Word Count:
3,085
Rating:
PG13.
Category:
Angst.
Story Status:
Complete
Summary: Set
a
few weeks after Trinity. ‘He was alone, in a cold cell, with
horrid food, and hatred all around. And guilt to keep him
company.’
Author's Notes:
Wildcat88 (ruffles) on LiveJournal kindly wrote a missing scenes/sequel
to 'Prison' that I can't highly praise enough! 'The
Whole of Life'
tells the team's side of things and is from Ronon's POV.
Please
read it after you've read 'Prison', you won't be disappointed.
Beta:
Thank you to Jayne Perry for the beta-reading.
Prison
By Leesa Perrie
----------------
“Sometimes
it's hard to know where I stand,
It's hard to know where
I am,
Well maybe it's a puzzle
I don't understand”
Lyrics from
‘Is It Any Wonder?’ by Keane
----------------
Two weeks. Two weeks inside the prison. He was
sitting on
the bed with a blanket wrapped around him, shivering from the cold,
hunched up, arms around knees, trying to keep warm and
failing.
The nights were cold and the prison had no heating. One
blanket
wasn’t enough to keep him warm, but it was enough to stave
off
hypothermia. He shivered. Of course, he
didn’t get
much sleep at night, slept mainly in the day when it was at least
bearable, the blanket doing its job.
Food came twice a day. Well, he called it food. And
it was
edible, just. Not a lot of it, but enough to keep him from
starving, and to keep the hypoglycaemia at bay. He was losing
weight, though. Which wasn’t helping with the heat
problem,
fat being insulating. Not that he was fat, far from it,
but…every little helped.
He spent most of his time stuck in his cell, alone. Twice a
week
he was let out to shower and shave. Three times a week, to
exercise in the yard with the other prisoners. At first, some
of
them had talked to him, but not now. The prison guards had
spread
tales of his crime, and the hatred was clear in everyone’s
eyes. The only reason none of the prisoners attacked him was
because of what would happen to them if they did. The guards,
they were monitored too closely by those in charge to get away with
prisoner abuse. He supposed he should be thankful for small
mercies.
One of the other prisoners, before he became a pariah, had told him how
the system worked. If you had someone outside willing to pay
a
small amount of money every week, then you’d get another two
blankets and food of a better quality, more of it, and three times a
day. If you had someone willing to pay a little more, then
you
got extra privileges such as letters, both received and sent, the
occasional visit, and small luxuries such as books or photos or maybe
extra food.
He had no one outside willing to pay anything for him. No one
on
this planet would do that. He wasn’t from here, so
no
family, no friends.
No friends.
Not anymore, it seemed. He’d been left behind,
abandoned to
his fate. So much for never leaving a man behind, it
didn’t
apply to him. It used to, once, and not all that long ago
really. But not now.
Seemed he’d made one mistake too many. Doranda had
been the
first nail in the coffin. And he had no doubt it would be his
coffin. How long before he became ill from lack of warmth,
lack
of decent food? How long before he died here, alone and hated?
So, Doranda had been the first nail. Or maybe it was a
straw? And this mistake, here, on this pathetic world, had
been
the last straw, breaking not a camel’s back, but the trust,
the
friendship, the respect, of everyone. Leaving him cast out,
having to live with the results of his error. His terrible
error,
that had caused the deaths of hundreds here. No wonder they
considered him a mass murderer. Though it was only partially
his
fault, and that was the only reason he’d escaped the death
verdict; that he wasn’t fully to blame.
The second nail, straw, whatever had been on M8Z-005. A
weather
control system, Ancient in design, had ensured that the world remained
habitable. It hadn’t been obvious what had powered
it. Not a ZedPM, of that he was
sure.
Of course, his attempts to locate the power source, in the hopes of
being able to find a new way to power Atlantis, had ended up with him
nearly destroying the world’s finely balanced weather
system. As it was, a particularly bad storm had passed over
where
they were, nearly destroying the Ancient device, and the building it
was housed in, nearly killing his team and himself.
