A/N: I'm so glad y'all are enjoying this. Poor John ...
Chapter 6
John was herded through another section of the infirmary before exiting into a short, curved corridor. The few people he saw only gave them quick, furtive glances, then went back to their work. For some reason, that worried him. Once they were in the hall, he turned his head and studied the young lieutenant as he paced him to the right and one step behind. The kid had a strip of tape across his nose and two impressive black eyes. "Hey, uh, sorry about the nose," he said and offered an apologetic smile. "I really thought you were trying to kill me at the time. No hard feelings, huh?" Hell, he could play civilized even if these jokers couldn't.
The muscles along Ford's jaw bunched and he only cursorily glanced at John. Then after several steps in silence he finally said, "You move fast for an old man."
"Hey!" John said. But he let it drop since it was obvious that was about all the forgiveness he was going to get from the kid. And besides, forty was not old. Hell, in his family, he was still pretty much in his late teens, if he really wanted to argue about it. He sighed. "Yeah, well, I keep in shape."
One of the guards snorted, but that was the only reaction he got from the crew.
The hall straightened out and ran for a long distance. The walls were painted in mottled blue-green and had odd ornamentation done in coppers and earth tones. There were even odd columns filled with bubbling water interspaced here and there between potted plants, and the affect was actually kind of nice. The doors were all offset with trapezoidal cut-outs at the top and fitted with stained glass, and the whole set up made him think it was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright after a hit of acid. John paid very close attention to the numbers of cross corridors and doors they passed, then not even a quarter of the way down the hall they turned right into another corridor. It led into an open atrium and was apparently the center of the complex. Potted plants lined the walls, a bank of three elevators were to his left, and straight ahead he could see what must be the mess through a set of rapidly closing doors. The person who came out was dressed in the khaki BDU's, but the panels in his jacket were sky blue. He had glasses, a high hairline, and hair that seemed on the verge of flying everywhere at the slightest provocation. The guy was also staring at him in surprise, and John didn't get a chance to see what flag was on his sleeve when he was distracted by the smell of food that followed him. He closed his eyes and inhaled, and he didn't think it was possible his abused stomach would growl, but it did. And breakfast was an awful long time ago …. "Say, I don't suppose we could make a detour?" he asked his herders as he gestured towards the doors.
Ford grunted and directed him towards the elevators. "No."
"C'mon, not even for a sandwich? Duck in, duck out, that's all I'm asking."
Ford ignored him as he jabbed the call button for the elevator. "I'm to take you directly to your room. Orders."
"I'm starving here, Lieutenant. A starving guest, I might add." The kid remained impassive, and John sighed. Then he noticed the short guy had stopped and was standing there, still watching him. He nodded at him, the guy nodded back, dug in his pocket, and pulled out a Powerbar. He tossed it to John. John caught it as the elevator opened. "Thanks," he said.
The guy waved a hand casually and continued on his way.
As John stepped into the elevator he tore open the bar and shoved half of it in his mouth before it could get confiscated. "So, am I going to get dinner at least?" he asked around the mouthful. It was rude, but he was hungry damnit.
"Eighteen-hundred hours," Ford replied as he took up a position next to him. The two guards backed into the corners opposite John.
"Black tie or casual?" John asked, shoved the rest of the chocolate Powerbar into his mouth, and checked his watch – two and a half hours. He could make it that long. Piece of cake. Then he grimaced as he thought about cake. Ford sighed and his jaw bunched again. Okay, his attempt at lightening things for the sake of his own sanity wasn't working and he gave up. "Escorted, I presume," he said after he chewed and swallowed.
"Of course," Ford replied.
John sighed, crumpled up the foil wrapper, and shoved it in his pocket. They rode up four floors in silence, and he noted there were buttons for three more above that and four more below the mess level before the door opened again and he was herded out. They went to the right down another curving corridor until they finally stopped at room four-oh-three. Ford swiped his hand down a lighted panel and it slid open silently. John barely kept himself from saying cool and cautiously stepped into the room. A quick glance around and his first impression was Holiday Inn, and when he turned to say see ya later the door was already closed. And he had absolutely no doubt it was locked and the two guards were now posted on the other side.
