artisticabandon: futuristic cityscape (atlantis)
[personal profile] artisticabandon
Title: Fracture Points
Recipient: [ profile] stella_pegasi
Word Count: 7,947/? (1,897 this part)
Rating: PG13 for this part, probably PG15 overall
Warnings: Somewhat graphic torturewhump, and allusions to such.
Summary: A debriefing is a debriefing until its an interrogation. Or, the story about how to break and still stay whole.
Author Notes: I was asked for slice of life, team, Cam, and lots of whump. I hope this suffices. Full prompt(s) will be posted with final chapter, because, well, spoilers. Also a bit more rushed than I usually like, because well, deadlines. And a totally chaotic RL.
Sorry I'm late with this part. Blame an across-state trip at short notice.


Part 3


They wanted me to break. So (if I didn't want to die or go through more pain than was really necessary, and I'm kind of allergic to that sort of thing) I had to show them what they wanted, didn't I?

Which meant I had to break, but do it on my terms. Which is not as easy as it sounds.

The thing is, all the SERE courses I ever did were great for teaching me me how to break, but weren't so great about what to do afterwards in terms of reassembling the whole. Or in teaching me the whole timing thing, which was what I needed here. It was Pegasus that taught me how to choose when and where to break, if I could say such a thing, so there'd be something left of me at the end to put back together.

MKR-389 was no different. I knew I was going to break. I'd suspected that going in. The problem was choosing when.

It had to look natural. (Which probably wouldn't be a problem, if they kept on breaking bones.) I had to get the timing right. Wait too long, and I'd end up with no resources to make it back -- I'd be too injured for it to work. Do it too early, though, and it would be kind of obvious I was faking it. If I did it right, I'd break just enough to give them a show, and keep enough of myself intact that I could still do what I needed to do.

In any case, the moment I was looking for arrived sooner than I'd ever expected.

Let me just preface what comes next by re-emphasizing that while I knew I had to give them a show, it also had to be real. And, I knew it would it come when they...broke something...,more. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I knew I'd be giving them what they wanted when they crossed some invisible line, and I'd only know what that was when I got there.

I just...never expected that line to arrive so quickly.

I guess it's fortunate in some ways that it happened this way. It meant I got out of there with relatively few injuries, besides the obvious. To be honest, I was expecting more.

Am I rambling? It feels like I'm rambling.


Cam looked at Sheppard, taking in the pale face (that was getting steadily paler) and the way he kept rubbing at his forehead. "I'm not supposed to do this, you want something?"

Oh, did he. The list was about as long as his arm and growing. But should he say yes (tell the truth) and admit to a possible weakness (chink in his armor), or say no (tell a lie) and give them nothing (and keel over anyway)? Yeah. Not much a choice. He shook his head. "Nah. I'm fine."


Where was I again?

Oh. Yeah. That's right.

So. What basically happened is that they kicked my knee out.

I'm pretty sure that they wanted to break my knee, but the idiots totally overestimated the force required and managed to dislocate it instead. (Because apparently any idiot can break a bone but it takes a special kind of stupid to dislocate it.) For the record, I kind of wish that they'd only broken it. It would've been kinder. Like, only a 5 on my annoyance (pain) scale instead of an 8.

I knew straight away that I was in trouble. That was the first thing that crossed my mind. As if the misshapen look, swelling, throbbing, and stabbing pain weren't enough of a clue. The second worry I had was how this would affect my career, but I decided I'd worry about that after I got out. Third, it was pretty clear that my mobility was now about zero. Also, which I guess makes this point four, I knew I was stupid for not trying any of my escape plans earlier, regardless of the risk for collateral damage. And finally point five, I---


"What is it this time?" Sheppard growled, irritated at yet another interruption.

"You mean to say you'd had a plan to escape?"

"Well, yeah. Wouldn't you have had one?"


He shifted in the chair, as much from unease as from pain. Although, if this kept up much longer he was asking for pain-pills and damning the consequences to hell. (Stupid generic government chair.) "I actually had about seven. Five of them even had no casualties. But pretty much all of them required getting through at least one interrogation session reasonably intact so I could make nice with the guards. Which didn't happen, so here we are."


And five, I was dealing with idiots who didn't know how to measure their strength. (But that's par for the course. Only idiots get into the torturing game, in my opinion.)

So, basically, I was screwed. Unless, six, I could talk said idiots into releasing me themselves.

Yeah, like that was going to happen.

Besides, at the time I was more concerned with dealing with the pain than trying to do anything fancy. It's amazing what a little (or a lot) of pain and adrenaline can do. I went from being immobile for all practical purposes to sitting curled over as much as I could, struggling to breathe through it. It was probably only stubbornness that kept me awake and conscious, because it was a near thing.

