Fic: The Curious Afterlife of John Sheppard (4/4)
Story info and warnings can be found in part 1.
Part IV
John would have been content for things to stay the same-the occasional weekend spent at Mitchell’s apartment, the occasional night watching movies with Vala, and missions that mostly went according to plan.
After two weeks go by with neither team member pushing John to make a decision about either issue, he almost believes he’s going to get away with it.
And then comes P3Y-421.
Landry has started using SG-1 on specialized missions. They don’t have a scientist, so they don’t go on a lot of exploratory missions unless they’re being paired with another team. SG-3 has two scientists-a botanist and a linguist-so they’re the ones that usually get sent to planets where there might be something of value.
John has been picking up any information he can about the inner workings of a DHD, just in case they ever get stranded, and he thinks that between him and Vala, they could probably take care of any problem that’s readily fixable.
And that means that SG-1 is uniquely capable of doing reconnaissance and quick strikes. Vala’s skills as a con artist, John’s covert ops background, and Mitchell’s experience with the Sodan warriors-it all adds up to a team that can get in, get information, and get out.
They have the mission briefing on P3Y-421 the morning before they’re scheduled to gate out. The planet keeps cropping up in reports from other worlds, referencing missionaries who are trying to spread a new religion that sounds like a cross between Origin and the idea that the Goa’uld were gods.
Needless to say, the SGC wants more information, and SG-1 goes because three people traveling together is slightly less conspicuous than four, and they’ve already proven they can blend in.
They have enough information to know not to go in uniform. Instead, they wear standard gear for merchants and mercenaries-long leather coats, trousers, cotton shirts, and boots. The gate is on the outskirts of a relatively large village, and when they arrive, the sky overcast, and the temperature is cool but pleasant.
Still, as they approach the stone wall that surrounds the village, John feels the prickle of uneasiness, the kind of sixth sense that soldiers and cops develop if they live long enough. The tension grows as they walk through the wide entrance into the village proper. Even though John sees no sign of a gate, he’s certain the inhabitants of a walled town have a way to shut off the obvious escape routes.
John sees Mitchell eyeing the thick walls suspiciously, but Vala appears as carefree as always.
The key word is appears, of course. John hadn’t missed the way Vala stiffened at the mention of Origin during the briefing.
There’s a market set up in the middle of the village, and they make their way past the various stands. John keeps his hands off his weapons-he has a knife sheathed in his boot, and a zat hanging off the back of his belt. Zats are less likely to give them away as members of the Tau’ri.
As more and more men begin to shadow them, wearing hostile expressions, John moves closer to Mitchell. “Mitchell?”
“Yeah, I see them,” Mitchell replies grimly. “Vala, we’re going to create a diversion. I want you to focus on gating back to Earth and calling in the cavalry.”
Vala keeps a pleasant expression on her face, but her eyes betray her anxiety. “What about you?”
“You know how the Ori feel about you,” Mitchell replies. “I don’t want you in their hands.”
The hostiles begin to move closer, and John’s hand twitches. He longs to pull his zat and start shooting.
“Cameron…” Vala trails off, finally acceding his point. “Fine, but you’d both better be in one piece when I get back.”
“On my mark, then,” Mitchell murmurs. “Shep, you’ve got a hostile on your six. Take that one first.”
“Yes, sir.”
The hostile parties begin moving in, and Mitchell draws his zat from the holster at the small of his back and starts firing. John does the same, whirling and going down on one knee to fire.
When the hostiles converge, Vala ducks down and slips through a gap that John and Mitchell create for her. John and Mitchell put up a good fight, but there are just too many enemies, and there’s a rising chorus of “infidels” and “unbelievers” coming from the crowd.
John goes down hard, feeling a muscle in his shoulder stretch and pull. Hands grab him, tearing at his clothes, and he feels a sharp pain in his temple. The world grays out, and then goes dark.
When he wakes, John feels heavy manacles around his wrists, but he can’t see a thing. He moves, hearing the clank of the chains, and Mitchell calls out, “Shep? You awake?”
