Consequences.
Thanks for the wonderful reviews, and thanks to Kodiak for her beta skills– again!
Chapter 7.
John woke to a pounding head and a dry mouth. Squinting, he looked slowly around to try and get his bearings. Where was he, and why was he huddled on the cold floor, wearing scrubs?
He painfully managed to push himself up onto his elbows, but quickly sank back down to the floor again as dizziness overwhelmed him. Closing his eyes, and breathing in shallow pants, John carefully opened his blurry eyes a second time and tried to focus again on his surroundings.
As soon as John spied the laptop on the floor close by, memories flooded back to him.
John knew he'd been unconscious for quite a while. He was cold, damp from old sweat, and his head was throbbing, probably because of dehydration. How long was it since he'd had a drink? Carson was going to be really pissed this time.
Sitting up more carefully, John was relieved when he managed to stay upright, though his world did tip sideways a little.
Edging towards the laptop, John opened it again, knowing he had to watch the rest of his torture. He had to put himself through that to move on, he could see that now. Kate had been right, only he didn't need her to psychoanalyse every second of the recordings to achieve that; he could do that pretty well on his own, in private, and in his own unique way. John tried to swallow to ease his acidic, burning oesophagus, but his throat was dry, and he knew he needed to drink soon, or he'd be finding himself hooked up to an IV again when Carson got his hands on him. Hell, Carson would stick him with one anyway. Who was John kidding?
Once the laptop had booted up, John found the second saved file, and sat motionless as he returned his hand to his lap after he'd clicked the file open.
Looking at himself on the video, John could see he looked a little older, maybe five or so years had been taken from him. John smiled as he heard Elizabeth's resolute 'no' in answer to Kolya's demands, and was pleased to see he had nodded his head several times in agreement. Even though he had been unable to speak, he had wanted to show Elizabeth she was doing the right thing. If he had to die, the last thing he wanted was his death on her conscience. John was glad he'd managed, so clearly, to get his words across to her. John studied the screen in front of him again, and found himself staring at the wraith hovering over the helpless victim shackled to the chair.
John was surprised to see defiance, yet entreaty in the eyes of the gagged man looking resolutely into the wraith's eyes. He'd had the courage to look his enemy in the eye, and show he wasn't afraid, yet at the same time ask him not to do this, not to play Kolya's game. John found himself feeling a mixture of revulsion and pride. He'd acquitted himself well, he could see that. He'd looked right into the soul of the wraith, and if anyone had asked him a few days previously if wraith had souls, John knew he'd have answered no. After his encounter with Kolya's wraith, he had to admit he thought they probably did, well, at least some had them, anyway.
John was abruptly interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of the wraith snarling on the screen in front of him. He watched, fascinated as before, by his own thrown back head, eyes screwed tight in agony as more life was snatched away from him.
This time John's stomach complained a little, but not as loudly as before. He watched quietly, breathing in soft pants until Kolya's face loomed again, informing Elizabeth she had another three hours to reconsider her answer.
The file closed, and John sat quietly, considering what he'd just seen. He wasn't frightened anymore, nor was he ashamed. It was difficult not to feel humiliated by his helplessness, but he had been a victim here, and he'd survived the second feeding with his dignity in tact. That was something. He was beginning to realise that despite his vulnerability, he'd had some control. He'd been able to control the way he'd reacted to his torture, the way he'd faced his torment. He saw strength in his demeanour on the recordings that he hadn't known he'd had. John felt a surge of pride at that thought.
John clicked on the third file, knowing it would be the hardest to watch. He remembered thinking that death was a foregone conclusion when Kolya had told the wraith to take his fill. Memories flooded John's mind as he watched the wraith return his own searching look, before the bony, taloned hand had plunged into John's chest again. John remembered the worst pain he'd ever experienced in his life. The first feeding had been agony, so had the second, but the third had drained John's very essence, his life literally was being snuffed, like a candle extinguished in a violent gush of wind.
John gulped as he witnessed his face wither, his hair grey, and his eyes become sunken.
When the wraith unexpectedly tore his hand away from John, he couldn't help but flinch. He'd heard the wraith say something to Kolya, but John's ears were buzzing so loudly when that had happened, he hadn't been able to comprehend his words. He'd found out in his cell later that the wraith had stopped feeding on John so they could work together to escape, but what had he said to Kolya? John's hand snaked out to replay the last portion of the recording. "He is near death. Shall I finish him?" Ah, so that was what he'd said. Wraith could lie as well as humans. John wasn't sure if that was a good or bad revelation.
