AN: Alright, my last post before my vacation! See you all Monday!
Thanks: I'd like to thank my beta, Sterenyk Strey, once again for being so amazing.
Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate: Atlantis or its characters. You know this.
"She's going to die, John," Kolya snickered. "And it's your own fault. You can't save her."
Sheppard groaned and rubbed his eyes, waking himself up from another one of his ongoing nightmares. It was impossible to get more than twenty minute's sleep in this place. He hadn't meant to drift off. He turned his head to look at Thompson, still lying beside him in the same position he had left her.
The night before, he hadn't been able to bring himself to leave her unattended, so he had settled down to sleep a couple feet away where he could keep an eye on her.
John closed the space between them quickly to check her breathing again. He sighed in relief when he felt the slight blow against his ear that he had bent towards her mouth and nose. She was alive, but barely.
Beckett would know what to do.
Standing up to pace, the colonel began to wonder what would have happened if he had insisted that she had come with when he was escorted out for medical attention. She might not have been drugged if he had done so. But then again, hindsight was always twenty-twenty.
Reaching with his good arm, Sheppard scratched the back of his head, and dug his nails into his skull as he attempted to concoct an escape plan. But nothing came to him. There were too many disadvantages and not enough advantages. Firstly, he was still injured, and would be more vulnerable than he would like to be. Secondly, he had no one else to collaborate with. Thompson was out of the question, and he would only be able to get to Dr. Beckett by maneuvering through several hallways and trying every single door for God knew how long. It would take too much time and he would probably be discovered almost immediately.
The helplessness was almost too much to bear and he very nearly punched the wall again if it weren't for the stinging sensation he felt when he tightened his fist – a reminder of his last anger release.
John's unhappy musings were interrupted by a quiet moan that he wouldn't have been able to detect if he were not listening for it.
Moving swiftly from the other side of the cell, he knelt by the lieutenant's limp form. Her eyelids opened slightly but just enough for him to see the whites of her eyes. He mouthed a silent prayer of relief and tried to smile encouragingly, though he knew she probably wouldn't be able to see him. "Thompson?"
"I'm here."
Even though her voice was quiet and pain-filled, she sounded lucid, which surprised him. But he was still unsure as to if she were truly clear-headed.
"Hey, how's it going?" he asked, hoping she would reply with a concrete answer.
"I'm fine," she reported. He knew she was lying but he didn't dare interrupt as she gasped for another breath of air, "I don't remember what happened."
"That's okay," he assured, patting her shoulder, "you didn't miss much."
"Where…" she coughed, "did they take you?"
Sheppard looked away, and considered whether or not he should tell her. He decided to be honest, despite her deteriorating condition. "They took me to see Carson."
There was a dreadful silence as she stared up at him, her facial expression blank and unreadable.
"You mean he's…?"
"Yeah, he's here," John sighed, squeezing her shoulder. "I'm sorry."
Turning her face towards the ceiling, Thompson bit her lip. "Damn."
"Feel like sitting up?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from such a depressing subject.
She nodded wordlessly, and began attempting to push herself up. He helped her sit up against the wall. Once upright, she asked, "Even if Beckett didn't get to warn Atlantis, shouldn't they have mounted a rescue team by now?"
The colonel shrugged and stood up. "They should have. I don't know what's keeping them, but I'm hoping that they'll find us soon."
The door rattled and Sheppard's head snapped in the direction, expecting to see Jagrin opening the door to escort him to the next level of torture. But it was only a guard who opened the door for a fraction of a second and tossed in their water canisters and a solitary MRE from their stash of confiscated items.
John barreled towards the objects, his dry throat making it more known at the sight of water. Before he took a much desired swig however, he tossed the other container to Victoria, who, with surprising accuracy, caught it and ripped off the top.
The colonel did the same and tilted the bottle to his lips. The water was warm, but it still felt good on his parched throat. He took only a couple sips, wanting to stretch out the amount they had. For all he knew, this was the only water they would receive their whole stay.
Setting his canister next to the wall, he then reached for the MRE that was lying on the ground. He tore open the bag and spilled the contents on the floor. Sheppard did the math and calculated that, even if extended, the MRE would only feed them for a maximum of three days. Hopefully, they would be rescued before then.
He picked up the Fritos bag and slid it across the floor to the lieutenant. For himself, he took the crackers.
"Good old MREs," Thompson chuckled. "I'd never thought I'd be so happy to see one."
John offered a half-hearted grin as he chucked down a handful of crackers and placed the rest back in the bag for later.
There was another clang at their door and the colonel snapped to his full height and stood to face the door. He almost groaned aloud as he saw Jagrin step through but instead, he stood in silence.
"Is it time for another dosage?" the Genii asked rhetorically as he looked over to Victoria, who was attempting to sit up straighter as she glared at him.
"You're not going to be drugging anyone anymore," the colonel growled. "You almost killed her."
Jagrin smiled. "I see you're feeling better. I guess it's time for the next level."
"Stop calling it that," Sheppard grimaced. It irritated him how much Jagrin was treating this like a game when both his and Thompson's lives were hanging in the balance.
Ignoring John's demand, nodded to the two guards who stalked inside as well. Before they could grab his shoulders again, the colonel held up his hands, "I think I know how this works now. I can walk on my own."
The soldiers looked to Jagrin for his approval. Once he nodded, they stood down and John walked past them and out into the corridor with them close on his heels. He was relieved not having their strong arms grip his wounded shoulder but that didn't ease the nausea that was rushing over him as he thought about what the "next level" would have in store for him.
xXx
Sheppard his new torture chamber room with a quick sweep of his tired eyes. There wasn't much in there to look at. The only things that mattered were the crude surgical table that stood in the middle and the tray that was placed next to it with the even cruder instruments piled on top.
John was immediately reminded of a 1950s classic movie he had watched once where a mad scientist operated on human victims to test his experiments. He tightened his jaw and hoped that this wasn't one of those situations.
Without warning, he was suddenly yanked forward, his eyes wide as he realized he was being pulled towards the surgical table. He resisted as much as he could with his injured shoulder but it didn't seem to faze the big, burly guards who eventually slammed him down on the bed and strapped him down with the thick, strong cords that hung to the side of the bed.
"I was going to use sedatives, Colonel Sheppard," Jagrin's voice rang out clearly above the sounds of John's struggles and the grunts of the soldiers who were still in the process of securing the straps, "but then I remembered how much I love hearing you scream."
Sheppard couldn't have replied if he wanted to. He was turned away from Jagrin and his head was smashed against the bed because one of the guards was pressing him down on the side of his face – making it near impossible to breathe.
He tried closing his eyes and blocking out everything – the sensation of being tied to an operating table, the sound of Jagrin's scornful remarks, and the pounding of his heart as he awaited the pain, though he knew it would be futile. Whatever torture was planned for him, it wouldn't be able to be ignored by simple mental blockades.
He was engulfed by searing agony, which ripped a scream from his throat. Tears stung his eyes. The horror of what Jagrin started to do to him mercifully caused his mind to shut down.
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