A rather dark Shep-whumpy fic written for the Sheppard HC LJ challenge using the "addiction" prompt. Prologue is kinda short but there is more to come… poor, poor Sheppy… :)

Reviews are love… :)

Breathe it in and breathe it out

And pass it on, it's almost out

We're so creative, so much more

We're high above, but on the floor

Not an Addict – K's Choice

Her heart was in her mouth as they carried him through the gate. He was unconscious on the stretcher, white-faced and bruised beneath a coating of grime and dried blood. As she ran down the stairs from the control room she silently thanked the instinct that had made her send medical support with the retrieval team.

Lorne's face was grim as he made his report, the two of them stepping to the side as Carson and his team brushed past them with a gurney, conferring immediately with the returning medics as they supervised Sheppard's transfer from stretcher to gurney. Elizabeth found it hard to keep her eyes from straying to Sheppard's limp form as she listened to the details of the Colonel's rescue.

The members of Sheppard's team hovered near the gurney, their faces showing the strain of what they had witnessed during Sheppard's rescue, their concern for their team mate and friend. Elizabeth had to bite her lip as Lorne stoicly described the conditions in the prison cum hospital in which the extraction team had found Atlantis' military commander. If merely hearing the bald, unemotional facts of Sheppard's treatment at the hands of the Drethans made her feel sick to her stomach, how much worse must it have been for his team to find him in that place, under those conditions. Her gaze lifted from Sheppard's battered body and she found herself meeting the eyes of Dr McKay. One look at the hollowness in the man's gaze more than answered her question.

She stepped back as the gurney was rolled past her, Carson almost oblivious to the presence of anyone else in the gateroom, his attention focused entirely on his patient as he hurried him to the infirmary. Elizabeth couldn't help but stare in a kind of horrid fascination as the gurney rushed past; it seemed that time itself moved in a kind of stilted, jerking motion, her mind recording only a succession of frozen images, a confused jumble of torn, filthy uniform, bloody scratches and bruises, and of pale, dirty skin marred by a succession of red, angry puncture marks. A tremor ran through Sheppard's body as they wheeled him away and her last image was of his hand twitching, clenching and flexing restlessly; she realised with horror that, even unconscious, he was still suffering, his body jerking and spasming from the drugs that had pumped into him.

The gurney turned a corner and was gone from view and for a long moment nobody moved, the air in the gateroom thick with emotion, shock and fatigue leaving them drained and exhausted. Elizabeth looked around at Sheppard's team mates and saw dejection and fear in every face, mixed with a guilt that matched that which she felt churning in her own stomach. Logically, they had done all they could, had acted as quickly as possible to get Sheppard back… but that cold, logical fact was little comfort when faced with the visual evidence of the treatment their friend had suffered whilst alone and defenceless in the hands of strangers.

Ronon was the first to break the shell-shocked silence in the room, leather creaking as he turned abruptly and strode from the gateroom, his voice rough as he stated shortly, "I'll be in the infirmary." His words seemed to galvanise them all into action and Elizabeth could almost see Teyla and McKay shake off their weariness, gathering their strength for the long hours ahead. Every one of them in that room knew that the battle was not over. Bringing Sheppard home had been only the beginning; for John the real fight was still to come.