In hindsight, I should've just...let go. It would've been easier for everyone.

It's certainly what they expected.

Instead, I gave them a glimpse of exactly how stubborn I can be and how high my pain tolerance is. Neither of which are bad things in themselves, but together, in a hostage situation, when I am the one being the makes for unpleasant times. Because people make the mistake of thinking that a high pain tolerance mean you don't feel it and so they go harder on you. But you do feel it. (You feel everything.) It just takes longer before you keel over. And being stubborn, of course I'm going to hold on to the very last moment I can.

And pain...pain insidious thing.

It's slippery. It shifts and mutates from moment to moment, from day to day. It never quite seems to be the same. And if you asked me at that moment, I'd have said that the dislocated knee was far worse than the broken arm, even though I could see that the arm was a bad break (at the very least an open fracture, which was obvious from the bone poking through the skin). The only reason I didn't throw up when looking at it was because I had the feeling that would hurt. A lot. Seeing as they'd probably broken a few ribs before they did the arm thing. (I've thrown up with broken ribs before, and it ranks right up there on my list of Things Not To Do Again.)


Cam started. "This is the first time you mentioned the ribs."

"Is it?" Sheppard blinked. "To be fair, Cam, I have a veritable laundry list of injuries. It's a bit hard to keep track of what ones happened when and where. But for the record, I think the ribs happened when that A'tar dude was beating me up." (Warming him up for the real session to come.)


So. What are we up to? Concussion, assorted bruises and scrapes, ribs, left arm, and right knee. Yeah. That sounds about right.

And I had to make a split-second decision whether to pretend to break or to keep going.

For what it's worth, I chose the first option. (Door number 1.) Not that I could do it right away, of course. These two were idiots, but even these two would catch on if I just crumbled without warning. As much as this was going to hurt, I had to lay the ground-work (I had to build up to it, so to speak).

Which meant one more bone. (Yay. Go me.)

In the was time to lay it on thick.

I started letting myself express how much it hurt. You know, groaning, panting, that sort of thing. I even promised myself I'd let myself scream on the next one.

It wasn't hard, really. The tiniest shift gave me the greatest...inspiration for my performance. So in some ways, that chair they had me in was a blessing in disguise. It kept me very still. In hindsight, it's probably what helped me save my leg as much as I did.

You know how I commented earlier how some things you remember and other things you don't? Well, I was so focused on the performance (and the pain, because by god that knee hurt) that the next thing I can recall is that the two heavies were backing off.

Not by much, but enough to give me a little breathing room and to let me finally hear what must have startled them as well.

Now, the best sound I have ever heard was the sound of my team coming to the rescue. Ronon's blaster, Teyla's stick -- although she tends to favor the P90 on high-risk missions -- and even Rodney's dodgy aim and endless chatter. Though he's a bit more silent these days. Mind you, his aim's only bad when he tries to shoot while holding his tablet or scanner, which I swear is welded to his arm, and----

----and I'm definitely rambling, aren't I?

That's didn't happen that way. (Although I think by that point I was hallucinating. As much as from dehydration as from the pain.)

For all their idiocy (I mean, who does the torturing thing anyway?), the two heavies were smart. Too smart. They actually remind me of...yeah, well, that's another story. Anyway, so they knew what they were doing (if not how to do it). Which is why they didn't run, which would've been the logical course, but kept on doing what they were doing. Just enough to keep me in constant pain, but never enough to kill me. Or, you know, let me go unconscious.

No, I had the distinct pleasure of being awake for the whole thing.

I guess, all things considered, I've been through worse than the time I spent with those two. But still...torture is torture. (And it's always surprising what you can live through.)


One of those watching leaned forward and swore. "He's one of his, isn't he?"

There was no answer. But then, there never would be.


Sheppard rubbed his forehead. Damn his aching body, he was losing his focus on what he could and couldn't say. "Did the docs give you any stuff I could take if this went too long?"

"Uh, yeah actually. Everything from a long release Morphine patch all the way down to Tylenol." Cam looked at the options and considered it. "So. Will Tylenol be enough, or do you want something a little stronger?"

Yeah. No. He might be admitting to pain, but no way was he admitting to needing strong pain pills. "Tylenol's perfect. I just need something to take the edge off." He took the tablets and swallowed them dry. "Thanks, Cam."



SGA Newsletter - February 12 & 13, 2014

Date: 2014-02-14 01:52 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
User [ profile] neevebrody referenced to your post from SGA Newsletter - February 12 & 13, 2014 ( saying: [...] : Fracture Points 3/? [PG-13] [...]


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