But he still had to try.
John swiped his hand down the door control a few times and really wasn't too surprised when nothing happened. Then he tried to get his fingernails in the seam where the two halves met and pry the thing open. All he succeeded in doing was break the nail on his middle left finger down to the quick. He backed up and bellowed in frustration at the door, and even kicked it a few times.
Okay, that was really mature, John, he thought as he ran his hands through his hair and tried to calm down. He aimed one last kick at it and left a smudge of dirt on the copper panels. Didn't help the situation, but damn it made him feel a whole hell of a lot better. No doubt the clowns on the other side were getting a good laugh at his antics. He finally faced the room and the first things he headed for were the heavy curtains on the wall opposite the door. He grabbed them and flung them open.
"Oh, fuck me," he groaned. Past his filthy, gaping reflection, and out past the tops of pine trees was nothing but overcast sky and the choppy gray surface of the ocean.
With his hands still curled in the curtains, he slumped forward. His forehead met the glass and it gave a deep, melodious bong. He could see that the glass was easily four inches thick from where it was seated in a wall that was at least two feet thick itself. About three stories down was a roof, and beyond that exposed stone and the edge of the forest.
John put a hand flat against the cool glass. He wasn't even going to try to put a chair through it – he was pretty sure that would be nothing but a lesson in futility. He stared at the sea until the bleak sight threatened to turn the lump he felt in his throat into something other than mild nausea, then he turned his back to the window and plunked his ass down on the wide window ledge. He leaned forward, braced his hands on his knees, and took in the room numbly.
The wall with the window was faintly curved, but the rest of the room was angular. To his left was what had to be a queen sized bed with a heavy comforter that was several shades darker than the blue-green walls but lighter than the industrial carpet. The bed was bracketed by two lamps on bed stands, and thank God there was just blank wall and not some tacky framed farm scene above the headboard. He would really have no choice but to scream, then.
To the right, and in the corner, was a big desk and built in shelves. He could see computer ports in the wall, and the office chair looked brand new. Mounted on the wall directly opposite of the bed was a flat television that had to be three feet across. To the left and right of the doors were short dressers, and a big padded chair and ottoman and more shelves filled the corner that shared the wall with the television. A short hallway went past the bed, and John got up to go see what had to be the bathroom. There was a small linen closet on one side of the hall, a clothes closet on the other, and when the door slid open he saw it had stuff hanging in it.
He pulled out the dark blue-gray jacket and looked at it. The panels in its front were dark red, and there were two of them hanging there. There were also four pairs of pants, and when he checked the tags he saw they were his size. Gee, imagine that. On the floor were two pair of military issue boots. He returned the jacket and closed the door. Then out of curiosity he had to go check the dressers. Only one had anything in it, and only partially filled three drawers at the most. One held socks, the other underwear (boxers and again his size), and the third a half dozen black t-shirts and just as many long sleeved lightweight fleece shirts. And they were all folded in a neat, orderly, slightly OCD military fashion.
John started to come out of his numbness and decided to really search the room. All of the heavy furniture was bolted down, as well as the television and lamps, and the bed sat on a solid pedestal. And it only took him five minutes at the most to find the security cameras. The first was in the air vent above the sweet tv, the other in the corner by the hallway. "They better have not bugged the bathroom," he muttered as he stomped in and hit the lights.
And froze.
"Oh, man," he said, and it was practically a moan. The room was probably as big as his kitchen and was all stone tile and chrome and pale wood. The long granite counter top had two sinks and a solid wall of mirrors above it. Behind the door was a shower stall the size of his bathroom, and next to that a separate tub. It wasn't very long, but it was deep, and when he stepped up to it and looked down he almost whimpered – the thing had jets, for Christ's sake, and he was pretty sure his knees wouldn't stick out of the water when it was full. The toilet sat behind a little privacy wall, and across from it was a cupboard stocked with towels that were definitely not like the ones he remembered having in the Air Force.
"Jeez, these research guys like their bathrooms," he muttered and felt a little pang of jealousy. But that disappeared a second later when he remembered how he came to be here, at Atlantis, at a frickin' top secret research facility. He quickly searched the drawers and cupboards under the sinks and found everything he'd need. Shit, there was even a box of condoms. That was obviously a gross oversight on somebody's part, and he smiled ruefully. Because he knew he was basically in a prison.
