Chapter 7: Mystery Prisoner
He just wanted to get to the mess, but there was some chemical spill on level 19 that had a whole bee in Colonel Stadler's bonnet, so John had skirted around that trouble spot. The main elevators were out of commission, but there was a little-known service elevator that went from the 17th to the 22nd. It would still be a trek halfway across the level to the service elevator, but it was better than the alternative of not getting lunch before sitting through the IOA meetings. And he was going to have to stop by his rooms to change into his dress blues…
The main elevator let him off on level 17 and he stepped out into the familiar drab corridors, following the orange markings on the floor. It was easy enough to get turned around on the most commonly used levels. Level 17 was mainly storage and John wasn't entirely sure he had stepped foot on it previously.
He turned the corner and pulled up short at the sight of a marine stationed in the hall, in full tactical gear. Stadler was a little psychotic about base security – according to Mitchell – but even then, it seemed strange for a random marine to be guarding the… John glanced up the hall trying to figure out what kind of storage rooms these even were.
Not holding cells – that was level 16.
Not artifacts – the scientists were unlikely to let those out of their labs.
Something else, then.
"Sir, this section is closed off." The marine said, stepping toward him.
John glanced at the name tag, Wilkins, then glanced up at the baby-faced marine. Barely out of boot, by his reckoning. "Just passing through." He started to take a step around the marine – because he knew that if there was only one marine, it really wasn't closed off. They just didn't want him to see something. And he didn't really have the curiosity to get himself into trouble.
He just wanted lunch.
"Colonel Stadler ordered that these halls be left unoccupied until he could return from the lockdown."
Colonel Stadler ordered. And wasn't that just dandy. Mitchell was gone for a couple of hours and his second in command was set on taking over the place.
He was going to have to take the long route after all…
"You're not supposed to be down here, sir."
John just barely registered the hiss as one of the doors opened, and the next thing he knew, there was an arm wrapped around his throat with a knife point pressed into his skin.
His knife.
Just dandy.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" John held his hands up, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. "No need for all this."
So maybe Stadler had had a good reason to block off the floor. But it also seemed awfully careless to leave just one marine with someone who could apparently get out from behind locked doors.
Wilkins raised his gun at them and John really didn't want to get killed by friendly fire. "Hey! Put that down, Marine!"
Wilkins wavered, but John was at least able to stop seeing his immediate death by gunfire. Knife to the throat wasn't exactly a pleasant way to go either though.
"They had me trapped in there," the person said, voice just loud enough for John to hear over his own heartbeat. He felt the tug on his throat as they walked slowly backwards and figured, for the moment, that it was best to play along. "I'm not who they think I am. Don't know anything about symbiotes, or masters, or whatever else the fuck the air force is tied up in these days."
"Okay…" That was a young person's voice. A teenager. Someone barely out of their puberty stage. And Stadler had him locked up in a room in the basement of the SGC? "Taking someone hostage isn't going to help anything either, though."
"Yeah, well, I didn't ask to get kidnapped."
Though, he supposed, he could see how the kid wouldn't think it could get any worse. There was no telling who he really was. Could be faking it all. But these weren't the holding cells. And Mitchell clearly didn't know about his presence on base…
"Sir—"
"Shut up, Wilkins," John snapped. As far as he saw it, Wilkins was more likely to cause problems than provide solutions. But as it stood, backup was probably already on its way. "Now listen, I'm not a real fan of kidnapping either way, but it seems to me that we've got a couple of problems." He let the teenager pull him back further, slowly progressing toward one of the dead-end halls. "Because I guarantee that Wilkins there has called for backup – and they're not going to care who you say you are since you have a hostage. Why don't we just sit down like reasonable people and talk it out?"
As if that ever worked.
But it almost seemed to work for the teenager. Clearly, he wasn't hellbent on keeping and killing a hostage.
"Are you superior to Lieutenant Colonel Stadler?"
He even had the name. That did not bode well. "Hmm… that could be a hiccup." Of a giant variety. Stadler was currently in command of the base, with Mitchell off on his little trip with Jackson. But… "You're saying he kidnapped you?"
"And his team."
"Right." John valiantly tried to keep from saying more. He wasn't a big fan of what he had seen coming from Stadler, but then, he also had a horribly different command style. Laid back, Lorne had dubbed it.
"Then we can escalate to the general." And by general he meant O'Neill. Because he knew O'Neill would back up his gut feeling that something was horribly off with this entire situation.
