SGA Fic: A Dish Best Served Cold (2 / 2)
Title: A Dish Best Served Cold
Author: radioshack84
Recipient: everybetty - Sheppard H/C Summer Exchange
Rating: T
Warning: None that I can think of…
Word Count: ~12,200
Summary: Sheppard’s in a real pickle: shackled to a pole in the ocean, during a storm, with no means of escape. And that’s just for starters. (Prompt at the end.)
Back to Part 1
Dr. Carson Beckett was annoyed, to put it mildly. Irate to put it truthfully. He and his staff had been finishing up a batch of routine health screenings for some of Atlantis’ visiting trade partners when another group of them had come in carrying three men who they claimed were sick with a common, yet highly-contagious illness. Beckett’s gut had told him from the start that that wasn’t likely, since Atlantis had quarantine protocols that would have automatically detected such a disease. Nevertheless, he quickly shooed away the straggling visitors and he and his staff had proceeded to examine the men. By the time they realized the illness was a ruse, there were military-issue handguns, various dangerous-looking farm implements, and even a Wraith stunner trained on them.
The day had not improved from there. Their captors wouldn’t say who they were, what settlement they were from, how they’d gotten their hands on Atlantis’ weapons, or specifically what they wanted. Through careful listening, Beckett had learned that at least one of them apparently wanted revenge, but revenge for what and on whom remained a mystery.
As enemies went, though, they weren’t particularly hostile, just careful. They allowed him and his staff to go about their business, but monitored all computer use closely, and had confiscated all radios immediately. It surprised him, then, that they hadn’t noticed when one of his nurses had slipped out the back an hour ago. Gina and Megan did closely resemble each other, though. He’d mistaken one sister for the other at a glance in the past, and apparently now these men had too.
Hopeful for an early end to the chaos so his current patients-two scientists recovering from a very ill-advised experiment involving week-old bacon and eggs, and a Marine with a concussion-could get some rest, Beckett turned expectantly when he heard footsteps fast approaching from the direction Gina had exited. The last thing he anticipated seeing was a red-faced, wheezing Rodney McKay, hugging his tablet to his chest and looking as though he was about to keel over.
“Carson, thank...God! I told...Dr. Tierney...this would happen,” Rodney gasped, swaying as he neared Beckett.
“Bloody hell, lad, sit down.” Carson grabbed McKay’s arm to steady him and tried to steer him toward a chair, but Rodney froze, feet rooted to the ground and eyes wide in alarm as he noticed the men with the guns.
“What the hell’s...going...on?!” he squeaked, wheezing harder.
“Don’t ya worry about them just now. Tell me what ya ate and how much.”
McKay turned his eyes to Beckett for about half a second, but they’d snapped back to the gunmen by the time he answered, “Tiny red fruit...seven...maybe eight.”
Beckett sighed. Was there anything Rodney wasn’t allergic to? “Come on, then. Ya know the drill.”
McKay nodded shakily, and turned back in the direction he’d come.
“Rodney, where are ya going? I need ya ta sit down so I can give ya the epinephrine.”
“In...there,” McKay panted, gesturing toward the recovery wing, looking at Beckett as if he should already know that. “More...private,” he added.
“Rodney, it’s just a sho-”
“You always...for Ronon’s team...especially when...leader’s...sick.” McKay locked eyes with Beckett for a long moment, then doubled over, coughing.
It suddenly dawned on Carson what the scientist was really telling him, and he again took hold of Rodney’s arm. “Aye, all right. Megan, love, a little help?” Beckett couldn’t tell whether she’d taken Rodney’s words as he had, but she moved in to support McKay on his other side without hesitation.
The three began making their way toward the back of the infirmary when one of their captors, who had been watching the scene silently thus far, spoke up. “Stop. How did he get in here, and where are you taking him?”
Carson turned and fixed his best death glare on the man. “Through a door I would imagine. I’m takin’ him ta the recovery ward. He’s havin’ a severe allergic reaction. I need ta treat him immediately, and he’ll rest better there without the worry that he’ll be shot.”
The man exchanged a glance with his cohort. “Fine, but I’m going with you.”
Rodney continued to wheeze, wide eyes fixed on the Wraith stunner in the man’s hands. “No, no...no...”
“Take it easy, lad. You’re going ta be all right,” Beckett soothed. To the gunman he said icily, “Ya can come and see where we’re goin’, but then you’ll have ta leave. You’re upsetting my patient.” Not waiting for an answer, he and Megan continued guiding Rodney toward the other ward.
Their captor followed them through the intervening space but entered the ward ahead of them, eyes sweeping the room, finding the beds empty. On seeing the exit doors, however, he aimed his stunner at the control panel and fired. Rodney jumped, shrinking down onto the nearest bed with a yelp that made him start coughing again.
“Satisfied?” Beckett asked, glaring at the armed man. With a final glance around the room, the man nodded and retreated back the way he’d come, leaving Beckett, McKay, and Megan in silence, save for Rodney’s wheezing. “Ya can stop now, Rodney. He’s gone.”
The physicist looked up, scowling, his expression still a little alarmed but for different reasons. “Not faking...the anaphylaxis...Carson. Orange...half a...slice. Had to…help Sheppard.”
Beckett cursed and hurried to a cabinet across the room. He returned momentarily with an epi-pen, opened it, and jabbed it into Rodney’s thigh. “For a genius you’re bloody daft, ya know that?” The doctor pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the scientist’s breathing, which slowly began to ease. He might have said more, but he saw motion out of the corner of his eye. Even though he’d vaguely been expecting them, he was still startled when Ronon and Teyla emerged from behind some privacy screens that had been strategically placed to hide the doors that led to the OR. He did an outright double-take when he saw John Sheppard, bruised and bloody, curled on his right side on the gurney they were pushing. “Good Lord.” Beckett pressed a hand to Rodney’s shoulder, forcing him to lie down before rushing toward Sheppard. On the way, he spared a glance at Ronon and Teyla. “Are you two goin’ ta drop over on me too?”
“We are fine, Carson, but John is not.”
“Aye, that much is obvious. What happened?” He already had his fingers against John’s neck, trying to count off a pulse that was much too rapid.
“We do not know for certain, but his ribs and left shoulder are injured, along with his right leg. He may have been attacked by members of the same group that has been holding you.”
Carson nodded, the reasons behind McKay’s reckless stunt making a little more sense. “All right then, let’s take a look.” Megan handed him a pair of scissors, and together they set to work on the colonel’s damp jacket and shirt. Beckett had thought him unconscious, but John stirred weakly, eyelids fluttering at the initial contact of air against his skin. By the time the fabric came away completely he was shivering, and a low moan escaped between his hitching breaths.
Beckett could understand why as he gaped at the sight of the colonel’s torso. He didn’t need an x-ray machine or Teyla to tell him that John’s ribs were broken. The question was if any of them weren’t. Livid bruising began just below his collarbone, ran all the way down his left side, and disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants. As gently as he could, Carson placed his stethoscope against Sheppard’s damaged ribcage and listened intently to his breathing. John flinched each time the instrument shifted position, but his breath sounds were miraculously normal on both sides, so they weren’t dealing with a penetrating lung injury at least. “John, lad, if ya can hear me, we’re goin’ ta turn ya on your back. I don’t want ya tryin’ ta move at all. Let us do the work.”
Carson wasn’t sure if the grunt he received in response was due to pain or acknowledgement, but he nodded to Megan and together they rolled the injured man until he was lying flat. John’s jaw clenched at the motion, new sweat breaking out across his forehead, and his breathing grew even more ragged. Reaching over to the cart of supplies Megan had gathered, Beckett quickly started the colonel on oxygen via nasal canula before turning to study the screen displaying his vitals. Sheppard’s O2 level was coming back up, but his blood pressure was lower than Carson liked, and the laceration on his leg, while deep, wasn’t bleeding enough to have caused a significant drop. A glance at Megan told him she was thinking the same thing. “Let’s draw blood for CBC and cross-typing, just in case, and bolus a liter of saline ta get his pressure up. Once we have morphine on board, I’ll want a chest series and abdominal CT ta start. And let’s get these bloody handcuffs off of him.”