They’d
been lucky to survive with only a few minor injuries.
The planet’s weather system righted itself as quickly as it
had
gone haywire, once he’d fixed his mistake, and they had left,
without knowledge of how the device was being powered.
He’d
argued against leaving, even then, but the looks on the faces of his
team had been enough for him to give up. They had not been
pleased, nor had Elizabeth when she had heard about what had
happened. Not a good way to regain their trust. To
regain
Sheppard’s trust.
He’d just wanted to find a new way to power the city, but had
nearly destroyed a world and its inhabitants, who fortunately were
unaware of the device or the team’s presence, or else that
could
have ended very badly too. Not to mention nearly killing his
team. It hadn’t been his finest hour, but not his
worst
either. No, Doranda or here were his worst, he just
hadn’t
quite decided which as yet.
And so the final straw, had been here, on Kelther. A world
with
technology at about the same level as the early 1900s, but who had a
shield left by the Ancestors, and had discovered naquadah, which was
naturally occurring on their world. The shield covered an
area
about thirty miles in radius, and the Kelthans remained mainly within
that area, with those that lived outside close by. Presumably
close enough to escape if the Wraith came, as the control room for the
shield also warned them of approaching ships. The gate was
outside of the shielded area, but at least they were protected from the
Wraith whenever they came. And eventually the Wraith always
gave
up and moved on.
There was a potential to trade for naquadah, as well as fresh food to
supplement the supplies from Earth, and some medical herbs that had
Carson excited, apparently they could cure an illness that was causing
problems for one of our other allies in this galaxy.
The Kelthans had been trying to harness the power from naquadah, not as
a bomb, but as a power source for their burgeoning society that was
increasing looking to electricity instead of steam. But a
tragic
accident resulting in the death of twenty scientists and the
destruction of their lab, which fortunately they had had the foresight
to place outside of their inhabited areas, had brought this to a
temporary stop.
McKay had been vocal in forming an alliance with these
people.
Access to naquadah in Pegasus, instead of relying on it being delivered
by the Daedalus, was something well worth gaining. And in
return,
they could offer help in building generators.
Elizabeth had been unsure. Worried about the potential for
the
generators to be turned into weapons. He’d assured
her that
wouldn’t happen, telling her of a generator design that had
more
than one mechanical failsafe built into it, making it impossible to
overload, and removing them would stop the generator from working at
all. The US government had chosen to use a design that
allowed
for overloading, having a power source that could be turned into a
weapon outweighing any safety concerns.
Something they should all be grateful for, he’d pointed out,
or did he have to say nanovirus?
Asked if he could build this safer generator, he’d said of
course
he could. Who did they think had designed it in the first
place? After all, the US government might have had to agree
to
Russia having a naquadah programme at that particular time, but it
didn’t mean they had wanted them to have a potential
weapon. Hence, after being sent to oversee things,
he’d
come up with this design. It gave the Russians a naquadah
generator, and kept the Americans somewhat mollified as well.
They had offered this design and the help in building it, and they got
a supply of naquadah, food and medicinal herbs in return. A
win-win situation.
Or so it seemed.
Of course, when did anything go right in the Pegasus Galaxy?
The Kelthans had neighbours on another continent, not protected by any
shield and left to the mercy of the Wraith; who were not known for
their mercy. Many times groups of these
‘Thaneks’, as
they called themselves, tried to take over the shield, but had never
succeeded. However, it seemed that the Kelthans wanted to put
a
stop to the attacks, by having a weapon that would keep the Thaneks
cowed.
At night, when Rodney was asleep, they would drug him and wake
him. He then answered their questions, showed them new
designs,
and then would sleep again. When he awoke the next day, he
had no
memory of the events. He felt more tired than he expected,
but
had put it down to the stress of working with the Kelthans.
A week later, the Kelthans, being quick studies it seemed, had a
working naquadah bomb that they used on the Thaneks. Hundreds
were killed.
They had demanded answers from the Kelthans, answers which were
given. And he knew he was to blame for everything.
