who had until now remained silent, "Very well. Give us your home 'gate address…Colonel." The man's voice was deep and impatient.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you!"
"Yes."
The silence drew out and John chuckled. "I meant, No."
"We know you are not from Gellan, your clothing and weapons are not familiar to us. You have nothing to lose by cooperating, Colonel Sheppard. Give us your 'gate address." The man seemed even more annoyed, and John was certain that his eyes had lit up a bit at the mention of those interesting weapons he was so unfamiliar with.
"No."
"Why not?" The woman chimed in again, leaning towards him in an attempt to seem persuasively reasonable.
John just shrugged. "Nothing to lose. Nothing to gain."
"Come now! This is unnecessary. Give us your home address and we'll be able to contact your people." The man drew himself up haughtily only to be deflated somewhat by a restraining hand.
The woman glared at her colleague and added hastily, "Once we are in touch with your people, arrangements can be made for your return to them."
"My people won't trade for me. We don't bargain with terrorists."
The woman continued, oblivious to, or simply ignoring, John's hardened features and growing impatience with the verbal play, "Regardless of your cooperation, we will find your people. It would be better for you if we were to find them sooner rather than later."
John heard the threat in her stern statement loud and clear. He nodded calmly as if he were agreeing to a solemn contract. "I understand," he said.
The woman shook her head briefly in disgust, then turned her back on him, her colleague doing likewise after a long calculating stare that John returned with angry determination. They reached the door and the woman paused briefly, "Bring him to examination room 10." She nodded at one of the guards who nodded back. "He will require restraints," she added, then walked calmly through.
John backed against the wall, tramping on the low mattress as the two leering guards advanced on him, tapping their sticks against their palms.