When John is convicted of killing an innocent, he has more to face than hard time. Some serious whump for our boy, and major angst for the team when he's sent to the worst prison Pegasus has to offer.

Warnings: A little bad language, but a lot of violence.

Disclaimer: SGA isn't mine. But I keep writing stories because I miss the SGA team – especially Shep.

Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta and good pal Sherry 57. Of course all mistakes are mine!

I want to dedicate this to another friend Sterenyk Strey. I hope this story hits the spot pet!

JUSTICE

Justice – Jus-tice:- The upholding of what is just, especially fair treatment and due reward in accordance with honor, standards or law.

CHAPTER 1

Chains secured his wrists and ankles, but they weren't necessary. John wasn't going to try and escape, no matter how bad things got.

He was guilty. He'd killed a man. Not that killing was anything knew. John had killed many men in the line of duty. Some to protect friends and country, others in self defence, but this kill was different. This man was an innocent. He deserved to pay the price for his crime.

Woolsey was standing by his side acting as council. John heard him tell the judge it was an accident. He listened as the diplomat used his best powers of persuasion to appeal to their conscience. He reminded the judge the incident had happened while his team were defending the town against the Wraith. There was a slight murmur amongst the assembled crowd at that, but it soon died down. Woolsey was making a strong case in his defence, but John saw the firm set of the judge's jaw. It told him his fate had already been decided.

As he waited to hear the verdict, only Woolsey and Lorne were there as witnesses to the proceedings. His team had wanted to come, but he hadn't allowed them. He'd told them a lie. Told them it was just a formality. He'd be back in time for dinner. Fact was he'd know all along he was going to get sent down and guessing how Ronon would react, John didn't want him or the others to get into trouble.

Woolsey had barely stopped talking when the judge motioned him to rise. He wasted no time in pronouncing him guilty. John heard Woolsey's sharp intake of breath, but said nothing. He looked straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the judge, and his hands balled into fists to stop them twitching.

There was a hushed silence in the small wood-lined courtroom before the judge handed down the sentence.

"John Sheppard. While your bravery in defending this town is without question, the death of one of our own cannot be ignored. Normally the penalty for such an act would be death, but given the extenuating circumstances I'm inclined to be lenient. You are hereby sentenced to fifteen years imprisonment with hard labour. For the pain you have caused you will also receive pain. Ten lashes of the whip for each member of the extended family – three hundred and eighty lashes..."

"Dear Lord…"

The judge glared at Woolsey for his interruption before he continued, "Which will be laid on in stages during the duration of your sentence. As befitting your profession and given the risk those skills pose to society, your time will be served in Flenda military prison." The thin wizen faced man looked down his nose at John. "Now…do you have anything to say before you start your sentence?"

His mouth had gone dry. John swallowed but couldn't get any moisture in his throat. He hoped his voice came out strong. Not shocked like he felt.

"Yes, Sir, I do. I'm sorry for what I've done, more sorry that you'll ever know. I also accept I need to pay for taking a life - but whipping me? I'm already going to pay with the loss of my career and the next fifteen years of my life. Surely that's enough?"

There was uproar in the small courtroom, and the old judge banged his gavel several times before order was restored. The last thump of the hammer was made with such force it caused the small round spectacles perched on the tip of his nose to fall off. As he retrieved them he looked at John with barely suppressed anger.

"Your sentence stands, Mr Sheppard. You should be grateful I don't add to it." He glared at John one more time, then dismissed him with a wave of the hand. "Take him away."

Woolsey had gone as white as a sheet. "Colonel Sheppard…John…This isn't right – I'll be appealing. I'm not going to leave you to rot…"

Two uniformed officers were leading him away but John pulled against them, making them stop. He quickly turned to the diplomat before they could tighten their grip. "I'm not crazy about this either but I killed a man, Richard…I have to pay. This is my fault so forget about a rescue. I'll do the time, but if you could do something about the other part of the sentence…I'd be obliged. "

"But, Colonel…" Lorne had rushed forward from the spectators benches. He was looking from John to the officers holding him fast with a dangerous expression in his eyes.

"Like I've just said to Mr Woolsey there's to be no rescue, Major – That's an order." John saw the bereft look on his XOs face, and softened his tone. "Take care of my people, Lorne…Take care of Atlantis for me."

ooooOoooo

John was pulled out the courtroom, down the stairs, and into the prison block below. It comprised of a long dimly lit corridor with a number of cells. They were small. No bigger than six by ten feet, and surrounded by thick iron bars on three sides. In each unit there was a small barred window in the middle of the concrete wall.

The view beyond was a stark cobbled courtyard. There were gallows at the back and a tall wooden pole with leather straps attached, set off to one side. He'd only been there once before. It had been earlier in the day for a short time when the chains had been fitted around his hands and feet.

John had been hurt during the Wraith attack. Concussed, he'd been so busy pumping bullets into the Drone who'd been trying to kill him, he hadn't realised he'd hit the farmer who'd been standing just feet away.

It wasn't until after the chaos had died down and they were counting their dead, the towns people found out one of their own had perished from an off worlder's bullet. By then John was in the infirmary. When he'd found out what he'd done he felt sick, but not from his head wound. There was no question he wouldn't return. He had to face the music. As soon as he walked through the gate, the guards had been waiting. It was then he knew things weren't going to end well.

One of the men gripped his shoulders while the other removed the chains. Once he was freed from his shackles he was handed a small bundle of clothes, and pushed into the cell.

"Take off what you're wearing and put these on. Be quick about it."

