Chapter 23: Bad Decisions

Alex sucked in a sharp breath, staring down at the last person he wanted to see.

The room, or lack of room, opened into a viewing area for the room below. Almost like a low budget arena. It gave Alex the perfect view of Jamison and his crew – the five that seemed to follow his lead for everything – working out down below. It gave them the perfect view of Alex darting into the room.

Distinctly missing his escort.

"Rider." There was no missing the disgust and annoyance at his appearance in Jamison's voice. "Decided your cozy little room was too stifling?"

Alex hastily shoved the life signs detector into his pocket and feigned nonchalance. As if he had – for some asinine reason – decided to waltz into the one room that Jamison and his crew had claimed. Not because he was trying to avoid whoever was out in the hall.

Absolutely not.

Jamison made a show of looking at his watch. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Alex shrugged casually. There was really no way he could think of to get himself out of this. Jamison would go to Sheppard – or potentially circumvent the military hierarchy entirely and go straight to Woolsey. Who wouldn't hesitate to throw him back through the Stargate.

To the waiting clutches of the Trust.

There had to be something.

Something that he could offer to put them in a quid pro quo situation. Tie their hands and save his own hide.

Easier said than done.

Alex studied them, analyzed their postures, looked for a weakness. This was Jamison's crew. His team that seemed to somehow hang on his every word and were convinced that Alex was the… anti-christ, or something.

The room itself didn't give many more clues. There were signs that someone had repurposed the room for its current use, with crates shoved against the far wall, and what looked like thin little mats spread out, with a haphazard "arena" square taped out. Like they had carved out their own little space.

Was it sanctioned?

He knew that the usual training rooms were over in Sector G, near the Marines' quarters. Greg had dragged him over there more than once. This was definitely outside their normal stomping grounds – hence why he had felt safe enough to explore this area. It was supposed to be abandoned.

Alex took a couple steps forward, leaning into a careless slouch against the barrier, and gazing down at Jamison. "Nice setup." He made a show of looking over everything, before smirking down at Jamison. "Did you build it yourself?"

There was a distinct muscle twitch in Jamison's jaw, before he crossed his arms. "Figured we'd take training into our own hands. Don't need no pansy telling me how to fight."

Which Alex took to mean that whoever was over Jamison's little crew had absolutely no idea what was going on here. And that there was probably some level of these actions being frowned on – at the very least, risking Rodney's wrath if the room hadn't been cleared properly. "Would hate for that to get out."

It was impossible to miss the flashing emotions on Jamison's face. Anger. Resentment. Opportunity. "You think your little squid is going to care about us, when he finds you've slipped your chaser?"

Alex pressed his lips together to hold in the burst of laughter at the mental image of Greg being turned into a little squid. Military euphemisms. "I mean, if I go down, you might as well too." And he would drag them kicking and screaming. He could make up stories about how they lured him here. That they threatened him if he didn't show up. His word against theirs, if he had to – even though Sheppard would probably see right through him.

Jamison stared up at Alex with a smug expression, as if he had finally gotten Alex right where he wanted him.

Maybe he had.

"Well then, seems we have a bit of a conundrum." Jamison glanced at the others on his crew, before turning back with a sickly-sweet grin. "Maybe if you… dispel a few rumors, we'll consider not mentioning this to the Colonel."

Which didn't mean they wouldn't mention it to anyone, but… That was at least a start. "Rumors?"

"Phelps claims that you have training. Prove it."

A fight.

That's what he wanted.

Jamison just wanted a literal fight.

It certainly wasn't going to be good for his ego, but… If there was one thing Alex had learned in the past two years, it was how to throw a fight in his favor. Without dying.

Lose gracefully, without making it look like he hadn't been trying.

"I'm always up for a bit of training." Purposefully misunderstanding, putting it into the guise of just training… He knew he was going to have to make a point – not in his favor – but he didn't really fancy the idea of just an all out brawl. It needed to all be carefully choreographed so that he didn't lose his head – literally or figuratively.

"Come down then." Jamison made a sweeping gesture at their arena. "Unless you're worried you can't keep up."

Alex very carefully didn't roll his eyes. He had dealt with SAS before. This was no different from traditional military posturing – which, admittedly, had so far been few and far between on this base. Maybe because Sheppard seemed like such an unconventional military commander. "Sure, be right down." He contemplated trying to jump from the balcony – fifteen feet wasn't that far – but there was no telling how well the floor was actually padded, whether they would let him properly roll out the impact, and well, whether he would injure himself in the process.

That would be a great way to make a point.

He slipped out the doors and checked the life signs detector – no one present.

It was tempting to just slip away into the halls. They had no proof that he had been there. But…

The principle of the matter. A deal was a deal.

Alex got in through the training room door with little fanfare. He shed his hoodie, throwing it onto one of the benches along with the life signs detector – he wasn't about to let them see that particular device. That was a surefire way to get Jamison to escalate.

