Title: Give Over
Author: crimsonclad
Spoilers: Irresistible
Challenge: Dark Side Challenge
Word Count: 1128
Rating: R?
Summary: Power of suggestion.
A/N: Somehow, that episode inspired this fic. I dunno.



Give Over


Lucius: He makes me uncomfortable.
Elizabeth: He's really a good man.
Lucius: I don't see it. Uh-uh. If he doesn't come around, we're gonna have to do something.

**

John had been feigning his cold for all of fifteen minutes before they came for him. Lucius had obviously figured out enough to know that the Marines were his best bet for keeping John immobile, but Elizabeth was there too, along with Rodney, Teyla, Ronon peering in the doorway.

"Please understand that it isn't anything personal, Colonel," Lucius was saying, grimacing. "But you yourself know that a man in command has to show himself capable of wielding his authority, enforcing his own laws. Where would I be-- where would my people be if I were to forget about my duty to uphold law and order?"

John saw Rodney nodding fervently, and managed not to roll his eyes. They'd probably throw him in the brig for awhile, and he'd cool his heels there before figuring out a plan. The SGC would call in soon enough, and the Daedalus was due back soon, so it wouldn't be too long before someone figured out that something was wrong in the city.

Carson hustled into the room, medkit in hand. "Here you are, Lucius-- I've brought everything you need, and some anaesthetic--"

Lucius frowned. "What, for the pain? No, no. How would anyone ever understand the repurcussions of their misdeeds without a bit of corrective suffering? Besides, the Colonel is a military man. I'm sure he's experienced worse."

At that, John began to struggle harder.

Lucius knelt by his side, a sly smile on his face. "Now, Colonel, I want you to remember that this is for your own good. And you should feel honored to know that the citizens of Atlantis practically came to blows over who would have the honor of handling the ceremony, they felt that strongly about it. But Elizabeth pulled rank, that little minx!" He grinned up at him, and she wiggled her fingers in a flirtatious wave before reaching into Carson's tray of tools.

"But Rodney's going to help you through it," Lucius continued, beckoning him over. "Because he's one of your best friends, isn't he? He's going to be right by your side, every moment. You won't go through this alone. They all wanted to be a part of it."

John was envisioning a vaccine Carson could have whipped up to make him as compliant and eager as the rest of them, or a sedative to make him pliable and easily controlled. Rodney crouched down next to Lucius, a nervous but hopeful expression on his face. "Funny that it would be you-- I mean I'm the one who always gets accused of talking too much, right? People have even threatened to do it to me before, and yet here we are, and you're the one. But Sheppard, really, Lucius is right-- it will help you listen, and that will help you learn. And that is why we came to Atlantis, right?"

"Rodney's right, John," Elizabeth said in her most soothing tone. But she was walking closer with a scalpel in her hand, and for the first time John really started to panic. He hadn't even felt this way on the fucking hive ship, because at least then he knew he had his people, had a brilliant and brave team working for him, with him. But they were all here, smiling encouraging smiles, beaming as he struggled against the arms of Marines he had chosen for the Atlantis mission, men he had trained and disciplined and promoted.

And then they were prying his jaws open, manipulating pressure points to make him open his clenched teeth, strong fingers holding him open and exposed. Rodney was murmuring in his ear that he had to be strong, that they couldn't spare the rod to spoil the child, that it would all be all right, that once John learned, Lucius could certainly brew a potion to heal anything, anything. Elizabeth smiled warmly and then her hand was coming closer, the bright sharpness of the blade approaching until he couldn't see it anymore, until there was nothing but the feeling of that shockingly keen edge pressing against the meatiest part of his tongue. He felt the splitting flesh and the hot stickiness of flowing blood before the pain hit, and that was when he started screaming.

**

Colonel Caldwell had read enough SGC mission reports to get a pretty good sense of what was going on when he found the entire population of Atlantis engaged in what appeared to be a rollicking sing-a-long with a man in anachronistic clothing, and Hermiod beamed the stranger to quarantine within ten seconds, to the dismay of everyone in the gateroom.

"He was singing songs of his many journeys!" Teyla cried, and other plaintive voices agreed. Caldwell just rolled his eyes and requested a Daedalus med team.

The results of the tests only took a few hours, even with the necessity of sedating the people who had fallen into hysterics. Caldwell was prying Lorne off of his elbow ("no sir, it's just, he's probably very worried about us and I was always really good at calming him down--") when Rodney walked up to him, his expression concerned and a bit frightened.

"I'm sure that Lucius is fine, Dr. McKay--" Caldwell began, but Rodney was already shaking his head.

"No, umm, it's just that I feel a bit strange, and I'm beginning to think that perhaps someone should check on Sheppard."

Caldwell hadn't been able to reach him on the radio, but he had just figured the man was off doing interpretive dance of Lucius-worship somewhere. "I'm sure he has a slight fever, but--"

"No no no, I mean, we probably should have done it in the infirmary. It makes sense, right? Sterile and whatnot. And perhaps a nurse? Carson offered the anaesthetic, but Lucius refused-- which seems a bit strange, now that I think about it."

Caldwell felt a sticky cold feeling at the back of his throat. "Doctor, I need you to explain what you're talking about. As soon as possible."

Rodney's eyes were very wide. "It's just that there was a lot of blood."

**

Caldwell was the first one to reach Sheppard's quarters, and it would be hard, later, to remember exactly what happened after that. He remembered walking in and slipping, his boots almost shooting out from underneath him in the streaks of blood. He remembered something in a bowl on Sheppard's desk, covered in blood soaked cloth, one pink patch of flesh showing through a gap in the fabric.

And he remembered Sheppard's face when he woke, the blind terror. The way his mouth opened, a bloody hole of nothing all the way down to a throat making guttural cries of vowel shaped pain, no way to make words. No words to make at all.