1. Chapter 1

**Adrift**

Written for cosmonaut-elf, as part of the ICAW ficathon on LJ, who requested: a John/Carson pairing. Serious hurt/comfort. Serious, _serious_ Carson whumping. The two of them getting stranded. Lots of blood and rain. John realising that he loves Carson (sort of first time).

**Authors Notes**:Set after _The Tower _but with spoilers of the 'blink and you'll miss them' variety up to _The Return._

Written unapologetically in British English and betaed to match by my lovely Dons, Geeks and Medics. Written at speed (for me) and therefore probably incorrect in all sorts of canon facts but I don't care because writing this almost broke my brain.

This story is complete, being betaed and will be posted every couple of days or so.

Several of the chapters have been heavily influenced by various music tracks off the album _Ringleader of the Tormentors_ by _Morrissey_ listed after chapter headings.

(Yes I know I should have finished _Black and White_ first but this plot bunny was carrying a whip)

SGA

Chapter 1: _I Will See You In Far-Off Places _

The four men walking through the door of the tavern were certainly not there for a beauty pageant. Evidence of a hard, tough existence was written across their bodies and faces. All of them were heavily built and muscular, wearing an assortment of body armour that showed they had travelled far across the Pegasus Galaxy and carrying the sort of armament that suggested that they had fought their way across most of it.

They were striking – the one at the front of the group sported a face tattoo of swirls and lines that covered half his face from forehead to chin, with braided hair to match. His second was marked by a livid scar that ran lengthways, from the hairline of his close cropped skull, across his face, an eye-patch testifying to the damage caused by its passage. The others looked as though they had been in one too many tavern brawls and had enjoyed it.

In short a motley crew, that if they had turned up in a small community anywhere on Earth would have had people screaming for the local law enforcement.

Here on M 96X4 no-one took the slightest bit of notice.

Even Carson Beckett spared them no more than a glance as they made their way to the long bar that dominated the big single story building. The tavern was the largest building in the settlement and served as a de facto community centre, which is why Beckett was now seated in one corner of the room, his attention returned to the toddler sitting on his lap.

She was a blonde haired moppet but certainly not adorable. Unfortunately she was the very last of a very long line of little ones and her time waiting had taught her that the nice smiley man was not as nice as he appeared. Carson and her harried mother were trying to persuade her to sit still while he prepared swab and syringe. Finally she stilled just enough for a fraction of a second and Beckett completed the final vaccination of the day. Her howl of outrage was quickly stilled by the local equivalent of a lollipop and Beckett thankfully handed her back to her mother, tears still running down her face.

Beckett sighed and stretched his neck slightly to remove a kink. The Lanteans were here on trade but this time it was for information rather than hard currency or goods, and experience had taught them that a soft approach offering medical aid to a community often brought the greatest rewards.

In this case it was yet another hunt for one of the elusive ZPM's sorely needed by Atlantis. They had used the Ancient database to find a site where one had certainly once been installed, and it was also apparent that it had been removed very recently. Carefully gathered evidence had led them here, to this major trade nexus frequented by many different peoples, where they were hoping to trace it on.

The place was a hive of activity - they had all got used to the frequent noise of the nearby Stargate opening. Unusually the settlement was built by the Stargate, a very rare occurrence in the Pegasus Galaxy where distance bought a little safety from a Wraith culling, but beneath their feet was a network of tunnels to which the townsfolk entrusted that some would always get away.

Dr Elizabeth Weir and Lt. Colonel John Sheppard were there too – they were currently in the local equivalent of the town hall signing agreements, asking gently probing questions and being wined and dined. Carson had landed grunt duty and after a long day his security team were as fed up and tired as he was. His team of three were scattered about the building. Sitting on the nearest bench was Ramirez, who he could see was eyeing the foaming tankards of beer being handed across the bar while he took a disconsolate sip from his regulation water bottle. Carson, in sympathy, had already decided to order a few jugs for their return to Atlantis.

He began to carefully pack up the medical supplies in his back pack and now took the opportunity to check out the other inhabitants of the place as the day time trade gave way to night. The most interesting of the newly arrived groups at the bar had now split into two. A couple of them were busily tackling jugs of beer, the others were approaching each of the occupied tables in turn. A common practise here, checking out who was trading and what was on offer. The leader, or so he assumed, was carrying something in his hands, which would most likely be metal currency bars or perhaps a trade charter from another trading post to prove his credentials.

Carson was not surprised when Tattoo approached his table. He studied the extravagant design, wondering whether he had had it done without anaesthetic and how he had avoided infection. The man looked tough enough not to have cared about either.

"You here for trade?" The man had a gruff voice to match his fearsome appearance.

"Concluded, thank you. I'm dispensing medical treatment as payment. The leader of our group would be interested in talking to you depending on what you are offering."

Carson was friendly but guarded – places like this always triggered memories of those scenes in Hollywood movies where it took little to provoke flying fists, tables and general mayhem.

"We look for opportunities, a chance to turn a bit of profit. Sometimes trade is thin and sometimes, well, we just strike pure gold."

He smiled then, in a way that made the hairs ride up on the back of Carson's neck, and put the objects in his hands down on the table. Carson recognised them immediately – it was an Ancient scanner and display tablet, the mirror of the ones that Sheppard had shown him on the planet of the Tower. The display was flashing.

It was telling the man in front of him that he possessed the ATA gene in no uncertain terms. Carson glanced at Ramirez who had been watching the exchange closely, although he would not fully understand the significance of the scanner. Ramirez immediately went to pull up his P90, an action mirrored by the other two members of the security detail, but it was too late. Stunner shots rang out across the building, all four members of the group were shooting anyone that moved, let alone reached for a weapon. They were good – soon only the new party were standing, everyone else was either slumped across the tables or hiding under them.

Carson had not moved, he had not been able to – the big man in front of him had effectively trapped him in the corner, but he had taken the action that he could, activating his earpiece and informing Sheppard that there was a problem at the tavern. The Lanteans were now on their way.

Tattoo now holstered his weapon and picked up the display scanner, tapping it with a finger as though to crudely check its accuracy, then held it up to show the others.

"Yep – sometimes we just get real lucky and hit pay-dirt and boys, today is one of those lucky days."

Eye-Patch now stepped up beside Tattoo. He was leering at Carson with the sort of smile that meant a whole world of trouble and had produced a length of thin rope.

_Oh Crap!_

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

**Adrift**

**Chapter Two:**_I'll Never Be Anybody's Hero Now._

The Stargate opened, the iris was raised and SGA-1 walked out into the gate room. Their body language screamed defeat. Rodney McKay was silent, he abruptly waved away an enquiry from one of his staff, intent on his laptop – already looking for the next lead.

Ronon Dex was holstering his gun, muttering softly about "next time." Teyla Emmagan was watching John Sheppard, concern clear on her face.

And John Sheppard? He was trying not to think about anything at all. The bite of his nails into his palms forced him to relax his clenched fists, aware that Elizabeth would be watching from the balcony above with _that_ look on her face.

And she was. Elizabeth sighed and dropped her head. John was not meeting her eyes. The conclusion was easy to make – another planet, another blank. There had obviously been no trace of Beckett or the men who had taken him. How many times had it been now?

This routine was becoming depressingly familiar and had been ever since that fateful day, when she had found herself following, as best as she could, in Sheppard's wake as he had set off for the tavern on M 96X4.

John had only said, "Beckett's in trouble," and had left the meeting at a run followed by his marines. When she had eventually reached the tavern, after diplomatically soothing some ruffled feathers, she had found a scene of chaos, bodies slumped everywhere, the bar maids hysterical. The security team that she had left with Beckett were sprawled unconscious on the floor, but fortunately had only been stunned.

There had been no sign of Carson. She had tried to aid groaning, disorientated people as best she could and find out what had happened. John had soon returned from the Stargate, which he had headed for as soon as he had realised that Beckett was not in the building. His instincts had been right but he had been too late.

They did what they could. Gathered witness statements from Ramirez and the others, there were plenty of witnesses. They soon had a good decisive description of the men that had started the stunner fight and, thanks to Ramirez, the sequence of events that had taken place.

And confirmation that the same group had been seen dragging a struggling, tied captive off world.

John had quickly retrieved the last fifty gate addresses from the DHD, quite happy to risk the angry crowd of traders whose 'gate travel he interrupted. He had then assembled several teams and they had started to check out the most likely Stargate addresses. And that was where their troubles had really begun.

They quickly started to draw blanks. On busy worlds where _someone _should have seen such a distinctive group in travel they could find no-one who would admit to seeing them. John had circulated posters and asked all the right questions but received no answers.

And the most frustrating part of it all was the certain feeling that some of the people that they had questioned knew the group that they were looking for and simply would not talk. No financial incentives or even mild threats had stirred the faintest trace of a lead. To add to the misery, the trail of the ZPM had petered out as well.

That had been six weeks ago.

And now another attempt to uncover a lead had failed. Elizabeth watched her Head of Security with concern. The echoes of the desperate way he had hunted for Aiden Ford were apparent. He might never say so but it was clear how much he cared for some of the people on Atlantis, how far he would go to keep them safe. And now she was going to have to tell him that it was time to wind down the hunt.

SGA

Down in the gate room Teyla moved away from her team to where a group of Athosians were preparing to go off world, their trading goods neatly stacked. She touched heads with the leader of the group in greeting and they conversed quietly. John was aware that there were several glances in the direction of himself and Elizabeth. He could guess the subject of their talk.

Teyla was just one of the Athosians who had tried to breach the Lanteans shock and anger at losing their CMO so abruptly. She had explained that there were rituals, ceremonies that were helpful in dealing with the uncertainty of what had happened to Beckett – even to aid the passing over of the spirit if that had taken place.

This was not mere spiritual belief. The Athosians knew that a group of people who continued to mourn, to not accept loss, became distracted, did not put their survival first and would therefore be vulnerable to Wraith attack.

Elizabeth and the others had refused to even contemplate giving up on Beckett.

Teyla had stopped bringing up the subject as frequently, but the Athosians as a group were continuing to put gentle pressure on the Lanteans – they were concerned about them.

Elizabeth had appointed Dr Biro as acting CMO but, as far as she was concerned, it was going to stay that way for a long time. Stargate Command had been compassionate, not questioning her decisions, but she knew this was not going to continue forever. Eventually the Daedalus would arrive with a new CMO appointed by Oversight. But then and only then would she sit down to write to Carson's mother.

And John Sheppard? He tried not show it but he _was_ becoming desperate. This was Ford all over again – that had felt like acid eating at his gut and this – this was so much worse. This was _Beckett._

The great city of Atlantis had become his home. The first time that the word home had ever meant anything to him. But there was no denying it was an alien place in every sense of the word. When the expedition had first arrived from Earth they had felt _little_, inferior, unable to match the grandeur of the Ancients, limited in every way except their optimism. Many people had felt lost in surroundings that had just not been on a human scale, possessing technology so superior to their own.

And one person had done more than anyone to bring a human heart to that cold formidable structure, and that person had been Carson Beckett. There was not a person on the base who had not received some comfort at his hands or just a friendly smile. He had felt and shared their loneliness. The alienation of the city he had probably understood better than anyone else, he had been the most homesick himself and had responded in the only way he knew how.

In a way John supposed that Carson Beckett was the heart of Atlantis. It certainly felt like that to him.

And now he was gone. The city seemed cast adrift somehow, floating lost on its wide ocean. Nothing _felt_ right to Sheppard, the very atmosphere of the city was changed.

John had to acknowledge that life had to go on. Survey and science teams had been authorised off world again. There was a pressing need for a new trading mission to go out soon.

He knew that Elizabeth was going to ask him to start resuming routine missions any day now. Even as he stood in the gate room John could hear the bustle of Atlantis around him, the everyday sounds that showed life was getting back to normal.