The last thing he needed.

"Warm up," Jamison barked out.

Alex slid into the formation and did what he did best, blended in. Maybe it would be enough for Jamison to stop singling him out.

Jamison's fist whipped up, catching Alex unawares in the stomach. Curling forward into the blow, Alex struck out with the side of his hand to Jamison's neck.

Brute strength was not going to win this fight.

Alex hooked his foot behind Jamison's leg, trying to get him off balance. To back off. He pushed up on his remaining foot, trying wedge himself into Jamison's personal space, head butting into the underside of his chin. He would have no choice but to back up.

It worked.

Jamison stumbled backwards. Into the waiting arms of his comrades, pushing him back into the fight.

"Come on, Jamison."

Egging him on.

Triggering the reckless need to demonstrate his superiority.

Alex skittered back, resetting. Watching. Waiting. He swiped a hand under his nose, wiping away the slow trickle of blood.

It had all devolved rather quickly.

One moment, friendly spars had been going on. Careful demonstrations of power and skill. Restraint. The next moment, Jamison had decided he had had enough and it was finally time to show Alex his place. At the bottom of the totem pole.

Only, Alex had won the first fight. A lucky twist, throw, pin.

He hadn't meant to. Had tried to throw the fight.

But it hadn't worked.

"Let's fight like real men." No holds barred.

It should've been Alex's cue to leave, even if he had to run.

"You going to keep pussyfooting away?" Jamison asked, sweat dripping down his own brow.

Alex carefully said nothing.

There wasn't just one hostile here.

There were five other potential hostiles.

Jamison lunged.

Catching the first kick with his shin, Alex whipped it out and knocked his leg away. Foot planted, he twisted his body, right foot lifting as he wheeled. Aiming for a high kick that would at least daze him for—

Jamison swept his left leg, while simultaneously pushing out with his palms. It threw Alex off balance. His foot made contact with Jamison's temple, but the force was gone.

Alex crashed to the ground, feeling something pop uncomfortably. But he ignored it. He rolled, springing to his feet, narrowly missing Jamison's follow-up strike that would have kept him on the floor. He danced back, keeping light on his feet.

Brute force was winning – as expected – but they were getting dangerously close to tipping over the edge into the danger zone.

If Alex didn't throw the fight soon, there was no telling if Jamison would stop before someone was hurt.

This time, instead of waiting, Alex darted forward. The same throw wouldn't win again. Jamison was waiting for it. But if he could just…

He slipped in before Jamison could get a good grip on him, twisted, and threw.

It was all about the center of gravity.

The taller they are, the harder they fall.

Jamison toppled like a tower, but not before he got a good grip on Alex's shoulder and pulled him down too. There was another sharp twinge as he hit the mat, and this time, he was too slow in turning his head. His face mashing into the mat, he only had half a second to think before rolling and springing out of Jamison's hold.

Alex swiped at the trickle of blood from his nose once more. It was a bit more than a trickle this time. There was also a point on his temple that was throbbing now – hopefully it wouldn't be too colorful.

Jamison pushed up from the mats, looking even more ticked off than he had when they started.

There was not going to be a graceful tap out.

It wasn't quite a fight to the death, but…

What the hell were you expecting?

Alex took another step forward, feeling the uncomfortable twinge in his back. His leg felt strangely numb. It just… didn't feel right.

Something was—

Jamison darted forward, seeming to sense the weakness. Alex blocked the punches to his ribs, to his diaphragm, but there was only so far he could back up without stepping outside the ring.

He needed Jamison on the defensive.

Not… this.

Alex tried to push back, catch him off guard, but—something wasn't right.

Jamison slipped right inside all of those weak defenses and didn't even hesitate to flip Alex, arm pinning across his windpipe in a show of superiority.

Alex gasped as it felt like someone had shoved hot rods under and into his back.

His leg.

Hot fiery pain that radiated up and down.

Glass shards.

Knives.

A constant electrical tremor.

He tried to breathe.

Couldn't.

Couldn't move.

Legs were frozen.

Movement hurt.

He scrabbled at the object holding him down. Nails biting into it, digging in, trying to pull it away.

He needed air.

He couldn't—

Not—

Pressure. Release.

Alex rolled onto his side, coughing and gasping. Trying to breathe.

Pain rocketed up his spine.

Nails driving into his spine.

So.

Much.

Pain.

There were people shouting around him, voices he couldn't quite make out.

What had—

Where was—

He sucked in a breath, feeling it grate in his lungs.

Movement hurt, he couldn't—

"Don't you dare tell anyone about this," Someone hissed into his ear.

Alex squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to breathe through the pain. Curled onto his side, one leg feeling useless, except for the constant burning fire in his nerves.

"Shouldn't we—"

"He'll be fine. Just can't handle losing."

He felt nauseous with the pain.

He just needed to—Breathe.

He could do that.

