After John and Ronon are found after been missing for over four weeks, the team's elation is shattered when it's clear something has gone badly wrong. Question is, can things ever be the same again? Shep whump, Ronon too with all the team and Carson. Set in Season 2 after Sateda.

Warnings:- Violence to start with and some bad language.

Disclaimer:- SGA is not mine…I wouldn't have been so stupid as to take these boy's off my screen!

Many thanks to my wonderful beta shepsgirl72 for all her help, all mistakes of course are mine.

BETRAYAL & LIES

CHAPTER 1

He'd only been trying to defend himself, keep what was rightfully his. Except nothing he did was right, every excuse grabbed by the enforcer for yet another opportunity to cruelly inflict his own brand of discipline upon him.

Today it was going to be twenty lashes. Last week it was ten, and the week before…five. There was a pattern here, he knew it, but what the hell could he do? He was as good as alone in this hellish place, shackled hand and foot, and far away from his home, his friends.

In the beginning he'd tried to fight against the injustice of it all, but had been beaten into submission. Now he was a prisoner in an unknown land, sold as a slave, treated worse than an animal and forced to do another man's bidding. Had it only been a month since he was taken? It seemed like forever.

Even without restraints he knew escape was no longer an option. He was battered and bruised, exhausted through long hard days in the mine and meagre rations, his aching back already torn to shreds with yet another whipping to come. John tried to keep his spirits up, knowing his people would be searching for him, but hope like sand was falling through his fingers, disappearing into the millions of grains scattered beneath his feet.

His body was wracked with shivers, though not through fear, although he was afraid he wouldn't survive yet another brutal assault. Ever since the first whipping two weeks ago, the deep lacerations had quickly become infected and the fever raging through his body was becoming steadily worse. Now he felt like crap, but those bastards weren't going to witness his weakness or apprehension…if only he could just stop shaking.

The spiteful eyes of his accuser gleamed with satisfaction as his shirt was ripped open and he was dragged to the pole. What was with these people, why wouldn't they just leave him alone? He did his work, kept to himself and had just wanted to eat his meagre meal in peace. Was that really too much to ask? Yet even as the thought entered his head, John already knew the answer. No one here liked him, least of all the enforcer. John knew it was pointless to state his case, as nothing he'd said before had made any difference.

When the enforcer first arrived in camp it was clear he'd singled him out. First were the beatings; John flinched as he remembered those huge fists tearing into his gut, bruising him to hell. Then, when that stopped being fun he'd used a club to whack him across the chest, cracking nearly every freaking rib in his body. Of course after that, as a reward for increased productivity, the master presented him with a long, thick fucking whip…man, how he just loved using that. He had been the first victim, or course. Now every day some poor guy suffered at that awful pole.

Still, no one beat his record. After today, if there was anything left of him that was, he would have won the prize of most abused slave… three whippings in three weeks. The sadistic bastard just wouldn't listen to reason, and those cold, hard eyes told him he didn't give a shit. For some reason, right from the start, he'd made it crystal he was out to get him, but why? Despite wracking his brain for answers, John didn't have a clue.

As his punishment was read out, he searched for traces of compassion in the cold hard rocks glaring at him, but instead found only malice and intent. Sick, weak, and already in pain, he tried to resist as torn, abraded wrists were strung up high above his head, but lacked the strength to fight a battle he couldn't win. His punishment was yet to begin, but his suffering had already started, as the long chain pulled his back taut, straining raw and tender lacerated skin so tightly, his wounds ripped apart. John failed to suppress a low moan, already in agony yet knowing much worse was about to come.

As the firm, solid footsteps of the enforcer come towards him John took a steadying breath and closed his eyes. His body was hanging loose against the rough hewn pole, the strain on his ravaged body already unbearable...shoulders weakened by weeks of back breaking work struggling to support even his emaciated frame. Yet the abuse was coming like it or not, so he gripped the chains digging into his wrists to try to gain some purchase, anything that might help him cope with the vicious assault that lay ahead. Except who was he kidding, nothing would help him now, because nothing was going to stop the hellish agony about to come his way…

ooooOoooo

Shuffling in the stiff, high backed wooden chair, Elizabeth struggled to hide her discomfort. After three gruelling hours of negotiation she was oppressively hot, with beads of sweat running down her back, making her her tee-shirt cling uncomfortably against her skin. Why, in a desert climate, Master Raman had a log fire blazing was beyond her, yet the man was dressed for a winter's day back home, his heavy embroidered tunic buttoned tightly against his neck as if freezing. Still, all of it would be worth it if she got her people safely home, yet the way this pompous man was prevaricating, Elizabeth was starting to have her suspicions he was deliberately trying her patience.