"You promise?" It was a highly suspicious question, as if he expected John to just turn around and knife him himself.
John huffed a laugh. "Yeah, course. Just, put the knife down."
He could feel him wavering, the knife pressure releasing just the slightest amount. They were backed into a corner, there wasn't much he could do either way.
Then, the backup came bursting around the corner, guns and zats held high. He didn't even have a second to motion them down. The burst of zats came their way and his own choked off cry was swallowed up in the blackness.
Mother of—
John groaned at the pounding in his head and the utter ache that had set up in his bones. He was pretty sure his skull was being held together with nothing more than super glue.
He rolled to the side, buried his head in his arms and tried to remember what had happened.
Armed insurgents?
Unfriendly natives?
He didn't hear McKay, so… His team wasn't nearby. Or he was just the first to wake.
But, no…
That wasn't right either.
He clenched his jaw, then tried to relax it, feeling the waves if tension emanating from the base of his skull.
Someone had whacked him a good one.
"Colonel?"
No.
That wasn't right.
Unfamiliar.
Danger.
His eyes flew open, taking in the environment. A medical facility.
Hostage?
"Colonel Sheppard, are you back with us?"
They knew who he was.
Right.
The events of the last few days filtered into his brain. Earth. SGC. Watching the recruits. Dealing with the fucking IOA. Getting zatted just when he was about to get the kid to relax.
"Fuck…" He groaned, then lifted a groggy hand to rub over his face. "Another of those zats, right?"
The doctor on duty – he should really know who she was – gave him an amused glance. "Language, Colonel. There was a training accident. Someone mixed up the devices."
John blinked. That was a piss poor excuse if he had ever heard one. The zats were supposed to be investigated by the scientists only. And a training accident shouldn't have resulted in him ended up flat on his back in the infirmary.
"Colonel Stadler had a couple of Marines bring you up when it became clear that someone had swapped the zats."
John rolled his neck experimentally and felt the uncomfortable pull of bandages on it. Right. Because there had been a knife involved. Even if it had been a training foothold situation, Mitchell would have warned him. Just because he had a history of taking things far too seriously and may or may not have knocked out one of his training officers in basic. That particular black mark had been swept under the rug rather quickly when they had realized just how good a pilot he was, but Mitchell knew those rumors.
He pushed himself up to a sitting position and was rewarded with the world only spinning slightly and a throbbing behind his left eye. Nowhere near as bad as the last time, however he had also been shot multiple times then.
He glanced around the infirmary – surprisingly deserted – then looked back at the doctor on duty. "And the other guy?"
She blinked at him. "Other guy?"
"Yeah… Couple inches shorter than me, may or may not have been the one holding a knife to my neck, definitely also got shot with the zat." He was banking on the fact that the SGC had similar medical protocols – any zaps, zats, or otherwise unexpected occurrences required at least a brief medical check over.
"Colonel, you were the only one brought in." She crossed her arms. "There was a training session in the gym and in the course of demonstrating a hold, a marine on the far side of the room discharged his zat in your direction. The cut on your neck was from where you hit the edge of a table."
John clenched his hands into fists. "No."
She took a startled step back, before moving closer and lowering her voice. "Colonel, are you telling me that that is not what occurred?"
"What's on level 17?"
The non-requiter seemed to surprise her, but she answered anyway. "Storage. And well, the old holding cells, used more in the first year or so. Older technology. Holding cells were moved closer to the gate room, oh, five years ago or so. Caldwell sometimes uses them as beaming staging areas, but that's about it."
"Stadler has someone held down there."
She raised an eyebrow. "Why were you there?"
"Was trying to get to the mess, by taking the service elevator." He shrugged his shoulders. "Someone jumped me coming out of the rooms and said he'd been kidnapped. Sounded terrified. Identified Colonel Stadler by name, even. And judging by your expression…" John trailed off, shoulders sinking. "You had no idea he was here either."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Stadler had a raid on a suspected Trust hideout in Nevada yesterday. His whole team came through, but no prisoners." She turned away quickly, before spinning back to him. "Don't even think about leaving. I'll take care of this."
John couldn't help the feel of unease in his stomach. "Someone should probably contact General O'Neill."
The doctor blew out a sharp breath, then nodded. "I'll let you know what we find."
Never let it be said that the doctors in the SGC were pushovers. They took the health and safety of their patient seriously – even if said patients were of questionable origin.
John nodded, then winced slightly at the movement. Nope, head definitely still hurt.