That was normal.

Something soft hit him in the chest.

"Where'd you find—"

"He probably stole it. Trust scum. Come on, we'll let the colonel know when he gets back."

"But isn't—"

"We've got proof." The voices drifted away, getting further away until Alex couldn't hear them anymore.

He tried to roll back onto his back and was rewarded with a wave of pain that made him dry heave – which only resulted in more pain.

Alex let his cheek rest against the cool floor, trying to focus on breathing and not moving.

Surely, it would stop eventually.

When the pain didn't die down, Alex started to realized just how much of a mess he was in.

No one knew where he was.

No one would even look for him until morning.

Whatever had happened—wasn't good.

Permanent maiming injury was never meant to be the outcome of the evening.

Sheppard was going to kill him.

Alex choked back a painful laugh at that realization. This was exactly why Sheppard had kept him under escort. Because Atlantis wasn't some sort of utopia. And regardless of malicious intent, regardless of what he had set out to accomplish, things happened.

He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and pushed up into a sitting position. The world spun around him and the resulting shocks of pain were enough to have him considering just curling up and waiting until someone stumbled across him.

But that wasn't an option.

It could be days before anyone bothered to check these rooms, unless Jamison gave someone reason to find him.

He splayed his hands on the ground, trying to support himself. It felt wrong. Weak. His arms were trembling with exertion, but he knew they hadn't been sparring for that long.

With slow, shuffling movements, he half crawled, half slid across the mats to one of the benches. His head was swimming from the nonstop pain, pins and needles crawling across his skin and lower extremities.

Something bad.

Alex let his head fall against the bench, relishing the coolness of the hard surface.

The transporter was only down the hall.

He could get there.

Even if it took all night.

Then, there was… a transporter that took him to the infirmary. Or thereabouts.

He was pretty sure he could find it.

He just… had to make it that far.

A chill set in, as he realized that those few steps he had taken for granted the last time, were probably going to feel like running a marathon now. He pulled on his hoodie, thankful that at least raising his arms didn't make things any worse.

It wasn't a cramp.

It wasn't a pulled muscle.

It was nothing he had ever dealt with before.

He swallowed against the nausea once again, wondering if even trying to walk was in the cards. Or if that was just an altogether bad idea.

Probably a bad idea.

His left leg just didn't feel right. Weak. Numb. Sensitive.

He blinked away tears at the sudden realization that this was a problem. A major problem.

If only he hadn't—

He made it two feet before he had to take a break, the pain shooting up and down his leg and spine. It was going to be a very long crawl to the transporter…

There were spots in his vision as he tried to breathe against the pain once again.

Surely someone would wander out this way.

There had been people around only a short while earlier.

He couldn't feel his toes in his left foot anymore. The entire leg was just dragging along behind him, not able to contribute to any forward motion as he slowly army crawled forward. The few inches at a time that he managed by pushing and pulling.

The transporter was in sight. Just a few more feet and god bless the mental component to the Ancient gene. If only they had thought to have direct access to the infirmary. Alex hated the place, but he knew there was no place he would rather be right at that moment. Drugs and doctors were about the only important things at this point.

Beckett.

Beckett would fix this.

He tucked his elbows underneath himself and army crawled another couple of feet, pushing through the waves of fire.

Five feet.

Three feet.

Two feet.

Open.

His elbows felt raw, but it was hardly noticeable underneath the new baseline. He let his fingers grip into the tile grooves in the transporter, and pulled himself in. Like a soggy mess on the floor. Spent and useless.

Alex lifted his head and nearly sobbed as he realized how high the console was. Even sitting, he had no hope of reaching it.

It wasn't possible.

So close, but still so far away.

He swallowed down the nausea and forced himself into a sitting position.

Five seconds, that's all he needed. Just… had to hit the button. Or really, any button that led to a more populated area.

Someone would find him.

Someone would help.

Surely…

He worked to get his right leg underneath himself, not even bothering to suppress to groans of pain as it jostled everything wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

He gripped the railing and braced himself for movement.

Five seconds.

That's all.

Up.

Brace.

Hit.

He hit the first location he recognized.

Anything would be better than alone here.

He shifted his weight.

Wrong move.

He was falling again, before he even had a chance to catch himself.

"Arhhhgh…" The fire was back, this time with a vengeance. The dry heaves weren't so dry this time, bringing up bile and nothing more.

"What the—Alex?"

Lorne.

Alex let out a shaky sob. For anyone to find him… this was probably the best person.

"What happened?" There was a shocked undertone to his voice and Alex wondered just how bad he looked.

"Can't—can't feel m'leg." Alex let his eyes close as he took a shaky breath. Tried to marshal his thoughts into line.

"This is Lorne. I've got a medical emergency in L5. Someone… page Dr. Beckett."

A/N: Poor Alex… What do you think happened? And what will Sheppard's reaction be…? What a mess we find ourselves in.