Privacy wasn't an option. The guards watched their impatience evident, as he quickly removed his boots and BDUs. Without asking for permission he kept his blue striped boxers on. As a small act of defiance he took his time donning the dark grey tunic and pants. They'd been well worn. The heavy cotton material was threadbare. On the plus side, at least they were clean. The door opened as he was about to put his boots back on. The guard shook his head.

"No boots. You'll not need them anymore. Take that off too." He pointed to John's dog tags. "You'll be getting a different identification necklace in a minute. Hand them over. I'll make sure your people get your effects before they leave."

John hesitated for a moment. He knew he was not in control anymore – of anything. However it still went against the grain to part with something so fundamental to his identity. The guard had his hand out, and John could see he was growing annoyed. He didn't want to make his bad situation worse so with a heavy heart, reluctantly did as he'd been asked. As the tags fell out of his hand he felt a sense of loss. Colonel John Sheppard was gone. He was now John Sheppard the prisoner, a convicted criminal.

The judge had pronounced the sentence, but it was only when he handed over his small pile of possessions John began to realize just what the future was going to hold. The life he loved was gone. By the time he returned to Atlantis, if he ever got to return, he would be nearly sixty. His youth would be over, his career irretrievable. Worst still, the friends that he'd made would be scattered to the four winds.

He wasn't naïve. Few stayed in the same place forever. As time moved on lives would change. Teyla was already a mother and it was pretty clear Rodney's future lay with Jennifer. Ronon was John's only concern. He hoped the big Satedan wouldn't ruin his life trying to rescue him. John wanted him to be happy. He'd seen him with Banks. At first their relationship had surprised him, but Amelia seemed to be a good fit. Hopefully she would stop him from doing anything stupid. Hopefully…

The chains were once again snapped around his wrists before he was pulled out of the cell. Firm hands held on to each arm as he was guided back along the corridor. It was only a short journey before he reached a spiral stair case that led down to the floor below. John slipped as his bare foot caught against something sharp. Surprisingly the guard on the left pulled him up before he fell. John shot him a grateful glance, but the man looked away before they could make eye contact.

He could feel the heat even before he saw the brazier standing in the corner of the room. His blood ran cold at the thought he was going to be branded. John knew it was a common practice in some Pegasus prisons but that's where he was headed, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He was partly relieved when the blacksmith fitted him with a pair of ankle chains that were warm to the touch but weren't hot enough to burn. They were tight and pinched his skin. John noticed there was no gap for a key. He tried not to think about the implications of that.

With a large pair of pincers the blacksmith took a collar out of the grate. The metal glowed white then red, as it cooled slightly in the air. John watched the man work on the band with a hammer until the metal became thin and smooth. The blacksmith only diverted his attention long enough to look at the paper lying on his desk before he placed the band onto the anvil, and carved something into the metal.

It hissed. The steam rising as it was thrust into the water. John felt rough hands bear down on his shoulders as the blacksmith approached him with the necklace in his gloved hands.

"Prepare yourself. This is going to hurt. I need the metal to be pliable so I can make sure it's a good fit."

John swore as the band was pressed against his neck. It was hot, scorching his skin, and instinctively he jerked back. With the hands gripping him tight, he soon steadied. The message was clear. He wasn't going anywhere.

It wasn't the intense pain there would have been from a branding but it still hurt like crazy, and the smell of his own burning flesh made him nauseous. He yelped, partly out of surprise as the final solder was made to the back of his new necklace. The freezing water tipped over his head made him gasp, but provided immediate relief. He was now sopping wet, but glad this part of his ordeal was over.

His neck was still smarting but considering all the things the brazier could have been used for, John reckoned it could have been worse.

It was later in the cell when he realized how his expectations were going to hell. He was sitting there in wet clothes, chained hand and foot with a freaking metal collar so tight he couldn't get his fingers inside it. And he'd been happy it hadn't hurt too much. The irony of it would normally have made him laugh, but his situation was dire and the famous Sheppard sense of humor couldn't find anything to smile about.

There was no glass in the windows, nothing to prevent the cold night air from chilling his bones. There was no bed, no blanket and not even any straw to lie on. John huddled on the concrete floor and shivered. He was so intent on rubbing his arms, he didn't hear the guard approach.

It was the man who'd stopped him from falling down the stairs. He was carrying a tray and had a blanket tucked under his arm.

"You saved my child from the Wraith. If not for you my little girl would be dead. Quickly – take this. Prisoners in transit don't get more than bread and water, but this stew is from my wife. We are grateful to you, Colonel, and I am truly sorry this has happened. My people seem to have forgotten that without your help our town would have fallen. Eelemm's death was a regrettable accident. The judge should not have treated you so harshly."

Both men swung round as a noise came from the far end of the corridor. The guard looked over his shoulder anxiously. "I must go, but take care. Commander Rualin who runs Flenda is a hard man. If you speak to him the way you did to the judge today, things will not go well for you."

There was barely a chance for him to utter his thanks before the man nodded and walked swiftly away.

John wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, and pulled it tight against his body. He savoured the warmth it brought. The stew smelled good but he wasn't hungry. It was only out of concern for the guard's welfare he forced it down to leave a clean plate. It had been a welcome act of kindness. Unexpected, and probably the last he would get for the next fifteen years.

The depressing thought brought him down, and the feeling of despair that had been growing since he'd walked through the 'gate hit him with full force. He felt sick, but it wasn't down to the meal. The light from the moon glinted off his chains, and for the first time John realized the full ramifications of what lay ahead. His insides were churning. He spent the rest of the remaining long hours until dawn trying not to think. Most of all, he tried not to throw up.

ooooOoooo

TBC.

I hoped you enjoyed the opening chapter and please review. I love to know what you think.