But it was never going to be normal to him. He was going to go on looking. To do whatever it took until he found Beckett again.

John looked around at his despondent team. He summoned a small smile.

"All right guys – let's try again tomorrow." Rodney, Ronon and Teyla acknowledged him with small, silent nods and SGA1 walked out of the gate room together.

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

**Adrift**

**AN: **Thank you so much for your kind reviews.And on with the cliffies.

**Chapter 3**: _In the future when all's well._

It would have helped Carson to adjust to the situation that he found himself in, if he had understood from the beginning that the men who had abducted him, had no real understanding of what the Ancient scanner was showing them. Granted, they knew it showed that there was something special about him, something very useful to their line of "business" but not how the Ancient gene worked or what he could do with it.

Consequently they were taking no chances with their prize – he found himself trussed as tightly as a steer. Arms and wrists tied tightly behind his back and then arms strapped to his sides – it didn't take long for the pain of this forced position to become quite unbearable. Not that he could complain, he was gagged as well, unable to call out to anyone as he was forcibly marched to the Stargate.

He struggled desperately but futilely in the strong grip of the man sporting the eye-patch – he knew, with rising alarm, that there had not been enough time for Sheppard to reach the tavern but it was too late – the 'gate was dialled and he was pushed through.

After that the little group made numerous jumps through more than a dozen Stargates. They were careful, each time they made sure that there was no-one to witness their departure, sometimes waiting for a few hours while others used the 'gate on busy worlds.

Carson had no chance to escape even then – he always found his legs and ankles tied painfully tight whenever they were waiting for the Stargate to clear. Each jump caused Beckett's heart to grow colder – no-one could follow a trail like this, not even Rodney McKay. These people had done this before.

He decided that they must be nearing their destination when a blindfold of rough cloth was tied across his eyes before the next 'gate was dialled. The atmosphere of the place that they arrived in was cool and damp against his sweaty skin – Beckett tried to use his other senses to feel his surroundings. The ground underfoot was soft and wet, he could feel the suction against his boots.

There were many people here by the Stargate. Tattoo was talking to them, being answered by soft voices speaking common with a distinct accent. He was pushed forward, and became aware that he was being shown to someone, they were being asked to recognise how he looked.

Then he found himself shoved onto some sort of cart drawn by animals, he could smell their wet hides and hear their low grunts of protest as the cart was urged into motion. This journey seemed endless, the route was rutted and bumpy. Carson was feeling bruised all over and the pain in his limbs was like a slow burning fire. He tried to distract himself by imagining the planet that he was on without being able to see. There was a high and distant rustle of wind among leaves, fat drops of water were falling at intervals and there was muffled quality to the sound of their travel that suggested that they were moving through a forest.

They finally reached their destination. Carson was pulled from the cart, he became aware that they had gone inside a building, the ground was hard and dry. He was finally pushed to sit on a low platform.

The blindfold and gag were suddenly pulled off leaving him blinking in the dim light, welcoming the fact that the tight ropes were also being removed.

His sense of relief did not last long. He was not even given time to flex his stiff and painful arms before he found both his wrists being shackled in iron manacles connected by short chain, that was itself chained to the wall behind him. With a slam of a door he was left in silence, feeling totally overwhelmed.

He was now in a small room sealed with a heavy door, dim light came from a small barred opening situated at the very ceiling which seemed to be opening at ground level on the other side, so that the room appeared to be mostly underground.

The room was damp and cold, the walls sparkled with moisture in several places. He was seated on a simple pallet bed. The room also contained a table, chair and crude toilet – all out of reach, shackled as he was. What the hell did they want with him?

He had plenty of time to think about that question, as he was left alone for hours and was feeling faint with hunger and thirst before anyone came near the room again.

It was Tattoo, accompanied by another man similarly attired, who placed food and drink on the table, and then unchained Carson from the wall to bring him to stand before the imposing leader.

"Listen really carefully," the man was in his face, intimidating, "you co-operate, do exactly what we say and you'll get fed and stay alive and in one piece. You are far from help, with no chance of getting any – I won't insult your intelligence by not thinking you don't know how many Ring jumps we are from your people.

"If you try to escape we will cut the tendons on the backs of your legs – you don't need to be able to walk to do what we want you to do. Not that you would get anywhere near the Ring anyway.

"We've done a deal with the nasty tribe of little hunters that live in the forests of this planet. We call them "Pointies" because they have a love of sharp, simple weapons – spears, bows, arrows – that sort of thing. We have a Shield up here – Ancient stuff protecting us from the Wraith. We extend that protection to the Pointies – in return they kill anyone who comes through the Ring without our approval and hunt down any of our prisoners who are stupid enough to try to escape. No one has ever made it. They are as faithful as dogs especially since we "improved" their weaponry for them."

The detailed explanation had the effect on Carson that Tattoo obviously wanted – escape appeared to be impossible, and he was even more dismayed by the fact that the shield would frustrate efforts by Atlantis to look for him unless they knew the energy signature. Anyone coming through the 'gate would be killed? He couldn't bear to think of that happening to anyone from Atlantis, especially the people most likely to come through the Stargate looking for him. And they would look for him – he never doubted it. Any time a doubt about that ever crept into his mind – he only had to think about John Sheppard to know that _he _would never give up looking. But would they find him?

He was allowed then to eat, drink and wash up a bit before being chained back to his bed. Carson was left alone in deepening gloom as evening came on, trying to massage the aches out of his joints and pondering what these people wanted him to do.

SGA

The following day he found himself being led from his prison along dark, narrow corridors. The manacles and chain had not been removed. His comment that he was, "hardly bloody likely to be going anywhere now," had not been answered and he accepted with resignation that he was probably going to be left like this.

Carson was also quite certain that the people who held him had not built the complex that he was being taken through. It was centuries old but not Ancient work. It most resembled a shelter built against Wraith attack, like the ones that they had encountered on several worlds. This one had been adapted somewhat – they eventually reached areas with lighting strung off the ceilings and he saw more of the men who seemed to live here.

His escort stopped him by a set of large double doors which were then pulled open to reveal an amazing sight. At first glance he was looking into a low cavern-like room piled high with metallic junk. On closer inspection he recognised the distinctive styling of Ancient technology. But it was not the clean arrangement of Atlantis – it was more like someone had taken a bulldozer to an Ancient city and pushed it all haphazardly into this one chamber. There were twisted columns, panels and consoles heaped as far as he could see. The edges of the room were lined with further doors indicating that more might be stored beyond. And it wasn't just Ancient tech. Carson recognised the organic circuitry of Wraith technology as well. Much of it seemed broken beyond repair, covered in deep layers of dust that suggested it had lain here for a very long time.

He gazed open mouthed in amazement, amusing Tattoo who stood inside the room, in front of a pile of partly shattered blue glass tubing.

"Welcome to our Bazaar. Gathered from every corner of the Galaxy – available to anyone at a price. Left behind by the Ancients, people spend their lives stepping over this stuff, ignoring it and instead living with simple ways of doing things because it is all dead and cold. But we know better. It can be brought back to life and then it's worth whatever we want to charge for it.

"But you know this don't you?"

Carson stayed silent. There was no question of revealing the existence of Atlantis. He knew it would be a very bad idea to let these people know that he even recognised a lot of the objects in the room, could guess at their function. He would pretend to be ignorant.

Tattoo stepped up to him and suddenly, without warning, backhanded Carson across the face, causing him to fall heavily to the ground, unable to catch himself because of the restraints. His jaw felt almost broken, there were spots dancing before his eyes. He slowly looked up, shaking his head to clear it and wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, to see the man standing over him.

"I said, you know about this. We found _this _in your pack." He pulled Carson's diagnostic scanner out of his jacket. "You know how this _machinery_ works and our device told us that you are of one of those who are able to bring it back to life."

He knelt then, leaning close to the fallen man. "And that is exactly what you are going to do for us – bring this stuff to life. We've got an eager market waiting for our wares – it's been a while since we were able to meet demand. Our last "helper" suffered a little _accident_."

Carson tried to digest what he was being told, it was difficult with his head ringing like a bell. He concentrated on his scanner.

"That scanner? Anyone can use it once it's been activated – you can find similar all over the place."

He tried to sound matter of fact, not to reveal the panic that he was feeling – if they were expecting him to activate Ancient technology, life was going to become more than a little difficult.

Tattoo shook his head.

"Don't play the fool. We know a lot of what is here is useless rubbish but a lot of the smaller devices have been "activated" in the past – some have fetched a king's ransom. You _are _going to switch them on for us. The lads have been waiting patiently for their chance to make their fortunes and if you don't keep them happy, I'll let them show you just how _un_happy they can be.

"And don't even think of using any of this stuff against us – you don't need to be able to _see i_n order to activate the machines."

Carson did not doubt his sincerity. Fear was clutching at his heart, he could hardly conceal his shaking. God, he wished he had never stepped through a bloody Stargate.

It was the start of a nightmare.

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

**Adrift**

**Chapter Four**

Later Carson found himself being given a sort of a guided tour of the complex. His captors were so sure of his inability to escape that they were happy to show him everything. This did nothing to raise the Scot's sinking spirits – it was clear that they thought he would be staying here for the rest of his life.

Next to the main store was a kind of workshop. Here were stored the artefacts that the gang considered the most valuable – basically anything that they thought they might get to work and therefore sell. Tattoo proved to be a very methodical leader when it came to making money and everything was neatly stored and labelled.

Carson was made to understand that he would be principally working here.

They even showed him the shield device, complete with ZPM and a newly installed one at that. He realised that he had found the missing ZPM - stolen by this mercenary gang to replace their depleted one. The irony was lost on him.

Beckett was carefully observant, trying to gain as much knowledge about these people as possible, his very survival depended on it. And to learn as much about his surroundings as he could. He had already spotted a Wraith beacon among the smaller stuff in the workroom and was on the lookout for anything that might help him to escape or contact Atlantis.

Then came the moment he had been dreading, as they gathered in the workroom, a tangible air of expectation among his captors. Tattoo pushed forward a scanner that appeared to be in good condition – there would be no excuse for broken tech if it did not turn on.

Carson had had a little time to think about what he was going to do. Survive, he had decided, keep himself alive and hope that Atlantis figured out where he was. So he would cooperate.

He looked at the scanner and then at the men around him.

"You're right in thinking that I can turn this equipment on... sometimes. It's because I've got a gene, a part of my blood," he was trying to think of ways to explain, "that works with the machines. But it's not strong – I can't always do it."

"We'll be the judge of whether you are just not trying hard enough," was the ominous reply from Eye-Patch (God, he wished he knew their names but he had only heard them call each other by expletives so far), "turn it on."

"It's not a cantrip you know, just a bit of biology." But he had lost them. The gang members around him had the same expression on their faces as a batch of newly arrived marines wore at the compulsory _STD'S of the Pegasus Galaxy_ lecture.

Carson took a deep breath, closed his eyes and touched the scanner, praying to any deity that might be passing that the bloody thing would turn on. The murmur about him suggested that it had. He opened his eyes, almost giddy with relief, to see the device blinking at him - Ancient text scrolling across the screen.

"What does it do?"

"How should I know?... Ooooof." The air was driven from his lungs by a blow to the stomach.

"Wrong answer – what does it do?"

Two years of studying Ancient had given him some grasp of the medical texts but this? He tried his best, leaning on the workshop counter trying to protect his sore muscles.

"I think.. it's a materials composition scanner – it tells you what things are made of."

Tattoo was pleased. "You've just earned yourself a meal. Get him out of here."

SGA

It was the start of a very strange routine. Beckett found himself being taken to the workshop most days, always in a state of anxiety at what might happen. If he was successful at activating something – there would be a reward – a change of clothes, use of a razor, warm water.

