A/N: An update, hooray! Thank you to all the people who've taken time to review let alone read this story. I hope it's not as bad as it seems... Thank you to my amazing Beta' Ashvarden, who I wouldn't have published this story without. A sidenote, this chapter is split up into different times. Each section is marked on how long time has past, so I hope it's not too confusing. Enjoy! Reviews are loved.

Day Two

The Afghanistan desert surrounded him for miles, the blazing hot sun beating down on him from the sky above. The sand beneath him was so hot that it was burning straight through his boots, causing him to keep moving his feet up and down off the ground to prevent them from getting too hot.

Hundreds of questions raced through John's mind and left it just as fast. How did he get back on Earth? Where was Rodney? Even better, what the hell was going on?

John began walking slowly through the sand, deciding to climb over the sand dune ahead to get his bearings.

The climb was steep, causing him to slip down twice and tumble backwards all the way to the bottom. Each time, he had to climb all the way back up. Eventually, though, he managed to reach the top.

In every direction, all the way to the horizon, was vast desert that seemed to go on and on. There wasn't even a sheltered area, let alone a tree to sit under.

Sand exploded in the air no less than ten meters in front of him, and now men were running up the sand dune towards him. Hismen. Men that died years ago and it was his fault that it'd happened. This had to be a dream.

"Move, sir!" Captain Holland yelled as he helped another one of his men up the dune.f

John turned around and felt his stomach drop when he saw the helicopter that he crashed over ten years ago, the US Air Force design identical. It was definitely not there before. Okay, it was official-- the heat was driving him insane. Was it possible that he'd dreamt up Atlantis? No, that wasn't even plausible for an answer. Atlantis was real, but this... this felt real, too. How could he tell the difference?

Gunfire filled the air around them. John instinctively dropped on his stomach and felt around for his gun. He didn't have one on him. Great, that was just perfect.

The man Captain Holland was carrying up the dune froze and fell backwards, clutching his chest where his shirt had begun to soak up blood from a bullet wound that had gone straight through.

"We can't save him, sir. Keep moving!" Captain Holland grabbed John by the arm. Before he knew it, he was running after him down the dune back towards the crashed helicopter.

As they reached the helicopter the gunfire ceased. John quickly took shelter behind it, blocking any direct fire if they were shot at again.

Holland sat beside him, rasping as he grabbed a flask of water from his pocket and began to quench his thirst.

He passed the half drunk flask to John. "Drink, you look like you need it."

Nodding, he removed the flask from Holland's hand and let the cool water refresh his dry mouth.

"What's going on?" He put the empty container down on the sand and looked at Captain Holland, whose head was leaning against the back of the chopper.

He gave John a strange look and then furrowed his eyes at him. "You should know, sir."

"I must have missed the memo, because if I remember rightly, you died. I watched you die, for crying out loud! You stepped on a landmine."

Holland cocked an eyebrow. "Are you okay, sir? You don't look so well. Are you sure you didn't hit your head when you crashed?"

"I did not hit my head. I'm perfectly fine, it's you who isn't." John stood up and took a step away from Captain Holland.

"Sir, you've obviously got a concussion and are hallucinating. We need to radio for back up and get out of here as soon as possible." Holland got to his feet and reached through the window of the chopper in an attempt to grab the radio. Sheppard pulled his hand back violently.

"Fine, then answer me this. What was our mission objective?"

Holland rolled his eyes. "Our mission was a search and rescue attempt to save the lives of several U.S. servicemen. But no, you had to go gallivanting about, disobeying direct orders and flying towards where they were keeping them by yourself in some sort of hero act. Because of you, they're all dead, and so are the rest of your men."

John loosened his grip on Holland's wrist. "I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice. You just chose to ignore it and do your own thing, didn't you?" Holland smiled and backed away after Sheppard fully released his wrist.

This felt too familiar. This was almost exactly what happened last time... if there was a last time. It was either that or he was suffering from a severe case of déjà vu. Gunfire shot through the air once more, this time even closer, almost hitting him as the bullet dented the chopper.

"Get down!" he ordered, but Holland failed to comply.

"No."

"What do you mean, 'No'? I'm in charge and you will do as I say." Another hail of bullets hit the sand in front of him, even closer this time.

"I can't, sir, not until you tell him the location of Atlantis."

"You can't know about Atlantis, unless..." The realization struck Sheppard. "Niam," he stated angrily. The bastard was in his head, forcing him to give the information. Why didn't he just take it?

"My name's Holland, not Niam, sir. The location of Atlantis, please," he said, taking another step backwards.

"I'm not going to tell you, no matter how much you mess with my mind," John said, but then remembered why this situation seemed so familiar.

Right behind where Holland was standing now, was exactly the spot where the landmine had gone off and killed the real Holland.