“Sure thing, Doc.” Startled by Ronon’s deep voice, Beckett took a step back, watching as the big man carefully worked the tip of a small knife into the catch on each of the shackles, freeing the colonel’s battered wrists. He’d almost forgotten Sheppard’s team was standing there.
“How is he?” Teyla asked, worry evident on her face. Rodney just looked ill, but had pushed himself semi-upright so he could see what was going on, which was more exertion than he usually displayed so soon after a serious attack, and that said a lot.
Beckett finished tucking a blanket around John’s shivering form, wondering again what had happened to the man. Half of his clothing was damp, and the dry portions were stiff and crusted with salt, as though he’d been in the ocean. His lower-than-normal body temp would certainly fit with that theory too, but it was a mystery for later on, and he took one last glance at the colonel before motioning Ronon and Teyla over toward Rodney’s bed. He answered her question in a low voice, “I’ll know more after I run some tests, but I won’t lie ta ya, the lad’s not in a good way. Three of his ribs are visibly broken, no examination necessary, and I fully expect ta find more. Internal injuries are almost a given with blunt trauma that severe, and it’s a minor miracle he hasn’t punctured a lung.”
“Will he be okay?” Rodney rasped.
Carson paused just long enough to get McKay a cup of water. “I’ve seen him pull through worse, but his condition’s serious. We’ll get some pain meds into him so he’s a bit more comfortable, take some scans, and proceed from there depending on the results.”
“What if they come back while you’re gone?” Rodney asked, gesturing in the general direction of their captors. He assumed Carson was planning on utilizing the OR suite’s CT and x-ray equipment since there was no way of getting Sheppard to the Ancient scanner at present, but if the ranch hands decided to check back and found Beckett and Megan absent, there was going to be trouble.
“There is a security camera outside that door, in the hallway, is there not?” Teyla asked Rodney, following his train of thought.
“Yes, why?”
“We can use your tablet to keep watch, and radio Dr. Beckett if anyone comes.”
Rodney nodded tiredly in acceptance of the plan, and unhooked his radio, handing it to Teyla who passed it to Carson. Moments later, Beckett and his nurse wheeled the colonel through the doors toward the OR, leaving Sheppard’s three team members with nothing to do but keep watch and wait.
-----
“So what do we do?” whispered the youngest of the six cousins, clutching the stunner weapon a little tighter and glancing nervously around the infirmary at the three patients, two nurses, and handful of techs, then back to his kin. “Drax isn’t going to be happy if Sheppard escaped.”
“Don’t worry, Seamus. You’re Draxxy’s favorite. He won’t blame you,” sneered Liss.
“He can’t rightly blame any of us. He and Tullis took the bastard out there and left him,” Zell said, flipping his knife back and forth as if he were bored.
“Draxon will only blame the man responsible for the loss of his kin, whether he has escaped or whether he is dead, but the matter remains: we do not know which is the case. We know only that Tullis found Draxon unconscious near the place where Draxon last saw Sheppard, which is also near where Tullis last saw the three Lanteans, one of whom now lies in that room, perhaps very ill, or perhaps not,” Erkris explained, nodding toward the recovery ward.
“We need to find out what he knows,” Zell said.
“We need to find Sheppard and the other two Lanteans,” Erkris corrected, “and it would only make sense that they are close. If Sheppard is as badly hurt as Draxon claims, his friends would not take him anywhere else. That is why Drax had us guard this complex in the first place, to ensure the success of our objective, but it is larger than we first allowed for and the Lanteans know its layout better than we do.”
“And so does he,” Liss said slowly, eyes zeroing in on the one patient who was awake, and watching them not with apprehension, but with eyes boiling with rage. Liss sauntered toward him, tapping the barrel of his pistol against his thigh as he walked. “Isn’t that right, Sergeant Tarkot?”
Tarkot said nothing, watching Zell move closer to join Liss. “My brother asked you a question, and I’d sure like to hear the answer. You know your way around this place?”
“I won’t help you hurt the colonel.”
“Didn’t seem to bother you this morning when you gave us these,” Liss sing-songed, waving the handgun around.
“That was before you cracked me over the head with it.”
“Only because you didn’t follow through with our deal.”
“Our deal didn’t involve killing anyone!” Tarkot spat angrily. “The colonel put a reprimand on my service record and I wanted to see him roughed up a little, not murdered! You said he just owed you a debt.”
“A blood debt,” Liss said calmly.
“You failed to mention that!” snapped the sergeant.
Liss shrugged. “You failed to ask.”
“Draxon and Tullis are near,” Erkris interrupted, listening on the radio for a moment longer before he joined Zell and Liss. “The debt will be paid regardless, Sergeant Tarkot. You will help, or be added to it.”
Zell’s arm shot out then, his knife blade coming to rest over Tarkot’s jugular. “Seamus disabled the doors where the sick Lantean is. You tell Erkris where else Drax and Tullis are free to enter this place, and then I’ll take you to them and you can guide their search for that bastard Sheppard.” Zell tightened his knife a fraction on the young sergeant’s throat and shrugged. “Or you can die.”
-----
Sheppard couldn’t deny the cold sliver of fear and disorientation that surged through him when he came to in another dim place that he didn’t recognize. For him, the past few hours (days?) had been a harrowing, convoluted chain of disjointed events and intense pain. All that he remembered clearly was that he was somewhere in Atlantis and had been evading people who wanted him dead. They’d bound him in the water and never intended for him to get out. He stiffened. How had he gotten out? More importantly, where were the men who’d thrown him in? He’d been asleep or unconscious for an indeterminate amount of time, so someone had brought him to wherever he was now. Had it been his team, or one of the ones he was running from?
John blinked his surroundings into focus and saw a weird, softly-glowing partial dome above his head. No, not a dome, a sort of narrow tunnel that was enveloping his body below his neck. The tunnel suddenly started moving, swallowing him, but before he had the time to panic he was out the other end. Startled and still unsure what was happening, Sheppard made to sit up, and on a normal day he would have cracked his skull against the edge of the tunnel in his haste. Today was far from normal though, and the pain hit his midsection like a thousand pick-axes, tearing through his side and dropping him before he’d moved even inches. He cried out and swore, watering eyes clamping shut against the agony. A warm hand grabbed onto his, and while John’s first instinct was that he was in danger, that he should escape, he just didn’t have the capacity. If someone wanted him dead, in that moment he was inclined to let them have their wish. So he didn’t pull away, and his fingers made the involuntary attempt to crush those of whoever had been dumb enough to put theirs in his grasp. “Sonofa...bitch,” he ground out when he no longer needed every last molecule of air just to keep breathing.
“Now what kind of way is that to talk to a lady?”
John slowly opened his eyes and found a familiar dark-haired woman standing beside him. “Megan? What...?”
“Happened? You nearly defeated the purpose of that CT scan for one,” she said, patting his hand with the one that wasn’t still locked in his grip. Footsteps sounded nearby, and she looked up as Beckett approached. “Did you get the last series before he moved?”
“Aye, just. Is he all right?”
“’m fine.” Sheppard grunted, his body still tense and shuddering slightly, the stabbing discomfort taking its sweet time receding.
“You’re anything but, son,” Carson replied sternly, but his expression was pure concern as he brushed John’s damp hair back from his forehead. The man was deathly pale and probably hurting a lot more than he was letting on. “How’s your pain? Tell me the truth.”