After frantically searching for her personnel for nearly a month, she felt relieved after Lorne returned to Atlantis yesterday having finally located their transponder signals on Sarunda, specifically in the servitude of the man sitting across the desk. On one hand it was good news, confirming the Intel they'd received was correct. The bad news was shortly after their abduction both men had been sold as slaves in the market on Nolange and from what she had seen of this place so far, Elizabeth was worried what condition she was going to find them in.

Elizabeth knew slavery was rife in the Pegasus galaxy, but it still sickened her to the core. It had taken far too long to find them, and even now with their release almost within her grasp, she was faced with an odious little despot who was more concerned with profit than human life. Years of diplomatic service had taught her to keep her cards close to her chest, and her innermost feelings hidden even under intense pressure. However, having witnessed the sight of emaciated and shackled men herded about like cattle, she was barely able to conceal her contempt.

After mentally counting to ten, Elizabeth reminded herself what she was here for, and if she wanted to get her CO home, she must subdue her impatience and maintain her composure. "Master Raman, while I sympathise that someone mislead you at the market, I must reiterate, you are nonetheless holding two of my personnel. So while I am prepared to offer some compensation for your loss, I should however make it quite clear both men will be leaving with me today."

Elizabeth didn't know if it was the tone of her voice or the presence of Lorne with his armed marines standing outside, but she sighed with relief as the man finally stopped talking, rose reluctantly to his feet and led the way out to the compound.

It was getting hot outside, the sun already high in the sky despite the fact it was still quite early in the morning. Yet not even its bright, golden rays softened this barren, desolate place, revealing slave quarters devoid any form of human comfort. Each stark wooden hut sans doors, with nothing to deflect the stifling harsh rays of the sun by day, or provide shelter from the freezing cold temperatures prevalent in the desert by night. Worse still, a quick look inside revealed long metal chains embedded into the wall, accompanying each hard wooden bunk. Elizabeth didn't consider herself easily shocked, but the further into the compound they wandered, the more grateful she felt to Lorne for the comforting touch of his firm hand on her arm, encouraging her onwards, towards who knew what, fearful of what she was going to find.

As he shuffled along, nearly tripping on his garish tunic, Raman huffed, "You can have the one called Sheppard; he's been nothing but trouble since he arrived." Elizabeth suppressed a smile. "But the other one you mentioned isn't a slave. He's employed by me, and since he arrived the productivity in my mine has gone up and discipline has improved. So I'm afraid, Doctor Weir, I'm not prepared to let go of the best enforcer I've ever had."

Elizabeth was about to respond when her blood ran cold as she heard the chilling sound of a leather whip thrashing against human flesh, and a very, very familiar scream…

After an anxious look in her direction, Lorne ran ahead, and she became aware that Raman was staring at her, his face flushed with anger. "Where is he going?"

Raman's muffled words were lost in the jumble of panicked thoughts racing though her brain. She didn't want to believe it. It couldn't be John…could it? Without thinking she ran, faster than she ever thought possible, stumbling toward the awful sound until she stopped dead, trembling in shock at the horrendous sight in front of her.

"Crack!" She gasped, as she watched a stout leather whip fly through the air and tear into John's back, ripping a deep, jagged laceration into his skin that poured rivulets of blood onto the ground below.

"Arghh…."

"Twelve…"

Before the large man could raise the whip again, Lorne called out. "Stop. Or I will shoot."

As Lorne raised his gun to fire, she swayed as the 'Enforcer', the man who was inflicting the dreadful abuse on Sheppard, turned in anger to face them…Ronon.

The large Satedan faced them, devoid of fear or recognition and went to raise the whip again.

"Go away. I have a job to do….Thirteen."

"Gahhnnnn…"

"Ronon…you must stop!" Elizabeth shouted at him, feeling sick as John's back buckled against the abuse and his head fell limp against the bloody pole. Yet the Satedan, someone who she'd come to consider as a friend, just glared with derision and raised the whip yet again.

"Fourteen…"

A shot rang out and Elizabeth watched him stagger as he dropped to the ground clutching his shoulder, the whip falling harmlessly to the ground.

"What have you done? I told you to leave him alone…he is one of my men. Now he won't be able to work for days!" Raman had appeared puffing and panting, rushing to Ronon's side.

Lorne stepped forward and kicked the bloody whip away before quickly moving to his injured CO. "I'm sorry rescue was so late in coming, Sir."

"Sh…dnt…st…Ro…n." John rasped, his voice laced with pain. "Eliz….th?"

"I'm here. Everything is going to be alright now, John. We're going to get you back home…"

"Bloody hell. Which sadistic sod is responsible for this?" She spun round with relief as an angry Carson appeared at her side along with Teyla.