But, as he had feared, sometimes he could get nothing to work – the machinery was clearly broken, the gang too optimistic. Other times Carson was not sure if it was the tech or himself. It did not matter what the reason was, they were very free with casually beating him. He now felt permanently bruised, a couple of ribs were always complaining – he was never sure how far they were going to go before believing him, when he was unable to turn on a particular device.

And he had no choice but to continue to try and cooperate. He had been unable to work out any way of escaping from this place. The gang were too careful, they seemed to have covered every option.

Carson was trying to hold onto the hope that any minute now he would be rescued. But weeks were going by. He knew the effort that Atlantis would have put into looking for him – he could picture John and his team, what they would have tried to do. And no-one had come. He tried to fight the growing doubt in his mind.

He held onto his medical wing jacket even though it grew grubbier as time passed, trying to keep it clean with a bit of water. It represented Atlantis for him, the hope that they were still coming. It was bad enough that he had to see his watch going around on Eye-Patch's wrist.

He also began to understand more of this strange place. He was not allowed to see much but managed to learn a little about the planet.

Rain was the principal feature. He could have found the daily downpour comforting, a reminder of home, but the rain pattern was wrong. It didn't fall soft and steady through a day and a night or sweep in like a howling gale of Winter, something to listen to from the side of a warm fire. It fell like a flood from the sky, intense and hard, an assault on the ears and senses, causing streams of water to run down the walls of his prison, and then would suddenly stop, leaving a permanent mist to hang in the air.

He tried to understand the people who held him. They were violent and mercenary and totally focused on getting rich. One thing was clear. They were not the ones who had started this – it could have conceivably been going on for centuries – the plundering and reselling of Ancient artefacts.

The current generation had been finding things tough, pickings had been thin and the increase in culling had made searching dangerous. They muttered wistfully of knowing of others that had made vast fortunes from this trade – enough to buy themselves a planet.

The two leaders had been there the longest – recruiting a few carefully selected others when gaps occurred among the ranks.

They were hungry for wealth – it was clear that they had found people with the gene before but had "carelessly" lost them. Carson, having been at the receiving end of their treatment could only too easily imagine how.

So Carson just worked on survival, biting down a retort or angry reaction when yet again one of the gang members took out his frustration on him.

That couldn't last and it didn't.

It was Eye-Patch, of course, who provoked him, twisting his arm roughly when the latest Ancient gizmo refused to give the smallest sign of life.

"Do you get off on violence or something?" he couldn't help muttering, as he shook off his arm angrily. Eye-Patch snarled with rage and the last thing that Carson was aware of for sometime was the sight of the man's fist swinging towards him.

He woke many hours later, lying on his bed, his head pounding unmercifully, one of his own bandages binding his forehead, a layer of extra blankets covering him.

He was treated a bit more carefully after that. It wasn't difficult to work out that they had lost their last gene-holder to a similar act of violence and, from the muttering directed at Eye-Patch by the others, that he had been responsible.

Instead, his perceived lack of cooperation was punished by the withdrawal of food and water. Not that it was plentiful to begin with. These men understood the art of managing prisoners – keep them weak and keep them cold. Carson knew what they were doing when they fed him not quite enough and not often enough or left him with a single blanket against the damp and chill but he could do nothing to fight the steady weakening of his body.

He had steeled his mind against that other prisoner bane of coming to depend on your captors for comfort or companionship but it never materialised. They never let him know their names and never used or asked for his. Contact was minimal – only when they needed him or when they were serving his basic needs did he see anyone.

This was probably the worst aspect of his captivity, apart from the unpredictability of his fate. Coming from a big family as he did, and having found himself at the heart of a bustling community in Atlantis, this cut him deeply. He spent long hours in his cell unable to prevent himself desperately missing his friends on Atlantis, and regretting all the things he never got round to saying to them.

It was not in his nature to successfully combat the coldness that marked the way in which he was being treated. And one day he found out why.

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

**Adrift**

**Chapter Five.**

**AN**: Dear reviewers – such a chorus of "poor Carson" and wanting to give him a hug. You'd better not read the next bit!:-)Thanks so much for the reviews. Much appreciated – you've got me started on another story (currently involving a lot of pointy teeth!)

Next chapter will not be up until Sunday.

SGA

There was a change of routine that day. After being unchained he wasn't marched to the workroom, but to the living quarters of the complex, where he found himself in a small dorm containing three beds. To his surprise his medical pack was thrust into his hands and his wrists were released from the manacles. Carson looked questioningly at Tattoo.

"Marnie got careless," was the gruff answer, "forgot the shoot first rule when 'recovering' valuable merchandise – patch him up."

Carson moved over to the bed holding a groaning occupant. He soon established that the projectile wounds were uncomplicated, a bit of cleaning and stitching, some fluid intake and bed rest would set the man right. He wasn't going to divulge the fact that he had a couple of carefully packed saline bags in the backpack – there might come a more urgent use for them and putting one of the thugs off his feet for a few days longer than otherwise was not a bad thing.

Carson took the opportunity to check through his pack and, though it had been thoroughly turned upside down, he was relieved to find it mostly intact. His Ancient scanner had gone of course, but he hadn't needed that before Pegasus and could cope without it.

He also tried his bedside manner when treating the man, a chance to strike up some personal rapport with his captors was not to be missed. But it was not to be. An attempt to reassure his patient was met with a blow to his face from Eye Patch that left his head ringing – and a warning from Tattoo.

"You turn on the machines, – that's what you are, – don't try to act human."

_Not human! _

The words refused to leave his mind hours after he was returned to his cell and chained up again. They didn't see him as human – he was just part of the Ancient technology to them – he was alien.

Carson Beckett might be living in another galaxy but it was a human galaxy seeded by the Ancients millennia before. To Carson, even the Wraith had the _potential_ to be human. There were sentient beings here that could be classified as alien, but Carson had never considered that he himself might be seen as alien because of the ATA gene.

It hurt painfully, much more than he would ever have expected. He had always known that he liked to be with people, was very empathic, and now his captors were denying him even this - even a shared humanity. This was the night when black despair engulfed him – he could not spend a lifetime trapped like this – he would rather die – it could not get worse.

But it did.

SGA

An air of excitement had engulfed the little community, tangible even to Beckett, isolated as he was.

He soon found out the cause when a new delivery of merchandise arrived from the Stargate. On his next visit to the main store, he was brought to see a rack stuffed with two dozen drones. Tattoo and the others were ecstatic – it was obvious that they knew what these were.

"This is the big one lads," Tattoo was beaming widely, "just one of these beauties can bring down a Wraith ship – we can set our own price with a dozen worlds fighting to give us the highest bid.

We just need _you_ to get them working." He turned to Carson as he spoke.

"I can't do that – they only operate with control technology that you haven't got here. They don't work without it."

"You are lying," Tattoo was enraged, "you are just trying to deny us the most powerful weapons of the Ancients. They are covered in control circuits – bring them to life."

In vain Carson tried to explain that the drones needed a Chair or a Puddle jumper to operate. They did not believe him. There was a threat of violence in the air – Carson steeled himself – he could not convince them that the drones were designed only to operate with secondary control systems.

"I think we need to focus the good doctor's mind on our very real need for these weapons," Eye-patch sneered, "we've been too lenient, he's lost his fear."

To Carson's dismay, Tattoo nodded. Suddenly he was surrounded by several of the men – they stripped his jacket off, followed by his shirt.

"What the hell are you doing?" He shouted with panic as he found the chain that bound his wrists being hooked across a beam, pulling his arms tight.

"Teaching you a little lesson in doing what you are told." Eye-Patch spoke with grim satisfaction, as he removed his leather belt.

Carson was too shocked to react at first as he felt the bite of leather against his back. But the man was not staying his hand and the pain grew unbearable within several strokes, so that he could not help crying out. His back felt cut open, he could feel the blood running down. The pain grew in intensity until his legs could not support him any more and agony danced along every nerve. Then everything went black.

He woke back in his prison cell, lying on his bed, the slightest movement was torture, his shirt was stuck to his back. He felt very weak and hot. They had left him no water again – he was desperate with thirst.

The rain was hammering down outside causing a new trickle to come down the wall. Moving painfully and slowly,Carson could just manage to reach one of the streams. He drank from his cupped hand. The water tasted of peat and moss. He was struck by a wave of homesickness so strong that he shut his eyes against it – he was never going home, he was going to die here. Memories of Scotland, of Atlantis and her people were starting to take on the remembrance of a pleasant dream.

For several days Carson begged for his medical bag, to be able to treat the fiery cuts on his back – even just to clean them a little. He knew infection was setting in and that, in his already weakened state, he would suffer badly.

But Tattoo was not merciful. "A couple of days of feeling unwell should concentrate your mind on getting the drones to work." was his only comment.

The outcome was inevitable. Carson could do nothing to stop the fever that took him so strongly and turned all of his dreams to darkness.

_TBC_


	6. Chapter 6

**Adrift**

**Chapter Six**

**AN:** "Bad, bad, bad author" - little old me? Just call me Zoot. And now for a pleasant mid story interlude.

SGA

Teyla looked into the open sack of grain. The colour of the corn was pale, betraying the length of time that it had been stored, she could see that the grains were thin, the kernels within would be shrivelled. _Did he think her a naïve fool?_

"I had thought that the lands to the south were rich and fertile, justifying the prices that you charge. These grains speak of drought and poor soil."

The oily smile was wiped from the face of the merchant beside her.

"Ah Lady, it was Southland grain that you were interested in? I humbly apologise."

He motioned with his pudgy fingers and sent a bevy of servants in search of merchandise. Teyla struggled to keep her usual smile on her face. It did not help that she knew that Ronon Dex, leaning nonchalantly against a pillar behind her, would have a smirk on _his_ face. He had predicted that this lot looked as likely a group of fleecers as he had ever seen when they had entered the Trade Hall.

The two of them were on a trade mission on behalf of Atlantis. Life had had to return to a semblance of being normal.

John Sheppard and Rodney McKay were the only ones still on specific search for their lost CMO. It was sad but unavoidable. Even John was running normal missions now and only following leads when they arose.

Many in Atlantis were accepting that Beckett might be lost. But not John. Ronon and Teyla had discussed his refusal to accept that Carson might never be found.

"He seems driven." Teyla had remarked.

"I'm not sure he recognises what is driving him," had been Ronon's enigmatic reply.

And, as usually happened, when the two of them found themselves away from their strange new friends from Earth, they had fallen to discussing the odd priorities of the expedition members. The way that they placed abstract concepts ahead of survival, work and duty ahead of personal relationships. A luxury only granted to people who had grown up away from the threat of the Wraith. Which had left them very vulnerable to the harsh reality of their new home.

This only strengthened Ronon and Teyla's determination to help John and Elizabeth, and all of their friends, to cope with the situation.

So, as soon as they had arrived on this new world, they had started going through the routine that now accompanied every off world mission – visiting taverns and trading posts. Handing out descriptive posters of Carson and his abductors and asking questions.

And as always they had got the distinct impression that some people knew something but were unwilling to talk. A barrier that the promise of reward or threat had been unable to breach.

And now it looked as though this vital grain purchase was to be further delayed. A commotion at the entrance to the hall heralded the arrival of another buyer. His appearance sent their merchant and all around into a panic.

"My Lady," the man was pawing at her arm, "I value your custom of course, but I must attend to Master Grat. He has the power to ruin me."

The merchant was gone, chivvying his servants, leaving Teyla and Ronon to gawk amazed – they had never been treated like this before. They watched as their host fawned over the new arrival, a short fat man of local appearance. He seemed no different from the others, a little bit more richly dressed perhaps, his bodyguards slightly burlier.

