STARGATE ATLANTIS

TO SEE THE SUN IN WINTERTIME

Chapter One

SGA SGA SGA

John stared at his captor and silently pleaded with eyes squinting through dark black lashes that hooded too much sorrow, to not dish out punishment for his latest transgression.

If the feeling of horror in the pit of his stomach was anything to go by he knew he had not succeeded.

John chewed on an old scab on his lip, opening it up again. That beating had come from a guard not liking the way he had looked at him. He, amongst them all, was continually singled out as trouble.

Today, he had escaped, or tried to. The chance had been fair in his eyes. He didn't think anyone would notice him missing for several minutes; hopefully hours

He hadn't known it had been a test to see if he would attempt it. If he would leave his friends to seek out his own freedom.

They didn't understand that he would have come back with a cavalry to save them all. They didn't know he would stubbornly try everything he could do to save them all.

How could they. He was now dumb. His voice having been chemically subdued on the first day of their capture.

John now unconsciously put his right palm to throat and hid the swallow his saliva was forcing him to perform.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and slid down the sides of his neck and back. It was nothing to do with the heat of the planet, although it was unbearably hot anyway.

His captor stepped closer, so close John could smell the sweet smell of herbal oils laced with a light sweat. On his knees as he was he could not do much to ignore the press of soft leather trousers lean into his side and bump him over slightly. His hands reached down to the ground to steady him and he heard the creak of the garment as his captor bent down until they reached his ear.

'Choose!'

The word intentionally was whispered so it tickled the hairs in his ear and make him flinch. One word from his captor had him panting and licking dry lips.

He shook his head and panted more.

'Shall I on your behalf?'

John pushed his head back and shook his head slowly from side to side. With a quiet nothing he mouthed 'No' so slowly his captor laughed and smiled a smile so utterly wicked it broke his heart.

'The consequences for running has not changed, dark eyes. I told you that, why all of your dear tribe that, when you first arrived. If one of you escapes, another will be punished. NOW CHOOSE!'

John desperately sought out his friends faces, seeing how worried they were for him, and for themselves and team mates.

John summarised his Team. Ronon could take it, that he knew, not that automatically meant it should be him. Rodney ...Rodney was not to be touched...it would be too cruel to be him. Carson was needed for the aftermath, it could not be him. Sgt Sloane...Andy was so young. His life not yet 25, and he shouldn't have been on the away team the day they were captured, it should have been Lorne but he had a cold. Still, he could not have picked Lorne either. Teyla? Well Teyla had fallen on day one to...John choked on the memory... she was not with them now. That left their two guides, Togo and Shola who had taken them to their desert world that held tales of hidden technology too bountiful to not investigate. But he could also not choose one of them.

A bejewelled hand squeezed his shoulder and lifted his chin up and repeated the command.

John mouthed 'Me!' His captor smiled and said that was not the rules. Ronon was getting heated and cried 'choose me' he was silenced with a kick to his back and a whack on the head.

John shifted on his knees that the hot desert sand was cooking nicely. 'Me!' he repeated with an open mouth so large and a sound that was barely a croak.

His captors eyes poured over his body and unsettled John.

'So be it, then." And there was no sorrow there, no reservations, and just pure unadulterated excitement at the thought of punishing the attempted escapee because that was all he was in that moment.

…

John's captor nodded to a huge man whose muscles outdid Ronon's by several inches. He was the same height and skin colour but that was all they shared. This man's head was smooth, not even a tuft of hair; but proudly adorned a smooth, shining circle of gold that looked like it had been poured on; so snug was its fit. Melted into it were an assortment of symbols interlaced with thin strips of black that swirled throughout it like some young child's scribblings.

He nodded sharply, and clapped thick hands together slowly once before he sped it up and laughed; too glorious and devastating a sound John had ever heard. Out of the buildings that surrounded the sanded courtyard came soldiers, workers, kitchen staff and the curious house guests; for where they had found themselves was like a small village, albeit one with heavy wooden doors that adorned several spikes nearly six feet long . But, as heavy against attacks as they were, they also closed very slowly, allowing a swift Colonel a chance to escape between them when he found himself near enough. Perhaps, though, he should have noticed his escape attempt had been too easy.