"Stop right there." John put his hand out to step forward, but was kept back by more bullets hitting the sand wherever he went to step.

Holland just looked at Sheppard darkly. "Don't you understand? You can save me, you can change history, anything you want, and all you have to do is give me the location of Atlantis."

"Like you said, there's always a choice, so excuse me if I don't feel like betraying my friends today. Maybe if you got back to me in a few days I might be more obliging."

Holland nodded slowly. "If that is what you wish, then fine."

Taking one last step back, the memory of seeing his fellow officer being blown up in his head became real. The heat radiating from the blast hit John hard, knocking him backwards into the chopper, sand flying in all directions as it slowly settled to the ground. Landing beside him was all that remained of Captain Holland, the bone still protruding from where his elbow should be.

His chest suddenly felt tight. John put his hand down and touched where it hurt. He brought his fingers back up to his face and saw the blood that now covered them as he began to go into shock. Another bullet hit him in the stomach as he collapsed to the ground, face first in the sand.

John screamed in pain as Niam withdrew his hand from his forehead. It was the worst possible agony he'd ever felt, as if someone had wrapped barbed wire around his head and was tightening it, allowing the barbs to pierce through his skin all the way to the base of his skull.

"Why must you be so resistant?" Niam asked.

Sheppard was panting hard; he could still feel where the bullets had entered his body. "Don't you know? I'm stubborn. It's just one thing you'll have to get used to."

"You'll see the error of your ways soon. Just you wait."

Niam turned to Rodney, who was backing himself up against the wall by the bed. "Oh no you don't! I've had enough mind probing in my time, thanks."

"Now now, it's better not to resist. It'll hurt much less."

John watched as Niam's hand was absorbed into Rodney's forehead, his screaming piercing the air.

It was too much. John rushed to his feet and punched Niam in the face, only to pull it back as if he'd hit a brick wall.

Niam retracted his hand from. Rodney's head and turned around. Using one hand, he threw John into the sink on the other side of the cell.

"Your efforts are hopeless, John. And for that you will be punished." Before he knew it, Niam was directly in front of him. "Now, let's begin again, shall we?"

*

Day Seven

Sheppard lay on the blazing hot sand, watching his men die around him as they ran up the sand dunes, explosions coming from every direction sending sand flying into the air

It wasn't going to stop; the same scenario was being played over and over in his head. He rocked back against the chopper, covering his ears and trying to block out the sounds of his men screaming as they were shot by an unseen foe.

Occasionally Niam would come over as Captain Holland, trying to convince him to give the location of Atlantis. Each time he denied, and then he would find himself replaying the same events.

The never-ending screaming, the memories he'd buried away a long time ago were right in front of him. Some part of John wanted to run up to them and warn them, but all previous attempts had ended in the same conclusion: death.

John could feel his mind slowly tear away from his body, leaving him in an emotional wreck.

This wasn't meant to happen, it should never have happened.

All these years he'd blamed himself for the deaths of his men. His career was ruined after he managed to get back to America. And then one day he was asked to transport Brigadier General Jack O'Neill. That day changed his life forever when he discovered he had the ATA gene.

Atlantis was something he'd never expected to be a part of his life, not after what had, and was, happening right now.

Another explosion hit the sand dune not far in front of him, the aftershock vibrating through the ground beneath him.

Holland appeared in front of him, seemingly out of nowhere. "The location of Atlantis," he demanded.

"Go away." Sheppard didn't even lift his head off the sand. He just closed his eyes and blocked everything out.

"How long are you going to be able to keep this up? Your people aren't coming, John. They'll never find you."

Sheppard could sense Holland moving around him slowly, pacing around him and examining his every movement. "You don't know my people, and they will come and you better not be around when they do."

"You just continue believing that, but the truth is they will never come."

And deep down some part of him knew it to be true.

*

Day Eighteen

"Here's your food and water."

One of the Replicators passed the food through the gaps in the bars and walked back out the door. As much as he found moldy bread and water dissatisfying to his taste, John gradually managed to crawl his way over to the food and began eating.

Every two days, a Replicator would come in the morning and give them one small bread roll each, as well as a small pint of water with two metal cups.

Rodney hardly spoke anymore. He just sat on the bed, eyes wide open, flinching at even the slightest amount of noise. John had tried talking to him, but it was if he was stuck in another world. He didn't even move when he saw the food. John had to come over and feed it to him like a child.

It broke him, seeing Rodney in this state. The smartest guy he knew was almost gone, lost in his own mind.

Each day, the Replicators would come and probe their minds. He had no idea what they were doing to Rodney, he just wished there was something he could do to help.

"Rodney... say something," John begged as he sat on the edge of the bed, trying to give him some of his food.