He was looking around him well satisfied as the merchants in the hall hurried to set out, what were presumably their finest wares, before him. Then he caught sight of Teyla, his face gave a beam of pleasure, and he immediately began to make his way over towards her. Teyla felt sure she heard Ronon snigger.

Master Grat looked over Teyla appreciatively.

"It makes a change to see these miserable crooks running about for a change, desperate for my custom," he remarked conversationally while openly staring down her cleavage. Teyla kept her smile fixed in place with an effort.

"A month ago it was so different. That oily rat there saw fit to try and sell me grain a third adulterated with rice flour, and at full price! Well no longer, I have the advantage now and it was worth every penny. "

Master Grat now approached the laid out sacks, Teyla accompanied him, also interested to see the new stock. They were a different order from before – these sacks were filled with fat, golden grain. Grat made a grand show of opening his coat and pulling out a scanner. Ronon gave a muted hiss – it was unmistakably of Ancient work. The man ran the scanner across the sacks and looked at the readout.

"They will do. My device says they are of top quality and for once unadulterated." He spoke loudly for everyone to hear. "Let us negotiate price shall we?"

Teyla looked at Ronon – Master Grat had some explaining to do.

SGA

Master Grat _had_ been rather indiscreet in his use of his device and really should not have been too surprised, when exiting the bathing chamber of his rooms that evening, to find his bodyguards tied up in a heap on the floor, a formidable looking Satedan stretched out on his bed like a large cat and Teyla thoughtfully fingering the Ancient scanner in her hands.

Grat squeaked with fright and dropped his towel. Ronon just chuckled – this was going to be easy.

SGA

Just a few hours later the scanner was lying on the conference table in front of Elizabeth Weir. All the principal members of the Atlantis team ringed the table.

Grat had sung like a songbird. He had traded with a group that were known to sell working Ancient technology. A discreet market among those who could afford to pay – the Athosians had not encountered them before. They had not been around for a long time but had recently started offering items for sale again. The time-scale matched the period that Beckett had been missing.

It was risky dealing with them – a choice of the desperate or greedy. Everything was done in great secrecy. Anyone betraying details of the trade was threatened with death and there was enough evidence to suggest that the threat had been carried out on more than one occasion.

If these were the people they were looking for - it explained the reluctance of anyone to give them information.

Teyla held the attention of everyone in the room as she explained this.

Elizabeth was thoughtful. "Did Master Grat say _where_ he got hold of this?" She picked up the scanner as she spoke.

"Grat described being taken blindfolded through a Ring of the Ancestors to a planet where the traders were based.

"He was able to buy and view from a selection of merchandise – a large selection." Teyla added.

"So we don't have a 'gate address?"

"No, but Grat gave a _very _good description of the planet that he visited. It is densely forested and very wet."

"Well, that's original." John's voice was laced with irony.

"And," Teyla continued, ignoring Sheppard, "the Stargate is ringed with a distinct set of standing stones to prevent Wraith darts from coming through."

"That also matches, oh maybe, a hundred worlds." muttered John.

"He described a people who live on the planet, who were working with the traders, acting as guards on the Ring of the Ancestors. They are hunters of distinct habits and appearance who believe that to keep themselves free of the Wraith they must keep their home world pure from outsiders – they kill anyone who ventures through the Ring."

"And yet they are working with people from off world?" Elizabeth sounded doubtful. "Teyla, I appreciate your efforts but there is nothing here to link Carson with these people. True, the time-scale seems right and the operation that they are engaged in gives us a motivation, but it sounds like quite a risk."

Teyla had left the best until last.

"Master Grat was also able to give a description of the men that he met. Two of them looked like this." She unfurled the poster in her hands, It was a sketch of Carson's abductors.

That prompted a reaction. John stood and took the poster from Teyla, staring, as he had a hundred times already, at the people he was hunting for. Rodney scooped up the scanner and began to look at it in detail.

"Well done you two," Elizabeth's voice was warm and full of gratitude, "I won't ask how you overcame Grat's fear of these men – I'm almost afraid to ask."

She was looking at Ronon as she spoke. He just shrugged.

"I just smiled at him. And told him I knew fifteen different ways to cut off his..."

"Er yes, thanks Ronon," John cut in quickly. "So we haven't got a 'gate address. No actual confirmation that Carson is there. And, to sum it up, this scanner came from a planet which is heavily forested, has a foul wet climate, where we can't use Puddle jumpers and is guarded by hostile natives with murderous tendencies.

"I think that just about covers every planet we've ever visited!"

"Actually only two hundred and ninety five," murmured Rodney intent on the scanner in his hands, his fingers moving rapidly across the controls, "and I think I can narrow that down a bit."

Everyone looked at him and waited patiently as he consulted his laptop at the same time as manipulating the scanner.

"This tablet was initialised seven weeks ago – exactly one day after Carson was taken – a nice coincidence don't you think? And there is more. The first thing it was tested on were food items that show a similar mineral trace profile – locally sourced perhaps. In which case, using the survey data base, we have one matching planet with the right climate and a guard ring.

"Well done Rodney" Elizabeth beamed at him.

"You can give me a hug later, though I'd prefer a large portion of blue jello."

"Do we have anything else on the planet from the survey – was it visited?"

"No, the MALP came back stuck full of enough arrows to supply a small archery tournament. Conclusion – the natives are hostile and nothing else of interest showed up on the MALP scan."

"Elizabeth?" That was John – he was almost bouncing on his toes, eager to start prepping a mission.

She was never going to refuse him, despite the obvious risk.

"Ready a MALP."

_TBC_


	7. Chapter 7

**Adrift**

**AN: **Thanks once again for your reviews. The action cranks up from here (and the level of whumpage of course!)

**Chapter Seven**

SGA1 stepped through the Stargate portal. A quick glance round revealed the parked up MALP and a line of tall thin standing stones, ringing the Stargate like broken teeth. Ronon and Teyla quickly took up defensive positions behind two of the stones. Rodney and John simultaneously snapped open scanners and began to survey the area.

The 'gate stood in a large forest clearing ringed by immense trees, their trunks so tall that the topmost boughs disappeared into mist. The air was clammy and cold, the ground underneath their feet soggy moss and puddles. They could not see far into the surrounding forest as moisture hung in the air, obscuring every direction in fog.

"Anything McKay?" John was the first to speak.

"No, same readings as the MALP obtained – there are no energy sources on this part of the planet any higher than a cooking fire." Rodney was crouched over his scanner, trying to keep his bent knee from getting damp.

"Well there might be some of those – the life signs detector is picking up a group of people out in the forest about three hundred yards away."

"These would be people of the kill first and ask questions later variety?" Rodney muttered.

"Probably, but they're safe enough at this distance."

"Safe is a relative term out here, but there is no evidence to suggest that this is Grat's bargain shop. A compound of the size that he described, especially with Ancient tech. possibly operational, would throw up detectable readings – there is nothing here, John."

Rodney gave John a concerned glance – he was afraid of seeing that desperate look on his face that had marked the last few CMO hunting missions that he had accompanied him on.

But for once Sheppard seemed to be in his more normal alert, but relaxed mode.

"Let's check it out a bit more – see if we can get the locals to chat. Teyla, you're in the lead on this one. We'll leave the 'gate open just in case. Elizabeth has got full security in place on the other side."

The team moved away from the Stargate towards the woods. Teyla now led them, calling out the standard greetings and approaches that had served her people well in the past.

They stopped some hundred yards inside the forest listening intently. They could see very little even though the forest floor was only moss between the trees, except where fallen branches and leaf litter lay in piles. John had shushed Rodney, who had been muttering about the heavy water drops that constantly fell from the forest canopy high above, and the fact that water seemed to have already leaked inside his boots.

"Nothing, John." Teyla confirmed Sheppard's querying glance. "They are not even calling to each other that I can hear."

"I don't like this," Ronon was firm, "it's too open, too exposed and we have no way of seeing anyone attacking."

"The detector still says they are two hundred yards off, Ronon, and these people are armed with bows and arrows – they'll be in range of our weapons a long time before they can get near enough to use theirs."

John was very mistaken. There was a whistling sound and suddenly Ronon was staggering back, to collapse against the nearest tree, a short javelin-like spear embedded deeply in his side. He gave a roar of pain and shock and, before Teyla or John could stop him, Dex yanked the spear loose and slumped to his knees as blood blossomed like an obscene flower across his jacket.

"Ronon!" Teyla cried as she reached his side first and slipped her shoulder beneath his, supporting him so that John could check the damage.

"Damn – it's bad," Sheppard muttered, as he attempted to wrap a field bandage around the torn flesh, and apply pressure to slow the bleeding.

"And it's about to get a whole lot worse, Colonel! The hostiles are coming in fast and I think we can expect..." Rodney's warning was cut off as a hail of spears started to rain down out of the mist.

There was no more need to speak, the team fell into position. Rodney and Teyla moved to support Ronon who was gritting his teeth against the pain but showed no sign of giving in to his wound. John took up the rear and fired his P90 into the mist hoping to slow the advance.

They ran for the 'gate as best as they could. Rodney cursing the soft mossy ground that dragged their footsteps. John silently cursing another search attempt going belly up. This one had felt good, he had had a hunch that this time they might really be on the right track.

And he still felt that way.

Suddenly John was struck by the absolute certainty that if he just retreated through the Stargate, gave up without checking out this place properly, he would never see Carson Beckett again. The thought made his stomach clench like a punch to the gut.

They reached the edge of the trees, the Stargate waited invitingly across the clearing. John made his decision.

"Rodney, give me your scanner. Dex, I want to borrow your gun – I'll keep it safe. Head for the Stargate. I'm staying here to check this place out."

"What! Are you mad?" Rodney, looking somewhat crushed beneath Ronon's arm, stared at John horrified.

Ronon raised his drooping head. "No. The team stays together – your rules."

The strength in his voice was fading.

"Colonel – this is against all protocols – against _your_ protocols." Teyla pushed Ronon more upright, as he started to sag against her, and spoke as harshly as he had ever heard her.

"Dr. Weir told me once that you had done this before – thrown away your career. Are you so willing to do it again?"

"We haven't got time to argue – this is an _order. _I'll be fine. I'll slip into the mist, have a look round and then return. I'll radio through if I need help and no-one, _no-one _is to come through the 'gate unless they hear from me – got it?"

They got it but none of them liked it. Only Ronon's worsening condition and the life signs detector, showing that they were running out of time, convinced the rest of his team to head for the Stargate, leaving John on the edge of the forest.

He picked up the supplies that he had forced from his team mates and quickly hid himself within the dark opening of a nearby hollowed out tree trunk. Then he watched three of his dearest friends struggle to the Stargate, urging them on fiercely and silently with clenched fists.

They went through and the portal whooshed close. Just in time, as finally, John got to see the inhabitants of this planet who possessed such deadly skills. A group of several dozen men broke past the tree, where he hid, at a run. Thin and pale skinned, as though the rain had leached all the colour out of them, they were dressed in animal skins of intricate cut and sturdy boots. They were armed to the teeth with spears and bows.

His action seemed foolhardy but John was following his instinct. As Teyla had pointed out – it wasn't the first time and he had paid dearly for it. But he knew that he would have done the same, even knowing the outcome, because he had been trying to save the life of a friend – and that was worth sacrificing everything for.

And this time it felt worse, like acid eating at his heart, worse than Holland, worse even than Ford and he would be damned if he gave up now!

He settled in the narrow, damp opening of the tree to watch events unfold. His main concern was that they would not obey his orders, that another team would come through the gate including Rodney and Teyla, and that concern grew as the hunters took up position around the Stargate.

