Perspective

He was being tortured by a wraith. Not a Wraith, but a blurry, indistinct, inhuman figure who poured liquid fire into his veins and watched him freeze to death.

He pulled at his restraints, fighting with all of his rapidly diminishing strength, the soft but unforgiving material cutting into his wrists. His tormentor approached with one of its damned needles – or were they knives? It was hard to tell. His hands and arms would tell the tale, if he lived.

Voices babbled all around him, unintelligible. Several… creatures… held him down as the unidentified instrument was jammed into his arm. He cried out as agony coursed throughout his body. But not even that pain could distract him from the bitter, icy cold.

"Never… tell you… anything," he ground out, as much to strengthen his own resolve as to defy the torturers. He would not betray Atlantis.

The babble took on a slightly frantic tone. What did they want from him that was so damn important, anyway?

One of the wraithlike beings leaned in close, and suddenly he could make out its features. Her features – it was a woman. Human. "T-Teyla?" he gasped.

She smiled, and he knew she had come to rescue him.

Then she spoke. Her voice was gentle, soothing, but he couldn't understand her. She spoke the same gibberish as the beings who were torturing him. She was a fake, an impostor. She was one of them! "No!" he shouted, struggling with renewed fervor. He felt the restraints tighten painfully, cutting off circulation to his hands. He was so cold.

Machinery beeped and whined all around him, the tones loud and high-pitched, making him feel like his head was going to explode. He couldn't breathe. One of the machines – or was it one of the shapeless creatures that surrounded him? – let out a shrill, piercing shriek that speared through his brain, and he screamed in dissonant harmony. Then something flat, slimy, and so cold it burned touched his chest, and his entire world was searing pain, then darkness.

Doctor Beckett had had to restrain him. John had already torn out several IV's in his delirious struggles, so it was for his own safety. But still, something about seeing John Sheppard strapped down and screaming brought tears to Teyla's eyes and a sob to her throat.

It took Teyla and several nurses to hold him still so Beckett could reinsert the IV. John's agonized cries speared through her like knives. His eyes, though, were what frightened her most: glazed, unfocused, and utterly terrified. What kind of fever dream could put that look into John Sheppard's eyes?

Teyla soon had her answer, as John said, "Never… tell you… anything." She felt vaguely ill – he thought he was being tortured. She leaned in close to whisper words of reassurance, and his eyes suddenly focused on her face. "T-Teyla?"

He recognized her! There was hope yet. "Yes," she said softly. "I am here. You are in Atlantis, John. You are safe. Doctor Beckett is trying to help–"

But the abject terror returned to his eyes, this time directed specifically at her. No, he did not recognize her. He hadn't even understood her. His voice was hoarse and raw as he cried "No!" and pulled at his restraints again. All the time he was shivering, even as his sweat soaked the sheets beneath him.

Then the heart monitor flatlined, and with a weak moan, John's struggles ceased. Teyla was ushered out of the room as Beckett charged the defibrillator.