AN: Erf...excuse the incredibly idiotic title for this chapter. It was either that or untitled (which, in my opinion, has become very overused). Anyways, sorry for the late upload. I was trying to make this chapter more appealing. It's up to you whether or not I achieved that. More physical Shep whump in the days to come!

Thanks: Sterenyk Strey. No more needs to be said. She's incredible and I don't feel like I deserve an amazing writer like her to look over my poor excuse for writing. But thanks all the same! ^_^

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate: Atlantis nor do I pretend to. No copyright infringement intended.

She was still alive – however barely - but he was at a loss about what to do with the dagger that was still wedged firmly in her abdomen. Obviously, it had not made its way to the more vital organs or she would have been dead already. Though he knew that if it was left in there any longer, the inevitable would happen, he also knew just yanking it out the good old-fashioned way wouldn't be the wisest way to go.

He scrubbed his forearm across his forehead in an attempt to wipe away the sweat that was accumulating at the top of his brow. The temperature in their tiny little cell seemed to have been knocked up a few notches because he suddenly went from freezing cold to blistering hot.

The hallucinations hadn't stopped but they had been ignorable ever since he had been able to get his priorities in order, with keeping Thompson alive at number one. The last vivid one he had experienced was Jagrin taking on the likeness of Kolya just as he stabbed her. Sheppard feared he would have killed him if the bastard had not scurried out of there as if someone had lit a fire under his ass. The man was a coward. He may have had more power and more soldiers but if they were to ever go up face to face to fight like real men, he had a feeling Jagrin would be on his knees begging for mercy.

John took a swig from his canister then stared at it as he longed for some sort of alcohol instead. The Tylenol had helped to slightly dull the pain but numbing it the traditional way seemed more inviting. And not just for the physical pain.

"Come on, Thompson," he whispered, watching her from a distance.

As if on cue, a quiet moan erupted from her lips. Quickly, he crawled over. When he reached her, he placed a hand over her forehead and bit his lip as he waited for her to open her eyes. However, as soon as she did, he wished she hadn't. They were glazed over and hazy, not to mention wild and confused. Sheppard felt a pang in his stomach as all the feelings of guilt he had pushed to the back of his mind broke free and clouded his thoughts. If only he had just kept control…

"I thought you weren't supposed to feel pain in the afterlife," she groaned, craning her neck to look around.

"You're still alive, Victoria," he told her, searching her face for some sort of recognizable signs of clear-headedness.

"Lucky me," she whispered and closed her eyes tightly in a visible indication of pain. "I can't move."

"Don't try to," he insisted, scanning her in worry. "I'm going to get Beckett in here soon and you're going to be alright."

Despite his reassurance, she lifted her head up to look across her body. Her eyes went wide at the sight of the knife. "What the hell is that?!"

John winced. "Jagrin stabbed you, remember?"

"No," she replied, irritated, "get it out!"

"I can't do that."

"Why not?!"

He pursed his lips, struggling to retain composure. "Because I don't have enough medical knowledge to know if I'd be ripping out your pancreas or some other essential organ in the process – just wait for Carson."

"I don't need it anyway," she told him with a growl. "If you don't take it out now, I'll lose a lot more than my damned pancreas."

"Not if you don't stay calm and wait patiently."

She said no more after his last statement. He was finding it increasingly difficult to still have control over the plate. Just a couple hours earlier, he had trouble remembering his parents' names, but now he was able to easily restrain the urge to slap the lieutenant up one side and down the other for behaving like an adolescent.

However, he was unsure how strong his control would be if Jagrin were to enter the cell again.

Reluctantly, he stood up from his position on the ground and stumbled over to the bars of their cell. The usual solitary soldier who guarded their prison flicked his gaze to Sheppard, but only for an instant before reverting back to focusing on some imaginary point in front of the guard.

"Get our doctor in here," John demanded in a hushed tone, "and when we break out of here, I promise not to kill you…slowly."

"Commander Jagrin ordered that your medical team member not be allowed back into the cell until he gives his authorization." The guard replied flatly as if he had spent his entire day memorizing that one line.

Sheppard clenched his fists tightly and kicked the metal bars, causing a sharp, shooting pain to explode in his foot.

Great going, John, he thought bitterly, break something – create another disadvantage for you. Damn you, Kolya. Damn you to someplace worse than hell – since you seem to have so much free time there!

He cursed aloud afterwards and went to lean up against the wall closest to Thompson. Pulling off his combat boot, he began to gingerly touch his toes. Broken. At least three of them.

"What happened?" she asked, reopening her eyes and fixing them on his foot that he was nursing. He figured she must have drifted off again.

"These damn military boots aren't worth crap," John replied abrasively. "Jagrin won't let Beckett come help you."

To his surprise, she nodded in acknowledgement. "I figured."

Before he had a chance to reply, the door rattled and he looked up to see Jagrin entering into their cell with four guards leading the way.

"You've doubled your sentry," John feigned indifference when in reality; he was struggling to tie down the rising desire to strangle the ass-wipe. "Are you scared of your own Frankenstein?"

"Let's go, John," Jagrin spoke quickly, ignoring Sheppard's sarcastic remarks entirely for once.

"No."

Sheppard used the next few moments of tense silence to ease his injured foot back into his boot, lace up, and return to Thomson's side.

"That was not a request, colonel."

John decided against answering when he felt the familiar swell of anger once again. Pretending to occupy himself with looking over the once again unconscious lieutenant, he remained silent.

"You have two options, Johnny Boy. You can walk out or we can drag you out. Either way you're coming with – "

"Don't ever call me that again!" Sheppard seethed, now standing on his own two feet and glaring at Jagrin. His fists clenched tightly together and he could feel the vein on his forehead bulge in anger. Every molecule in his body screamed at him to throttle the man but it was the one pint of control he had left in him that made him stand down.

The furiousness of John's interruption didn't seem to put Jagrin off. He grinned cruelly as he struck up a new conversation. "I'm sorry; does it bother you when I call you that?"

The mock apology was only made things worse as he desperately searched for a way to calm himself. But all he could think about was that damned pet name Kolya had for him. Hearing it uttered from this man's lips seemed to ignite the fire that was already blazing out of control within him.

"I'm not leaving." Sheppard said firmly, changing the subject. "Not until you let Carson in here to help her."

Jagrin snaked his head around John's body to look at the subject he was referring to. "She is the reason you won't leave?"

He swallowed and tilted his chin but said nothing.

The Genii soldier nodded as if in surrender. Sheppard almost – almost – allowed himself a silent sigh of relief.

But then Jagrin took out his gun.

What happened after that was a blur. John could remember shapes and voices, and a momentary surge of adrenaline – and lastly, terrible pain in his already badly wounded arm.

Once he had started regaining coherency, he had realized that he had been shot in the arm – there by which the sharp pain had derived - but it only took a couple staggering moments more to realize that Jagrin hadn't intended to shoot him.

Groggily, he twisted around to see that he was lying across Lieutenant Thompson's legs. That's when it had become so blatantly apparent.

He had aimed for her.

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