“Yeah,” John says, swallowing hard. “Is it dark in here, or is it just me?”
“They said something about unbelievers not deserving the light,” Mitchell says. “You okay?”
“My shoulder hurts,” John admits. “You?”
“Cuts and bruises, but nothing serious.”
John struggles into a sitting position, feeling for the wall so he has something to lean against.
“Hold still,” Mitchell orders, and a moment later his hand closes around John’s forearm. “This way.”
Mitchell guides John back so that they’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, their backs against the dank stone wall. “Did Vala get away?”
“Hope so,” Mitchell responds.
“What’s the story with her and the Ori?” John asks.
He feels Mitchell’s shrug. “She and Jackson got caught up in one of their nets a couple of years ago, and then Vala ended up stuck on one of their worlds. She had a rough time of it.”
“The Ori didn’t care for her?” John asks. “I thought just about everybody liked Vala.”
“Just about everybody does,” Mitchell replies. “But the Ori are prim and proper, and that description has never applied to Vala.”
John grunts his reply.
“So, what’s going on with the two of you?”
Mitchell’s question surprises John, and he stiffens. “What?”
“Come on,” Mitchell says softly. “Maybe you can fool the rest of the base, but you two are thick as thieves these days.”
John fingers the material of his trousers. “It’s against the rules.”
“Vala isn’t a soldier, John,” Mitchell says, his voice gentle. “She’s not under my command. She stays because she wants to.”
“You two weren’t-”
“She’s not my type.” John can hear the grin in Mitchell’s voice. “You should go for it. She’s good for you. She’ll certainly keep you on your toes.”
John sighs. “Yeah, there’s that. I just-I’ve done it before. I’ve been involved with someone I worked with, and it didn’t turn out so well.”
“I know.”
Mitchell’s quiet assurance causes John’s heart to stutter and skip a beat. “Excuse me?”
“I know.” Mitchell lets out a long breath. “Look, John, it was the kind of story that makes the rounds. She was a medic, she went down in enemy territory, and you went after her.”
John lets out a laugh that sounds bitter, even to him. “You make it sound so romantic.”
“It wasn’t?”
“People died, Mitchell,” John says harshly.
Mitchell nudges John’s shoulder with his own. “It happens in war.”
“And this time it was my fault.” John hears nothing but his own harsh breaths and the slow drip of water somewhere. “If you knew, why the hell would you want me on your team?”
There’s a long pause. For a moment, John thinks that Mitchell just won’t answer, but then he says, “About the time you were flying choppers in Afghanistan, I was flying missions in Iraq. We got orders to destroy a target that was supposed to be traveling in a convoy. It was a rough mission from the start, and the intel was shaky, but we found the convoy just where they said. I dropped the bomb, and then got the word to abort. It wasn’t our target at all; it was a convoy full of refugees.”
John feels sick on Mitchell’s behalf. “What did you do?”
“I took some time off, I talked to my dad, I thought about resigning my commission. They kept telling me that I was just following orders, that those things happen in war, but it doesn’t change the fact that I killed innocent people.”
John leans into Mitchell a little harder. “No, it doesn’t change that.” He clears his throat. “That still doesn’t answer my question, though.”
“Everybody who goes through the gate wants to know they can count on the rest of the team to come for them if they get left behind,” Mitchell says quietly. “Even if it’s against orders, even if the odds are against us, I need to know that the people on my team have my back.”
John swallows. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
“What was her name?” Mitchell’s gentle question has John putting his head down on his drawn-up knees.
John has never talked about her, not to anyone, but here-in the dark, with the man who knows what a fuck-up he is and doesn’t seem to mind-John can speak. “Laurie. We-we were talking about getting married once our tours were over. She wanted to go to med school. I figured I could find a job flying search and rescue, life flight, something like that.”
“You’d have been good at it.”
“Maybe.” John rubs his forehead and hears the chains rattle. “I guess we’ll never know. Cam-you have to know, if something happened to Vala, I think I’d go a little bit crazy again.”