John let out an unsteady breath and shook his head slightly. “Not good...just stun me…again. Worked before.”
Again? Now Beckett shook his head. The more pieces of the story he learned, the less he was sure he wanted to know the rest. “I can do better than that, lad,” Carson said, pulling a syringe from his pocket.
“Wait.” With effort, John focused on Beckett. “What’s…damage?”
“Seven broken ribs on your left side, a few bruised on the right, and a lacerated spleen that’s likely still bleeding judging from your vitals,” Beckett said seriously, injecting the pain medication into Sheppard’s IV while the man was chewing over that information. “It’s a borderline Class Three injury, so I’m hopeful the bleeding will resolve itself without surgery, but in the meantime staying flat and still are your only priorities, Colonel.”
At Sheppard’s woozy nod, the doctor continued, “Due ta the current...condition...of the infirmary though, we’ll be monitoring ya in the OR for awhile. I need ta treat your wrists and the laceration on your leg, but other than that I want ya ta try ta rest.”
“’kay.” John’s eyes were closed before he’d finished speaking, and Carson wondered how much of what he’d just said had gotten through. He supposed it didn’t matter much, and began making preparations to move the injured man.
Once they had John set up in the OR-Beckett wasn’t taking any chances on their captors barging into recovery and shooting John a second time-he and Megan began a more thorough examination. As expected, the chest and abdominal injuries had been the most severe. The shoulder injury wasn’t minor, a partial dislocation was Beckett’s guess, but it would keep until the colonel’s condition stabilized more. He hung another bag of fluids to help that along, and turned his attention to the injury on Sheppard’s thigh, since Megan had already begun to see to his badly abraded wrists.
Laying out a suture tray and disinfectant, Beckett carefully cut away the ripped and bloody fabric of John’s pant leg and began flushing the long, clean gash with saline. He was reaching for the betadine when his radio crackled to life with Teyla’s tense voice, “Carson, they are returning. If you are able to leave John, you must come back now.”
-----
Rodney was going cross-eyed from focusing on his tablet. In order to maximize the time available to warn Carson should the bad guys reappear, he had zoomed the security camera on the opposite side of the door out to its widest angle. This gave him a complete view of the hallway separating them from their captors, but had the unfortunate consequence of making the point he was watching for motion amount to the size of a bean on the tablet’s screen. Teyla had offered to assist him in keeping watch, but Ronon pointed out that she would be more effective on the defensive with him if things went south. Rodney couldn’t really argue with that logic either, since he certainly would be of no use in a fight. He still felt like a wrung-out dishrag. Stealing that orange slice from the nurses’ not-so-secret stash and eating it hadn’t been his greatest idea in hindsight-or foresight for that matter-but it had served its purpose as a distraction. He was nowhere near good enough an actor to have made a fake allergy attack convincing.
Speaking of distractions, it looked like they were about to need another. “Here they come,” McKay called out, blinking a couple of times and looking again just to be certain. Sure enough, five men were walking toward the door to the recovery ward, but they weren’t moving terribly fast since it seemed the two in the lead were struggling with the man between them. From the corner of his eye, Rodney saw Teyla and Ronon move into position in the center of the room, halfway between the door the bad guys were approaching and the door leading to the OR.
Teyla activated her radio. “Carson, they are returning. If you are able to leave John, you must come back now.” After a moment, the doctor responded in the affirmative and Teyla nodded to Ronon and Rodney. The plan was that the two Pegasus natives would slip out of sight behind the privacy screens as soon as Beckett and Megan returned, to make it appear that nothing had changed since they’d been left alone.
“Dammit, they’re splitting up!” McKay cursed.
“What?”
“Two of them are coming this way and the other three turned down the hallway toward the OR. This is so not good.”
It got worse. Carson and Megan stepped out from behind the privacy screens just as the doors across the room slid open to admit two armed men, men who didn’t look all that surprised to see five people in a room where previously there had only been three.
“It seems we’ve been misinformed,” the taller of the men commented. He watched impassively as Beckett glanced back and forth between him and the exit hidden by the screen. “I wouldn’t if I were you, Doctor,” Erkris said, slowly training his pistol on Rodney. “Believe me when I say I will pull the trigger on your friend. However, if you will all relinquish your weapons and come and sit down, Seamus and I can perhaps not waste any of your ammunition today.”
“Except on Sheppard,” Rodney blurted. He’d toggled to a different camera angle and watched with growing alarm as the rest of the men neared the far end of the hallway, and two more slipped in from outside the infirmary to join them.
“Perhaps.”
Rodney’s blood ran cold at the hint of satisfaction in the other man’s voice, and the slight upturn of his mouth as he reached for his radio was one of the most frightening things the scientist had ever seen.
“Draxon, we have confirmation. Sheppard is here. Find him.”
-----
“I’ll ask you again, where is he most likely to be?”
Sergeant Tarkot raised his head and looked the one called Draxon square in the eyes. There was a set to the man’s jaw and a darkness in his eyes, determined and dangerous, that Tarkot recognized. He’d seen the same look on the face of his CO, except Colonel Sheppard only looked that way when he was about to blow away a badass alien. Tarkot cringed inwardly. Maybe he deserved that reprimand after all, not that it mattered now. When this was all said and done, he’d be court-martialed. But he had to survive first, and it was obvious the man in front of him was losing patience. Tarkot opened his mouth to answer the question when Draxon’s radio suddenly broke the tense silence of the hallway.
“Draxon, we have confirmation. Sheppard is here. Find him.”
Tarkot watched Draxon’s face split into an evil smile as he acknowledged his comrade, and then the sergeant found himself with a Wraith stunner pressed to his temple, complementing the knife blade pressed to his throat. “Tell me what is behind each of these doors,” Draxon said, gesturing to the OR, x-ray, and the stairwell leading up to the OR observation area.
The or else was clearly implied, so Tarkot gave Draxon the information he wanted. The last thing Tarkot heard was the crack of the stunner impacting his skull.
“Thank you,” Drax said sincerely to the man now bleeding on the floor at his feet. Hearing someone snickering, he shot a glare at Zell and Liss. “This is not a day for laughter, remember that. You two search the far room. Tullis and I will begin here,” he said, approaching the OR.
-----
Sheppard drifted in and out of a drugged and not very restful sleep. Despite the mind-numbing effect morphine tended to induce, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was terribly wrong. The trouble was, with the mind-numbing effect morphine tended to induce, he couldn’t seem to work out quite what that something was. It was bothering him enough that he finally forced his eyes open to take a look around, gradually recognizing his surroundings as the OR. He would have been worried, but Beckett had told him why he was there, he just couldn’t remember. He’d have asked, but the doc was nowhere to be found.
Off to his right, bandages and disinfectant were laid out on a tray, and some of the items were open. A quick glance at his wrists confirmed the vague memory he had of Megan cleaning and wrapping them, but now she was gone too. Curiosity growing, the colonel lifted his head…and froze, heart hammering in his chest, when he encountered a gun barrel inches from his face.
“John Sheppard, you killed my family. Prepare to die.”
John just blinked at the non sequitur and fought the urge to pull away as he remembered at the last second that moving was a very bad idea. “Come again?” he rasped instead, reluctantly taking his eyes off the gun to look at the man wielding it. “Who are you?”
“I am called Draxon, from the Kehm River settlement. Do not insult me by denying what you did to my wife and children.”
There was nothing quite like the threat of imminent death to clear one’s mind of a narcotic haze, and John slowly shook his head as recognition dawned and he recalled a particularly FUBAR’ed rescue mission from a couple of months prior. “I didn’t kill them.”
“Liar!” The gun was jabbed up under John’s chin, forcing his head back onto the pillow. “You promised they would be safe if they did as you instructed, but then you left them to die.”
