AN: Sorry for the VERY long hold up. But I have a good excuse I promise! My wedding is next Friday (I know, my mom thinks I'm a freak for being able to fit in time to write at all) so this will probably be my last upload until sometime in April. Fast Fact for those who care: We're going to Scotland for the honeymoon! I thought it was relevant because I'll be surrounded by Carson-like people! x-)

Anyways, I got a little perfectionist on this chapter and it still didn't turn out the way I wanted it to but thanks to my lovely Beta, I'm hoping it's decent for you all to read. Little to no Thompson in this one and kind of lagging, Man, I hate bridge chapters.

Pass out, pass out, come on - please pass out!

John wasn't normally one for blacking out in dire situations such as this where he needed a clear head, but the pain in his shoulder was unbearable.

The bastard had shot him in the exact place he had stabbed him.

Despite his anger towards the situation and the fact that it was far too ironic to be coincidental, the look of surprise on Jagrin's face seemed shockingly genuine to Sheppard. What was he trying to pull now?

John watched, hazy-eyed, as the Genii anxiously placed his gun back in his holster and looked at him with an unreadable expression across his face.

John closed his eyes, trying once more to will himself into an unconscious state. He'd deal with this later if he could. For now, he needed the wondrous feeling of absolute oblivion.

His body refused and Sheppard groaned loudly in his frustration. When he reopened his eyes, he saw Jagrin still standing over him. The look of cruel amusement was no longer there but rather, it was replaced with a puzzled one. Why did it seem as though he were worried for John's life? One thing was for sure and that was that the Genii did not give a damn about his physical well-being.

"Colonel," he finally spoke, squatting down to Sheppard's limp form, "Can you hear me?"

Loud and clear, John thought bitterly but didn't answer aloud.

"Take him to his doctor," Jagrin barked to one of the soldiers. "Have him make sure his injuries aren't lethal. Then send him to me."

If it were humanly possible, Sheppard would have laughed. The bastard hadn't expected him to jump in as a cliché act of heroism, had he? He had very nearly broken his new toy and was now hurrying to an adult to patch it back up so he could play with it again.

John's silent hilarity was cut short however, when he felt the extreme pain of his arms being torn off. After an unintentional scream of agony, the pain subsided slightly and he realized that the morons were actually trying to drag him to the improvised infirmary.

A sharp command from Jagrin and he felt another firm yank resulting in one more ear-splitting scream. He could feel the floor move beneath him as the towed him away from his cell and away from Thompson.

Just as Sheppard thought that his arm had been permanently ripped off his shoulder, he was dropped unceremoniously to the floor. He landed on said shoulder and he let out a pained hiss but decided against screaming again.

"Oh dear Lord," he heard Carson exclaim. A soothing hand was suddenly placed on his head and a not-so-soothing one on his left shoulder.

"Ah!" he cried out in protest then forced his eyes open. He needed to stop being a pussy about this and get what needed to get done, done.

"Sorry, lad," Beckett mumbled sympathetically as he rose from his position next to John and walked over to the other end of the room to fetch something.

Sheppard used the time to get up. It hurt but he knew he had to. Here he was getting treatment for something so minor he would more than likely live through while Thompson was back in the cell, drenched in sweat and a knife lodged into her body. The very thought made the pain doubly worse so he forced it out of his mind temporarily.

Using the wall with his right arm, he hoisted himself up, clutching his injured limb protectively to his side.

"Whoa, whoa, son, where do you think you're going?" Dr. Beckett's frantic voice got louder as he heard him rapidly close the space between them. "You shouldn't be moving."

"Thompson…needs help," he reported slowly, trying to breath past the throbbing in his shoulder.

"You need help, Colonel," Carson contradicted as he placed a gentle hand on John's good arm and attempted to lead him away from the wall.

Sheppard shook his head stubbornly and pulled back away from Beckett's grasp. "…stabbed…Jagrin…dying..."

"She was stabbed?" Dr. Beckett repeated in shock. "Where?"

John gestured to his abdominal area and slumped against the wall, feeling nausea begin to set over him.

The doctor bit his lip and looked towards the door. "Listen, John. As much as I would like – need - to help Lieutenant Thompson, it's not possible. I only go where Jagrin lets me. But allow me to fix you and maybe we can –

"No!" he shouted. He felt the familiar frustration and anger rise over him and he was reminded of the plate.

Pushing himself off the wall, he stumbled towards the door. His mind was growing foggy and it made it difficult for him to walk.

Oh, sure, now you want to pass out.

Before he could reach out towards the door, it opened itself and a guard stepped in, probably alarmed by all the commotion Sheppard was single-handedly causing.

"Bring my friend in here," John demanded, trying to sound firm, though his head was beginning to swim.

"I don't take orders from you." The guard replied coldly, narrowing his already squinted eyes to tiny slits.