John continued to stare at his friends. He beseeched Ronon to remain calm and not endanger anyone else with his actions. He obviously sported a new headache but he understood, although he didn't like it, but he nodded his agreement. John was dragged up to stand on knees that already pained him before the punishment even started. He watched Rodney arguing and begging with his guards, but that resulted in a slap across his face. John shook his head when he glanced in his direction, so he remained still.

When his arms were pulled out to the side by a guard on each side, John felt Carson's eyes watch him, already judging how to take care of him afterwards. His face was full of hurt for him, knowing exactly where all the scars he had already had before still lay and would soon have more to join them. John silently apologised for causing him the worry with a tilt of his head that sharpened the pain his throat as he swallowed.

He remembered the agony and torture of the golden liquid being poured down his throat that first day to numb his voice when he had made a grab for his captor. He had been held down, and they poured the peshwa down in its uncondensed strength. Diluted it caused mild pain. Used this way, raw and natural – it was pure torture and had resulted in his voice all but gone from its contact. Carson had ran to him as they dropped him in a heap on the ground where he writhed and clutched at his throat, tears streaming down his face. Carson checked him out, but without any scanners he could not diagnose accurately; but he was confident it was only temporary – but in saying that, it could still mean a long time until recovery for all he knew. Regardless, John had a constant sore throat and Carson advised to let it rest and not even attempt to talk for the time being, at least until the redness had dissipated and he could swallow without grimacing.

John's view of his team was snatched away when he felt a black hood slide over his head and down to his shoulders. He gasped for air. Immediately his breathing out was hot and he found it hard to breathe. He started to struggle against the biting hold in his biceps but they just dug their fingers in harder and laughed, which came to muffled ears that felt like his head had been stuck in a furnace. Then they let go and he staggered suddenly with the absence of their unwilling support.

Waiting for the first strike from whatever weapon of choice they had in store for him was torture in itself. He was licking dry lips furiously when, like a hundred stunners at once, his body jolted with the force of a weapon that stole everything from him. He would have screamed then, but his muted state stopped that. He had a second of relief that they wouldn't hear him scream, but it was fleeting because soon all he could think about was pain, pain and pain.

He gasped for air, hiccupped and fell to the ground as his back erupted with an almost sharp, sweet pain that gripped him tight. It coiled round his neck, his throat and slipped down his chest like a lover's caress, but there was no love being paid him, just something worse than the retrovirus and the worst flu simultaneously bringing him to the edge of death. Roaring blood flowed on through his body and it felt like a thousand needles pricking him over and over again. They had power over him with this. The power to break, mutilate, or kill. The choice was never his. The damage of the earlier insolence contained the outlet his body craved and grated his damaged throat further. John did not even realise he had landed on his stomach when the guards let him go. He just understood that his mouth was open in shock and the hood was hot and suffocating, and he could not suck in any air. Many minute sand creatures made their way through the tiny holes and lunged on an easy meal. They bit and sucked in delight, but John had no idea, he just lay there in a rigid position, hooded, muted, and shocked into a fallen stalagmite where unconsciousness was a want that failed him.

When the pain started to subside slightly, and with it came awareness, John shifted position only to be on the receiving end of many strikes to his head and blows to his side, thighs, shin. These hurts just added to his misery, and he wished he could just black out. Lastly his boots were yanked off and his bare feet were exposed to the scorching sand as he battled to ground himself.

He didn't think it possible that a good beating would feel like feathers compared to whatever weapon had been fired upon him, but John barely felt it compared to that first jolt. Not now anyway. He just knew they would hurt more, later.

He remained on his stomach, on the hot sand, for many minutes just gasping like a landed fish.

He began to feel disassociated and fuzzy headed. Gradually every inch of his body seemed to melt along with his feet. The pain was simply awful and he longed to run from it, or at least sleep it away, but he realised it was designed to gnaw and gnaw its way through every crevice.

The touch of a hand on his ankle and wrist turning him over made him jerk again and boy did that hurt.

Hands reached the hood and yanked it away leaving him clamping his eyes shut against the mid-day sun and its equally sharp needles of light.