But boy howdy was it a fully stocked and posh one.
When he stood back up he regarded his scruffy reflection. He hadn't shaved in three days, his clothes were stiff from dirt and sweat, and his eyes were a bit on the wild side. Then something else caught his eye, and a moment later he up on the counter on his knees. Sure enough, there was a tiny camera in one of the light fixtures. He leaned over and opened one of the drawers, fished out a box of band-aids, pulled one of the little round ones out, and slapped it over the lens. He checked all the other lights thoroughly, then every other square inch of the bathroom. That was the only one.
Now that he had a little bit of privacy, John stripped and decided to take full advantage of the amenities. Hell, might as well, because deep down he was pretty sure it wasn't going to last. He just left his dirty clothes in a pile in the corner.
The shower turned out to be one of those things with the multi-level shower heads that had potential for a lot of, well, personal time, and as far as he could tell an endless supply of hot water. The shampoo and soap in their fancy little dispensers were definitely not off the shelf stuff. The bandage on his arm pretty much fell off by the time he had to call it quits or fall asleep on the floor and risk drowning like a turkey in a downpour. The scrape wasn't really that bad – looked worse than it was – so he decided to leave it open to the air. It would be scabbed up soon enough anyway. And screw shaving. He wasn't going to go through that much effort for these assholes.
Though that Doc Keller was kinda cute ….
He was heading back into the main room to grab some clean underwear and scrubbing his hair with a towel when he caught a new scent. He quickly lowered the towel and saw the woman he puked on sitting in the overstuffed chair, and from her position she pretty much had an unimpeded view of everything. "You people have a hard time with the concept of knocking, don't you?" he said angrily as he just loosely held the towel in front of him. "Here, let me demonstrate." He rapped on the wall a few times. "See, not so hard. You do it on doors. Then you wait for the person on the other side to say 'come in'. Simple, isn't it?"
The woman smiled at him. Whereas Kolya's was reptilian, this woman's slow smile was predatory. And he knew predatory when he saw it. He had planned on apologizing for hurling on her, but that little action made him think otherwise, and his empty stomach knotted.
"You are amusing, Forty-seven," she said and uncurled from the chair.
What the fuck? "John. My name is John Sheppard," he said as he watched her stand. She wasn't tall, but she had long graceful legs that he noticed right away. Under different circumstances he'd be appreciating them, too, but the vibes he was getting off of her killed any thoughts in that direction. He was too busy puking his guts out before to notice she was totally bugfuck insane. "What's with the forty-seven crap?" he asked and forced himself to not retreat as she sauntered up to him.
"That is the lab number I've assigned you," she said as she stopped not three feet from him and gave him an appraising once over. Apparently she liked what she saw because her smile grew more pronounced. But then it disappeared, only to be replaced by an openmouthed look of bogus surprise. "Oh, you're modest!"
The color rising along John's neck and ears was far from embarrassment. It was because he was outraged. "My, my lab number?" he croaked out, his voice rising a little at the end. Oh, this is so not good, he thought. He wondered how much longer he'd live if he just reached out and snapped her neck right now. Not very long, he guessed, but it might be worth it if this crazy bitch had anything to do with why he was here.
His thoughts must have been registering on his face because she took a couple steps back and pouted. "I've upset you."
John found her pout about as real as her …. No, wait, those did look real. Okay, about as real as Kolya's earlier concern for his well being.
"Modest and sensitive. How interesting. I am going to enjoy studying you, Forty-seven."
Now, snap her fucking neck NOW! His brain screamed at him to do it, but his body was just locked in place by pure disgust and a shitload of fear. Then she was going out the door, the opportunity was lost, and sure enough he could see two guards out there before it closed.
John sat down on the edge of the dresser by his left hip and shook. He felt like he needed another shower, and he knew one thing for sure as he ran a hand down his face.
He really needed to escape.
End Note: (Heavy sigh as author contemplates her own, miniscule 12x8 foot bathroom.) Damn, I want that bathroom... John as my towel boy would be nice, too. :)