“That’s the thing, John,” he replies. “I’d be right behind you the whole way.”
John feels something inside him relax. He can’t remember the last time he had someone to watch his back like that, someone he’d follow into hell and out the other side.
He’d go a little crazy if something happened to Mitchell, too, John realizes. But he’s pretty sure that Vala would move heaven and earth right alongside him.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” Mitchell asks, and the question comes straight out of left field.
“What?”
“Christmas,” Mitchell prompts. “I’m having Thanksgiving at my place, but if you’re not going anywhere, I figured you might want to come home with me.”
John shakes his head. “You don’t want me there.”
“Vala already said she’d come-as long as you did too,” Mitchell continues inexorably. “I’m not leaving you to spend the holidays by your lonesome on the base.”
John knows when he’s beat. “Your parents-”
“Already invited you,” Mitchell inserts smoothly. “You’re not going to win this argument, Shep.”
“Fine,” John replies, trying to inject just the right amount of reluctance into his voice. He’s secretly pleased, however, and more than a little terrified by the idea, but he figures there are even odds that some mission or emergency will come up to prevent them from going. “How many people are we talking?”
“Not that many,” Mitchell says in that tone of voice that tells John he’s lying through his teeth-or at least isn’t divulging the whole story. “My parents, my brother, his family-maybe a few others.”
“Define ‘a few,’” John presses.
Mitchell chuckles. “What? Don’t you trust me?”
“With my life,” John says readily. “But I don’t know your family.”
“Vala will take all the pressure off you,” Mitchell says. “I took her to my high school reunion with me.”
“I’ll bet that was an interesting time,” John drawls.
“You could say that.” Mitchell nudges him. “Just wait until you have a taste of my mom’s pie. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”
That sets Mitchell off on a series of stories about his family and his childhood, and John listens with a sense of wonder that families like that actually exist. There’s no artifice to Mitchell; his affection for his parents and brother is apparent in his voice.
Mitchell asks a deceptively simple question, and suddenly John finds himself talking about his first college roommate and the night they’d gotten shit-faced together.
They swap stories until John’s hoarse, having talked more in this cell than he has in years.
John realizes that Mitchell’s asleep when he slumps against John’s shoulder, snoring softly. He has no idea how much time has passed, but he figures it has to be late at night, or maybe early in the morning. John ignores his full bladder and empty stomach, as well as his raging thirst, and he tips his head back against the wall.
John wakes with a start when the door slams open, the light spilling into the room blinding him. He’s hauled to his feet by two burly guards before he can recover.
“What are you doing?” Mitchell demands.
“We’re purifying our village by holy fire.” The man who speaks is wearing long gray robes, and he has some kind of odd hat. John figures him for a priest, and he really doesn’t like the sound of “holy fire.”
Mitchell surges up off the floor. “If you’re going to take somebody, you take me! I’m the leader! I’m the one in charge!”
One of the guards hit Mitchell across the face, putting him down on the stone floor. “You’ll have your turn, infidel.”
The guards drag John out of the cell, and there’s even more light in the corridor. John’s eyes sting and water, and he blinks rapidly. They emerge from the stone structure in the middle of the square, and John gets some relief from the pre-dawn light.
They drag him to a charred post set up in the middle of the square and hook the chain between his wrists to a hook above his head. It’s tall enough that John doesn’t have much play-he’s stretched out to his full height while the villagers begin to lay bundles of wood around his feet.
“Okay, that’s enough,” John says, feeling panic begin to choke him. “Seriously, this isn’t necessary. You could just send us back home through the gate. I swear we won’t come back.”
“It’s too late for that, infidel. We know who you are-you destroy worlds and subvert the innocent. We have heard of you,” the priest intones.
“Mind telling me who told you about us?” John asks. “Because I was pretty sure we were flying under the radar.”
“We have our sources,” the priest replies smugly. “We will keep our planet pure for the return of the Ori.”
John snorts. “We got rid of the Ori. You’re screwed.”
“You won’t be alive to know. Light the fire!”