He felt sick, but could not turn over to expel his stomachs contents so he swallowed over and over again until he thought he had it under control.

Then his captor stood over him, momentarily blocking out the disc of fire in the sky.

"Open your eyes!"

But John's hearing was gone. He lay in the sand a torture victim that knew not he was being spoken to.

A kick on his stomach ramped up the nausea and he unwillingly opened his eyes anyway to see several of the same people look down at him. It was unsettling.

A blink and he was just left with the main captor. The one he dreaded the most.

"You survived the Drenching. You must be strong indeed." John's hearing came back as he took in the words. "Your friends may tend you now. I would not advise you to eat for a while, however." He laughed whilst walking away.

John was vaguely aware of the fact that he had left his side, and that Carson's worried face had replaced his, and was now cradling his face with his two hands. He tried to turn away. Did he not realise that hurt? Rodney's face then frantically joined Carson's. "You'll be okay. You'll be okay, John. Just…just let us take care of you."

But John could not understand what was going on. He moaned and grimaced, mouth open once again in a silent appeal to stop. He looked down his body on a bobbing head held in Carson's hands and witnessed Ronon holding his ankles. It also hurt and he started to struggle.

"Ssh, John. Trust us." Carson.

Then he was lifted in the air and his stomach could not contain the contents any longer. "Oh no, put him down!" Carson fair shouted and quickly rolled him, over. Andy kicked sand over the pile that came out, and they lifted him up once again causing John to struggle and croak.

"Oh, god. Is this hurting him? Stop manhandling him like that!"

"We have to get him in the shade and lying down quickly, Rodney. 'C'mon, calm down, you know that."

Ronon's head was pounding, but he solidly held onto his friend's ankles as Carson and Andy each held a side of John and they almost ran to their assigned stone section of the prisoner's accommodation, where at least it was cool and dry. Once there, they gently laid him out on his bunk, where the thin mattress was not going to hold him comfortably enough for Carson's liking.

Togo and Shola ran to their section store house and begged for some salves for the bruising and a bowl for some water. There was nothing you could do for the Drenching. This they all knew about as whispers when they had first arrived as it had been a fear of many of the prisoners.

"They say he may die of it, you know." Togo said unceremoniously as he knelt on the stone floor beside Carson.

Carson ignored him, but grabbed the pot of salve and cloths and thrust them into Ronon's hands. "He's got tiny bite marks that are swelling up on him. Would you gently rub some of that where you see any redness, including the bruises."

Ronon's face was showing his anger, but was tinged with something else. Carson looked away from John's pleading eyes for a second. "You okay? Should I be checking you for a concussion, son?"

"I am fine. Angry. We cannot lose him …also."

Then Carson understood. The grief of losing Teyla on that first day was still a raw open wound that nothing could close for any of them. He clasped his shoulder and squeezed briefly. "He's not going anywhere!"

Ronon nodded and started work on John's red hot feet first, but not before giving Rodney a reassuring smile as he needed comfort too.

"Is he asleep?" Rodney asked, pacing behind Carson. Togo and Shola then realised that, although concerned, John's friends needed him closer and they were in the way.

Rodney wasted no time, and moved to kneel at John's head. He grimaced at the sight of all the red swellings that had assaulted John's body in quite a large area.

"Carson?" he whispered.

"I'm doing my best with what I have, Rodney." He spoke softly so as not to disturb John, whose eyes were now at half-mast and fighting unconsciousness.

"I know. It's just…look at him!"

"Aye, I am, and what I see is only on the outside. Goodness knows what that 'stuff' done to him internally or in his mind. I've never seen anything like it before."

"Never came across it in all the planets I've been on." Ronon added.

Togo came into the light. "The source of the weapon is derived from a rare plant that only lives here on Satiri."

"Is there a remedy to counteract its effects? Carson swung round on his knees to face him expectantly.

Togo looked sad. "I am sorry, my friend. I know not of anything to help."

John let out a strange noise and Carson immediately understood that his lost voice was trying to moan.

"John? John, can you hear me?" He grabbed hold of his left hand.

John started panting and jerking away from his friends touching him as best he could.