She hesitated for a moment. "I can get you something stronger to help with the migraine."
John shook his head. It hurt, but it wasn't anywhere near enough to have him asking for something that would more than likely knock him out. "I have some in my quarters that I can take if it's gets worse." If he could get back to his quarters in the next hour or so, he would be fine.
"You're staying here until we can get a scan," she shot back, then turned on her heel and started barking orders at her nurses.
John closed his eyes and settled in for the long haul. At the very least, he had probably already missed the IOA meeting.
Being poked and prodded hadn't helped the headache any. Nor had being subjected to the very noisy MRI machine – he missed the Ancient scanners on Atlantis. The clanging and banging had felt like knives being shoved into his skull, but he had resolutely refused any more medication.
He would much rather take something on his own then whatever the doctor was trying to shove down his throat.
At least she seemed resigned to that as a lost cause. It wasn't beyond her to make it an order, after all.
The few glimpses he had gotten of the doctor since had showed a rather harried expression. And increasing frustration.
John resisted the urge swing his feet back and forth, as he sat on the edge of the bed waiting for someone to come along to release him. The steady thud in his head was increasing to a more annoying pain, but he had more pressing questions to be answered.
He was just about to flag down a nurse to find out when they would let him out, when there was a commotion at the door to the infirmary.
It was the kid.
A pair of marines were all but dragging him in, his feet just barely stumbling one step in front of the other, wearing nothing but an ill fitting pair of pants.
And he really was a kid.
A teenager – and to be frank, John wasn't exactly one to go judging ages, since even the new marines looked like kids to him – by all accounts, and quite possibly mixed up in something he had very little clue about.
Even if he wasn't who he claimed to be, the fact that Colonel Stadler had been hiding him was an enormous red flag. And that he had been denied medical care.
"Get him to a bed!" The doctor rushed over, a handful of nurses following in her wake.
The kid jerked back, eyes wide and skittering about the room, searching out everything and anything. As if looking for some sort of rescue. John knew better than to intervene though. It would only serve to add more problems.
John could just barely make out the conversation from across the room. "Get me everything for a post-zat exam," The doctor said, pushing forward and all but waving a penlight in the kid's eyes. That only served in making him balk even further.
"Colonel?" A nurse crossed his view and John resisted the urge to lean around her to continue watching the commotion on the other side of the room. "Your scans came back clear. Dr. Lam wanted to remind you though that if you notice any worsening in symptoms to return to the infirmary."
John nodded his head dutifully, before standing up and stretching. The doctor – Dr. Lam, apparently – had pulled the curtain closed around the kid's bed, so he couldn't see anything more. And it wasn't like he could just stick around hoping to learn something.
This wasn't Atlantis.
He buttoned up the top few buttons on his shirt, then turned toward the door. He would have to get answers elsewhere.
The sound of metal crashing on the floor and shouting from the corner had him darting in the opposite direction. Two marines were advancing on the curtain as well, zats pulled and ready.
"Oh, no, you don't." He pulled one back by the shoulder and muscled his way in front of the other, before stepping around the curtain. The sight that greeted him was not what he expected.
A tray full of supplies were scattered across the bed and floor.
Dr. Lam was helping one of the nurses up.
Another nurse was still on the floor, protectively curled around their stomach.
The kid… The kid was off the bed, back all the way into the corner, brandishing a scalpel in his shaking handcuffed hands.
Tremors.
Irritability.
Shot with a zat.
It didn't take a medical degree to realize that this kid had PZS – and to a more extreme level than John currently had. Which meant he had been zatted more than once in an indeterminate time period.
A kid.
"Sergeant, you had better put that away," he declared, stepping forward and pushing the zat toward the ground. The nurse shot an angry look in his direction. John kept a careful eye on the teenager in the corner, before asking a careful question. "What were you trying to do?"
"I was told to get a blood sample!"
The flinch from the kid at that was unmistakable.
They were coming at this all wrong.
Any kids they saw here in the infirmary were probably few and far between. Probably even fewer that had little idea of what was going on.
Whatever Stadler had done, clearly hadn't been in the kid's best interest.
"Sir, we don't know if he's been implanted!" One of the marines hissed at him, holding his weapon at the ready without actually pointing it at anyone.
Right.
Because goa'uld were a constant concern in this galaxy.
But even if the kid had been taken over by one of the parasites – and really, that was a fate that made turning into a bug sound almost humane – if they hadn't at least followed protocols… John could feel his headache getting worse as he realized just how large a mess he had stepped in.