Sheppard sucked in a breath, the gun pressing painfully against his windpipe, and forcing his neck to bend at an uncomfortable angle. “The river was…flooding. Bridge was higher…ground.”
“You left them there and they were swept away!” Draxon shouted, fury making the gun tremble slightly in his grasp.
“Our jumpers were beyond…capacity. Had to come back…or crash. The dam failed in the storm.” Sheppard paused, taking a couple of long, slow breaths from the oxygen canula under his nose. “There was nothing left…I’m sorry.”
“Shut up!”
The gun dug in further, and that was probably a good thing, because it dampened John’s expression of surprise into a grimace. As his head was driven further back into the pillow, his eyes caught motion far above and had the situation not been so dire, he might have actually smiled. As it was, he worked to simply get words out without choking. “What were...their names?”
“I said shut up!”
“If you’re going to take my life...for theirs...I’d at least like to know...who they were.”
Draxon’s jaw clenched and unclenched, and it was a long moment before he replied more softly, but no less angry, “My wife was called Schirra. Our sons were Ilex and Rellun. I watched them cling to the ropes and timber of that footbridge for nearly an hour in the torrent while I hung onto saplings further downstream. The boys were just too small, they couldn’t hold on. Rellun let go first. He was screaming as he passed by me. Ilex just disappeared between one moment and the next. But Schirra...she got tangled in the ropes. When the bridge washed down, she was close enough to reach, but I could see that her neck had been broken by the rope around it. That’s not who they were, but that’s what I have left of them, Sheppard. Screams and nightmares. Perhaps this will only add to that, but vengeance is all I am able to offer them.”
John felt the pistol shift and heard the distinctive click as it was cocked. His heart rate sped up involuntarily, and he hoped that he’d bought enough time as his eyes searched above and something metal clattered to the floor behind Draxon.
“What the...?” The armed man jumped and spun around, aiming his gun low toward the source of the sound, not expecting the twin stunner beams that came shooting out of the now-open air vents above. They both hit their mark and Draxon went down. Like any good battle, though, the sound of the commotion brought two of his henchmen bursting through the door. One of them actually processed the situation quickly enough to get his weapon tilted upward toward the observation window before he was taken out. The other dove behind a wheeled equipment rack and used it as cover, heading toward Sheppard. It was tall enough that it obscured him from the aerial assault if he crouched, but maneuverable enough that it would quickly bring him within reach of the colonel. That was fine with John. He’d already grabbed what he needed off the tray beside him and now he waited, judging the distance out of the corner of his eye until the man was just close enough...
“Hey, look at this,” he rasped.
Startled, the henchman did look over, and John flung the open bottle of disinfectant in his face. He howled, dropping his weapon and straightening as he struggled to wipe the burning liquid from his eyes. Cover lost, he succumbed to the same fate as the others, a bolt of energy from above.
Sheppard looked up once more to the observation window and caught Lorne’s eye. Giving his XO a thumbs-up and what he could muster of a smile, John promptly passed out.
-----
“McKay, where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“I’d rather hear first.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I wasn’t aware I was trying to be.”
Rodney huffed out a sigh. “Since when do you question a reprieve from the infirmary, anyway? I’d have thought you’d be chomping at the bit to get out.”
Sheppard snorted. “You’ve obviously never broken seven ribs and ruptured your spleen before.”
“Hmm…point taken.” As it turned out, ruptured spleens were nothing to mess around with. Sheppard had looked like a zombie well into the second day following his encounter with Draxon the Murderous Cowpoke from M2X-517, and Rodney knew Carson had seriously considered surgery more than once. After finally getting the colonel under the Ancient scanner and seeing that the bleed was relatively slow, though, Beckett had set the surgery deadline at twelve hours. Sheppard had squeaked in under the wire, and stopped seeping near the ten-and-a-half hour mark, after which a transfusion of two units and some extra fluids had set him to rights. In Carson’s opinion. Rodney didn’t think that John willingly drugged to the gills and sleeping all day was anywhere close to right. When the colonel had turned down a game of chess that morning, a full three days following the incident, it was the last straw.
“But you have gone into anaphylactic shock before,” John went on, pulling McKay from his reverie. “What were you thinking, doing it on purpose?”
Rodney winced at the turn the conversation had taken. “Technically, I wasn’t in shock this time,” he deflected.
“Only because the doc hit you with the epi-pen and enough Benadryl to take down a horse.”
“How do you even know that? You were unconscious!”
“I was also on bed rest for the past three days, McKay. I had a couple of conversations with Beckett to pass the time.”
“Oh.”
“Seriously, an allergic reaction was the best diversion you could come up with? Not an explosion or a neat little gadget that would render the bad guys instantly unconscious?”
“Do I look like James Bond to you? Don’t answer that!”
John chuckled, and gasped a little, clutching his side.
“You okay?” Rodney questioned from behind the colonel, since he couldn’t see the man’s face while pushing the wheelchair.
“I’ll be fine as long as we get where we’re going soon. Just don’t make me laugh,” said Sheppard, relaxing as the pain subsided.
“We’re almost there.” Rodney wheeled John into a transporter, and when the doors opened again they were met by Ronon.
“Hey, big guy. What’s up?”
Ronon shrugged and fell into step beside the wheelchair. “Heard you were out.”
“Just for recess,” John said with a yawn, indicating the IV port still attached to his arm. “Do you have any idea where we’re going?”
“Yep.”
“Care to share?”
The Satedan shrugged again, and pointed down a familiar hallway. Sheppard frowned in confusion as they came to a stop in front of his own quarters. Ronon swiped at the door control and Rodney pushed him inside, where Teyla had turned down his sheets and was busy fluffing his pillows. “You do know it’s not nice to taunt an injured man?” he said, staring longingly at his own bed.
“We would not do such a thing,” she replied with a smile, then glanced at Ronon and Rodney. “Well, I would not.”
John returned her smile, but hesitated as she and Ronon started to help him up. “Look, I really appreciate this, guys, but Beckett’s going to be expecting me back and as much as I hate to admit it, once I lay down again, that’s going to be it for awhile.”
“We are well aware, John.”
“Carson has two feet, and now that Zelenka and I have fixed the sensors, I’m sure the voodoo priest will be able to find you if and when he needs to.”
“Less risk of hostage takeovers here, too,” Ronon commented.
“Tell me those guys aren’t still on the loose,” John said warily. Beckett had told him in broad strokes what had happened in the infirmary, but he had been pretty out of it at times and was still missing several important pieces of the puzzle.
“Relax, Sheppard. Lorne’s got them under lock and key in the brig.”
Teyla patted his good shoulder. “It would simply make us feel more at ease to have you here, just until the farmer’s market concludes tomorrow and our guests return to their own worlds.”
“And if you’re worried about Carson, don’t. He was thinking about releasing you soon anyway. We’ll deal with him,” Rodney added.
John had to admit that being in his own quarters, surrounded by his team, sounded far more appealing than being back in the infirmary, surrounded by constantly-beeping machinery, mattresses made of concrete, and foggy, unsettling memories of people who wanted him dead and had almost accomplished the task. “I’ll stay if you promise to tell me what the hell happened.”
They took that as their cue, the three of them managing to get John out of the wheelchair and tucked into bed with minimal difficulty. “We will tell you what we know, but there are a few things we are unclear on as well,” Teyla said.
“Like how McKay thought eating an orange was a good idea,” Ronon deadpanned.
“Hey!” Rodney squawked from his perch on the edge of the bed. “I’ll have you know that-”
“Let’s start with the hostage takeover,” John interrupted, looking at Rodney with amusement. He clapped the scientist on the back and gave Ronon and Teyla a brief nod of gratitude before settling in to attempt to fill the gaps in his memory.
~el fin~
Prompt: Serious injury aftermath and beginning of recovery. Team Shmoopy Shmishiness. Carson (can be with Keller), please.
