Methodology - Teyla

Leaning to look up the corridor as far as she could, Teyla gasped when she realised John was being dragged in by two guards. She had known this was coming, of course, but there's a difference between knowing and seeing. She could not tell what was wrong with him from here, other than that he was unconscious. Ronon growled beside her, the noise low in his throat. The big man had become very protective of his team mates. The guards drew closer, stopping outside the cell next to the one the rest of the team was in. They heaved John onto the pallet and exited the cell. One of the guards came to stand in front of Ronon.

Thinking there was nothing but bars between them, Ronon lashed out to grab him by the throat. His fist connected with an invisible force field between the bars and repelled him backwards. He skidded on the floor to rest beside Rodney and Jennifer. Jumping to his feet, he made his way back to the bars and sniffed in aggravation, flexing his shoulders. Teyla slapped the bars with the palm of her hand.

"What have you done to him?" Her jaw was set in anger. If only there were no bars between them, she'd show them what happened when you harmed her man…

"Nothing he cannot recover from." The man's accent was clipped and lilting, each syllable a different register. He smiled exceptionally white teeth at her. "Food." He motioned for the fellow guard to go retrieve it, coming back with a plate with bowls of some tomatoes-smelling soup and thick slices of bread. "Breakfast." After placing it within a slot in the bars, the guards turned around and left, marching at a brisk pace. Looking at the food, Teyla realised there was no food for the Lieutenant Colonel.

"What about John?" Laughter met her echoing voice. "John?" Teyla and Jennifer made their way over to the bars leading to John's cell. He way lying down on the far wall facing away from them. He had curled in on himself in a foetal position, but he still seemed to be knocked out. No amount of calling or shouting could wake him up.

"There's blood on his leg." Jennifer squinted closer, but his dark BDUs hid any other injuries. She touched the space between the bars and felt a jolt go through her hand and arm. "Looks like we can't give him any food or water."

"Water?" Teyla glanced at the doctor.

"Yeah, there's a faucet over there." She pointed to the far corner behind her. Teyla hadn't noticed, which was unlike her. It was taking longer than usual for her mind to clear after being stunned. She grit her teeth and tried to focus her mind. Everyone ceased talking, lost in their own thoughts. Rodney woke up groggy and confused, but was soon appraised of the situation, after which he fell into an uncharacteristic silence, glancing repeatedly over at John's still form. Eventually, Teyla just had to ask:

"What is it, Rodney? There is something you are not telling us."

"I don't know anything."

"But you suspect something." He sighed before he responded.

"I was thinking about what we did find out about them, last time we were here. All those stupid questions I asked," he turned to glare at John, before remembering his team mate's current condition. He frowned inwardly. "I was thinking that…"

"Out with it, McKay." Ronon folded his arms and leaned beside the bars next to the bed that Jennifer and Rodney were sitting on. His voice held no patience for the scientist's avoidance.

"They specialise in weapons technology, right? Well, whose to say torture methods aren't a part of that? " Rodney stood up as his theory gained momentum, and he gestured over at John. "They couldn't stop looking at him, and we know they're interested in Ancient technology; since none of their own have the Ancient gene, then that's why they want John. This whole thing with their inferior medical technology got me thinking; what if the reason for their lack of medical knowledge is some kind of Archaic way of thinking? You know, 'If they're too sick to work, kill them.' Think about it, their surgery skills are rudimentary, they have next to know antibiotics and not once did they mention any kind of medical facility. And think about what they were asking us for: anaesthesia techniques, how to stop bleeding, sutures and the like. They weren't interested in curing disease."

"Rodney's right." A light went on behind Jennifer's eyes, and then she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh! Oh, Rodney! You don't think…?"

"That's exactly what I think." Jennifer seemed to deflate.

"What?" Teyla could not quell her impatience. When McKay and Keller just stared at each other Ronon snapped.

"What? You two brainiacs come up with something?" Surprise flittered across Ronon and Jennifer's face. That was the first time he had ever 'kind of' insulted her. He looked at her as if to apologise, but John began to stir.

It was so unfair. David and Dad were out playing and they'd left John in the sitting room, watching stupid cartoons. The little boy was so miffed he just sat on the couch with his arms folded and glared sullenly at his feet, which were not even long enough to dangle yet. His socks were richly coloured in his favourite football team's colours.

Snaking her head around the door, Sarah Sheppard watched her son huff in annoyance. Smiling to herself, she walked into the kitchen.

When John looked up at the door, she was just coming in, her hands behind her back. "Jay? What's wrong?" She was American born but had spent much of her life in South Africa. Her accent reflected this, as did her propensity to refer to people by their initials. John frowned. She knew very well what was wrong with him, so he just turned his head away. His mother smiled. "You know you couldn't go. You're too young."

"By two years. Two!" He held up two fingers in emphasis.

"I know. I know." She moved to stand in front of him, leaning over slightly. Suddenly she shouted out 'Surprise!' and threw a handful of confetti in the air. John was shocked for a moment, but he soon began giggling. She showed him what was in the other hand: a cereal box full of confetti. John eagerly stuffed a hand in and pulled out a fist of colourful paper. He jumped off the couch and threw it around him, throwing the last little bit at his mother. She retaliated in kind.

Patrick Sheppard came home with his eldest son to find the house in a state. Cushions and strips of paper were flung everywhere, and the newspaper and magazine rack under the stairs was nearly empty where it had been full before they left. Walking into the kitchen they found John and his mother sitting on the floor, laughing so hard they were crying.