Hopefully O'Neill would arrive soon.
"Stand down, Marine."
"Sir—"
"That's an order!" He mentally jotted the marine's name down – Patterson, one of Stadler's team – as one that would never make the cut for Atlantis. His career at the SGC was probably coming to a rapid end as well, thanks to Colonel Stadler. They would never see that though. They would just blame the prisoner.
He took a couple careful steps toward the bed and the kid's eyes locked on him. The scalpel was brandished in his direction, but judging by the apparent effort it took, he wasn't going to do much damage if he actually tried anything.
"Dr. Lam?" John asked quietly, never taking his eyes off the kid. "If you would give me a couple minutes with him?"
He could almost picture her pinched expression, before there was a scant nod. "We can't get much done now, as is."
The only way one of the medical personnel were getting close to the kid right now was if they tranquilized him. Which, based on Carson's ranting, was one of the absolute worst things they could consider for PZS. Something with disrupting the neural transmitter thingamajig. John hadn't been listening too closely.
"Airman, escort Patterson and Planck to the…" He floundered for a moment, because this wasn't Atlantis. He couldn't just send them to the brig, because he didn't know where the brig was.
"Holding rooms on level 16," Dr. Lam said.
"Yes, the holding rooms." The airman looked ready to protest, but John just slanted a dark look in his direction. "And find Staff Sergeant Mackenzie." Because he needed ears on the ground that he could trust. Mackenzie would at least make sure that the base was still in once piece and that Colonel Stadler was cooling his heels appropriately.
It took far too long for everyone to move away from the corner of the room.
The kid's eyes had darted around as someone carefully cleared the bed of instruments and the others drifted into the background. The tremors were more pronounced now, no longer the subtle jerks but rather full body shudders. But he was resolutely watching everything with a suspicious gaze.
Which, John had to give him credit – a series a zat blasts had been enough to knock John completely on his back. This… kid was still intent on protecting himself, even though by all accounts he should have been nearly incoherent with pain.
John took a deep breath, metaphorically brushed off his pants, and took two more steps closer to the kid, before leaning against the wall and letting himself slide into a sitting position. A little vulnerable, but… he had a gut feeling that the kid had been telling the truth earlier. That he really had no idea what was going on, or why he had been kidnapped.
The kid's jaw set and he turned wary eyes on John, as he got closer. Someone – or something – had gotten him good across the jaw, where a purpling bruise was already appearing. There weren't any other visible bruises or injuries on his torso though, so hopefully there wouldn't be a case of outright abuse. Through denying medical care was a pretty big charge…
"You don't even know where you are or who we are, do you, kid?" John observed quietly. It only earned him a steely stare, but he wasn't blind. He could see the pain lines. The amount of effort it took to keep looking threatening.
If he could've dimmed the lights, he would've. For the kid's sake, as well as his own. Migraines were killers.
John let out a long breath. "Right then. I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard." He couldn't help the small quirk of his lips at the familiar phrasing. "I like Ferris wheels, college football, and anything that goes more than 200 miles an hour." The kid just stared at him. "I'm not like those other guys. I can help you."
Though how much help he would be when the kid was refusing all medical assistance, well…
The hand with the scalpel was wavering tremendously, but John knew better than to bring attention to it. If it was enough to give the kid some kind of security…
"What's your name?"
The shaking continued.
Full body shudders.
John was about to rephrase the question, when he heard a raspy response.
"Alex. You need to contact Joe Byrne. 202. 530. 1822." There was a long, slow blink, as if reopening his eyes was physically painful. "Joe Byrne. 202. 530. 1822."
A phone number. John nodded encouragingly. "Okay, okay. Joe Byrne. Got it." He could commit a string of digits to memory, easy enough. "Is that—is he your dad?"
Alex shook his head frantically. "A-agent."
"Agent." Because that made any sense.
"He'll help me. He'll know what… to do." Alex's voice broke and he licked his lips, seeming to search for something, then giving up.
John turned that one over in his head. He definitely wasn't going to go calling random numbers, but it certainly made things more complicated. For one, he'd have to find out just who this Joe Byrne person was. And a teenager by the name of Alex wasn't a whole lot to go on either.
Someone had to be missing him though.
"Alright, we'll contact him." It was a lie – there was no telling whether they would be able to contact this Byrne person or not securely. The SGC was a top-secret government facility, after all. There was undoubtedly going to be lots of red tape. "Is there anything else you can tell me that you think might help?"
