Blood Rituals – Waking Up Is Hard To Do
by Angel Ruse

Sheppard, Beckett, McKay and Teyla gate to a world with a deadly secret—will Sheppard and Beckett become the victims of genetic exploitation? Sheppard and Carson whump. No Slash.

When Teyla awakened she found she wasn't alone. She knew this neither by vision, nor by hearing any telltale sounds. It was by trained instinct she picked up on another presence in the room with her. She didn't move right away, or give any indication she had roused, waiting to see if the intruder would betray any clues about her surroundings to her so she could decide how to react.

Whoever it was gave her no such luxury. Her own catalogue of sensations suggested she had probably been taken to an infirmary or somewhere else with a bed, for the surface she was on was comfortable. The room was warm, but quiet. If this were an infirmary, there couldn't be many other patients.

Teyla opened her eyes and saw herself reflected back from thousands of shards of glass imbedded in the stone ceiling. It was like looking at the floor after a glass had shattered. She searched the tiny pieces of mirror and saw she was indeed in a bedroom. It was lavish and comfortable, unlike anything she had ever slept in before.

And she found who it was that was with her. Near the window Indaali stood, looking out, hands folded behind his back. He seemed to be the picture of serenity.

Teyla pushed herself up, feeling her muscles balk at being forced to work. "What happened?" she asked, remembering the sudden tension at the dinner table.

If Indaali had been startled by her voice, he did not show it. He turned. "The drug we gave you in your dinner took effect. It becomes potent when exposed to adrenaline, you see. When you and your friends were upset by my suggestion the drug in your blood reacted, knocking you out."

"Why have you done this to us?" Teyla demanded, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. "We came in friendship and you would betray our trust? Why?"

The Minister sat down in a chair on the opposite side of her. He looked as if he were searching for the right words to say. "I regret that. I truly do, but you must understand. I could not let you slip from my fingers if you refused my offer."

"You cannot simply expect us to trade a person's life to you for supplies."

"Oh," he responded with a quiet smile, "I assure you I can." His demeanor unnerved her. Teyla glanced at the doorway, and he followed her gaze. "You may leave. Any time you wish. No one will stop you. But will you leave without compensation?"

Teyla jerked her attention back towards him. "Compensation for what? Where are Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Beckett?"

"They are dead," Indaali said firmly.

She shook her head. "I don't believe that."

The Minister gazed at her indifferently. "Your beliefs are irrelevant. Accept the supplies you wished traded, return to your Atlantis, or remain here forever if that is your will. As I said, no one will stop you. No matter what your choice is."

He stood and left her alone then, his charming manner gone, the friendship he had shown before broken. She watched him exit the door, watched the door fall shut and sat there stunned. He was lying about Sheppard and Beckett; she could not believe otherwise. But why? And where did he hide them, that he would be so confident as to allow her to remain here freely?

One thing was certain. She was not going to leave without finding out exactly what had happened to her companions. But when she searched for her radio to call for reinforcements, she couldn't find it. She looked at the window, at the fast dimming sunlight. Why hadn't McKay returned yet?

When Beckett awakened he noticed a distinct difference in his comfort levels now as opposed to before. Where once he had been sitting in a warm, cushy chair and eating a very, very well prepared breakfast, he was now lying on his back on a hard surface feeling groggy. To his credit, he did try to open his eyes right away, but his lids wouldn't cooperate without being pushed. When he finally could pull his eyes open he looked up into a dull, stone ceiling gazing down on him through the dimness of the glow lamps nearby.

Getting his limbs to oblige was an entirely different story compared to his eyes. Carson lifted his arm to rub sleepily at his face, an action that took a great deal of effort with as heavy as his arms felt. Draping his wrist over the bridge of his nose and once again closing his eyes, he was tempted to just go back to sleep and let whatever situation was unfolding unfold without his help.

But he couldn't do that. He knew he couldn't, no matter how pleasant it sounded. Carson could tell he was on a bunk, so the first step to getting himself going would be to get off the rough bed. It would be slow going, else he might end up sprawling on the floor because he was too weak and unable to handle any quick motions.

He opened his eyes again and turned his head to survey his surroundings. His vision met a wall of bars through which he could see Colonel Sheppard on a bunk, not giving any indications that he was conscious.

Beckett pushed himself into a sitting position and dropped his heavy legs off the bunk. Rubbing his eyes again, he leaned against the cold wall at his back. Whatever it was he had ingested at breakfast packed quite a punch. Not that there weren't times during his busy, stressful days that being so thoroughly knocked out was a great idea, but he didn't rank having it done on an alien world among the best of choices. He gazed fuzzily at the Colonel, trying to recall exactly what had happened. Indaali had been questioning him about possible trade and…oh yes. The Ancient gene. Carson groaned.

At the back of his cell a window caught his sight. He was hopeful for about half a second before he realized there were bars keeping him in. The outside was shadowy. He could see dark roses that looked black in the straining light. Dark roses…and a figure shrouded in black, watching him. He gasped, startled by its sudden appearance, but then it was gone before he could get a better look. It gave him an eerie feeling all over.

He braced himself against the wall and stood, an act that nearly sent him back down onto the bunk again, but he held firm. Carson made his way across the small cell to where Shappard was and said, "John," a little quieter than it had sounded in his head. He cleared his throat and tried again. "John!"

Sheppard was on his stomach, arms tucked beneath him and his face troubled even in sleep. He looked so dead asleep that Carson started to worry just a bit. Reaching between the bars, he felt for a pulse and found a steady, if very restful, beat. "Colonel Sheppard," he practically yelled into the other man's ear, followed by a vigorous shaking.