Author: radioshack84
Recipient: everybetty - Sheppard H/C Summer Exchange
Rating: T
Warning: None that I can think of…
Word Count: ~12,200
Summary: Sheppard’s in a real pickle: shackled to a pole in the ocean, during a storm, with no means of escape. And that’s just for starters. (Prompt at the end.)
Back to Part 1
Dr. Carson Beckett was annoyed, to put it mildly. Irate to put it truthfully. He and his staff had been finishing up a batch of routine health screenings for some of Atlantis’ visiting trade partners when another group of them had come in carrying three men who they claimed were sick with a common, yet highly-contagious illness. Beckett’s gut had told him from the start that that wasn’t likely, since Atlantis had quarantine protocols that would have automatically detected such a disease. Nevertheless, he quickly shooed away the straggling visitors and he and his staff had proceeded to examine the men. By the time they realized the illness was a ruse, there were military-issue handguns, various dangerous-looking farm implements, and even a Wraith stunner trained on them.
The day had not improved from there. Their captors wouldn’t say who they were, what settlement they were from, how they’d gotten their hands on Atlantis’ weapons, or specifically what they wanted. Through careful listening, Beckett had learned that at least one of them apparently wanted revenge, but revenge for what and on whom remained a mystery.
As enemies went, though, they weren’t particularly hostile, just careful. They allowed him and his staff to go about their business, but monitored all computer use closely, and had confiscated all radios immediately. It surprised him, then, that they hadn’t noticed when one of his nurses had slipped out the back an hour ago. Gina and Megan did closely resemble each other, though. He’d mistaken one sister for the other at a glance in the past, and apparently now these men had too.
Hopeful for an early end to the chaos so his current patients-two scientists recovering from a very ill-advised experiment involving week-old bacon and eggs, and a Marine with a concussion-could get some rest, Beckett turned expectantly when he heard footsteps fast approaching from the direction Gina had exited. The last thing he anticipated seeing was a red-faced, wheezing Rodney McKay, hugging his tablet to his chest and looking as though he was about to keel over.
“Carson, thank...God! I told...Dr. Tierney...this would happen,” Rodney gasped, swaying as he neared Beckett.
“Bloody hell, lad, sit down.” Carson grabbed McKay’s arm to steady him and tried to steer him toward a chair, but Rodney froze, feet rooted to the ground and eyes wide in alarm as he noticed the men with the guns.
“What the hell’s...going...on?!” he squeaked, wheezing harder.
“Don’t ya worry about them just now. Tell me what ya ate and how much.”
McKay turned his eyes to Beckett for about half a second, but they’d snapped back to the gunmen by the time he answered, “Tiny red fruit...seven...maybe eight.”
Beckett sighed. Was there anything Rodney wasn’t allergic to? “Come on, then. Ya know the drill.”
McKay nodded shakily, and turned back in the direction he’d come.
“Rodney, where are ya going? I need ya ta sit down so I can give ya the epinephrine.”
“In...there,” McKay panted, gesturing toward the recovery wing, looking at Beckett as if he should already know that. “More...private,” he added.
“Rodney, it’s just a sho-”
“You always...for Ronon’s team...especially when...leader’s...sick.” McKay locked eyes with Beckett for a long moment, then doubled over, coughing.
It suddenly dawned on Carson what the scientist was really telling him, and he again took hold of Rodney’s arm. “Aye, all right. Megan, love, a little help?” Beckett couldn’t tell whether she’d taken Rodney’s words as he had, but she moved in to support McKay on his other side without hesitation.
The three began making their way toward the back of the infirmary when one of their captors, who had been watching the scene silently thus far, spoke up. “Stop. How did he get in here, and where are you taking him?”
Carson turned and fixed his best death glare on the man. “Through a door I would imagine. I’m takin’ him ta the recovery ward. He’s havin’ a severe allergic reaction. I need ta treat him immediately, and he’ll rest better there without the worry that he’ll be shot.”
The man exchanged a glance with his cohort. “Fine, but I’m going with you.”
Rodney continued to wheeze, wide eyes fixed on the Wraith stunner in the man’s hands. “No, no...no...”
“Take it easy, lad. You’re going ta be all right,” Beckett soothed. To the gunman he said icily, “Ya can come and see where we’re goin’, but then you’ll have ta leave. You’re upsetting my patient.” Not waiting for an answer, he and Megan continued guiding Rodney toward the other ward.
Their captor followed them through the intervening space but entered the ward ahead of them, eyes sweeping the room, finding the beds empty. On seeing the exit doors, however, he aimed his stunner at the control panel and fired. Rodney jumped, shrinking down onto the nearest bed with a yelp that made him start coughing again.
“Satisfied?” Beckett asked, glaring at the armed man. With a final glance around the room, the man nodded and retreated back the way he’d come, leaving Beckett, McKay, and Megan in silence, save for Rodney’s wheezing. “Ya can stop now, Rodney. He’s gone.”
The physicist looked up, scowling, his expression still a little alarmed but for different reasons. “Not faking...the anaphylaxis...Carson. Orange...half a...slice. Had to…help Sheppard.”
Beckett cursed and hurried to a cabinet across the room. He returned momentarily with an epi-pen, opened it, and jabbed it into Rodney’s thigh. “For a genius you’re bloody daft, ya know that?” The doctor pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the scientist’s breathing, which slowly began to ease. He might have said more, but he saw motion out of the corner of his eye. Even though he’d vaguely been expecting them, he was still startled when Ronon and Teyla emerged from behind some privacy screens that had been strategically placed to hide the doors that led to the OR. He did an outright double-take when he saw John Sheppard, bruised and bloody, curled on his right side on the gurney they were pushing. “Good Lord.” Beckett pressed a hand to Rodney’s shoulder, forcing him to lie down before rushing toward Sheppard. On the way, he spared a glance at Ronon and Teyla. “Are you two goin’ ta drop over on me too?”
“We are fine, Carson, but John is not.”
“Aye, that much is obvious. What happened?” He already had his fingers against John’s neck, trying to count off a pulse that was much too rapid.
“We do not know for certain, but his ribs and left shoulder are injured, along with his right leg. He may have been attacked by members of the same group that has been holding you.”
Carson nodded, the reasons behind McKay’s reckless stunt making a little more sense. “All right then, let’s take a look.” Megan handed him a pair of scissors, and together they set to work on the colonel’s damp jacket and shirt. Beckett had thought him unconscious, but John stirred weakly, eyelids fluttering at the initial contact of air against his skin. By the time the fabric came away completely he was shivering, and a low moan escaped between his hitching breaths.
Beckett could understand why as he gaped at the sight of the colonel’s torso. He didn’t need an x-ray machine or Teyla to tell him that John’s ribs were broken. The question was if any of them weren’t. Livid bruising began just below his collarbone, ran all the way down his left side, and disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants. As gently as he could, Carson placed his stethoscope against Sheppard’s damaged ribcage and listened intently to his breathing. John flinched each time the instrument shifted position, but his breath sounds were miraculously normal on both sides, so they weren’t dealing with a penetrating lung injury at least. “John, lad, if ya can hear me, we’re goin’ ta turn ya on your back. I don’t want ya tryin’ ta move at all. Let us do the work.”
Carson wasn’t sure if the grunt he received in response was due to pain or acknowledgement, but he nodded to Megan and together they rolled the injured man until he was lying flat. John’s jaw clenched at the motion, new sweat breaking out across his forehead, and his breathing grew even more ragged. Reaching over to the cart of supplies Megan had gathered, Beckett quickly started the colonel on oxygen via nasal canula before turning to study the screen displaying his vitals. Sheppard’s O2 level was coming back up, but his blood pressure was lower than Carson liked, and the laceration on his leg, while deep, wasn’t bleeding enough to have caused a significant drop. A glance at Megan told him she was thinking the same thing. “Let’s draw blood for CBC and cross-typing, just in case, and bolus a liter of saline ta get his pressure up. Once we have morphine on board, I’ll want a chest series and abdominal CT ta start. And let’s get these bloody handcuffs off of him.”