John groggily began to return to the world of the living, his vision clearing from colourful snow to a solid grey wall. He hadn't had that dream in awhile. It was one of his few vivid memories of his mother. She was always like that ; vibrant and unpredictable. She had been the colour in an otherwise black family. The house had always been bright and full of life when she was alive, but it had been reduced to a shell when she died, a house that made you feel like whispering just from walking on the threshold.

John became aware of himself bit by bit. First was his head. It ached. There was a constant pressure behind his eyes. He began to move his arm up to press against the bridge of his nose, but was overcome by a wave of nausea. It rolled over him in rapid succession, making him gag. He first drew his companion's attention when he began to dry -retch. They called out to him, but he did not have the strength to reply.

Next came his neck and shoulders. He could not remember ever having strained a muscle this bad. They felt bunched up in knots, but the pain was minor in comparison to his head. He couldn't feel his left leg from the knee down.

He lay there for an indeterminate amount of time. He may have lost consciousness again but he wasn't sure. He slowly became aware of one sound over the buzzing in his head: Teyla's voice. She was calling his name. He searched for that hidden place inside him where he went to for his last vestiges of strength and worked up the will and energy to lift his left arm in salute to where ever she was behind him. He wondered idly why she wasn't beside him, but then darkness took him back under.

He had stopped coughing now, and appeared to have fallen asleep as his breathing had eased. His only reaction to them calling his name had been raising his hand limply in response to Teyla's question. The sound of him coughing and choking had worried her, but Jennifer assured her that even if he managed to get sick he was lying on his side so there was little chance he'd choke himself. She had many explanations as to why he didn't turn around and talk to them, but none of them were good.

Ronon was pacing the room like a wild animal, his rage palpable. Teyla was trying to figure out how much time had passed. Had they been gone long enough for Atlantis to send a rescue party? She assumed they were on the same planet. She had not heard of the Kalethans inhabiting any other worlds. She thought back on her childhood, wondering if she had ever heard anything about these people the Athosions had ceased trade with. That in itself was an ominous sign, but the Kalethans had been so gracious during the original first contact with Atlantis that she had assumed the normal reasons did not apply. Now she knew they most likely did. Athosions only ceased trade when the other people had some trait that they found abhorrent: abortion, hanging, slave labour, among other things. Ronon did one more circuit of the cell before turning on Keller and McKay.

"What was that you guys were saying earlier? That epiphany you had."

"Oh, well, um… It's not good." Jennifer looked as if she would really not go into details, so McKay picked up the thread.

"That would be an understatement, but I won't be able to tell for definite until Sheppard wakes up and tells us what happened to him."

"Tell us what you think, Rodney." Teyla's voice was strained with forced patience.

"Alright, but remember that this is just conjecture." They nodded. "Torture methods! It's like Hitler's Germany, or Napoleon, Vlad the Impaler." The two Pegasus Galaxy residents looked nonplussed. "Where their medical technology specialised in experimentation and extermination. No? Anyway, their idea of medicine wasn't in healing the sick, but in ,well, creating monstrosities." He chuckled a little bit at his own joke, but realising his audience wasn't buying it he briskly continued. "They did these experiments where they sewed twins together along their backs and removed and reattached limbs without anaesthetic.

"I think the Kalethans are doing something similar, but instead of searching for an Arian race, they're looking for the answers to the Ancestor gene."

"We've been doing that for years." Ronon sounded sceptical.

"True, but we're humane. Creating Michael is the closest thing we've done to ignoring our ethics. These people, if I am right in thinking they have no use for infirm or sick citizens, instead use medicine to probe for answers, not cure disease."

"I am sorry, Rodney, but I do not see how you could have jumped to that conclusion. Or you, Jennifer." Teyla looked over at the doctor, who was looking pale and sick. Sitting down beside her, Teyla wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She did not understand the doctors reaction. She had heard a little of this 'Hitler', but it was obvious it was something of Earth's history they were not proud of.

"It's just, and I think Rodney agrees with me, it's just…" Jennifer struggled to find the words. "It, it feels like some of the stories I heard when I studied history in high school. You guys can't understand, because you don't know our history, but… We've seen that even good people can be corrupted into doing bad by a charismatic voice, and the people here are so controlled and regimented… It's not really a jump in conclusion." She looked up at Ronon. He frowned at her, unsure of what she wanted, then he moved to her side and clapped a hand on her shoulder.

"Well, as I said, we can't know until they give us some more information or Sheppard wakes up."

Sheppard slowly came to again, the pounding in his head still strong but when he tried to move the wave of nausea wasn't quite as bad. Slowly, oh so slowly he rolled onto his back, but the position did something bad to his stomach and he cried out in pain. Turning quicker this time he curled up on his other side. He lay there, breathing in and out, in and out… slow breaths to ease the pain. It didn't do much, but he felt like he was doing something to help. Moments fluttered by before he became aware of people calling his name. Opening his eyes a crack, they landed on blurry figures across the room. Seeing that much seemed to clear his ears of whatever had muffled them and now he could here clearly what the voices he now recognised as his team mates were saying.

"Sheppard. Sheppard!" What! John felt like shouting back, but all that came out was a hoarse wheeze. Ronon called his name again. Rodney called out "can you talk?" If I could talk I'd talk!

"I don't think he can, Rodney." Thank you for the obvious, Jennifer.

"Leave him be. He will speak when he can." Thank you, Teyla. In a non-sarcastic way this time.

Clang.

The sound of a metal door being opened and closed reverberated down the hall, followed swiftly by footsteps.

A/N: I like cliff-hangers… Its R.L. Stine's fault. Half of his books ended in cliff-hangers…