John watched as Rodney glanced at him, finally opening his mouth. His voice was quiet. "I want to go home." Rodney took a bite out of the bread he held in front of Rodney's face, then let John put the metal cup full of water up to his lips and drunk.

"We can't give up, we just can't. They'll be here, you'll see."

*

Day Thirty-One

The explosions stopped, as well as the screaming, and then it started again. Sheppard continually rammed his head into the side of the chopper to wake himself up, but it was no use. As long as Niam was in his head, there was nowhere he could go.

No matter how far he tried to run from the chopper, he'd always find himself running back towards it. Eventually, he'd given up running altogether.

Instead, he'd just wait there, watching the deaths in front of him as they fell down the dune, clutching at wounds or being blown up. So far blowing up had been very popular.

Once again, Holland appeared in front of him, asking the location of Atlantis. This time John didn't respond at all. Instead, he just fell to the ground, not speaking a word.

*

Day Forty-One

Sand blew into his eyes, causing them to tear up as John walked towards the dune. Bodies of his men lay at the bottom as the sand turned red, absorbing their blood .

Shifting one of his men aside, he reached for his gun. Placing it in front of his face as it taunted him.

'I can't take this anymore.' Placing the gun in his mouth, he armed the trigger and fired. He woke up back in the cell as Niam pulled out his hand, leaving John's head in excruciating pain before he fell unconscious.

*

Day Fifty-Five

The pain was almost enjoyable now as it flooded over him. Days seemed to feel longer as Niam came in and inserted himself into his mind, and by now John had begun to lose any hope of returning to Atlantis.

It seemed so far away now, as if it was all a dream. But was this a dream? Reality was beginning to slip away, quicker and quicker, as if his mind was slowly drifting away. It was as if he was floating in space, unable to tell which way was up. How was he supposed to know what was real and what wasn't anymore? John struggled to reassure himself that it was only Niam messing with his mind, but he was beginning to forget the difference between the two.

This was worse than death, but he had to stay strong for Rodney if they were ever going to get home.

But he knew that Atlantis would've given up a long time ago.

*

Day Seventy

"We're never going to get home, are we?" Rodney spoke up after being silent for weeks.

"No," John stated, not even caring anymore. He'd given up hope a long time ago.

The next few hours were quiet, until Niam came in and probed their minds again. Rodney's screaming drove him insane as he was forced to watch his friend slip away.

That night John didn't sleep on the floor like he had been. Shuffling onto the bed, he laid behind Rodney, putting his hands around his waist gently. The warmth of his body was comforting, and John began to feel safer than ever before.

John could feel all the cuts and abrasions on his skin as Rodney removed his shirt and put it on the floor beside them.

Bringing their bodies closer, John let his head fall on the back of Rodney's shoulder. The sound of his heart was loud, but soothing. He wasn't going to admit how he felt about Rodney. Over the past months, the friend crush had developed into something more than he'd expected and it scared him more than the Replicators.

For the first time since they'd been captured, he finally managed to get a peaceful night's sleep as he held Rodney tight in his arms, thinking about what would happen to them.

*

Six Months Later

John woke up, startled, to the sound of Rodney crying in the darkened cell. "What's wrong?" John let go of Rodney's waist and turned him around from where he was sitting on the bed. "For god's sakes, Rodney, what's wrong?"

It was like Rodney couldn't hear him as he continued to let tears fall down his saturated face.

Not knowing what to do, placed his hands on Rodney's cheeks and pressed his lips against Rodney's, who was definitely paying attention to him now as he froze under him. Before he could really grasp what he was doing, there was light pressure on his lips, so soft that he almost missed it. Rodney's lips.

His lips were soft and inviting to John, but as much as he wished to deepen the kiss into something more, he kept it gentle, just enough to get Rodney to pay attention.

As much as he didn't want to, John pulled away and slowly removed his hands from Rodney's face.

Rodney looked at him. His face was all flustered, but he had stopped crying, and that's all John cared about now. Hopefully Rodney would forgive him for what he'd just done.

"What's wrong?" John repeated softly, this time getting a response from him.

"I-I..." He was obviously in shock from the kiss, but then a sudden punch to the face told him otherwise. "What the hell was that for!?"

Not good. Well, at least that deducted the theory that Rodney was straight. "Believe me, I enjoyed it just as much as you. But you were crying, you wouldn't listen to me, and I didn't know what to do. So I'm sorry if I care!"

John watched as his words took effect on Rodney. His eyes looked to the ground, saddened, and his chest rose and fell.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to... it's just that I'm scared. As much as I'm not keen to admit it, I am, John. I've thought of everything to get us out of here and there's no escape."

John smiled at Rodney. "You'll figure out a way, you always do."

Rodney didn't return the smile, but instead turned his face away from Sheppard and mumbled under his breath, "Not this time, John... not this time."

To be continued...