“Sure thing, Doc.” Startled by Ronon’s deep voice, Beckett took a step back, watching as the big man carefully worked the tip of a small knife into the catch on each of the shackles, freeing the colonel’s battered wrists. He’d almost forgotten Sheppard’s team was standing there.
“How is he?” Teyla asked, worry evident on her face. Rodney just looked ill, but had pushed himself semi-upright so he could see what was going on, which was more exertion than he usually displayed so soon after a serious attack, and that said a lot.
Beckett finished tucking a blanket around John’s shivering form, wondering again what had happened to the man. Half of his clothing was damp, and the dry portions were stiff and crusted with salt, as though he’d been in the ocean. His lower-than-normal body temp would certainly fit with that theory too, but it was a mystery for later on, and he took one last glance at the colonel before motioning Ronon and Teyla over toward Rodney’s bed. He answered her question in a low voice, “I’ll know more after I run some tests, but I won’t lie ta ya, the lad’s not in a good way. Three of his ribs are visibly broken, no examination necessary, and I fully expect ta find more. Internal injuries are almost a given with blunt trauma that severe, and it’s a minor miracle he hasn’t punctured a lung.”
“Will he be okay?” Rodney rasped.
Carson paused just long enough to get McKay a cup of water. “I’ve seen him pull through worse, but his condition’s serious. We’ll get some pain meds into him so he’s a bit more comfortable, take some scans, and proceed from there depending on the results.”
“What if they come back while you’re gone?” Rodney asked, gesturing in the general direction of their captors. He assumed Carson was planning on utilizing the OR suite’s CT and x-ray equipment since there was no way of getting Sheppard to the Ancient scanner at present, but if the ranch hands decided to check back and found Beckett and Megan absent, there was going to be trouble.
“There is a security camera outside that door, in the hallway, is there not?” Teyla asked Rodney, following his train of thought.
“Yes, why?”
“We can use your tablet to keep watch, and radio Dr. Beckett if anyone comes.”
Rodney nodded tiredly in acceptance of the plan, and unhooked his radio, handing it to Teyla who passed it to Carson. Moments later, Beckett and his nurse wheeled the colonel through the doors toward the OR, leaving Sheppard’s three team members with nothing to do but keep watch and wait.
-----
“So what do we do?” whispered the youngest of the six cousins, clutching the stunner weapon a little tighter and glancing nervously around the infirmary at the three patients, two nurses, and handful of techs, then back to his kin. “Drax isn’t going to be happy if Sheppard escaped.”
“Don’t worry, Seamus. You’re Draxxy’s favorite. He won’t blame you,” sneered Liss.
“He can’t rightly blame any of us. He and Tullis took the bastard out there and left him,” Zell said, flipping his knife back and forth as if he were bored.
“Draxon will only blame the man responsible for the loss of his kin, whether he has escaped or whether he is dead, but the matter remains: we do not know which is the case. We know only that Tullis found Draxon unconscious near the place where Draxon last saw Sheppard, which is also near where Tullis last saw the three Lanteans, one of whom now lies in that room, perhaps very ill, or perhaps not,” Erkris explained, nodding toward the recovery ward.
“We need to find out what he knows,” Zell said.
“We need to find Sheppard and the other two Lanteans,” Erkris corrected, “and it would only make sense that they are close. If Sheppard is as badly hurt as Draxon claims, his friends would not take him anywhere else. That is why Drax had us guard this complex in the first place, to ensure the success of our objective, but it is larger than we first allowed for and the Lanteans know its layout better than we do.”
“And so does he,” Liss said slowly, eyes zeroing in on the one patient who was awake, and watching them not with apprehension, but with eyes boiling with rage. Liss sauntered toward him, tapping the barrel of his pistol against his thigh as he walked. “Isn’t that right, Sergeant Tarkot?”
Tarkot said nothing, watching Zell move closer to join Liss. “My brother asked you a question, and I’d sure like to hear the answer. You know your way around this place?”
“I won’t help you hurt the colonel.”
“Didn’t seem to bother you this morning when you gave us these,” Liss sing-songed, waving the handgun around.
“That was before you cracked me over the head with it.”
“Only because you didn’t follow through with our deal.”
“Our deal didn’t involve killing anyone!” Tarkot spat angrily. “The colonel put a reprimand on my service record and I wanted to see him roughed up a little, not murdered! You said he just owed you a debt.”
“A blood debt,” Liss said calmly.
“You failed to mention that!” snapped the sergeant.
Liss shrugged. “You failed to ask.”
“Draxon and Tullis are near,” Erkris interrupted, listening on the radio for a moment longer before he joined Zell and Liss. “The debt will be paid regardless, Sergeant Tarkot. You will help, or be added to it.”
Zell’s arm shot out then, his knife blade coming to rest over Tarkot’s jugular. “Seamus disabled the doors where the sick Lantean is. You tell Erkris where else Drax and Tullis are free to enter this place, and then I’ll take you to them and you can guide their search for that bastard Sheppard.” Zell tightened his knife a fraction on the young sergeant’s throat and shrugged. “Or you can die.”
-----
Sheppard couldn’t deny the cold sliver of fear and disorientation that surged through him when he came to in another dim place that he didn’t recognize. For him, the past few hours (days?) had been a harrowing, convoluted chain of disjointed events and intense pain. All that he remembered clearly was that he was somewhere in Atlantis and had been evading people who wanted him dead. They’d bound him in the water and never intended for him to get out. He stiffened. How had he gotten out? More importantly, where were the men who’d thrown him in? He’d been asleep or unconscious for an indeterminate amount of time, so someone had brought him to wherever he was now. Had it been his team, or one of the ones he was running from?
John blinked his surroundings into focus and saw a weird, softly-glowing partial dome above his head. No, not a dome, a sort of narrow tunnel that was enveloping his body below his neck. The tunnel suddenly started moving, swallowing him, but before he had the time to panic he was out the other end. Startled and still unsure what was happening, Sheppard made to sit up, and on a normal day he would have cracked his skull against the edge of the tunnel in his haste. Today was far from normal though, and the pain hit his midsection like a thousand pick-axes, tearing through his side and dropping him before he’d moved even inches. He cried out and swore, watering eyes clamping shut against the agony. A warm hand grabbed onto his, and while John’s first instinct was that he was in danger, that he should escape, he just didn’t have the capacity. If someone wanted him dead, in that moment he was inclined to let them have their wish. So he didn’t pull away, and his fingers made the involuntary attempt to crush those of whoever had been dumb enough to put theirs in his grasp. “Sonofa...bitch,” he ground out when he no longer needed every last molecule of air just to keep breathing.
“Now what kind of way is that to talk to a lady?”
John slowly opened his eyes and found a familiar dark-haired woman standing beside him. “Megan? What...?”
“Happened? You nearly defeated the purpose of that CT scan for one,” she said, patting his hand with the one that wasn’t still locked in his grip. Footsteps sounded nearby, and she looked up as Beckett approached. “Did you get the last series before he moved?”
“Aye, just. Is he all right?”
“’m fine.” Sheppard grunted, his body still tense and shuddering slightly, the stabbing discomfort taking its sweet time receding.
“You’re anything but, son,” Carson replied sternly, but his expression was pure concern as he brushed John’s damp hair back from his forehead. The man was deathly pale and probably hurting a lot more than he was letting on. “How’s your pain? Tell me the truth.”
John let out an unsteady breath and shook his head slightly. “Not good...just stun me…again. Worked before.”