He had
convinced Elizabeth that it would be safe, and he had been
wrong.
So very, very wrong. Again.
They were heading back to the gate when the Thaneks attacked.
Instead of being cowed, they were after revenge. This time
they
came in great numbers, and took control, killing hundreds of Kelthans
in the battle.
He’d got separated from his team, cut off from the
gate.
Sheppard had radioed him to say they were heading back through the gate
and would return with jumpers, and that he was to sit tight.
They never returned, and he was captured. Put on trial and
found
guilty of helping the Kelthans to build their bomb, but because it had
not been voluntary, they commuted his sentence to life imprisonment,
not death. Though, really, it was the same thing in the
end. He wouldn’t last long here. Months
maybe at the
most. It was a slow death, that was all.
He’d been abandoned. Two weeks and no one had
come. No jumpers through the gate. No rescue.
He was alone, in a cold cell, with horrid food, and hatred all
around. And guilt to keep him company. Guilt; for
all the
things he’d done wrong in his life; all the truly bad
decisions
he’d made; all the deaths he felt responsible for; all the
mistakes and all their consequences.
All the friendships he’d lost.
He didn’t blame them, for any of this. It hurt,
that they
had obviously decided they were better off without him. His
intelligence and knowledge not worth the problem that he was, certainly
not worth the disasters he’d caused or nearly
caused. He
may have saved Atlantis or his team time and time again, but Zelenka
was good. They’d manage. Better to manage
without him
than to have to deal with his messes.
He didn’t blame them, despite the hurt. He had this
coming to him.
It still hurt badly.
----------------
Another week passed, and he had developed a hacking cough that left him
exhausted. They didn’t waste medicine on prisoners,
unless
you had someone on the outside willing to pay for it. Which
meant
none for him. So his headache and cough didn’t get
any
better, and in fact were getting worse. No fever as yet, no
aches
or pains, no sneezing or blocked nose, but a persistent cough, a
headache that was threatening to turn into a migraine, and a lethargy
that kept him to his bed most of the time.
The guards hadn’t made him go out for the last exercise
session,
which he wasn’t sure was a good thing or not. He
felt too
ill to go outside, but maybe some fresh air would help. Or
maybe
not.
He didn’t want to die, despite the imprisonment and the
abandonment. He wanted to live, even though he had no hope of
rescue and little hope of release. But how long before he
caught
something that would kill him? Maybe he already had.
It was just so unfair. And yet even as he thought that, he
remembered his mistakes, the people who had died, or nearly died,
because of him, and maybe it wasn’t so unfair after all.
A guard opened the door to his cell, ushering him out. He
stood
on unsteady legs and followed him. Was it time already for a
shower and clean up? Or had they decided not to skip the
exercise
session like he’d thought, but to make him exercise alone so
as
not to infect the other prisoners? He didn’t bother
asking,
he’d learned early on that his questions were never answered,
and
he needed to spend his energy on walking and not talking right
now. The concentration needed to keep himself upright and
moving
distracted him from his surroundings, and he didn’t notice
that
they were heading somewhere else instead. Not the bathroom or
the
exercise yard.
When he was led into another room with a table and two chairs, one on
each side of the table, he was surprised, confused and
worried.
He collapsed into one of the chairs, and was left alone.
Just what was going on?
He crossed his arms and laid them on the table, laying his head down on
them tiredly. A coughing fit made him sit back up, but once
it
was over, he laid his head back down, and waited.
A few minutes passed, and then the door opened and someone came in and
sat in the chair on the other side of the table. The door
closed,
and he forced himself to raise his head and look at the person opposite
him.
“Hey,” the man paused, looking him over
critically. “You look like crap, McKay.”
“Then I look how I feel, Major,” he answered,
wondering if
he was hallucinating. “Why are you here?”
He noted that Lorne looked confused at his response.
“Why do you think? To get you out of
here.”
“Oh,” he frowned, but a coughing fit interrupted
him before he could say any more.