"St-Stadler. Doesn't like me." Alex licked his lips again, eyes darting toward the edge of the curtain. As if worried Stadler would appear out of thin air. "He doesn't like that I killed all the snakes."
Killed.
All.
The.
Snakes.
Fuck me, John thought. Because if the snakes were what he thought the kid was referring to, then he was lucky to be alive and coherent in the first place. And if Stadler had gotten mixed up in something on the wrong side… John wasn't going to envy Mitchell's position at all. This was his second in command, after all.
"Okay…" John scooted ever so slightly closer. If Alex had wanted, he could have easily reached out and slashed at John. He trusted that they were beyond that stage of their relationship. "It's going to take some time. And I'm sure those cuffs aren't too comfortable." Though his torso was unmarred, it was impossible to miss the bloody streaks running from one wrist. Alex had escaped to try to take John captive, after all. He had apparently sacrificed the integrity of a wrist in the process.
In return, whoever had re-cuffed him, had tightened both bands down so tightly that there wasn't even a millimeter of wiggle room.
Alex's knuckles whitened as he gripped the scalpel tighter.
"How about we make a deal. You get up in that bed and stay there, and I'll go find a key for those cuffs."
Alex jerked his head once. "No needles."
John blinked. "Sure, no needles." And if that was all that had completely freaked the kid out, then he was going to make sure that Dr. Lam worked around it.
Alex studied him for a long moment, before slowly reaching out and handing John the scalpel.
A sign of trust.
John took the scalpel and threw it on the floor behind him. Someone else could take care of it.
Watching Alex's reactions carefully, he pulled the top blanket off the bed, then crawled closer until they were almost pressed knee to knee. It was easier said than done to wrap a teenager in a blanket, but it was much like trying to wrangle a hypothermic Rodney into a thermal blanket – something he had only had to do once, thank god.
"Let's get you up," he said, successfully tucking the blanket around the kid's shoulders. He could feel the trembling through the blanket, vibrating into his own being.
Alex's legs were about a steady as a newborn colt, but they really only had to get him upright and onto the bed. That much movement seemed to be about the extent of his abilities though, because any color that had remained in his face had been leached out.
Alex automatically curled onto his side, back facing the security of the wall, arms drawn up against his chest. He looked young and vulnerable – and whether or not he had a goa'uld… there was no missing the fact that he was currently in pain.
"I'll get you another blanket and those keys for the cuffs. Stay right here."
John pushed through the curtain to see Dr. Lam waiting with her arms crossed. She beckoned him across the room, hopefully out of ear shot from the kid.
"No needles?" She hissed at him. "Do you have any idea what we do down here?"
John raised his hands innocently. "Then find a way around it. He's traumatized. Maybe if someone had tried talking with him, rather than immediately attacking him with penlights and needles we would've had a better reaction."
She fixed him with a steely glare, but John held his ground.
This was her screw up. He wasn't going to take any of the blame while trying to do damage control. "I need another blanket and handcuff keys. And water." Alex had sounded parched.
"Is that a good idea?"
"If you want any hope of him accepting any help here, yes." He cast a glance back to the curtain. "Look, whatever happened with Stadler has left him thinking we're the bad guys. I'd rather have an inkling of what's going on before General O'Neill gets here."
"Major Davis said it would be a couple of hours."
A couple of hours for everything to go wrong.
John wanted to close his eyes against the pounding in his head, but he knew better. Any sign of weakness and Dr. Lam would be pouncing on him. But…
"I'm pretty sure he has PZS."
Dr. Lam slanted another exasperated glance in his direction. "Nice to see your medical degree coming in handy." She shook her head before he could retort. "We've had several incidents in the past month. He is displaying the classic signs of multiple zats, but, if we're going no needles, I can't treat it how I usually would. Fluids, pain killers."
He waited patiently. If she were half the doctor Carson was, she would figure out something.
"Here." She pulled a handful of keys out of her pocket and shoved it in his direction. "One of those will open the cuffs. I'll get another warm blanket, and… yes… it might just work in the meantime…" She turned and walked away before he could ask exactly what her plan was.
He looked down at the keys. It was going to be trial and error.
Hopefully Dr. Lam had a good plan.
A/N: Thank you for all the lovely responses so far! I'm glad so many are enjoying. It'll be a little of John's perspective as he tries to untangle exactly who Alex is. I'm moving in a few days, then who knows how long it'll be until I get my belongings all set up again, so the next chapter may be a bit more of a wait. We'll see what happens.