John isn’t afraid of death; he’s faced it before. The thought of burning alive, though-that’s something else altogether.
He begins to struggle in earnest when a man approaches with a torch, but all John can do is twist like a fish on a line. The torch catches the dry tinder at the edge of the pile of wood.
The sound of automatic weapons fire gives John hope, and he goes up on his tiptoes to wrap his hands around the chains. If he can hold himself up for long enough, John might be able to get out of this without third degree burns from the waist down.
Then Vala strides into the square like an avenging angel, the villagers scattering before her. Vala and the Marines she’s brought with her shoot anyone who doesn’t run.
The flames are far too close for comfort by the time the square is cleared. The priest and his guards are dead or dying, and Vala begins yelling directions. “I need water, now!”
Without waiting for assistance, Vala starts kicking at the brush, trying to clear a path to John. One of the soldiers, a big motherfucker, follows Vala, shouldering her out of the way and grabbing John around the waist. He lifts John up, and John takes the opportunity to unhook the chain.
“Colonel Dave Dixon,” he says. “Good to see you in one piece, Major Sheppard.”
“Yeah, thanks,” John replies, still not quite believing that he’s in one piece. “Mitchell’s still in the cell. I’ll show you.”
“One second,” Vala urges. “Just-” She makes fast work of the manacles on John’s wrists with the keys she apparently stole from the priest’s belt.
“Bring those with you,” John says, and then leads the way.
They don’t face much resistance getting into the building, and John manages to remember the twists and turns they’d taken to get to the cell. The door is locked, and the keys they’ve brought don’t work, so he shouts through the door, “Cam, it’s John. Move as far back as you can.”
“Go ahead,” Mitchell calls.
Dixon shapes the charge and sets it; the lock blows a few moments later. John is the first one inside, Vala right behind him. Mitchell blinks at the light. “You okay?” he asks John.
“Vala got here in the nick of time.” John knows that he’s going to crash hard later, when the adrenalin sustaining him wears off. “You good, sir?”
“Better than,” Mitchell replies as the manacles fall away under Vala’s clever fingers. “Let’s go home.”
~~~~~
After the standard infirmary check, Dr. Lam declares them “slightly the worse for wear, but otherwise fine.” She leaves unspoken the fact that they got off lightly. John’s hands still tremble a bit when he thinks about how close the flames had come.
By the time they arrive at the debriefing, Dixon has radioed in with the report that none of the villagers are too broken up about the priest and his guards being dead. Apparently, there’s a bit of an impromptu celebration going on.
Landry congratulates them on a job well done-although John isn’t sure what they’ve done that’s so great-and tells them to take the next couple of days to recover.
The three of them troop out of the conference room, and Mitchell says, “Dinner at my place tomorrow?”
Vala readily agrees, and John nods his acceptance, grateful that Mitchell has sensed his need for space. For a moment, John thinks Vala is going to follow him into his quarters, but she merely touches his shoulder.
“Thanks,” John murmurs.
She smiles. “I prefer you to be in one piece.”
“So do I.”
She leaves him then, and John feels as though he should be relieved not to have to entertain. The hot water soothes his aching muscles but does nothing to ease his mind. He’s exhausted, but he’s too tightly wound to sleep. John paces a few laps around his room, wanting to get out, wanting to move, wanting to do something.
He pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and his feet take him to Vala’s door. John doesn’t allow himself to think too hard about what he’s doing, or what he’s going to do when he gets there. He just knocks and shoves his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.
Vala opens the door wearing the boxers and t-shirt she usually sleeps in. “John.”
“Hey,” he offers in greeting. “Did I wake you up?”
“No.” She reaches out and grabs the front of John’s shirt. “Get in here.”
Relief floods him as he follows her inside, kicking the door closed behind them. Vala’s hands run over his shoulders, down his arms, and then over his chest. “Don’t toy with me,” Vala whispers.
“This isn’t a game,” John promises.
“What changed your mind?” she asks.
John pushes his hands into her hair and kisses her in lieu of a reply. He can’t explain what he felt when Vala came rushing in to his rescue, or in the cell with Mitchell, finding out that his darkest secrets were already known.