As he had feared, it was not long before the Stargate reopened. The next thing that happened was that the MALP suddenly came to life and started a standard survey sweep. Jon could just picture Elizabeth giving instructions in the gate room – she _was _following protocol of course. It did not last long – a rain of projectiles descended upon the hapless machine, sent with deadly accuracy by the tribesmen, and it soon resembled nothing so much as a porcupine.

John got a certain grim satisfaction from that as he knew that no-one would now be sent through the gate until he was well overdue. He was preparing to move off into the mist when his scanner registered more life signs approaching. It seemed that some of their attackers had gone to tell someone of their presence.

Along the forest track came a group of people that really got John's attention. They were a complete contrast to the native hunters - their clothes and weapons easily recognisable as coming from a dozen worlds.

And John _knew_ the tattooed face of their leader. It matched the description obtained from M 96X4 and Master Grat. He had found the bastards that he had been looking for so many weeks. They were clearly working hand in hand with the locals, and now there was a heated discussion going on by the Stargate.

Orders were shouted. One group started to pull the MALP away from the gate towards an animal cart now arriving from the woods. The rest took up a guard formation around the gate, while Tattoo went up to the DHD and, to John's dismay, removed the 'gate crystals.

He was trapped here but, far worse than that, he had created a deadly trap for Atlantis – if anyone came through the gate after him they would not be able to get back before being attacked.

He had no choice – he would have to follow the group that was now leaving the 'gate and retrieve the crystals. The thought that it might be a difficult task simply did not bother him because he knew that, at last, he was going to find out what had happened to Carson Beckett. He loaded his supplies and slipped into the mist.

_TBC_


	8. Chapter 8

**Adrift.**

**Chapter Eight. **

**SGA**

John Sheppard thanked the day that Atlantis had gifted him with the life signs detector yet again, as he followed his target group at a safe distance. They were following a linear track through the woods, and John had time to widen the scanner's search pattern for a possible destination.

The area ahead registered none of the clusters of people that he would expect to find indicating settlement. In fact the whole area appeared curiously devoid of life. John extended the scanner's search range again, and could have kicked himself as the he realised the empty area was a symmetrical circle. _A Shield! No wonder we weren't picking up energy signatures!_

Adrenaline was thrumming through his blood, and he was excited, expectant. Things were falling into place at last. The small matter of being stranded on a hostile world did nothing to dampen his spirits.

That was just as well as the forest was no longer smooth going – he was now having to negotiate his way round rock outcrops, and the planet had decided to show him why it was permanently shrouded in mist, as a heavy downpour of monsoonal proportions suddenly began.

He could feel his hunched shoulders being battered by the onslaught of the water, whenever he crossed a clearing between the trees, and was forced to take shelter several times. But he struggled on, despite feeling half drowned, because his targets were approaching the edge of the shielded zone and he wanted to be close behind them. He could not bear the thought of losing track of them now.

He had not lost too much ground when he passed into the shield area, and was pleased to discover that both his scanners burst into life immediately. Settlement clusters appeared everywhere. He fixed his attention one in particular. There were several dozen life signs ahead, in an area that had Rodney's energy scanner going off like a firework display.

John took his time on the approach trying not to leave any sign of his passage, making detours to avoid running into anyone. He finally approached his prize. It was a compound of high timber fencing surrounding a large block of low buildings, some of which went below ground level.

He had all the advantages – they did not know he was here and, if he was judging correctly, would be feeling too secure to have mounted proper guard or security. It was a simple matter to slip over the compound wall and he moved freely around the outside of the buildings until he found an unguarded door. Scanner in hand, he checked the complex carefully. Twenty dots in a cluster of rooms on the south side. One dot moving along corridors, presumably a solitary guard.

And _there_,one isolated dot at the far end of the complex, not moving.

John made a swift decision and within a few minutes found himself quietly unbarring a heavy door.He re-holstered his stunner as soon as he was through the door, because he had found Carson.

Beckett lay on a low pallet bed, he seemed asleep but the beads of sweat that covered his face spoke otherwise.

"Carson? It's me – John."

John moved swiftly across the cell to kneel at his friends side. He stared horrified at the manacles and chains that held Carson's wrists – all this time he had been held like this?

"Carson!" There was no response.

As John's eyes became used to the dim light he tried to take in the state of his friend. Beckett's face was deathly pale except where numerous old bruises marked the skin. John instinctively knew that he would find such markings elsewhere on his body. He gently touched Beckett's forehead to try and nudge him awake, expecting to find him cold, matching the damp chill air around him, but he could immediately feel the fever that held Carson in a fierce grip.

_Damn it!_ He had found him at last, but had he been in time? Was it possible that, after all these weeks of desperate searching, it was not going to be enough. That he was still not going to be able to save the man that he ...loved?

John sat back on his heels in sudden shock. The fierce emotions that had driven him here, that had kept him going over the past endless weeks, that he had been battling to control – they had a name – one that he had never, ever allowed himself to voice or to think about.

But as he stared at the motionless body of Carson Beckett he realised that he totally and utterly loved this man.

The face lying beneath his hand suddenly stirred and groaned, jarring him back to the present. John pushed his emotional response aside- he was very skilled at doing that. He needed to concentrate.

"Carson – wake up, dammit!" John virtually pleaded. He was rewarded by Carson opening his eyes to stare in shocked confusion at him.

"John? How...it's not possible!" Carson's voice was so ragged and weak that John could have wept but instead he reached for his water canteen and helped Beckett to take a sip.

"You knew we would come looking ...didn't you?"

"Yes... but I wasn't sure... you'd find me." Carson's eyes were glazed with fever.

"I'll get these manacles off and we'll get out of here."

"Where are the others, John?" Carson was quietly insistent as he came more to himself and looked about.

"It's a bit of a one man show this time."

Now the look in the Scot's eyes was one of panic and alarm.

"You've got to get out of here... go now."

"Yes, we are going – just give me a minute."

"No ...leave me, get out now." Carson was becoming more agitated and fighting against John's attempts to undo his restraints.

"What are you talking about? – I'd never leave you behind."

"You must," the doctor spoke desperately, "John, if they find you here, catch you and realise how strong your Ancient gene is- you will never get away. They'll cripple you so you can't run and blind you so you can't fight back. They've only threatened me but they _will_ do that to you – I know it."

Carson sank back panting. John tried to get his head around what Carson had been living with – but to leave him? He'd rather die or face that very fate.

"We are leaving together – no argument." The manacles sprang free and he put his arm round Carson's shoulders to help him sit up, faltering at Beckett's cry of pain. _What the hell?_

"My back – they've been a bit rough when I didn't work their drones for them."

"A bit rough?" John seethed as he drew up the thin shirt on his friends back. "You've been flogged! Those bastards will pay for this. And you probably know there's a quite a bit of infection there."

"Aye, it had come to my attention. Well I suppose to save _you, _I'm going to have to get off my backside and get out of here. I could do with a bit of a hand."

Carson grabbed John's offered hand and allowed him to pull him to his feet. He was unprepared for the fierce hug that the normally reticent soldier then gave him. John didn't let go either as he could feel the trembling weakness in the other man's body – this wasn't going to be easy.

"Right, first off," John said nonchalantly, "Your "Friends" made off with the 'gate crystals – any idea where they might store them for safe keeping?"

Carson gaped at him. "You never make it easy on yourself, do you John? Just a wee complication.

Well I reckon they would use the workroom store – that's where they keep things they really don't want to lose."

"It's easy to lose things here?"

"Wait until you see – you have no idea."

Carson's voice was stronger, his steps a bit steadier. John held him by the arm as he was guided to the incredible sight of the storage facilities. John was amazed at the scale of the larger store.

"Wow, they will so want some of this back in Atlantis."

"Including those." Carson indicated the stack of drones that had caused him so much grief.

"This is ours," John said fiercely, "we'll be back to claim all this as payment for what they have done."

**SGA**

To the immense relief of both men, they found the 'gate crystals stored in a dedicated container in the workroom.

John decided that they would head straight for the Stargate. Carson was pretty sure that it would be a few hours before he was checked on and they agreed that it was a chance that they would have to take. He also assured John that he could make it. John was pleased to see the look of fierce determination on Carson's battered face, even though he doubted that he would really be able to get as far as the Stargate in his current condition.

They were soon in the forest and making good speed, considering the state that Carson was in. The rain had mercifully stopped, though Beckett was quick to explain that it might soon resume.

The doctor was heavy footed, his attention wandering. To keep him focused John kept him talking, asking questions about what had happened to him, and anything that might affect their escape. Carson was happy to talk about the gang of thieves, the Ancient devices, the Shield and what he knew about the planet and its people. He said very little about his own treatment.

John was not surprised – he could easily see that it had been bad. His concern was tempered by the sheer pleasure he felt at actually having found Carson, by the realisation of how much he meant to him. He was going to get him safely back to Atlantis and then – well then he was going to have to deal with these feelings. For now it was enough that he had his missing friend by his side.

They continued for several hours, making steady progress.

Carson gradually went quieter as they travelled – he was using up his stamina, his weakness apparent. John tried to calculate how far they might get before he collapsed. The Stargate _was _in reach, they just needed another couple of hours.

But their luck did not hold out. Suddenly, in the distance, the forest was lit up by the launching of red flares. Carson's escape had been detected.

The hunt was on.

_TBC_


	9. Chapter 9

**Adrift**

**Chapter Nine: **_Life is a Pigsty._

**AN: **I loved writing this chapter – I hope you enjoy it! **Pike2 – **you had better go and put the kettle on now – you are going to need a strong cuppa!

SGA

It did not take long. The hunters seemed to treat this pursuit as a game. Carson and John heard them from afar, hunting cries were rising into the forest behind them. The Stargate was still miles away.

And the rain began again.

All too soon the first projectiles were zipping among the trees. Loosely targeted above their heads. John gaped at the detector. What the hell were they firing from such a distance? The weapons were moving too fast to see. Both men ducked as unseen missiles whirred between the tree trunks.

Carson was tiring – the man was in no shape to walk far let alone run across the soggy terrain. He suddenly stumbled as they crossed a mound of fallen branches – only John's quick hand to his elbow stopped him falling headlong.

Sheppard's eyes narrowed, the pursuit was too close, it was time to let the happy crew whooping along behind them know that they weren't just hunting rabbit.

Ahead of them was a fallen tree. Trunk high enough to shelter a crouching man, broken branch stumps to act as a rifle mount – it would do. He didn't let go of Carson's elbow until they reached the trunk, then both of them threw themselves over.

John immediately rose to his knees, brought Ronon's gun to bear on the forest, and let loose a barrage of shots, targeting anything that looked like it was moving. The weapon was as spectacular as ever - blowing chunks out of the larger trees, felling small saplings completely and giving a most satisfactory barrage of light and noise. A few projectiles continued to whirr high above their position for the first minute or two but soon ceased.

Carson had not pulled the handgun that John had given him – a quick glance revealed the crouching physician was hugging himself close, skin far too pale, eyes looking glazed. He was not bothering to stop the rain, that was dripping from his soggy fringe, from running into his eyes – he looked like he was about to pass out.

John continued to lay a steady, widespread fire until he felt that nothing in the vicinity could have remained undamaged, and wound down.

Silence fell, only the odd branch still crashing to the ground, and the steady drip of rain through the tree canopy could be heard. Sheppard watched the forest every sense alert.

"I wonder what they were firing at us? I've outrun spear, bullet, arrow, even energy beam in the Pegasus Galaxy but not anything that sounded like that."

"Crossbow." Carson muttered tightly.

"I thought your line was I'm a medical doctor not a ... cultural anthropologist?" Sheppard quipped, eyes fixed on the trees.

When Carson did not respond he risked another glance to the side. His friend was slumping sideways, mouth slack, eyes closed, to land in the soft moss where he lay motionless.