John grunted, but didn't rouse. Carson folded his arms against the bars and rested his forehead, repeating, "Colonel! Please, wake up. We've got a little problem here."

Knitting his brow, Sheppard managed to open his eyes and look up at Carson before closing them again. "A minute," he mumbled.

Beckett sighed. "You're goin' to fall asleep again, y'know."

"That's the idea."

"A'right," the doctor relented, turning to lean on his side. "Guess there's nothin' we could really do anyway." He glanced across the way and had to look twice. "Ah, John...?"

"What?" Sheppard asked tiredly, peeking up at Carson again.

The doctor met the John's gaze. "We're not alone."

John looked at Carson a moment, then started to push himself up slowly. He looked much like Carson felt—as if he'd been forced through a marathon. "Whatever that stuff was," he murmured, shaking his dizzy head, but he didn't finish his thought. He sat on the edge of his bunk and leaned his hands against his knees, head down as he tried to wash the feelings away.

Beckett glanced back at the two black eyes watching him from the shadows across the hallway. Whoever it was, she was hunkered down at the furthest point in her cell, arms wrapped around her knees and head leaned against it in a pose of fear. She was a young girl, sickly thin, and wore her hair like a veil around the sides of her face as if it would hide her. Carson took a step towards the front of his cell, then stopped abruptly as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He rubbed at his forehead and said, "No need to be afraid, love."

The girl hid her eyes from his gaze. Rubbing his neck, Sheppard turned his head to look at her. "Yeah. Kinda looks like we're in the same boat. Got a name?"

She peered at the Colonel curiously. "Iryll," she whispered.

"Well, that's a pretty name, Iryll. My name's John." He motioned at Beckett. "That's Carson. He won't bite. Can you tell me where we are?"

She seemed to shrink back even further. The two men only just heard her when she said, "Winnowing Grove."

"Winnowing Grove?" Beckett repeated, easing himself back down onto his cot. "What sort of place is this, lass?"

"Don't you know?" Iryll asked him bleakly. Beckett shook his head and she took a deep breath before replying, "Winnowing Grove is where they drink."

Sheppard got up from his bunk and wandered to the front of his cell to see the girl better. "Drink?" he repeated. "They who?"

"The people from Khon'Sora." She seemed to shiver at the name. "This is where they bring you when they need your blood."

Both men exchanged glances. Sheppard waved his hands, trying to absorb what she was telling him. "'Kay listen, we're not exactly from around here, Iryll. We don't know much about your world. Do you know what they're planning to do to us?" She nodded over her folded arms. "Can you explain it to us?"

"They drink your blood." Her words were chilling to the two men. Iryll continued softly, as if speaking louder would bring those she spoke of. "The nobles, they drink your blood because they say it makes them stronger, that they can't live without it. They come to the village every week and demand a sacrifice."

"And you're that sacrifice?" Beckett whispered, gazing at her sadly as she nodded. He turned his eyes to Sheppard. "We've walked into a nest of vampires, that's what we've done! Bloody…"

"Keep your knickers on, Doc," John replied moodily, gripping the bars that kept him locked into his cell. He pulled to gauge the strength and found them up to the task of holding him. Sheppard cursed.

Iryll stood up and now that Carson could see her, he figured her to be no more than fifteen. Fifteen and ready to be taken so that someone could kill her and drink her blood. He shook his head, trying to comprehend what kind of person would sacrifice a child like that. Iryll came to stand at the front of her cell, watching him curiously. "You saw the dark one, didn't you?"

The doctor nodded slowly. "Aye, I saw it."

"Seen what?" Sheppard interrupted.

Carson pointed at a matching window in the Colonel's cell. "I was bein' watched earlier. D'you know who it was, Iryll?"

She shook her head. "I see them sometimes. They look in at me, but never show their faces." Her words left both men feeling uneasy. "Are you hungry?" she asked Carson, reaching into a pocket on her worn dress. She held out what looked like a loaf of dark bread. "There's a nice lady that brings me things."

Beckett shook his head. "No, love. You eat it."

Sheppard had heard something else besides her offer, however. "A nice lady?" he repeated, looking across the hall. "Who is this nice lady?"

"I think she's one of the guards," Iryll replied. She leaned her head against the bars dejectedly. "She won't let you out, if that's what you're thinking. She couldn't let me out."

Sheppard opened his mouth to say more, but a noise from down the hall warned him to keep silent. Two large men wearing guard uniforms came, looking into each cell like demons searching for souls unworthy for paradise. The Colonel decided he must be a sinner, because when they looked at him their interest increased. One pressed a key into the lock to his cell and they both entered, looming over him with intimidating stances. "I don't suppose we could talk about this?" he asked, looking between them.

Without warning one of them backhanded him, sending him sprawling to the side. Unprepared for such a blow, John fell to the floor, but before he could get up again hands like steel traps grabbed him.

"Where are you takin' him?" Carson demanded, voice panicked.

Neither guard replied. Sheppard struggled as they jerked him out of the cell. He was still too weak to fight back. "Don't worry," he said to the doctor, knowing it sounded stupid even as he said it. They hauled him away and disappeared, without much struggle and without giving any hint of their plans.

Holding the bars in her slender hands, trying to see down the dark hallway, Iryll sighed softly and said, "Poor John."

A/N: Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys. Now that I can actually upload finally! ;-)

Email: angelruseATgmailDOTcom
Archive: Go for it.
Disclaimer: Don't own the fine hineys of Shep or Beckett. Don't mean I can't imagine I do.