John paused the video, and studied his own frozen face on the computer in front of him carefully. God, he looked terrible, and he hadn't even had the strength to give another defiant look to his captor, such was his exhaustion. He'd wanted to die then, he remembered. What use would he be to Elizabeth and his team as a sixty-odd year old man? They'd ship him back to Earth, like they had Everett, lock him in some veterans home, and throw away the key. That would be worse than death in John's eyes.
Shutting the laptop, John found himself overwhelmed with anger. It surged through his veins, and he knew he needed to find an outlet for it, before it consumed him from within.
Shakily, he stood, and thought the door to the room open. He knew what he needed to do, what he had to do to help him sleep, to make him heal, before he could move on, and be ready for his inevitable next encounter with the man who had become his nemesis – Kolya.
Picking up the LSD from the floor, and activating it, John plotted his journey in his head.
Fifteen minutes later, John had arrived undetected at his destination. Judging from the lack of movement of personnel, and the dimmed lights, John knew it must be the early hours of the morning.
Entering the gym, John thought on the lights and looked for sticks to practice sparring with. Seeing none around, John's eyes focused on the next best thing: a punch bag hanging from the ceiling of the vast room.
Walking unsteadily up to it, he smiled and started to punch away, imagining Kolya's face as he aimed careful swings. At first his punches were well directed, despite his exhaustion, and adrenaline pumped through John's veins as he tried to bleed his anger through his hands. After half an hour of lashing out, John's punches became sloppy and desperate, as his anger, hurt and frustration spilled over. He pummelled relentlessly, staggering as the force of each blow reverberated against his weary body. He punched until his hands burned, his wrists ached from the jarring, and perspiration he could ill afford to lose, ran down his face, and permeated his scrubs.
So intent was John on unburdening himself that he didn't hear the gym door open, or notice three figures quietly enter the room.
-oOo-
Carson strolled purposefully onward, Kate at his side. Both remained tight-lipped in concern at what they were going to find.
As soon as they had been informed that the colonel had been found in the gym, Carson and Kate had been pleased; he was alive and kicking, or punching as the case may be. Carson had asked that Ronon meet them by the entrance to the gym, and that everyone else stay well away, until they had assessed John's condition and decided on the best way forward.
"Docs," Ronon greeted the pair on their arrival.
"Ronon. I want you to stay behind us. We may need you to help intervene if things go a bit pear shaped. I don't expect he'll be able to put up much of a fight, but with the colonel, you never can tell," Carson grimaced.
Ronon grunted, and patted Carson's arm.
"Don't worry. I won't let him hurt himself, or anybody else."
The three entered the gym stealthily, and looked on.
Carson sighed as he took in the sight in front of him. Even from the twenty or so feet he was away from John, Carson could see that his patient was a mess.
John was barely standing, punching desperately and erratically, blood mixed with sweat dripping from abused knuckles onto the floor. John's face was sweaty and pale, his hair plastered to his forehead, and Carson could hear his wheezing, laboured breaths.
Walking forward cautiously, Carson made sure that he was in John's line of sight.
"Colonel?" he called quietly.
Either John didn't hear or chose not to, Carson couldn't be sure which was the case, but either way, the man in front of him continued to punch pathetically.
Carson stepped next to John, and reached out to touch the man, who was now punching, even as he clung to the bag for dear life.
"Colonel? Listen Son, I think you've had enough of that now. Let's go and sit over on the bench for a few minutes," Carson soothed.
John's answer was swift and brutal; he lashed out, punching Carson firmly on the jaw, sending the doctor flying back, medical bag in tow.
Kate moved forward, while Ronon went to haul up the cursing Scot.
"I should've bloody well seen that one coming," he muttered indignantly.
Kate looked nervously back towards Carson and Ronon, and Carson rubbed his jaw, while simultaneously nodding at the psychologist.
"I'm fine," he murmured in an embarrassed voice.
"Colonel? John? " Kate's soft voice drew the attention of the man in question away from his tirade of lacklustre punches. "I think you should stop now. It's getting late, and you need to get some rest," she said calmly.
"No," John ground out between punches.
"Why won't you stop?" Kate asked softly.
John groaned, but managed a half-smile.
"'Cos I don't feel better yet," he answered between hitched breaths.
Carson moved forward again, with Ronon slightly behind him.
"I know, Lad, but the thing is, you're very tired, and your hands are a bit of a mess. Why don't you let me take care of them in the infirmary? I can patch you up, get you a nice cool drink of water, and you can get some rest. You must be tired," Carson asked quietly.
John nodded, but continued to half-punch and cling to the bulky punch bag.
"I'm tired. Thirsty too," he huffed. "Want to punch some…more…Kolya," he explained as if what he was doing was the most logical thing in the world to want to do.
Kate studied John carefully before talking again.
"John? Are you trying to hurt Kolya, to make him pay for what he did to you?" she questioned him in a slightly condescending voice.