“That sounds pretty bad,” Lorne stood up, moving
round to
perch on the table next to him. He then slipped a transponder
onto McKay’s shoulder, and waited for the coughing to
abate. “Think you can stand?”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll fall on your ass otherwise when we
beam aboard the Daedalus.”
“Oh, right,” Rodney was struggling to come to terms
with
his rescue. Why had they come now? Had they changed
their
minds? Had something gone wrong that only he could
fix?
That was most likely, he figured. He stood slowly, with Major
Lorne offering a steadying hand. Once upright, Lorne
contacted
the ship and they were beamed to the infirmary. Where he
collapsed into darkness.
----------------
He surfaced from time to time, aware mainly of Carson’s
brogue,
though sometimes there were other voices too; Sheppard, Ronon, Teyla,
Elizabeth, Radek. But he couldn’t work out what
they were
saying, and could only shiver or cough and fall back into sleep.
Of course, the dreams came when he slept. Nightmares and
memories, of being abandoned to his fate. Of his team, his
friends; all of them with angry faces. Berating him for his
mistakes, and turning away. Leaving him behind, because they
could no longer put up with his errors. Anger and hatred,
where
there used to be friendship and trust. His whole world
falling to
pieces. Being left alone, to be hated, as he
deserved.
Guilty as charged, people had died because of him, and no one would
help him now. He’d made too many mistakes, gone too
far.
He didn’t know that his nightmares became words, slurred and
broken, delivered in a fever to those that listened, and who hurt for
him. All his guilt and fear, all his insecurities in himself
and
his friends, all his loneliness; all this was laid bare.
And they realised that this arrogant, egotistical and abrasive man was
fragile underneath, something they had never truly realised
before. They knew he cared, knew there was more beneath the
surface, but never had they thought he would be so fragile, so
vulnerable, so unsure of himself, and of them.
Recent events had knocked him off balance more than they had
known. He’d hidden his growing guilt, his growing
uncertainty in his abilities, in their opinion of his abilities, his
growing uncertainty about his worth, in their eyes and in his
own. Fever and weeks of believing he had finally be deserted,
finally been left behind to face what his guilt told him he deserved,
had opened him up to them. And what they saw was
heart-breaking.
They needed to plan a response. Needed to reassure him, but
in a
way that he would accept, a way that would not make him suspicious of
their actions. To reaffirm him, but carefully.
He needed to know that they valued him as a person, not just for his
intellect or his skills. But it would need to be done in a
way
that seemed natural for each of them to do. It would not work
if
they suddenly acted out of character around him; each would need to
find their own way.
It would take time, a lot of time, but they were determined to make
sure he knew beyond a doubt that they would never, ever abandon
him. That they would always fight to find him, save him, if
ever
he was lost again.
And yes, each had their own issues to face concerning his actions of
late. Such as trust, forgiveness, and accepting that he was
not
perfect, as no one ever was; that he was not infallible.
He could never, ever know what they had heard, that he had laid his
soul bare to them. It would only do more harm than good, and
he
had suffered enough harm. They would shield him from any more
by
this one act of silence.
One of the first things that Sheppard said to him when he finally awoke
and was aware, was that they had not abandoned him. That the
gate
on Kelther had been damaged and they had been forced to wait for the
Daedalus to return from Earth. That they had come as soon as
they
could, only sending Lorne for fear of any of the team being recognised
and captured.
And that he was not to blame for the actions of the Kelthans.
The deaths were not his fault.
It was a start.
----------------
“Some long ago
when we were taught
That for whatever kind
of puzzle you got
You just stick the right
formula in
A solution for every
fool”
Lyrics from
‘Least Complicated’ by The Indigo Girls
----------------
The End
Just a
reminder that wildcat88
(ruffles) on LiveJournal kindly wrote a missing scenes/sequel to
'Prison' that I can't highly praise enough! 'The
Whole of Life' tells the team's side of things and is from
Ronon's POV. Please go and read it, you won't be
disappointed!