He’s never been good at talking about his feelings.
Vala doesn’t press him for answers. She breaks off the kiss long enough to pull John’s t-shirt up over his head, and lets John return the favor.
And then it’s bare skin against bare skin, and John’s hands are mapping the contours of Vala’s breasts, of her waist. He pushes her shorts down to move his hands over her ass, and Vala fumbles with the button on his jeans.
They fall onto her bed together in a tangle of limbs, sweat-slick skin reducing the friction between their bodies. John can smell the floral scent of Vala’s shampoo, and the faint tang of sweat and soap.
Vala rolls on top of him, straddling John’s waist. She sets a hard pace, and they’re both panting as she rides him. John knows that if he weren’t so tired, he’d have already come, but his weariness works to his advantage this time. Vala comes, her head thrown back and mouth open. John flips them over, thrusting a few more times before his orgasm overtakes him.
John collapses onto the bed next to her, breathless, his blood singing through his veins, feeling fully alive-the way he does after being shot at.
Vala rolls to sling an arm across John’s waist, nuzzling his shoulder. “I have to say, my high expectations weren’t disappointed.”
He grins. “Good to know. Neither were mine.”
“Are you okay?” Vala asks, her tone turning serious.
John presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Never better,” he assures her.
~~~~~
They wake briefly early the next morning for a lazy round of sex, only to fall back asleep again until noon when hunger drives them out of bed.
“Mitchell knows,” John says quietly before heading back to his own quarters for a shower and a set of clean clothes. “But we should probably keep this quiet. I don’t think I could handle it if Landry broke the team up.”
Vala caresses his cheek. “It would never happen.” Her smile is hard- edged and sharp. “I wouldn’t let it happen. I’m not done with you yet.”
Her words are an echo of Mitchell’s from their time in the cell, and John figures that Landry doesn’t stand a chance. For his part, he’s grateful that Vala’s hanging onto him just as hard as he’s hanging on to her.
“See you later?”
“We’re still going over to Cameron’s for dinner,” she replies. “Are you going to work out?”
John nods. He’s regained most of the weight and the muscle mass he lost after being shot, but he knows he doesn’t recover nearly as quickly as he used to, and he has to work to stay in shape these days. “I have to keep my girlish figure somehow.”
Vala sends him off with a peck on his lips. “Go. I’ll meet you at your quarters.”
Things have changed enough in the last few months that several people drift over to talk to John while he’s on the bench press. Major Lorne offers to spot him, and John takes him up on it. They talk football and crazy missions, and at one point Lorne says, “You know, they say you’re finally a member of the SGC when you’ve been kidnapped, thrown in jail, or forced to participate in a freaky alien ritual.”
John chuckles. “So, you heard, huh?”
“Are you kidding?” Lorne asks. “Vala came through the gate threatening anybody who so much as suggested that they take some time to get the lay of the land. She’d have led the rescue single-handedly if Landry hadn’t sent SG- 13.” Lorne offers a sly grin. “I was sorry to miss the party.”
John laughs. “It was some party.”
By the time John leaves the base gym, he’s feeling pretty relaxed. He’s in the shower when it hits him how comfortable he is here, how foreign his old life feels to him now. When he thinks about Detective John Sheppard, it’s almost like he’s a different person.
John pushes the thought aside. He’s made a habit of living in the present, not thinking about the past, and not looking to the future. John doesn’t see a reason to change that now.
He’s sprawled on his bed reading a battered copy of War and Peace when Vala turns up. Mitchell picks them up, and they swing by a local place to pick up a few pizzas. It’s a hole in the wall, but Mitchell insists it’s the best pizza in Colorado Springs.
Over the past few months, Mitchell’s apartment has become a home away from home for John, and he feels just as comfortable here as in his base quarters. They fill their plates, grab their beers, and settle in for the night. Mitchell takes the recliner without prompting, and Vala cuddles up next to John on the couch.