John laughed hoarsely, and coughed as his dry throat complained at the action.
"Do I…look…delusional?" he ground out between lungfuls of air.
"No, of course not, Lad. But I'm starting to get a wee bit concerned about you. You've been missing a long while, and I'll bet you've not had anything to eat or drink in that time," Carson stated in concern. "You also need someone to look at your hands."
John stopped momentarily and looked at Carson.
"Why? I've…only been punching," he answered in soft gasps.
"John, will you look at your hands? You've not been wearing gloves, and you've punched them to a bloody pulp," Carson scolded his patient.
John took his hands away from the punch bag and swayed as he lost his support.
Eyeing his swollen and torn knuckles, he shrugged matter-of-factly.
"Huh. That was a bit…er, stupid?" he offered, in a slightly contrite voice.
"Aye. It was," Carson agreed. "I'm going to call for a gurney, and you're going to lie down on it like a model patient and let me take care of you. Is that understood?"
John grabbed onto the bag again as he started to weave.
"Don't think so, Doc," he answered pleasantly. "Haven't finished here yet."
Carson exhaled, and stepped back. Turning to Kate, he shrugged.
"Any ideas?" he whispered.
Kate grimaced, and shook her head.
"I don't think there's any point trying to reason with him. He obviously feels he has to punch his feelings out of him. He's dealing with this his own way, but he doesn't look too good on it. I think it's probably time get out the sedatives, and have Ronon grab him."
Carson nodded in agreement.
"That's what I was thinking. Other than his hands, dehydration and exhaustion, he looks pretty much intact, so I don't think Ronon can hurt him."
"Don't worry, Doc. I'll grab him, you stick him. He'll be safely in your infirmary in a few minutes," Ronon assured Carson.
Carson withdrew a syringe, and loaded it with medication from a small bottle. Nodding to Ronon, he capped the syringe, and put it in his lab coat pocket.
Ronon walked slowly towards John.
"Sheppard. You gonna make this easy for me, or am I going to have to do this the hard way?" he asked gruffly.
John lifted his forehead from the punch bag and smiled drunkenly.
"I'm not coming to the infirmary, big guy, and I don't want to hurt you. So, back off, okay?"
Ronon laughed heartily, and John looked at him in surprise.
"You couldn't hurt one of Carson's little mice, right now Sheppard," he joked as he edged nearer to his target.
John let go of the bag and started to back away, wobbling on unsteady legs as he did so.
"I managed to plant a good one on Carson," John replied, slightly indignant, as he continued to back away from his giant friend. "Er, sorry about that, Doc," John apologised as an afterthought.
"That's not saying much," Ronon laughed, distracting an insulted John and lunging towards him.
John, even in his exhausted state, turned out to be far more agile than his appearance let on, and he dove out of Ronon's way, scrambling onto his feet and heading toward the door of the gym, leaving Carson and Kate standing mouths agape.
"Sheppard!" Ronon called in an annoyed voice. "Don't make me shoot you again."
John ignored the Satedan and ran unsteadily towards the door.
Ronon shook his head, unholstered his pistol, aimed at the retreating man, and fired.
John immediately face planted the floor and Carson ran quickly and efficiently to his patient.
"I thought we'd agreed you'd grab him, and I'd stick him," Carson said in an exasperated voice.
Ronon shrugged insouciantly.
"Didn't think he was gonna go for that, Doc."
Carson tapped his ear piece and called for a gurney. Turning John over, he groaned as he saw the lump on John's forehead started to form.
"This was the last thing he needed. We did a great job, didn't we?" he asked rhetorically.
Ronon shrugged again, and grimaced, before re-holstering his gun, and crouching down next to Carson.
"He gonna be okay?"
Carson sighed as he started to take John's pulse.
"Well, he's obviously dehydrated, exhausted and has made a bloody mess of his hands – literally. I wouldn't be surprised if he's broken a few bones, and he'll certainly need suturing. His pulse is racing, his breathing's a little erratic, and add to that him being stunned and cracking his head on the floor– well, I think I've got my work cut out for me. I have a feeling he's not going to be too happy when he decides to next grace us with his presence," Carson answered bluntly.
The gym doors opening heralded the arrival of a gurney and medical team, and John was quickly and carefully moved to the litter, before being swept briskly away, Carson, Kate and Ronon following behind.
"Why do you keep doing this to me, Colonel?" Carson whispered as he shook his head and rubbed his sore jaw. "You have to do things your own way, don't you? No matter the cost to your own well being. What am I going to do with you, son?"
"You're going to make him better, Doc," Ronon answered gruffly.
Carson turned to look at the Satedan, and smiled sadly.
"I just hope I can, Ronon."
Tbc.