"Shit! Carson!" Sheppard swore. He looked back across the clearing into the trees – there had been no movement, no sound, except that of the falling rain for five minutes now. The rain was beginning to increase in intensity, to the point where a steady stream of water was running from his hair into his eyes.

Every sense now told John that they were alone – the "Pointies" had retreated. He confirmed that with the detector – he could take a chance. He placed Ronon's gun on top of the tree trunk and quickly knelt at Carson's side, sliding a hand beneath his left shoulder to turn him on his back.

His hand met something hard, at the same time he could now see an ominous spreading stain across the front of the dirty uniform. In the middle was an object that should not be there. John gently touched the damp red patch to encounter a sharp point – parting Beckett's jacket showed him the dreadful truth.

A crossbow bolt had pierced Carson's shoulder – the point emerged at the front, the shaft a few inches behind.

No wonder the hunters had retreated, they must have known that they had hit one of the fleeing men. They could afford to retreat before the rain, knowing they could resume the chase later. John was numb, frozen in the face of a new disaster. But it was for only the merest micro-second that the shock overwhelmed him, then his ability to take action pushed all other thoughts and fears away. Quickly he was reviewing options – the options all sucked.

SGA

An hour later John was placing the last of the fronds of forest leaves in place, careful to arrange them so that the rain ran easily down the hastily built shelter.

He had half carried, half dragged Carson as far as a rock outcrop with a slight overhang that gave a little bit of cover from the continuous falling rain. He had laid his friend carefully down on dry leaf litter before beginning to construct a shelter.

At last he was nearly done. Carson still lay insensible, covered by John's jacket and clothes. John was working stripped to the waist, Ronon's gun holstered on his leg, trying to ignore the chill rain running ceaselessly across his skin.

This had been the first action that he had decided upon – he had used the field dressings, that he carried, to stop the bleeding as best he could – he knew better than to try to remove the bolt. Carson would most likely bleed out fast far from aid if he did. Then he had tried to get him out of the rain.

John now ducked inside the cave of branches that he had created to check on Beckett's condition. He had tried not to jolt him when placing him on the ground but Carson had awoken with a groan of pain. John had hated to see the agony in those blue eyes.

"John," Carson had tried to speak, "John, I..." He had struggled to say more and could not.

John had felt sure that he was going to tell him to leave again, to get out of there and so had hushed him to silence by giving him some water.

"I've packed the wound and stopped the bleeding – the bolt has to stay in for now, that's right isn't it Doc?"

Carson had just nodded, too weak to do any more.

"I'm just going to work on the next part of my plan for getting us out of here."

But Beckett's eyes had slid shut. John had felt his skin – the fever was burning within, the surface was clammy with sweat and rain. The man in front of him was in trouble.

Jon had reviewed his options thoroughly. They were too far from the gate to make it on foot with Carson the way he was. The fierce drumming of the rain was beginning to lessen, the natives would catch them with ease.

They could surrender in order to get medical aid but he knew the result of that. One quick scan, and the most likely outcome would be a bullet in the head for Carson, and he would find himself crippled and enslaved.

Reach the gate by himself to contact Atlantis? No, he would never leave Carson behind, never take that chance.

So there was only one course of action left, he would take the fight to _them._

_SGA_

John retrieved his jacket and kevlar. Reloaded all of his supplies and armament except for one gun and a water bottle, that he carefully placed in Carson's reach. He took the gate crystals from his pocket and tucked them into a flap on Carson's jacket. Then he tried to make his friend as comfortable as possible.

John checked him carefully. The bleeding had stopped. The rain had mostly dried from his skin but his face was clammy and pale. Carson was totally unresponsive to John running his fingers through his limp hair.

John Sheppard paused. He was at a moment of stillness between the bouts of action that helped him to cope with his strange and dangerous life. And the feeling that he allowed to well up at this moment was one of despair. He had tried _so _hard, for _so_ long, to the very best of his ability and it was possibly not going to be enough.

He was risking everything on a desperate gamble – if it went wrong he might never see Beckett again, alive or dead. Here in this desolate place there was no one to see John's fears, his emotions.

Carson seemed deeply unconscious, his breathing shallow.

John gathered the man before him gently in his arms and laid a kiss upon his forehead – a whispered goodbye, a soft murmur of how he felt. A tear damp cheek was laid against one that was unnaturally warm. There were no witnesses and no-one would ever know.

And then he went softly into the rain without a backward glance.

_TBC_


	10. Chapter 10

**Adrift**

**Chapter Ten: **_I Just Want To See The Boy Happy_.

**AN:** Ermm – author, feeling guilty, apologises to Carson Beckett for the events of this chapter and runs off to put the kettle on.

SGA

John covered the ground back to the compound with a swift urgency. Even the rain, that battered at his face and body with stinging drops, he welcomed as an ally. It was keeping his enemies pinned down, hiding his movements, and giving him time to carry out his plan.

He slipped unseen back into the network of buildings, the life signs scanner helping him to stay invisible. That was not an easy task, as the escape of Beckett meant that most of the gang members were involved in an intensive search.

He was soon in the main workshop, it did not take long to make the adjustments that he had in mind – and then he went hunting.

It was quite easy. The solitary guard had his mind on other things and John easily took him down, so that the man suddenly found himself on the ground, his arm pinned behind him, the nozzle of a gun pressed firmly against his neck, and Sheppard whispering in his ear.

"Here's the deal – in return for the grief you have given my friend, you are getting some of your own. I've turned the Shield _off _and activated a Wraith beacon that was conveniently stored among the other stuff. A Wraith Hive ship is probably on its way already.

"If you let me get to the "Ring" unmolested, just maybe I won't set it to blow after I go through. You don't think I can do that? Well I've got a pocketful of C4 - word of that seems to have got about, especially among people like you."

The body beneath him had stiffened suddenly betraying the man's understanding of the threat.

"Now tell me how to call off your hunting dogs – send up a flare or whatever it is you do."

Once he was allowed, the guard became frantic to speak.

"We can't do that! Once the hunt is on we've never been able to call them off – they won't listen to us. Please, I beg of you - don't blow the Ring because we _can't _stop them."

John believed him, the man's fear was not faked, he could feel his rapid heart rate and panicked breathing.

_Damn! _Looked like he still had the "Pointies" to tackle.

John got the guard to reveal to him the storage place of Carson's medical bag, and then stunned him and concealed his body. He returned to the store in search of the weaponry he was going to need to fight his way to the Stargate, his face clenched with determination. He did not hold out much hope – the Ancients were not hot on personal weapons, and this was one thing that the thieves had not left lying about. He was also trying to fight the image of Carson lying injured in the forest that kept rising in his mind – every minute of delay made it less likely that he would get him home alive.

One of the scanners in his jacket suddenly bleeped and John quickly pulled it out, not sure if it was picking up life signs or Wraith approach.It was neither – it was Rodney's scanner registering a new energy signature probably activated by Johns proximity to the Ancient technology.

It couldn't be, could it? For the first time in what seemed like days, John's face cracked with a grin of genuine delight.

SGA

Carson Beckett woke to find himself alone. The dampness of the the rough forest shelter had finally penetrated his clothes and they now felt chill to his fevered skin. He blinked up at the fronds above him, unable to remember how he had come to be there. He was only aware of a feeling of incredible weakness in his limbs, chills running across his body, and that he was only just holding onto consciousness through a grey haze.

His first attempt to weakly move brought back all his memories in a rush, as agony radiated from his shoulder, sending him gasping back into stillness.

"John...?" The words were a croak – where was he?

Carson felt carefully around him, trying not to jar his shoulder. His hand encountered a water bottle from which he took a grateful and careful sip, a 9ml pistol wrapped in cloth against the damp, and finally, he explored the odd lump in his jacket pocket - which turned out to be the 'gate crystals.

Beckett looked at them appalled – this could only mean one thing. John must have gone to the compound, surrendered himself to give Carson a chance to get to the 'gate. Beckett struggled then with a sense of loss so deep that it brought tears to his eyes, and then decided what he must do.

There seemed to be only one course of action that he could take. To get himself to the Stargate and try to return to Atlantis to get help – perhaps they could return in time to stop John being harmed, he certainly hoped so.

It took an immense effort for Carson to stand upright, the pain in his shoulder so intense, when he was unable to avoid jarring the bolt, that he nearly greyed out.

The wound was bleeding again with his movements. He could adjust the padding at the front, which he did to the best of his ability one handed, but he was unable to reach the back, only being aware of a spreading warmth across his chill uniform. It hardly mattered anyway – he knew that the bolt had to come out soon to tackle the damage that it might have caused.

He swept aside the fronds with his right hand and found himself standing in a forest clearing, rock outcrop at his back, moss and ferns sparkling with a million tiny drops of water, lit by a weak sun. It had stopped raining, the "Pointies" would be coming back.

Fired by urgency, Carson used the sun to orient himself and set off in the direction of the 'gate. His footsteps heavy, holding his shoulder with his good hand to keep it still.

The journey seemed endless – he had to keep stopping to lean against the trunks of the trees when the darkness and dizziness threatened to take him again, and each footstep sent a jolt of pain from his shoulder through his body.

It would be so easy to just fall to his knees and lie in the soft moss – to stop inflicting this pain on himself, but it was John who had given him this chance of freedom at the cost of his own. The thought of how the thugs who had held him captive would try and break that stubborn soldier spirit sent him onwards.

But he was too weak and the Stargate was too far away. He stumbled once too many times and fell full length across the forest floor, unable to prevent his wounded shoulder striking against a stone.

The pain was so great that he cried out in agony and then, as he drew in panting breaths, failing miserably to gather himself to his knees, he suddenly knew that he was no longer alone.

Out of the shadows of the trees the pale men who had hunted him and John now appeared.

They were fierce with joy at having successfully caught their prey. And among them was Eye-Patch. They approached Carson, who simply could not defend himself. He was roughly dragged to his knees, only capable of looking numbly into their cruel faces.

Laughing, Eye-Patch reached down and took hold of the end of the crossbow bolt and yanked it out in one violent movement. The wave of pain was so fierce that Beckett could only gasp, feeling the blood gushing from the wound, feeling himself fading with every pulse.

Carson had encountered many perils in the Pegasus Galaxy. Frequently enough to have rationally considered what his last thoughts might be if a "Hail Mary" did not turn up.

He had imagined that he would think of his family, his mum an unimaginable distance away, his home town with people going about their everyday business, utterly oblivious to the wonders and dangers that he had seen.

Or perhaps the people he had come to know over the past couple of years on Atlantis. Bonds born of shared adventure, hopes, fears and threat of death. They were as dear as family to him now and in one case much more so.

But what he actually thought was, "What a stupid way to die."

As the final blackness took him, he was aware of the forest suddenly lighting up. Fire erupting in the trees, the cries of the men around him and, at the very last, an impossible sight shimmering into the air.

_TBC_


	11. Chapter 11

**Adrift**

**Chapter Eleven**

**AN: **Thanks once again for your reviews!

SGA

It was making odd noises, vibrations were running through the hull, and less than half the schematics were displaying correctly, but John did not care. He was back in his element, in command of a battered, damaged Puddle jumper that was holding position over the small forest clearing.

A scattering of the blips on his life signs detector showed him that the panicked tribesmen were fleeing the area with all the speed they could manage. Two burning trees confirmed that the drones were fully operational – that was a source of relief. John had really not been sure that they would fire until the moment that he had felt them leap from their firing tubes.

SGA

John Sheppard was a soldier and knowing your weaponry was the very art of staying alive. As a pilot that meant he thoroughly learnt the ins and outs of all the machines that he flew. The Puddle jumpers of Atlantis were no exception. With their ability to fire drones, fly cloaked and go into space, they were formidable weapons and over the last couple of years he had made sure that he sat in with the scientists enough times to understand the craft.