Again? Now Beckett shook his head. The more pieces of the story he learned, the less he was sure he wanted to know the rest. “I can do better than that, lad,” Carson said, pulling a syringe from his pocket.
“Wait.” With effort, John focused on Beckett. “What’s…damage?”
“Seven broken ribs on your left side, a few bruised on the right, and a lacerated spleen that’s likely still bleeding judging from your vitals,” Beckett said seriously, injecting the pain medication into Sheppard’s IV while the man was chewing over that information. “It’s a borderline Class Three injury, so I’m hopeful the bleeding will resolve itself without surgery, but in the meantime staying flat and still are your only priorities, Colonel.”
At Sheppard’s woozy nod, the doctor continued, “Due ta the current...condition...of the infirmary though, we’ll be monitoring ya in the OR for awhile. I need ta treat your wrists and the laceration on your leg, but other than that I want ya ta try ta rest.”
“’kay.” John’s eyes were closed before he’d finished speaking, and Carson wondered how much of what he’d just said had gotten through. He supposed it didn’t matter much, and began making preparations to move the injured man.
Once they had John set up in the OR-Beckett wasn’t taking any chances on their captors barging into recovery and shooting John a second time-he and Megan began a more thorough examination. As expected, the chest and abdominal injuries had been the most severe. The shoulder injury wasn’t minor, a partial dislocation was Beckett’s guess, but it would keep until the colonel’s condition stabilized more. He hung another bag of fluids to help that along, and turned his attention to the injury on Sheppard’s thigh, since Megan had already begun to see to his badly abraded wrists.
Laying out a suture tray and disinfectant, Beckett carefully cut away the ripped and bloody fabric of John’s pant leg and began flushing the long, clean gash with saline. He was reaching for the betadine when his radio crackled to life with Teyla’s tense voice, “Carson, they are returning. If you are able to leave John, you must come back now.”
-----
Rodney was going cross-eyed from focusing on his tablet. In order to maximize the time available to warn Carson should the bad guys reappear, he had zoomed the security camera on the opposite side of the door out to its widest angle. This gave him a complete view of the hallway separating them from their captors, but had the unfortunate consequence of making the point he was watching for motion amount to the size of a bean on the tablet’s screen. Teyla had offered to assist him in keeping watch, but Ronon pointed out that she would be more effective on the defensive with him if things went south. Rodney couldn’t really argue with that logic either, since he certainly would be of no use in a fight. He still felt like a wrung-out dishrag. Stealing that orange slice from the nurses’ not-so-secret stash and eating it hadn’t been his greatest idea in hindsight-or foresight for that matter-but it had served its purpose as a distraction. He was nowhere near good enough an actor to have made a fake allergy attack convincing.
Speaking of distractions, it looked like they were about to need another. “Here they come,” McKay called out, blinking a couple of times and looking again just to be certain. Sure enough, five men were walking toward the door to the recovery ward, but they weren’t moving terribly fast since it seemed the two in the lead were struggling with the man between them. From the corner of his eye, Rodney saw Teyla and Ronon move into position in the center of the room, halfway between the door the bad guys were approaching and the door leading to the OR.
Teyla activated her radio. “Carson, they are returning. If you are able to leave John, you must come back now.” After a moment, the doctor responded in the affirmative and Teyla nodded to Ronon and Rodney. The plan was that the two Pegasus natives would slip out of sight behind the privacy screens as soon as Beckett and Megan returned, to make it appear that nothing had changed since they’d been left alone.
“Dammit, they’re splitting up!” McKay cursed.
“What?”
“Two of them are coming this way and the other three turned down the hallway toward the OR. This is so not good.”
It got worse. Carson and Megan stepped out from behind the privacy screens just as the doors across the room slid open to admit two armed men, men who didn’t look all that surprised to see five people in a room where previously there had only been three.
“It seems we’ve been misinformed,” the taller of the men commented. He watched impassively as Beckett glanced back and forth between him and the exit hidden by the screen. “I wouldn’t if I were you, Doctor,” Erkris said, slowly training his pistol on Rodney. “Believe me when I say I will pull the trigger on your friend. However, if you will all relinquish your weapons and come and sit down, Seamus and I can perhaps not waste any of your ammunition today.”
“Except on Sheppard,” Rodney blurted. He’d toggled to a different camera angle and watched with growing alarm as the rest of the men neared the far end of the hallway, and two more slipped in from outside the infirmary to join them.
“Perhaps.”
Rodney’s blood ran cold at the hint of satisfaction in the other man’s voice, and the slight upturn of his mouth as he reached for his radio was one of the most frightening things the scientist had ever seen.
“Draxon, we have confirmation. Sheppard is here. Find him.”
-----
“I’ll ask you again, where is he most likely to be?”
Sergeant Tarkot raised his head and looked the one called Draxon square in the eyes. There was a set to the man’s jaw and a darkness in his eyes, determined and dangerous, that Tarkot recognized. He’d seen the same look on the face of his CO, except Colonel Sheppard only looked that way when he was about to blow away a badass alien. Tarkot cringed inwardly. Maybe he deserved that reprimand after all, not that it mattered now. When this was all said and done, he’d be court-martialed. But he had to survive first, and it was obvious the man in front of him was losing patience. Tarkot opened his mouth to answer the question when Draxon’s radio suddenly broke the tense silence of the hallway.
“Draxon, we have confirmation. Sheppard is here. Find him.”
Tarkot watched Draxon’s face split into an evil smile as he acknowledged his comrade, and then the sergeant found himself with a Wraith stunner pressed to his temple, complementing the knife blade pressed to his throat. “Tell me what is behind each of these doors,” Draxon said, gesturing to the OR, x-ray, and the stairwell leading up to the OR observation area.
The or else was clearly implied, so Tarkot gave Draxon the information he wanted. The last thing Tarkot heard was the crack of the stunner impacting his skull.
“Thank you,” Drax said sincerely to the man now bleeding on the floor at his feet. Hearing someone snickering, he shot a glare at Zell and Liss. “This is not a day for laughter, remember that. You two search the far room. Tullis and I will begin here,” he said, approaching the OR.
-----
Sheppard drifted in and out of a drugged and not very restful sleep. Despite the mind-numbing effect morphine tended to induce, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was terribly wrong. The trouble was, with the mind-numbing effect morphine tended to induce, he couldn’t seem to work out quite what that something was. It was bothering him enough that he finally forced his eyes open to take a look around, gradually recognizing his surroundings as the OR. He would have been worried, but Beckett had told him why he was there, he just couldn’t remember. He’d have asked, but the doc was nowhere to be found.
Off to his right, bandages and disinfectant were laid out on a tray, and some of the items were open. A quick glance at his wrists confirmed the vague memory he had of Megan cleaning and wrapping them, but now she was gone too. Curiosity growing, the colonel lifted his head…and froze, heart hammering in his chest, when he encountered a gun barrel inches from his face.
“John Sheppard, you killed my family. Prepare to die.”
John just blinked at the non sequitur and fought the urge to pull away as he remembered at the last second that moving was a very bad idea. “Come again?” he rasped instead, reluctantly taking his eyes off the gun to look at the man wielding it. “Who are you?”
“I am called Draxon, from the Kehm River settlement. Do not insult me by denying what you did to my wife and children.”
There was nothing quite like the threat of imminent death to clear one’s mind of a narcotic haze, and John slowly shook his head as recognition dawned and he recalled a particularly FUBAR’ed rescue mission from a couple of months prior. “I didn’t kill them.”
“Liar!” The gun was jabbed up under John’s chin, forcing his head back onto the pillow. “You promised they would be safe if they did as you instructed, but then you left them to die.”
Sheppard sucked in a breath, the gun pressing painfully against his windpipe, and forcing his neck to bend at an uncomfortable angle. “The river was…flooding. Bridge was higher…ground.”
