A/N: This one's for Titan5. Here's hoping Murphy takes a hike!
The Weight of an Oath – Part 11
The light that Torca was holding to illuminate the awful wound on John Sheppard's side wavered wildly as the man screamed. Dust particles spiraled through the light, and Torca closed her eyes as she tried to steady her hand. Doctor Beckett had not been happy about the dust; his voice had held irritation and desperation only moments ago when he had asked if there was anywhere else to go. But there was no place else to go. No place else where Torca or any of the others could go to do what had to be done.
Beckett had been forced to use a localized anesthetic to treat Sheppard since he had been worried that whatever other medicines that he carried or that she could offer would only further depress his oxygen intake. But as the Atlantean screamed and fought when the anesthetic was injected, Torca worried that the man would flounder further into shock.
She clutched the light, and thought about her father as Sheppard screamed beside her. Thoughts of her father had been so much with her these past few days and being in this place again after staying away for so long only brought his memory closer to her. The stirrings of a pain that she had thought long ago buried began to rise within her, and she closed her eyes tighter against it and wished it to leave her be.
Gradually, Sheppard's shouting lessened, and she was able to open her eyes again. Doctor Beckett was crouched very close to the Colonel's wound, working furiously to lance the abscess and clean the deeper tissues without causing further trauma. She turned away to look down upon the face of the wounded man and was startled to see that he was still conscious. Colonel Sheppard's eyes locked onto hers, and she was unable to turn from the pain she saw there. He muttered something, but the words were unintelligible since the oxygen mask muffled the sound. His breath hitched and then continued in a rapid rhythm of pain and weakness. She smiled kindly and then wiped his sweaty brow with the sleeve of her shirt. She thought she saw him smile uncertainly from beneath the mask, and then his eyes closed. She assumed that he had lapsed into unconsciousness, but she then saw that his hands remained clasped into tight fists and knew that he was still consciously struggling against pain.
She turned away from him to look at the others. Their distress was obvious. Even the stoic Ronon who still scared her despite the grudging truce that he had granted her, could not entirely conceal his concern. Doctor McKay would not even look at the proceedings and had bent his head down into the arms that tightly encircled Sheppard's left leg. The physicist's back shuddered when Sheppard suddenly moaned, and Torca wondered at the bizarre friendship that must have developed between the prickly McKay and less serious Sheppard. She knew very little about either of the two men but enough to understand that theirs was an unlikely camaraderie. Teyla's expressive face eventually drew her attention, and she was shocked to see the woman smile encouragingly at her. Torca felt a different kind of pain upon seeing the woman's sympathetic expression, because she could not help but feel that she did not deserve such consideration. She was, after all, partly to blame for the disheartening status of the Colonel's condition.
She turned away from the offer of compassion and instead focused her attention to the study of the room, recalling how beautiful it once had been. Thoughts of her father returned, and she remembered the last time she had seen him in this room. She had been no more than five years of age, and he had been handsome and strong and her entire world. She remembered that he had been dressed in his best suit, and that he had been the grandest in a room full of exceptionally grand guests. She recalled him laughing and happy and kissing her beautiful, not yet bitter mother on the cheek. But most of all, she remembered dancing with her father, and of how safe and satisfying it had felt to lightly step upon his well polished shoes, and how, with her feet upon his, he had effortlessly spun her across the beautifully polished floor.
The pain threatened again, and she coldly shoved it and all the memories away. They had not been such a nuisance for many, many years, and she could not afford to deliberate upon them right now despite the fact that they were in part the reason why she had initiated the Atlanteans' escape. She would not think upon the days when her father was alive, because if she did, the other memories would come, and she had spent her entire life setting aside the pain of those dark reminiscences.
Her efforts to draw her mind from the past were aided by the sound of Doctor Beckett's voice.
"It's finished," he said as a simple announcement to the others.
"Thank god," McKay muttered. He did not sit up but remained bent over Sheppard's left shoe. Despite the man's insulting nature and the irritation he caused her, Torca felt a pang of concern for him. She suddenly had the idea that the man kept as many emotions hidden from the outside world as she, herself tried to conceal.
"We must leave very soon," she told the doctor with a voice that sounded slow and dull to her own ears. "The safety of this place is limited."
"Aye, I understand that. But the Colonel is shocky, and I don't think it's wise to move him just yet. I would also like to treat him with that injectable oxygen that you told me about before we leave, and I think it's best to do that while I can constantly monitor his vital signs."
"How long?" Torca asked. She felt they had been here too long already but knew that what the doctor was saying held truth.
"Only a little while. Half an hour at most. I understand the need to leave, but you have to give us at least half an hour."
Torca bit her lip again and for reasons that were not clear to her, shared a questioning look with Teyla. The other woman nodded serenely, and Torca felt relief as the knot in her chest loosened a bit.
"I'll walk the perimeter," Ronon said, sensing that a reasonable decision had been made. "The rest of you should try to get some sleep," he added before he left.