He had recognised the distinctive energy signature immediately, when Rodney's scanner had bleeped at him, and had climbed over mounds of debris in the store room following the trail.

He had eventually reached the sealed doors of one of the side alcoves. Heaving the rusty door open, John was confronted by a pile of twisted junk thickly covered in dust. Beyond that his questing fingers met a solid object parked invisibly at the back of the room. He could hardly contain his excitement, as he felt his way to where the manual door control was located, and felt it yield beneath his fingers.

In moments, with a sense of growing disbelief, he was standing inside a real Puddle jumper, watching the panels leap into life around him. Fate, and some poor unknown prisoner, who had probably hidden this prize long ago, in a futile attempt to escape, had at last given him a chance of getting Beckett home.

But he had very little time and would need every second. The 'jumper's schematics told him that, although it was in a worse state than any 'jumper he had ever seen, it _could_ fly. The alcove in which it was parked ended in doors that he guessed and hoped led to the outside. And then he thought of the drones racked up in the storeroom - they were _his_.

He spent some precious time fetching and loading the drones into the craft. Another thought struck him suddenly, and he searched the workroom frantically, finally uncovering Carson's backpack. Then came the riskiest moment of all, opening the outside doors, which screeched in protest, John expecting weapons fire at any second.

The feeling when the Puddle jumper rose gently into the air at his command was one of pure exhilaration, and though she swooped with far less than the usual grace into the sky, John knew she would not let him down.

Then things started to go wrong – it took a while to locate the place where he had left Carson from above, even though the trees were so tall that it was possible to fly below the tree canopy. When he finally reached the rock outcrop, John was not sure that he was in the right place. The life signs detector, that should have shown him Carson's position, was blank. Dread and pure fear shook John then – surely that could only mean?

He had landed the 'jumper onto the mossy floor of the forest, and ran to the makeshift shelter, dreading what he was going to find. The shelter was empty, Beckett had gone. There was no sign of a struggle but the floor was smeared with blood, showing that Carson's injury had bled badly again.

John's hands almost shook as he refocused the scanner, and picked up, what could only be, a group of the hunters heading in the direction of the 'gate, just ahead of them a lone dot moving slowly. Could he get there in time?

SGA

And now this second clearing was empty apart from two figures, one collapsed face down on the forest floor, the other standing over him.

John set the 'jumper gently down and exited the rear hatch, Ronon's gun in his hand – set to kill.

The figure on the ground was Carson, not moving. Over him stood Eye-Patch, training a gun at Beckett's head. In his other hand, he held a crossbow bolt, blood still dripping from the point.

John's heart went cold and without hesitation he shot the gun out of the big man's hand.

Eye-Patch just shook his wrist a little as though he was shrugging off an itch, a movement that displayed the fact that he had Carson's watch on his wrist. He grinned wolfishly at Sheppard.

"Another damn alien. Good. I've just put this one out of its misery. But you can _fly _and fire drones.You're going to make me rich, boy."

Eye-Patch pulled a formidable looking knife out his jacket. His eyes only flickered slightly when John did the same. John fingered the handle of the blade in his hand. It already seemed like days ago when a grey faced Ronon had pressed the knife into his hand at the edge of the Stargate clearing and wished him good hunting. He holstered his gun and reckoned the odds.

Eye-Patch was taller and heavier than John, he seemed to have crossed the forest without even having drawn breath. John was exhausted, chilled and drained by the events of the last few hours.

But he knew he should still have the advantage. Two eyes against one, and the fact that Eye-Patch would want to take him alive.

They closed on each other. John quickly learnt that sparring lessons with Ronon did not give the ability in a knife fight, that a lifetime of brawling had obviously given to Eye-Patch. The man knew how to deal with body armour too. A vicious slice laid open John's arm, followed by a blaze of fire across his lower ribs. Eye-Patch grinned as John went on the defensive, aware that the man might not want to kill him but would be all too happy to weaken him by degrees, even maim him if necessary.

They circled each other: Eye-Patch began to taunt Sheppard.

"It's going to be fun taming you. I hope you will be more amusing than the doctor. He had a bad habit of passing out every time that the entertainment got interesting. I didn't think he would last very long – I did him a bit of a mercy really."

Sheppard felt his rage build and struggled to control it, use it. He waited his time, until he was on the man's blind side, and then struck, first with knee and then knife to the throat. Eye-Patch fell heavily. John didn't bother to check if he was alive or dead.

He crossed the clearing at a run, arriving at Beckett's side to see blood, so much blood, swirling in the puddles surrounding Carson's body. John was not gentle in his haste to check on his friend. He turned him over, fingers frantically feeling for the slow, weak pulse on the Scot's neck.

Carson's jacket was saturated with blood where the crossbow bolt had been torn out. Beckett was bleeding out before his eyes. _God dammit!_

John picked him up bodily and carried him to the Puddle jumper and laid him on the floor. Grabbing Carson's back pack John began to rifle through it looking for anything that might help. The field bandages that he had pressed against the ripped shoulder were not working.

"Carson – wake up. You've got to help me! You are bleeding out. We are just five minutes from the 'gate, five minutes from getting back to Atlantis and you have got to give yourself that time. I've got your backpack here. What can I do?"

In the end John was shaking Carson roughly, almost shouting at him and hating himself for having to do so, before the blue eyes cracked open and the doctor came to with a moan of pain. John held Beckett's face between his hands, feeling the heat radiating through his palms, willing Carson to focus and carefully repeated everything again.

Beckett made a great effort to talk, John was only just holding him in the here and now.

"Pack the wound ...then pressure bandages, from lower pocket – put both sides of my shoulder. Then IV's, ...if you can. Tubes and valves as marked – there are two bags of solution. Use both full bore ... might work."

He faded then and collapsed back into a frightening stillness from which John simply could not rouse him.

John had his instructions, and that part of him that could act without emotion under necessity went into action. He was relieved that Carson could not feel his sorry attempts to put in the IV lines. He finished hanging the second of the bags off the 'jumper racks, double checked that the bandages, already soaking through, were firm and that Beckett was wedged so that he could not move.

He then moved to the 'jumper controls, his hands only shaking slightly, aware of the stinging slashes on his own body – they would have to wait.

As he had promised, the Puddle jumper reached the Stargate in five minutes. One well placed drone sent the 'gate guard scrambling for the cover of the woods. A second cleared enough of the stones blocking the gate to leave the portal clear.

He took a moment to toss a bag containing the 'gate crystals at the DHD. He was strongly minded to mine the DHD with C4 as he had threatened, but he did this for Carson. John instinctively knew that Beckett would never want the people here to be left to face the Wraith without some means of escape, despite what they had done to him.

The Puddle jumper made a sudden whine reminding John of its fragile state. With a final glance at the still figure lying on the floor behind him, he quickly dialled the 'gate, sent his IDC and flew into the shimmering blue ring, hoping that he was going to be in time.

_TBC_

**AN: **Yes, I know John should have just shot the bugger like Indiana Jones, but that was _sooooo _much more satisfying!


	12. Chapter 12

**Adrift**

**Chapter 12**

SGA

John's head finally slipped too far to the side, at the very same moment that his feet slipped off the edge of the chair. He jerked awake with a start. He immediately knew where he was though – in the unofficial waiting area of the Atlantis infirmary. Next to him, similarly propped on cushions and chairs was Rodney, snoring softly, his head leant back and a spot of drool at the corner of his mouth.

Across the way from them lay Ronon, settled comfortably in an infirmary bed, monitors bleeping gently around him and a deep rumbling confirming that Dex, always a reluctant sleeper, had let himself relax at last.

And Teyla? Even as he looked around for her, she was approaching with a mug of something hot and steaming in her hands. John accepted it gratefully.

"You look better." She smiled at him.

"Feel it too," John murmured, "and Beckett?"

"Dr Biro said we should be able to see him soon. He came out of the OR while you were sleeping."

"And you didn't wake me?" John couldn't be angry, he understood her reasons – she had made them pretty clear earlier. Though, to be honest, the events of the past few hours now seemed a bit of a blur.

He remembered following the medical team, and the gurney on which he had helped to place Beckett, out of the Jumper Bay. He had been totally focused on the injured man, only peripherally aware of Elizabeth asking him questions – determined to stay with Carson.

But at the infirmary he was firmly intercepted by Dr Biro at her most formidable. Her look brooked no arguments as she pointed out the state he was in, dripping mud, water and blood across the infirmary floor. John had submitted to a medical check-up then, grateful to have the shallow knife wounds closed and bandaged. For once he was happy to have an excuse to remain in the infirmary but Biro, having seen Carson safely into the hands of the surgical team, had turned her attention back to John, demanding that he go in search of a shower, a meal and some rest.

John baulked but the little doctor had made it clear that, if he wanted to see Ronon or Carson any time soon, those were her conditions.

Somehow he had found himself backed to the infirmary doors where he discovered that the Atlantis pathologist had become part of a most unlikely tag team, as both Teyla and Rodney were waiting for him there.

"And just what the _hell_ did you think you were doing? Have you _any_ idea what it is like spending hours thinking that one of your friends might currently be resembling a porcupine while watching the voodoo crowd try and stick another of them back together?"

That had been the start of an extended rant from Rodney McKay, who had simply not paused for breath until John had finished taking a careful shower in his quarters. Teyla had turned up then with a tray of food and had taken over from Rodney in pointing out his foolhardiness. When they left for the infirmary, John was almost expecting a queue to have formed outside his door, waiting to tell him off, led by Elizabeth.

Back at the hospital wing it was clear that _she_ had only left him alone because she had delegated that task to Ronon. Who turned out to be excellent at it. The Satedan, sitting heavily bandaged in a hospital bed, tethered by IV's, had wasted no time in letting Sheppard know all the shortcomings of his strategy, rule breaking and general team betrayal. John, feeling a little punch drunk, had let the tirade wash over him, taking comfort from the fact that, if Ronon could keep growling at him like this, he must be recovering nicely.

John had fallen asleep near Ronon's bed knowing that his team were around him and would be there to support him whatever the next few hours might bring. But he had got Carson home – he was sure that the doc's would pull off their usual miracle cure – everything was going to be OK.

And now Biro was approaching them, charts in hand. The look on her face made John's stomach muscles clench. She was as direct as ever.

"The crossbow bolt, and especially the way it was removed, caused extensive damage to Dr. Beckett's shoulder. There was a heavy blood loss. If you hadn't rigged an IV Colonel Sheppard, he would have never made it to the OR. It took a while to get his blood pressure up so that we could even attempt to repair the lesion – and I should let you know there is still a risk of complications arising from that degree of blood loss."

"Is he going to be alright?" That was Rodney who had woken up and somehow found a mug of coffee.

"Even if he were fit and healthy I could not guarantee that at this stage, but he's been half starved, beaten and kept in poor conditions for a long time. The wounds on his back were infected." Biro grimaced, John could imagine how the medical team had reacted when they had seen what had been done to their CMO.

"He's running a high fever and is on the verge of sepsis. We are treating the infection with everything in our little arsenal but I'll be blunt – if he makes it through the night – well...only then might he have a chance."

She left them then, giving her permission for them to see Carson while she reported to Elizabeth.

John was numb, in shock – after all he had been through, that Carson had been through – it wasn't going to be enough? He might still lose Beckett?

He made his way to Carson's bed with Rodney and Teyla. The attending nurse gave him a tight smile before leaving them with their friend.

Beckett somehow managed to look worse than he had back on the planet. White sheets and bandages only accentuated the paleness of his skin, except where the fever had set flaming spots on his cheeks. The marks of fading bruises and the shadows around his eyes emphasised a new gauntness to his face. He lay terribly still, his breathing so shallow that it seemed only the beeping monitors and the beads of sweat that were forming on his forehead confirmed that he was alive. Teyla took over the task that the nurse had been engaged in, gently wiping Carson's face with a cool cloth, reaching carefully between monitor and IV leads, and trying not to disturb the oxygen mask.

