AN: Well, I'm back from vacation! My hubby-to-be and I went to see his family for the extended weekend in Chicago. They were nice but the weather there was not my favorite. It was too cold and all I wanted to do was write the entire time!
Anyways, you're probably thinking 'who cares about your crappy vacation, Leslie? Let's get on with it!' so here it is.
Thanks and Credit: to my beta...she also created the ending of this chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis, their concepts, ideas or characters. Nor do I pretend to.
P.S.: Is anyone else having problems uploading documents? I had to use an old document I've uploaded and use it to publish this chapter. I really hope they get that fixed soon. It's bugging me. I also hope this works and I can publish it.
P.S.S.: If anyone of you have watched Star Trek: Voyager, you'll notice the concept I stole from the episode "The Chute".
"Ready to give up yet, Johnny boy?" Kolya laughed. "Or can you take more?"
Sheppard's eyes shot open. After a couple moments, he realized that he was still in the surgical room but he was no longer strapped to the table. A few seconds later, he also discovered a hand feeling around the back of his head.
Quickly, he reached around and grabbed it. He tightened his fingers around it, attempting to crack the bones.
A string of familiar Gaelic curses were let loose, and John immediately released his grip. He twisted his head to see Carson massaging his hand and glaring down at him. "What was that for?" the doctor demanded.
"Sorry, doc," Sheppard replied not-so-genuinely. What was it with everyone sneaking up on him lately? He brought his hands to the top of the surgical bed and began to push himself up. His movements were counteracted by a firm hand gently pushing him back down.
"Oh no, you don't," Beckett scolded. "I gave you some anesthetic but that will only dull the pain. I have to figure out what exactly he did to you."
That's when the memory of the actual operation dawned on John. He had completely forgotten everything past being brought to his room. But now he remembered the excruciating pain he felt on the back of his head moments before he blacked out.
"My head," he pointed to the base of his skull. "I felt something there right before I passed out."
"Aye," Carson muttered softly as he resumed his perusing through Sheppard's disarrayed dark locks of hair. "I was on to something before you decided to break my fingers in a dozen pieces. Could you turn over on your front please?"
John did as he was asked and waited silently as he felt the doctor's fingers move gingerly around his head until finally, they stopped in a place he could barely sense.
"There's something here," Dr. Beckett announced quietly, sifting his fingers deeper through the colonel's hair. "I think it's some sort of – oh bloody hell…"
"What is it?" Sheppard asked, growing more uncomfortable with the hint of panic he could now hear in Beckett's voice.
"It's some sort of metal plate on the back of your skull," Carson informed him with controlled alarm that came with years of experience as a doctor, but nonetheless still detectable by John.
"Well get it the hell off," Sheppard demanded, grinding his teeth in anger. If the actual pain of the procedure wasn't the real torture, then this "metal plate", whatever it was designed to do, would induce the real pain - the real torture. The only question was; what did it do?
"That's just what I'm going to attempt to do, lad" Beckett assured him. "But I'm not one hundred percent sure I can do that. They wouldn't have let me in here to check on you."
Sheppard sighed in frustration and closed his eyes tightly as he felt the doctor's fingers move around the device and finger the edges. After a couple moments, the prying fingers moved away.
"Well, I have bad news and good news," Dr. Beckett said.
"Good news first," John requested with a pained grunt, "I need something positive right now."
"I don't think it's permanently attached to you as I feared and it might be highly possible I can remove it safely," Carson informed, but his tone didn't make the good news sound positive at all.
"Bad news?" he asked after a couple moments of silence.
"Bad news is that I can't remove it without getting you under a scanner and with a team of nurses at my disposal."
"Which we don't have either of," Sheppard rolled his head with a groan, and then asked, "What are the dangers of removing it now?"
"Quite a lot, actually," Beckett replied in a sorrowful tone, "I could be tearing out a section of your brain for all I know."
The colonel ground his teeth together in frustration. "I don't care. Cut it out."
Dr. Beckett sighed and John turned his head just in time to see the doctor pick up a rather intimidating 'medical' instrument that looked as if it were used for ripping out a human backbone. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. These tools are so bloody primitive and cruel. I don't think they're constructed for performing delicate surgery either."
Slamming his fist down on the bed with a hard pound, Sheppard shouted. "Damn it, Carson, figure something out because I am not walking out of here with whatever device that bastard put on my head."
When he looked up at Beckett, he was surprised to see ill-disguised shock in the man's face.
"What?" he demanded impatiently. For some reason, the doctor was extra irritating today.