“You left them there and they were swept away!” Draxon shouted, fury making the gun tremble slightly in his grasp.
“Our jumpers were beyond…capacity. Had to come back…or crash. The dam failed in the storm.” Sheppard paused, taking a couple of long, slow breaths from the oxygen canula under his nose. “There was nothing left…I’m sorry.”
“Shut up!”
The gun dug in further, and that was probably a good thing, because it dampened John’s expression of surprise into a grimace. As his head was driven further back into the pillow, his eyes caught motion far above and had the situation not been so dire, he might have actually smiled. As it was, he worked to simply get words out without choking. “What were...their names?”
“I said shut up!”
“If you’re going to take my life...for theirs...I’d at least like to know...who they were.”
Draxon’s jaw clenched and unclenched, and it was a long moment before he replied more softly, but no less angry, “My wife was called Schirra. Our sons were Ilex and Rellun. I watched them cling to the ropes and timber of that footbridge for nearly an hour in the torrent while I hung onto saplings further downstream. The boys were just too small, they couldn’t hold on. Rellun let go first. He was screaming as he passed by me. Ilex just disappeared between one moment and the next. But Schirra...she got tangled in the ropes. When the bridge washed down, she was close enough to reach, but I could see that her neck had been broken by the rope around it. That’s not who they were, but that’s what I have left of them, Sheppard. Screams and nightmares. Perhaps this will only add to that, but vengeance is all I am able to offer them.”
John felt the pistol shift and heard the distinctive click as it was cocked. His heart rate sped up involuntarily, and he hoped that he’d bought enough time as his eyes searched above and something metal clattered to the floor behind Draxon.
“What the...?” The armed man jumped and spun around, aiming his gun low toward the source of the sound, not expecting the twin stunner beams that came shooting out of the now-open air vents above. They both hit their mark and Draxon went down. Like any good battle, though, the sound of the commotion brought two of his henchmen bursting through the door. One of them actually processed the situation quickly enough to get his weapon tilted upward toward the observation window before he was taken out. The other dove behind a wheeled equipment rack and used it as cover, heading toward Sheppard. It was tall enough that it obscured him from the aerial assault if he crouched, but maneuverable enough that it would quickly bring him within reach of the colonel. That was fine with John. He’d already grabbed what he needed off the tray beside him and now he waited, judging the distance out of the corner of his eye until the man was just close enough...
“Hey, look at this,” he rasped.
Startled, the henchman did look over, and John flung the open bottle of disinfectant in his face. He howled, dropping his weapon and straightening as he struggled to wipe the burning liquid from his eyes. Cover lost, he succumbed to the same fate as the others, a bolt of energy from above.
Sheppard looked up once more to the observation window and caught Lorne’s eye. Giving his XO a thumbs-up and what he could muster of a smile, John promptly passed out.
-----
“McKay, where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“I’d rather hear first.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I wasn’t aware I was trying to be.”
Rodney huffed out a sigh. “Since when do you question a reprieve from the infirmary, anyway? I’d have thought you’d be chomping at the bit to get out.”
Sheppard snorted. “You’ve obviously never broken seven ribs and ruptured your spleen before.”
“Hmm…point taken.” As it turned out, ruptured spleens were nothing to mess around with. Sheppard had looked like a zombie well into the second day following his encounter with Draxon the Murderous Cowpoke from M2X-517, and Rodney knew Carson had seriously considered surgery more than once. After finally getting the colonel under the Ancient scanner and seeing that the bleed was relatively slow, though, Beckett had set the surgery deadline at twelve hours. Sheppard had squeaked in under the wire, and stopped seeping near the ten-and-a-half hour mark, after which a transfusion of two units and some extra fluids had set him to rights. In Carson’s opinion. Rodney didn’t think that John willingly drugged to the gills and sleeping all day was anywhere close to right. When the colonel had turned down a game of chess that morning, a full three days following the incident, it was the last straw.
“But you have gone into anaphylactic shock before,” John went on, pulling McKay from his reverie. “What were you thinking, doing it on purpose?”
Rodney winced at the turn the conversation had taken. “Technically, I wasn’t in shock this time,” he deflected.
“Only because the doc hit you with the epi-pen and enough Benadryl to take down a horse.”
“How do you even know that? You were unconscious!”
“I was also on bed rest for the past three days, McKay. I had a couple of conversations with Beckett to pass the time.”
“Oh.”
“Seriously, an allergic reaction was the best diversion you could come up with? Not an explosion or a neat little gadget that would render the bad guys instantly unconscious?”
“Do I look like James Bond to you? Don’t answer that!”
John chuckled, and gasped a little, clutching his side.
“You okay?” Rodney questioned from behind the colonel, since he couldn’t see the man’s face while pushing the wheelchair.
“I’ll be fine as long as we get where we’re going soon. Just don’t make me laugh,” said Sheppard, relaxing as the pain subsided.
“We’re almost there.” Rodney wheeled John into a transporter, and when the doors opened again they were met by Ronon.
“Hey, big guy. What’s up?”
Ronon shrugged and fell into step beside the wheelchair. “Heard you were out.”
“Just for recess,” John said with a yawn, indicating the IV port still attached to his arm. “Do you have any idea where we’re going?”
“Yep.”
“Care to share?”
The Satedan shrugged again, and pointed down a familiar hallway. Sheppard frowned in confusion as they came to a stop in front of his own quarters. Ronon swiped at the door control and Rodney pushed him inside, where Teyla had turned down his sheets and was busy fluffing his pillows. “You do know it’s not nice to taunt an injured man?” he said, staring longingly at his own bed.
“We would not do such a thing,” she replied with a smile, then glanced at Ronon and Rodney. “Well, I would not.”
John returned her smile, but hesitated as she and Ronon started to help him up. “Look, I really appreciate this, guys, but Beckett’s going to be expecting me back and as much as I hate to admit it, once I lay down again, that’s going to be it for awhile.”
“We are well aware, John.”
“Carson has two feet, and now that Zelenka and I have fixed the sensors, I’m sure the voodoo priest will be able to find you if and when he needs to.”
“Less risk of hostage takeovers here, too,” Ronon commented.
“Tell me those guys aren’t still on the loose,” John said warily. Beckett had told him in broad strokes what had happened in the infirmary, but he had been pretty out of it at times and was still missing several important pieces of the puzzle.
“Relax, Sheppard. Lorne’s got them under lock and key in the brig.”
Teyla patted his good shoulder. “It would simply make us feel more at ease to have you here, just until the farmer’s market concludes tomorrow and our guests return to their own worlds.”
“And if you’re worried about Carson, don’t. He was thinking about releasing you soon anyway. We’ll deal with him,” Rodney added.
John had to admit that being in his own quarters, surrounded by his team, sounded far more appealing than being back in the infirmary, surrounded by constantly-beeping machinery, mattresses made of concrete, and foggy, unsettling memories of people who wanted him dead and had almost accomplished the task. “I’ll stay if you promise to tell me what the hell happened.”
They took that as their cue, the three of them managing to get John out of the wheelchair and tucked into bed with minimal difficulty. “We will tell you what we know, but there are a few things we are unclear on as well,” Teyla said.
“Like how McKay thought eating an orange was a good idea,” Ronon deadpanned.
“Hey!” Rodney squawked from his perch on the edge of the bed. “I’ll have you know that-”
“Let’s start with the hostage takeover,” John interrupted, looking at Rodney with amusement. He clapped the scientist on the back and gave Ronon and Teyla a brief nod of gratitude before settling in to attempt to fill the gaps in his memory.
~el fin~
Prompt: Serious injury aftermath and beginning of recovery. Team Shmoopy Shmishiness. Carson (can be with Keller), please.