Almost as one, she watched them follow her gaze from their wounded colleague onto Ronon, who was now sitting, supported by Raman, his rage evident for all to see. Both appeared as shocked as she was, but the moment passed quickly as Carson slipped into doctor mode.

"Teyla, love. Go and see to Ronon and get him into the jumper. I'll stay with the Colonel." He then turned to Lorne. "Right now, son I don't care what happened here, these men are both my patients. Please help Teyla, if you will, and I think we should keep these two separated for now, don't you?"

Barely able to hold back the tears threatening to wreck her resolve, Elizabeth tore herself away from John's side to confront Raman who was arguing with Teyla and Lorne. "Lorne, Teyla. Doctor Beckett has given you your instructions, so please attend to Ronon's wound and take him home. As for you," trembling with rage she locked eyes with the abhorrent man in front of her, "you, Master Raman, will offer no further objections in this matter, and further more you will tell me not only who sold Colonel Sheppard to you, but also the person responsible for employing this man." She motioning over her shoulder at a furious Ronon who was complaining bitterly while he was being dragged away under armed escort. "Do I make myself clear?"

Normally, it would have given her immense satisfaction to witness the shock barely hidden in the beady little eyes, but today all she wanted was answers as to who caused this mess, and to get her badly wounded CO home.

ooooOoooo

Carson heard Sheppard moaning, and could barely imagine the level of pain he must be suffering. John's once healthy, toned back was now a mass of deep, ragged lacerations, ripped over several older wounds many of which were shows worrying signs of deep rooted infection. The heightened rosy flush warming his cheeks was another clue, confirmed by the heat radiating like waves from his limp frame and the temp of 104 beeping on the thermometer.

Beckett placed a reassuring hand on his friend's arm. "I'm going to give you something for the pain, Colonel, so you should start feeling a wee bit easier in a minute."

He pushed a syringe into the IV and within moments saw John's tense features start to relax. Sheppard's vitals were barely stable, but there wasn't much more he could do in this place, so covering the wounds with moist dressings, Carson prepared the sick man for transport.

"Ron…on…Ok…y?" The Scot was so preoccupied he barely heard John's weak, rasping voice.

"He'll be just fine, Colonel, but right now I'm more worried about you." Even as he spoke the words, Sheppard fell unconscious, finally free from pain thanks to the power of good drugs.

In his peripheral vision, he spotted two marines approaching with a stretcher. Carefully moving the stricken man gently onboard, Beckett saw from their anxious expressions they didn't need to be told to take care of their precious cargo. Carson knew Sheppard was well respected by his men, but more than that, the affable commander was also held in deep affection.

As he prepared to follow the sombre procession, Carson took one last look at the wooden pole and the discarded bloody whip lying nearby. What the hell was the story here? As a physician of long standing, he was well used to dealing with the consequences of violence, but this vicious attack was something else. It was more in keeping with an assault of a vengeful man against someone he despised, not the act of one friend and comrade against the other. Yet that was a question to be answered another time as Sheppard's condition was critical, requiring urgent treatment. Although, it was also obvious to him something wasn't right with Ronon either, and it wasn't just the gaping hole in his shoulder.

Even though it was only a short distance from the compound to the jumper, Beckett was concerned at the speed in which Sheppard's condition was deteriorating. Despite being given oxygen, his breathing was still laboured and his thready pulse weakening almost by the second. Atlantis was prepared for their arrival with the OR prepped and several units of the colonel's blood ready. For his part, he would of course pull out all the stops to get John through this. But, going by the wounds he could see, never mind the additional damage he may yet find under the scanner, it was going to be a long night and combined with the raging fever, at the very least a few difficult days.

As he slumped onto the bench, Carson snagged a power bar from his pocket. Blueberry, not his favourite. As he considered the bland food substitute in his hand, he wondered, not for the first time, why Rodney liked these things so much. In his opinion they tasted of melted cardboard, and he dreaded to think of the additives they contained. Still, dinner was becoming less of a possibility so he reached for another, chocolate…marginally better, and at least it was something to keep his strength up for the long hours of surgery ahead.

In the relative quiet of the jumper, the morning's troubling events went around again and again in his mind. Even now, despite what he'd seen, it was still hard for him to accept Sheppard's horrendous wounds were caused by Ronon, a man who wasn't just a teammate, but also someone he called a friend. Beckett knew with time and care the colonel would eventually heal, but as to the relationship between John and Ronon, he for one wasn't sure that ever could.

ooooOoooo

TBC

Well, what do you think could have happened? All will be revealed as the story unfolds, but in the meantime please review.