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Some days, John Sheppard realized that getting out of bed that morning had been a terrible mistake.
Today was one of those days.
“Move over, Conan, you’re standing on my foot!” Rodney complained, batting at Ronon’s arm.
“There is not much room in here, Rodney. I do not believe this cell was meant to hold four people at the same time, so we must be patient with one another.” Teyla was crammed as far back in a corner as a person could get, yet still managed to look as serene as ever.
“That’s an understatement,” John muttered, trying to shift over a few inches to give Ronon more space.
The Satedan was visibly twitching, a bundle of anger and impatience with a lit fuse attached. “They took my gun,” he seethed, peering out through the cell bars. “I’m gonna kill them. Every last one of them.”
“Sure, whatever you say, Chewie,” John answered, eyes going to his wrist to check the time, only to be reminded again that the Dalinians had taken his watch along with their weapons and tac vests. “As soon as we’re out of here, you can kill stuff. Until then, take a chill pill, okay?”
“We’ve been here for hours!” Rodney exclaimed, voice rising in pitch. “What are they planning to do, let us starve to death?!”
“We have ample time before that becomes a possibility,” Teyla interjected, trying to calm the panicking scientist.
“Sorry, hypoglycemic, remember?!” Rodney was almost screeching now.
Ronon turned on him. “If you don’t shut up, you’re not gonna have to worry about getting hungry.”
“Oh, so now you’re threatening me?” Rodney snapped back, although his voice was considerably quieter in the face of Ronon’s glare.
John groaned inwardly and rubbed a hand over his face, trying to ignore the ache building behind his eyes. “Alright, kids, time out. We’re all gonna go crazy if we keep sniping at each other, so let’s practice being quiet, okay?”
Rodney was mumbling to himself, something about losing his mind from boredom if he didn’t succumb to his hypoglycemia first, but he was no longer hyperventilating, so John decided to ignore him.
“It may be wise to try and get some sleep,” Teyla suggested. “We do not know how long we may have to rest.”
No one voiced the true meaning behind her words. We don’t know when or if they might start torturing us.
John curled up in as small a ball as he could manage in the corner opposite Rodney. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself and thought that the cell must be pretty far underground for it to be this cold. It was a wonder Rodney hadn’t added that to his list of complaints.
The last thing John saw before his eyes fell shut was Ronon crouched by the cell bars, staring out into the shadowy corridor beyond.
~SGA~
“You call this food?!” Rodney demanded, jabbing a finger at the wooden plate in his lap.
“Does nothing please you, McKay?” John groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall and closing his eyes.
Teyla was sitting in her corner, eating her food in slow, small bites. “It does not taste all that bad, Rodney,” she informed the scientist.
“Oh yeah? Well I’m sure it doesn’t taste very good either! And they didn’t even give us spoons!” Nevertheless, Rodney took a tentative bite, and after a moment, started in on the rest.
John swallowed a bite of the yellowish mush on his plate and held back a grimace as the action scraped against his sore throat. That’s new, his brain supplied, and he shoved the thought away. He was not getting sick. That was the absolute last thing they needed right now.
Ronon’s food was already gone, and he was flipping the plate in his hands at an impressive speed. “If I could break this,” he said, pausing to examine the dish, “we could use it as a weapon when they come back.”
“I do not advise it,” Teyla warned. “It will likely only anger them, and they may cut off our rations as punishment.”
Ronon growled under his breath, but went back to flipping the plate.
John swallowed the last bite of mush and set the plate on the ground beside his feet. Crossing his arms over his chest, he wondered again how it could be so cold, and how none of the others had seemed to notice. Something in the back of his mind told him there was probably a reason for that, but he stubbornly ignored it. I’m not sick.
Rodney scraped the last bit of mush off his plate and stuck it in his mouth. “Is that all they’re going to give us?” he demanded.
“We should be thankful they are feeding us at all, Rodney,” Teyla said.
Rodney picked up the cup beside him and sniffed the contents. “How do we know this water is even safe? It could have all sorts of bacteria in it. They might have even gotten it out of their sewage!”
John’s stomach rolled, and he pressed his lips tightly together while shooting a death glare in Rodney’s direction.
The scientist didn’t seem to notice. “In fact, how do we know what’s in the food either? They might be poisoning us for all we know!”
Ronon’s plate went whizzing through the air and smacked into the wall just above Rodney’s head. The scientist broke off abruptly, turning to stare wide-eyed at the Satedan.
“Shut up, or next time I’ll aim lower.”
John sighed, closing his eyes. At this rate, they were all going to kill each other before they ever got out of here.
~SGA~
“Why haven’t the search teams found us yet?” Ronon demanded, pacing back and forth in the ridiculously small space in front of the cell bars.
“It’s only been a day and a half,” John pointed out, not even bothering to lift his head from where he sat slumped against the back wall. “And they don’t know about this prison.”
“And depending on how far underground we are, they might not be able to locate our subcutaneous trackers either,” Rodney added, his expression morose.
“We must be patient,” Teyla said. “They will find us eventually.”
“I might go insane before then,” Rodney muttered.
Short trip, John thought, but didn’t have the energy to say it out loud. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on not shivering. How could it be so cold in here?
“Colonel?” Teyla’s voice was surprisingly close, even considering their cramped quarters.
John forced his eyes open and saw her face inches from his. “What?”
“Are you well? You look pale.”