He was lying down in continued agony and he could not pass out. He longed for the nothingness of blackness. The feeling of pain and endurance slipping away towards sleep. It wasn't coming fast enough and it was all starting to get too much to endure. His stomach was still unsettled also, but John did not the energy to force it up.

He thought of Teyla, then, and he felt a solitary tear escape his eye. Teyla, Teyla.

She had been shot in the head by a stray bullet in the initial fight for survival. The guards had refused their request to talk to the leader of the village; instead they said they would join them – there had been no choice. They were captured and held as prisoners until their fate was decided.

They had fought, of course, but the fight was not a long one as, during the battle one of the Santirion guards had fired several shots around them to subdue them, but during the gun fight, one of the bullets had clipped Teyla's head and she fell in the battle. Blood poured out onto the sand from the wound where she lay; eyes closed and vacant.

"No!" They all shouted in unison. Then they were all hit with a stunner and fell into unconsciousness.

Ronon had been the first to wake, and then John, followed by the others. There had been shouting and their bars of security shaken and kicked until both Ronon and John fell to the ground panting. Andy sat on the ground in shock, leaving Rodney and Carson standing and just staring at each other in sadness. She was gone; dead. Never to be seen again.

Every day, John asked the guards for her. They always replied with a 'Dead!" and laughed in his face. Every day, Ronon charged them and reached through the bars with a fist hoping to strike them, but they knew how close they could stand near them to taunt them. Every day, John said he would kill them. Every day, Ronon said the same thing.

Now Carson sat on the ground with a severely injured and sick John Sheppard and he knew; just knew, it would break them all if John was to die as well.

Carson gently wiped a cooling rag over John's red and blotched face, whispering words of encouragement. There was nothing he could do for him, save the salve Ronon was gently smoothing over the red patches and bruises where they had kicked him several times. Andy replaced the bowls constantly with fresh, flowing, abundant water, but he felt helpless and unsure how to react, so he remained quiet and kept out of the way.

Rodney sat cross-legged on the ground and kept a gentle hand on John's leg. He only wanted John to know he was there, keeping watch over him. They all knew he wasn't any good with medical matters, but he had to be there for his friend, and for now that was just letting him know they were all present and he didn't need to worry.

Carson creaked his back and rocked back onto his heels.

"He's asleep at last." He declared and stood.

Ronon stopped what he was doing and joined him upright. "Will he be okay?"

Carson sighed. "Wish I knew, Ronon. I'm glad he's out for the moment. What with not being able to speak; to tell me how he feels, and the shock of kicks to his body and whatever that 'Drenching' done to his body, he's in for a rough ride of it I think. His throat is still so red and raw; made worse now by today's events. It's really set his health back.

Ronon roared and kicked the bowl of water to the far side of the room in frustration.

"Son! That's not going to help him now, is it?"

Ronon was contrite, "Sorry. I needed to kick a guard in retaliation, so the bowl got it instead."

Andy quietly retrieved the bowl and filled it up again with water, handing it to the larger man with an understanding look.

"Thanks, Andy. You okay?" He asked of the much smaller and younger man.

Andy nodded, although Ronon noticed him swallow. "We'll get out of here. Don't worry about that." He tilted his head back, "…and Sheppard will be fine. He's tough like that."

"So I've heard!" Andy smirked. For the Colonel's reputation to survive against all the odds was already well known before the new recruits arrived. Andy had only been with them for six weeks and his appreciation for his commanding officer was already set in stone.

"John?" Carson suddenly shouted out.

Ronon flung the bowl down once again, as he witnessed his friend thrashing about on the bed in the grips of a seizure. Rodney backed off to leave Carson some room, his hand over his mouth in shock. "John!" He whispered into the air in a gasp.

Carson steadied John on the bed, but refrained from holding him down for now. John's eyes had half opened; white slits for eyes were evident at his attempt to wake fully, but the seizure had a hold, gripping him in waves and waves of agony throughout which Carson could have cried at seeing his friend having to go through further torture and agony.