"You don't? Well, how about broken bones?"

"John, please," Carson begged from behind him. "It won't do you or Lieutenant Thompson any good if you wind up in the same predicament, all right?".

Sheppard knew Beckett was correct. They were lucky to have at least two – partially – able-bodied team members - but the image of Victoria lying in a pool of her own blood as she continued to die a slow, painful death was racking his brain.

"She needs help." John said aloud, but whether he was directing the statement to the Genii or the doctor, he had no idea. "She's going to die."

"We know," the soldier hissed with a twisted expression of cruelty and amusement playing on his face.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

The plate had been hard enough to overcome without anyone provoking him. But with intentional aggravation, it was insufferable. And Sheppard lunged towards him.

He had every intention of strangling the man to death and was even planning which specific bones in his body he would break but was stopped suddenly when he felt a numbing pain envelop him.

Just before his vision blurred and he fell onto his back against the stone floor, he saw the Wraith stunner in the guard's hand. The bastard had cheated.

John heard a low groan escape from his lips as his mind struggled to stay conscious. Those damned stunners were a pain in the ass. He knew well that when he awoke – if he did, that was – he would wake up with one hell of a headache, not to mention accompanying pins and needles.

But the idea of unconsciousness seemed inviting to him, even now. The image of Thompson dying was slowly fading away as he allowed himself one selfish desire – to sleep.

xXx

Sunlight.

God, how he craved sunlight.

Being cooped up in a light-depraved cell for who knows how long started to get to you. One thing he missed terribly was the reflection of the brilliant sun casting off of the ocean that stretched for miles on Lantea.

Sheppard suddenly realized he was being dragged out of his comfortable stupor by someone's voice. Lifting one sleepy eye, he scanned the room for whoever was disturbing him.

It was a tiny room. Perhaps a ten by four area, he couldn't really tell. The construction and design was familiar to the infirmary room that he had last seen, which was a huge indicator that he was still in hell and not back home.

The irritating voice interrupted his thoughts again and he turned the solitary open eye to the source.

He almost moaned aloud as he met a shaggy blonde head with blazing, cruel blue eyes staring straight at him.

The immediate response was to lift his arms over himself in protection of another spiteful blow to the face – or any other vulnerable area for that matter, but he found that his hands were tied behind his back and to the seat he was sitting in - which happened to be a creaking old chair.

Sucking in a breath, John realized that it was the same room he was first dragged into to be beaten senseless and then stabbed.

This could not be good. He tried to move his feet only to find that they too were tied to the chair.

"Déjà vu," he muttered to himself and felt a hard blow to the face in response from his company. It would have been nothing compared to what he experienced in this compound or what he would experience but the strike had been directed near the still sensitive area of his recovering jaw, causing him to wince in pain. "Damn you, Kolya." He turned his head to spit out blood that had accumulated in his mouth.

"Now that you're awake," the unpleasant voice was beginning to make sense now that his mind was suddenly alert. "We can begin."

Sheppard turned his head to glower at Jagrin. His shoulder had been torn open again and he could feel the blood pumping out of it. Why hadn't Carson…?

"Carson," he blurted, his eyes searching the room for his friend. To his relief – or so he'd hoped– he wasn't there.

"When we heard that you had caused a little trouble in our medical room, I relieved your doctor of his duties." The Genii informed with a slight twitch of his lips.

"What did you do?" John demanded, the volume of his voice escalating.

"He's fine, Johnny boy," Jagrin's smile grew to a full-spread one that reached his eyes. "He's in his room still - throwing a fit, no doubt."

"Beckett doesn't take kindly to torture," he informed wryly, mentally breathing a sigh of relief. If the doctor really was dead, Jagrin would not be lying about it – he would be bragging.

Jagrin laughed softly and made a gesture to the other two soldiers Sheppard hadn't noticed before.

After the ropes were cut, John was mercilessly thrown from the chair and onto the floor. He managed to catch himself by putting out his hands to stop him from slamming his head against the stone. Unfortunately, a salient soreness shot up from his hands where bruises were starting to form on his palms. More pain. Great.

Before he had time to get to his feet, he felt a hard kick to his back and he fell forward onto the floor – this time, without being able to catch himself. After the painful collaboration of his head and the granite floor, his arms were yanked above his head and his shirt was cut open in the back. He felt the cold air against his skin and shuddered, thinking about all the wounds that were now exposed.

A loud snapping sound echoed behind him and Sheppard's body tensed reflexively. He craned his neck, trying to find the cause of the noise but a forceful hand shoved him back down, causing his head to collide with the floor yet again, delivering another egg on his abused temple.

"He'll have forty lashes," Jagrin informed, his icy tone causing a shiver to run down John's spine that was usually reserved for Kolya's abrasive voice. "Hold him down. If he makes a single sound, I'll add another ten."