John felt utterly useless – a man of action without anything to act upon. He glanced at Rodney who had a look on his face that John hated to see. That great mind was also at a loss – this was beyond his expertise – his vaulted genius could not fix this.

"It should be one of us there," Rodney muttered, "Beckett fixes us, not the other way round – damn it! This is so wrong."

John silently agreed – he was fighting a sense of aching loss for something that had never existed. How stupid was that? All he could do was watch and wait and see if Carson made it through this long night.

And it was a long vigil. John stayed by Carson's bed – the fact that none of the medical staff shooed him or the others away just confirmed how serious Beckett's condition was. The others came and went. Rodney in search of food that John refused, and Teyla to sit with Ronon. Elizabeth was there for a while too – John finally did his debriefing over the top of Carson's bed. No one seemed surprised that he did not want to move.

And Beckett's condition did not improve despite the frequent adjustments that his staff made. Professionals that they were, they still could not hide their concern from John.

In the early hours of the morning John was beginning to slip into despair and became aware of heavy steps beside him.

"Ronon! Dammit, what are you doing?"

Dex gave him a grim smile and settled heavily into a chair on the other side of Carson's bed, holding his side firmly with one hand and manipulating an IV pole with the other. Sticky marks showed where he had removed his monitor pads.

A nurse was hot on his trail. "Mr Dex I must insist ..."

"Just give me a moment ... just in case."

She was not able to deny him that and with a mutter of "Two minutes then," left Ronon alone with John and Carson.

"You great big idiot!" John did not hide his irritation. "If you bust your wound open again you'll end up like him." Unwanted his voice caught slightly on the last word. He tried to cover it up.

"Sorry – I'm just overtired I guess."

Ronon gave him what could only be described as a Ronon look. He leant forward carefully, placing one big hand over one of Carson's.

"Sometimes it takes losing someone to realise a truth that you have been hiding from yourself. And you regret that loss for the rest of your life. I hope Sheppard, that you have the fortune to discover that truth by only _nearly_ losing someone. I hope he makes it."

Looking into Ronon's eyes John knew then that a deep loss lay in the Satedan's past. He doubted that he would ever discover what it was. He dropped his eyes. Dex had read him too well.

After a couple of minutes he heard Ronon stumbling away, the soft tones of the nurse as she helped him back to bed.

John looked at Carson, hoping to see an improvement, willing the readings on the monitors to leave the red. There was no one to see as he reached out and gently took one of Carson's hands in his own.

No – he could no longer deny the truth of what his heart was telling him. He loved this man. Admitting that to himself had opened a floodgate of emotion that he could not cope with. It was too painful, walls were breaking down that had been carefully built over years – how had Beckett done this to him?

And he was being so damn selfish.

"Get a grip, John," he growled to himself. If Carson died he would have to build those walls again, so high that no-one would ever see through. And if Beckett lived?

The last thing he would need as he recovered from physical injury and possible mental trauma would be the pressure of having John's new fragile, emotional state dependant on him.

_Better for him if he never knows. _That thought grew clearer in John's mind as the solution to this mess made itself apparent. It was the right idea. He would fight these ridiculous feelings, return to being the John that had served him so well over the years.

He did something then that he had not done for a very long time. He prayed, prayed hard that, if Carson Beckett survived this night, John would spare him the burden of his love, he would never tell him. He would always try and act as a friend, a protector even, trying to make sure that nothing like this ever happened again, but he would allow him to be free.

John fell asleep then, his head resting against Carson's hand, feeling oddly calm. He was woken by the touch of Biro's hand on his arm. He raised his head blearily – the light level indicated that it was morning. He quickly glanced at Carson, fearful of what he would see. The doctor was resting peacefully, the flush of fever was gone from his face.

John looked up at Biro standing next to him – she was actually smiling.

"I think ... that he is going to make it, Colonel. He's in a stable condition now, with all the readings moving to a healthy level."

She nodded with satisfaction and moved off to go over the monitors again. John returned his gaze to his friend's face and just sat for a while, feeling content.

_TBC_

**AN: **One more chapter to go.


	13. Chapter 13

**Adrift**

**Chapter 13: **_Dear God Please help Me._

**AN: **Thank you again for all your wonderful reviews.

**SGA**

Several weeks after Beckett's discharge from the infirmary, John Sheppard was back on a hunt. When not at work, supposedly on light duties, Carson had proven to be very elusive. John's concern about him had grown to the point where he knew that _he_ was being distracted from his duties – a situation that could not continue. It was a natural concern – one that would not go against his decision, so he allowed himself to worry.

Elizabeth had not helped his search. Although hiding out was uncharacteristic of Carson, she felt he needed this time to get his head straight, and had refused anyone to be patched through the radio, when Beckett was off duty, without her authority.

Kate Heightmeyer would only be drawn into confirming a programme of "Patient Led Trauma Therapy", whatever that was, and that Beckett seemed to be doing well.

His team didn't seem too bothered either. Teyla and Ronon had full confidence in Beckett making a good recovery, and Rodney was busy fighting his irritation with John. A cautious return to the planet had found that the Wraith had visited with a vengeance.

The inhabitants had fled, the compound and all it had contained had been completely destroyed. McKay was moaning the loss of a ZPM and a treasure trove of unknown Ancient tech. John had added another set of hostile warning posters to a rather overcrowded security board – he had no doubt that the band of thieves had survived.

John finally found his missing Doc'. The fugitive medic had retreated to a balcony in the tower that held the Chair – a good move on his part as no-one would expect him to go there - but John, knowing that Carson would not go too far from a transporter in case of a medical emergency, had finally worked it out.

Beckett had made himself cosy. A couple of cushions served as a makeshift sun lounger, a small cool-box sheltered an earthenware bottle, its handle tied with coloured reeds, which revealed it to be the last of an amazingly good brew that the Athosians had found on trade.

John guessed it was a present from Halling – the Athosians seemed to relish being able to treat Beckett – at last able to repay him for the medical care he had brought them, and maybe just from sheer relief at being able to actually celebrate someone's return from the dangers of the Pegasus Galaxy.

Carson's eyes were half shut – the sun warmed balcony and gentle sea breeze working their magic.

A dropped paperback lay half open on the deck. John peered curiously, reading the title upside down - _2001: A Space Odyssey._

"Hey Doc'."

Carson lazily opened one eye

"Ah Colonel, I sincerely hope you aren't here on business?"

"No, just got curious as to where you were – nice hidey hole."

"Well I appreciate it. It hadn't been found yet – I come here sometimes to sort the mind – fifty miles of ocean view helps me to push the bad memories to the back and shore up the good."

John leaned on the balcony rail and looked down myriad storeys to the piers below.

"I guess they were pretty bad this time?"

Carson did not respond to that so John changed tack.

"Didn't know you liked Science-fiction." He nodded towards the dropped book.

"No, not really, not usually. I wanted to reread the last few chapters. Bowman finds himself adrift in space – separated from the rest of humanity. I wanted to see how Arthur C Clarke had expressed that – that sense of isolation. I'm struggling myself to find words to describe it – wanted another viewpoint."

"God, Carson! We never gave up looking, never abandoned the search."

"John – of course you didn't. I _know _that. I've seen you when you were looking for Aiden – I never doubted that my _friends _would stop looking but the numbers were against it."

"Numbers?"

"A normal Stargate in Pegasus has seven chevrons forming a gate address from a combination of thirty six Ancient symbols. There are six thousand Stargates and Rodney told me once that they put in reach over 100 billion stars in the Pegasus galaxy. That's an awfully large number of gate addresses, John. A cold total of numbers against which human optimism is a very thin shield. I had plenty of time to think about that."

John almost stepped from the balcony edge- almost knelt and crushed Carson in his arms to help him forget the cold, impersonal statistics of an alien galaxy that had nearly taken him away forever. He stayed against the rail, hands gripping tightly.

"And did he?" He tried to say it lightly.

"Did he what?"

"Express how you felt for you?"

"Tell you the truth son – I fell asleep long before I reached that part. I'm enjoying the fresh air, went too long without it. Atlantis can be very soothing, it reminds me of trips to the Isles, that is if you manage to forget that it's an alien spaceship in another galaxy."

John allowed a trademark smirk to grace his lips. _Atlantis likes you Carson, it has its heart back and it's making you welcome._

"And how are those memories?" John was probing again.

"Well you know yourself lad – I'll learn to live with them.

"And it wasn't all bad."

John stared at Beckett in disbelief.

The Scot gave a slight smile.

"I don't remember too much of the trip back to the 'gate, probably just as well - it was like a painful waking dream - but at one point I remember being kissed gently, held against a cheek that was wet with more than rain."

Carson looked at John intently – he had hung his head, seemingly looking at his boots and then out across the ocean avoiding Carson's eyes. But he heard him.

"You daft bugger – no, make that a pair of daft buggers."

Carson suddenly moved off his cushions in a semi-roll to where John stood against the rail. He reached up two hands to grip John's forearms with a surprising strength and yanked hard, causing Sheppard to almost tumble to his knees.

John found himself sprawled across Carson's crossed legs, nose pulled firmly into a soft jumper. He struggled to free himself from the indignity, but only managed to look up into Carson's face. He was being gazed at by a pair of eyes, no longer dulled with pain or exhaustion, but shining as blue as Atlantis herself, the gleam accentuated by a sheen of wetness.

Carson had released his arms only to move his hands to firmly hold the sides of John's face and then pulled him forward again to crush his lips in a bruising kiss. John stilled in shock, his mind trying to grasp what was happening. Carson – _Carson!_ - wanted him too.

It was too much to take in. To go from keeping his feelings so rigidly under control, to realising that he could let the man know how he felt and that, wonderfully, unbelievably, he knew already.

This felt so right, so perfect – Beckett was all the things that had been missing from his life, everything that he had ever wanted. It was like being anchored in a safe harbour at last. John relaxed into the kiss and just let himself _feel_.

John finally became aware of a certain desperate quality to the thorough kissing that he was being given and opened his eyes to see Carson's eyes fixed on his, a heartfelt appeal in their depths.

The Scot broke off, stroked a soft finger across John's lips and whispered, "I've come to a decision about how I deal with what it felt like in that hell hole, and that is that I never, _never_ want to feel like that again. I'm guessing and I hope, pray that I'm right - that you don't either."

John responded in the only way he could think of at that moment, the only way that could release the pressure inside him. He wrapped his hands around Carson's head and kissed him back as though it was the last thing that he would ever do alive, until they both broke for air breathing heavily and with a pair of identical grins on their faces.

"Come here you." John's voice was rough as he pulled Carson back towards the cushions with one hand while spreading them flat with the other. They lay full length against each other. John's lean wiry body pressed close to the solid bulk of Carson, leisurely exploring the others body and feeling their arousal grow. Kissing with more and more desperation, eyes darkening and breaths coming in pants.

Until John felt Carson flinch and looked into the dilated pupils to see the pain that he was trying to hide.

"Your shoulder!"

"It's nothing, John."

"It is something and I need to get you in the direction of a real bed."

"Is that a promise now?"

John looked into Carson's flushed face, the beautiful eyes darkened with lust.

"Yes it is, and speaking as your unofficial medical advisor here, I am recommending an extensive bed rest."

They stood. John tucked the cushions under one arm and picked up the cool box by its handle. His other arm he slipped around Carson supporting his shoulder. Carson leaned into the warmth of John's body with more need than just that of support. They made their way to the transporter in silence, not needing words.

The discarded paperback was left to flutter its pages in the evening breeze.

Fin


End file.