"You've never yelled at me before, Colonel," Dr. Beckett replied solemnly. "At least, not like that you haven't."
Sheppard grimaced. "Well, forgive me for being a little harsh but I'm kind of freaked out here. And this isn't exactly the right moment to be going all sensitive. So buck up and do your job!"
"That's not what I meant," Carson muttered, setting the instrument down as he turned to look at him with a suspicious eye.
"What do you mean?" John asked as he realized he'd been balling his fists. Would he really strike his doctor and friend? For some reason, he really wanted to punch him.
"The anesthetic should have begun to wear off now so let me ask you, Colonel," the doctor cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at him, "does the plate itch? Or irritate in any way?"
Sitting up, Sheppard reached back to touch the cold metal on the back of his head. "It hurts like hell," he reported, "and it itches underneath. Does that answer your question?"
Dr. Beckett nodded. "That could be part of the reason you're a little touchy. But it could also be the main purpose of this device. It's possible that it's somehow disrupting your internal locus of control."
"So, what are you saying?" the Colonel growled in frustration as he moved his fingers across the foreign object again and again where he was beginning to regain feeling. "That they put this on me just to make me pissed twenty-four seven?"
"I'm sure it's much deeper than that," Carson mused, reaching over to remove Sheppard's hand from the device, "but I suggest you don't attempt to remove it or pick at it. They might have anticipated that and put in certain measures to make sure you don't take it out."
John mumbled a string of curses and then spoke more audibly. "I'm beginning to be able to sympathize with Ronon. I can't stand having this thing on me for more than two minutes and who knows how long Chewie's had to stand it."
Beckett smiled encouragingly, appreciating the Colonel's efforts to lighten the conversation, but both feared, deep down, the outcome of this clamp and the harm it was designed for.
xXx
After being unceremoniously dumped back into the jail cell by the ever-helpful Genii guards, Sheppard bit down on his tongue to keep from hitting another wall. He was beginning to wonder if the doctor had been right about the effects of this device. All he could think about was killing Jagrin and he had started to list the ways he knew how to, just to take his mind off the anger he could feel growing inside him.
"What did they do to you?"
The sound of another voice startled John and he whirled around to see that Victoria had not budged from her position leaning up against the wall.
He wasted no time with his explanation. "They – he put something on the back of the head that's making it hard to control my violent impulses."
Sheppard heard her sigh in the darkness and then shift position. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"No, I'm not 'okay'," he snapped. "I've got a metal plate screwed into the back of my head that's turning me into an animal!"
There was a moment's silence before she replied with a flat "I'm sorry" and she said no more.
The colonel was well aware that he shouldn't have unleashed his temper on Thompson, of all people, but there something that made him feel like to ripping the throats out of everyone he spoke to.
He wanted to apologize to her - to explain that he didn't mean to snap at her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it and inevitably decided that it was best to remain silent.
Sheppard moved to the other side of the room and began pacing a short distance. This situation reminded him of one of the worst times of his life – being infected by that damned Iratus bug virus and being transformed, slowly, into a monster. He felt so out of control and so helpless – that was, the times he was aware. But this time, he was completely conscious and was still feeling that terrible vulnerability of not being in control.
Jagrin was not only torturing him physically now, but bringing it up to the psychological level where his defenses were the weakest.
"I've never seen you so upset, Johnny," a dark chuckle rumbled from behind him. He whirled around to see Kolya leaning up against the wall, a sly smile playing on his lips. "You're losing control. Soon you'll be so out of it, you won't even know your own name."
"I swear to god, Kolya..." John growled lowly. He never finished his sentence because in less than five seconds, he had his hands around the man's neck, constricting his fingers around the throat.
Sheppard smiled to himself as he watched the Genii writhe beneath his grasp in pain and he tightened his grip, throttling him.
"Colonel!"
Dropping his hands immediately, John realized that only the small call that had made it through the unyielding throat had stopped him from choking Thompson to death. Mortified, he stepped back to the other side of the room, his eyes wide in horror. Kolya's figure had seemed so real...in his rage, he had nearly killed one of his own.
"Colonel," she spoke again after a several moments pause to catch her breath, "are you alright? Do you need -
"Stay away from me," he demanded, holding his hand out towards her for emphasis. She leaned forward, as if she were going to get up but he shouted. "Stay back!" And she resigned to her position again, her expression perplexed and full of worry. In the dim light, he could begin to see the purple bruises taking place all over her neck where his hands had gripped her. And he buried his face in his hands.
"It's not your fault," he heard her murmur before both of them fell silent.
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