Ronon gently held his legs from sliding of the bed at Carson's okay, and pursed his lips. First Teyla, and now John. Could he cope with their loss? And so soon together? He stared at John's face and grimaced when he watched his friend's mouth open and close with silent screams his lost voice could not get out into the open. John only made a suffocating, strangling noise and it was very unsettling to watch and hear. Ronon could not help but punch his other fist into the cool stone wall beside John's bed in frustration, but soon stopped as Carson once again cast him a look to be quiet.

It took far too many minutes, but the seizure slowed down until with a final shudder, John remained still; eyes closed.

Carson pounced and took his wrist in one hand, whilst the other pressed into his neck. He scowled and tried both again swiftly.

"He's not breathing." He pronounced, before tilting his head back and breathing into him in several short bursts.

The others knelt around the bed as Carson worked on their friend. Ronon interlaced his fingers and raised his fingers above his chest waiting on Carson's go ahead. After his final breath into John, Carson nodded and Ronon started compressions, stopping when Carson aimed for John's mouth again.

Carson blew into John's mouth, almost crying in frustration. He could hear Rodney cry, 'no, no, no' several times and he tried harder to save his friends life; cupping his jaw and giving him his own breathe to save his life.

The commotion outside the bars was drawing attention in other cells and soon the guards came to see what the fuss was. Upon seeing the attempts to save the man that they had recently beat, they shouted for support and soon the cell was filled with guards pointing weapons at them and then dragging them, kicking and screaming, away from John still body.

"Let. Me. Be!" Carson pushed his guards, desperate to get to his patient.

In walked their captor – the hairless, bejewelled man that had tortured John. He took in the faces of the Atlanteans and their guides, smiling sadistically at every one; particularly stopping for a long second at Ronon.
"Aargh!" Ronon cried, and their captor got his desired result. He punched him hard in the stomach, and Ronon dipped his head, winded for a second at the strength of the blow.

"I need to see to him!" Carson shouted again.

The large man had brought one of the village's physicians. He pointed to John's body and the man shuffled forward. He copied Carson's previous checks at wrist then neck pulse points. A knotted brow followed his findings and he then put an ear to John's bruised chest. He raised his head and wetted his lips before slowly shaking his head.

"The man had passed away."

The words given so cold and lacking passion, took breathing from all of John's friends.

"It can't be." Rodney said, himself trying to break free of the guards hold on him. He could not believe his ears. No, it couldn't be true. Not this time. Not when they had lost Teyla also. His friend. John, his best friend. No, no, no…

The bejewelled man pointed to a large guard and told him to take the man on the bed away. This whipped Ronon into a rage and he thrashed and kicked out, but the guards subdued him and soon had him face down on the ground. The doctor quickly retrieved an injector of some description and pressed it quickly into the side of Ronon's neck.

"What the hell?" Carson panted as Ronon succumbed to the drug and finally stilled – but breathed still.

There was nothing the Carson, Rodney or Andy could do that wouldn't hurt themselves further so they stopped struggling and watched as John's dead body was flung over the guard's back, and he was carried out of the cell and finally out of sight. The guards let them go but kept their weapons raised until they were out of the cell. Carson fell on his knees beside Ronon and checked he was still breathing. He raised a knee and placed his head on it and closed his eyes.

"He's okay?" Rodney's voice cracked.

Carson nodded; clearly shocked.

"John's gone." Rodney said and tears followed his voice. When Carson raise his head, his face was also wet. "I can't believe it, Rodney. I tried to save him…these bastards…" He stopped and sighed, before sucking in a breath. "We'd best get Ronon comfortable on the bed before he wakes up."

Andy stepped forward and together they got their larger friend on the bed John had just been taken from. It was still warm. Carson placed his hand on it and closed his eyes. "I didn't save him this time."

Rodney looked at Ronon's sleeping face and then gripped Carson's shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, Carson. You were well on your way to do it. These bastards are responsible; not you. Ronon might need you when you wake, better not let him see you like this."

"Aye, Rodney, your right. Thanks, son."

"What are we going to do?" Rodney said after a few seconds of silence.

"I've no idea. Let's hope Ronon's not out too long, and then we must get out of here somehow – that I do know."

SGA SGA SGA

TO BE CONTINUED …