Torca thought that the tall and threatening man's suggestion held merit, but knew that within the halls of this room, sleep would never come for her.
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Sheppard opened his eyes to darkness that was faintly illuminated by unearthly moonlight. He looked about and recognized the room but very little else. He felt better but a long way from healthy and was relieved to find that he could draw in breaths that were, at the very least, satisfying.
"Your friends are resting," said a strange woman who was sitting beside him. Her quiet voice startled him, but he was too weak to move from the supine position in which he had woken. He drew in a stilted breath to call out, but the movement of her long fingers to his lips served to quiet him. "Let them sleep," she said kindly. "They are tired and do not have much time to rest. Leave them to their peace for a little while longer."
"Are they…okay?" he asked and noted that despite feeling better, his voice was still nothing more than a choked whisper.
"They are fine. Just concerned for you," she said. She drew her hand down to check his pulse and seemed satisfied with the result.
"Who are…you?" John asked. He tried to move again, but pain in his side blossomed and spread, so he lay back against the cold floor with a moan.
"Please, do not move," Torca advised and placed a commanding hand on his chest. He coughed against the weight of that pressure, and she immediately released him with a look of apology strong in her eyes.
"Who are you?" John repeated.
"I am Torca. You do not remember me?"
He didn't, at first. His mind was covered in a thick fog where memories of recent events could not be clearly seen. He tried to make sense of the limited information that his brain was offering, and then had a sudden recollection of Rodney's sharp, admonishing voice.
"Don't let McKay…get to you," John said with a laugh that transformed into a desperate gasp for air. He feebly waved off her concern and continued. "He's a pain in…the ass, but…ultimately harmless."
Her responding smile was only momentarily bright, and she turned away from him as if trying to conceal some emotion that he could not decipher.
"Why are you doing…this?" he asked her as events became clearer. He had suddenly remembered being told about the Oath and could not help but wonder why this slip of a girl would be willing to sacrifice everything she held dear for a stranger from another world.
"You remind me of someone," she blurted out, and he didn't know if her words were actually in response to his question. She momentarily focused her large, sad eyes on him before turning away again to stare at the fractured moonlight that streamed from the crystal ceiling. The light reflected off her face, and he saw that her cheeks were shining with tears.
"Who?" he asked, because she was upset, and he remembered enough to know that he owed her his life.
She seemed to hesitate, but it was only for an instant. She tried to hide her reluctance by wiping the tears from her face, but he knew better. At the moment, she was very vulnerable, and he couldn't help but wonder why.
"My father," she finally said, and a look of mortification spread across her face as she lost control of the strong emotion that she had tried to conceal from him. She drew her hands across her face in a final attempt to hide her grief, but her quiet sobs could not be contained.
Feeling a familiar, sympathetic ache of his own, he painfully stretched out his hand to gently stroke her hair. He only offered comfort for what he sensed was an enduring wound and the gift of a person interested enough to hear about her sorrow.
The house belonged to her family, but when her father had opposed the Oath, it had been burned to the ground with only the ballroom miraculously left intact. She had been too young to truly understand the issue at the time, but later, she had covertly sought out information about the proceedings. Those willing to talk about her father were few, and determining the reason for his treasonous behavior had been a dangerous task. But she had eventually discovered that her father had voiced doubts about the ethicality of the Oath. He had argued that the methods of protection were as important as the reasons for the protection. There had been more, but not one of the witnesses would say anything else to her. Even the limited information that she had garnered had been given to her grudgingly.
For his transgressions, the man had been ceremonially stripped of all his wealth and power, and his remaining family had been shunned as a disgrace to Netharia. His name had been erased from all records, and then he had been put to a slow, painful death as his wife and five year old daughter had looked on.
She would say nothing further, and John wondered at how she had managed to re-enter into the society that had once shunned her. He wanted to know why she would choose to provide for the world that had left her life in such shambles, but before he could even draw the breath to ask his questions, she had collected herself. Her closed and distanced expression was a strong indication to him that the discussion was over. She wiped her face again to erase the last vestiges of emotion before calmly taking his wrist and checking his pulse again.
He closed his eyes against the burden of her pain, and a heaviness that had nothing to do with his labored breathing settled into his chest. He did not imagine that its weight would allow him much peace anytime soon.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, but she either did not hear him or chose to ignore him. The result was the same.
She frowned and looked at him crossly. "Your pulse is too fast. I will get Doctor Beckett," she said and disappeared from his side.
John tried to steady himself in the minutes he had before Beckett came to look him over and then, more than likely, yell at him for his sorry state. He was saved from the Scotsman inevitable temper when Ronon came into the room before Beckett could be roused. The ex-Runner saw that John was conscious and then grunted with approval.
"You're awake," the Satedan said calmly.
"Apparently," John wheezed. Ronon seemed edgy, and John sensed that something was wrong.
"We have company," Ronon said, confirming John's deduction.
"Christ. Help me up," Sheppard said with a scowl.
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