“I’m fine, Teyla.”
Before he could stop her, her hand was on his forehead. Her eyes widened a fraction. “You have a fever.”
“What?” Rodney was across the cell immediately. “Are you sick?”
“Not sick,” John mumbled, wrapping his arms around himself. “Jus’ cold. It’s freezing in here.”
“No, it isn’t,” Ronon said from where he stood behind Rodney and Teyla.
“Not sick,” John insisted, knowing every syllable was a lie because he couldn’t stop shivering no matter how hard he tried.
His eyes closed without consulting him on the matter. Hands were on him, moving him, laying him down, smoothing sweaty locks of hair back from his forehead. His head was in someone’s lap, and something warm was laid over him. He wanted to protest, to tell them that they shouldn’t be letting him stretch out when there was already barely enough room in this cell, but he couldn’t seem to get his tongue to form words properly for some reason, and all that came out was a string of mumbled nonsense.
“Rest, John.” Teyla spoke softly, somewhere above and behind him. “We will look after you. Just rest.”
He wanted to object, but rest actually sounded really good right now, and it was getting harder and harder to stay awake. He let himself drift off, the voices around him growing farther and farther away until sleep claimed him at last.
~SGA~
“…Got to do something,” John heard as he came back to consciousness. “He’s getting worse by the hour.”
“We are aware of that, Rodney.” Teyla, John fished out of the fog that seemed to have enveloped his brain. “But there is nothing we can do until rescue arrives.”
“He might not have that long.” Ronon almost sounded worried, John thought, and he wondered why.
“Wha’s goin’ on?” he managed, prying his eyes open and blinking against the dim light.
“John.” Teyla’s face appeared above him. “How do you feel?”
“Cold,” he rasped, then broke out into a coughing fit.
Someone pulled him upright and leaned him forward, rubbing his back. A cup was pressed to his lips, and his managed a few small sips before it was taken away.
The attack finally subsided, and he was lowered back to the ground, his head pillowed on Teyla’s lap. He was shivering, chills wracking his body.
“Wha’s goin’ on?” he repeated.
“We are in a prison on Dalin, remember?” Teyla explained patiently. “You are sick. You have a very high fever.”
“No’ sick,” he muttered. “Cold, tha’s all.”
He thought she heaved a sigh, but he couldn’t be sure. “If you say so, Colonel.”
A hand touched his forehead, and he heard Rodney somewhere nearby. “He’s burning up. His fever’s climbing—he can’t survive like this.”
“Then we have to get out of here, now,” Ronon rumbled.
“Why’s it so cold?” John mumbled.
“Help me sit him up again,” he heard Teyla say.
Hands supported him, raising him upright. He heard Teyla saying something to Rodney, and Rodney’s incredulous reply, and then a minute later he was settled back against something—no, someone—warm and comfortable. Arms were wrapped around him, and he felt himself relax as the shivering lessened slightly.
“You are never going to breathe a word of this to anyone else, ever,” Rodney said from behind his head.
“Sure, whatever you say, McKay,” Ronon replied, a grin in his voice.
“Great, just great. You’d better be thankful for this, Sheppard,” Rodney muttered, even as the arms around John tightened their hold.
~SGA~
The next time John opened his eyes, it was to the white walls and ceiling of the Atlantis infirmary. He turned his head and realized his team was sitting in various places around the room—Teyla was on one side of the bed, Rodney was on the other, and Ronon was down at the foot of the bed, positioned so he could watch the door.
Rodney noticed him first. “He’s awake!” he exclaimed, popping to his feet.
Teyla appeared in John’s line of vision, a smile lighting up her face. “John. It is good to have you back with us.”
He wanted to respond, but his mouth was too dry to form words. Teyla seemed to understand, because she disappeared for a moment, and then an ice chip was slipped through his lips.
The wetness felt wonderful to his parched throat, and she gave him another, and then another, before finally setting the cup aside.
He managed a smile of gratitude and looked around. “We make it out?”
“Yeah, buddy, we made it,” Ronon said from the end of the bed.
“We did. You almost didn’t,” Rodney jumped in.
“Rodney,” Teyla admonished.
John furrowed his brow. “That bad, huh?”
“It was—a bit uncertain for a time,” Teyla said carefully.
“You stopped breathing ten feet from the gate.” Rodney’s eyes were wide as he relived the moment. “We thought we lost you.”
John turned the statement over in his mind for a moment. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty bad.”
“Pretty bad? The man almost dies, and that’s pretty bad?!” Rodney squawked.
“Hush, Rodney. Do you need anything, John?” Teyla asked.
He thought about it. “I could eat.”
“Better get Beckett’s approval on that first,” Ronon said, straightening up and turning towards the door. “I’ll go get him. We were supposed to let him know as soon as you woke up.”
“Okay.” John relaxed back against the bed, feeling like he’d been run over by a truck and deciding that that was probably normal for people who almost died.
“Rest, John,” Teyla said. “We will be here when you awake.”
John hummed in response, closing his eyes. Later, he would learn that Ronon had broken the Dalinian guard’s wrist when their food was brought and had stolen the keys to their cell, and that the three of them had carried him out of the prison, stealing their weapons and supplies back along the way, and had gotten halfway to the gate before meeting Major Lorne and a search team.
But that would come later. Right now, he let himself drift off to sleep, knowing his team was there and they would take care of him.
Finis.