Mitchell smirks, shoots John a conspiratorial look, and puts the food on the coffee table, within easy reach for everyone.
Mitchell puts on the first Back to the Future film, because Vala hasn’t seen it yet, and Mitchell owns the trilogy. Vala stays awake for the first movie, but she falls asleep halfway through the second. When John glances over at Mitchell, he’s asleep, too, and John feels a wave of protectiveness sweep over him.
These people are fierce and fearless and his, and he’d do anything to keep them safe.
Anything.
John drops off to sleep somewhere between the dance and the final credits, waking when Mitchell nudges his shoulder.
“Vala’s in the guest room,” Mitchell says softly from his kneeling position next to John. “You can crash on the couch or join her, your choice.”
“I’ll join her, if that’s okay,” John replies.
“Great. I’ll make breakfast tomorrow.” Mitchell hesitates and then says, “You know, if you don’t want to move in here, there’s an empty apartment one floor up. If you’re interested.”
“I’m interested,” John says before he can think better of it.
Mitchell grins. “We can stop in at the office tomorrow. They should be open.”
He rises, and John follows, feeling as though he ought to say something. “Hey, Cam. Thanks.”
John’s hope that Mitchell won’t press for more answers is realized when Mitchell just shrugs and clasps John’s shoulder. “What are friends for?”
John slips inside Mitchell’s spare room, and can see Vala curled up on one side of the bed in the faint light from the hallway. He studies her-dark hair spread out, pale skin almost glowing, dark lashes shadowing her cheek, and he knows that when he joins her she’ll turn to him the way she did last night.
For a moment, the knowledge of what he has now presses in on him, and it’s strange and surreal, but John’s getting better at accepting his life now.
“This is real,” he whispers, and Vala’s eyes open.
She stretches out a hand to him. “Come to bed, John.”
And he slides in next to her, pressing a kiss to her lips, and he thinks that this isn’t a bad afterlife, as such things go.
Part IV
John would have been content for things to stay the same-the occasional weekend spent at Mitchell’s apartment, the occasional night watching movies with Vala, and missions that mostly went according to plan.
After two weeks go by with neither team member pushing John to make a decision about either issue, he almost believes he’s going to get away with it.
And then comes P3Y-421.
Landry has started using SG-1 on specialized missions. They don’t have a scientist, so they don’t go on a lot of exploratory missions unless they’re being paired with another team. SG-3 has two scientists-a botanist and a linguist-so they’re the ones that usually get sent to planets where there might be something of value.
John has been picking up any information he can about the inner workings of a DHD, just in case they ever get stranded, and he thinks that between him and Vala, they could probably take care of any problem that’s readily fixable.
And that means that SG-1 is uniquely capable of doing reconnaissance and quick strikes. Vala’s skills as a con artist, John’s covert ops background, and Mitchell’s experience with the Sodan warriors-it all adds up to a team that can get in, get information, and get out.
They have the mission briefing on P3Y-421 the morning before they’re scheduled to gate out. The planet keeps cropping up in reports from other worlds, referencing missionaries who are trying to spread a new religion that sounds like a cross between Origin and the idea that the Goa’uld were gods.
Needless to say, the SGC wants more information, and SG-1 goes because three people traveling together is slightly less conspicuous than four, and they’ve already proven they can blend in.
They have enough information to know not to go in uniform. Instead, they wear standard gear for merchants and mercenaries-long leather coats, trousers, cotton shirts, and boots. The gate is on the outskirts of a relatively large village, and when they arrive, the sky overcast, and the temperature is cool but pleasant.
Still, as they approach the stone wall that surrounds the village, John feels the prickle of uneasiness, the kind of sixth sense that soldiers and cops develop if they live long enough. The tension grows as they walk through the wide entrance into the village proper. Even though John sees no sign of a gate, he’s certain the inhabitants of a walled town have a way to shut off the obvious escape routes.
John sees Mitchell eyeing the thick walls suspiciously, but Vala appears as carefree as always.
The key word is appears, of course. John hadn’t missed the way Vala stiffened at the mention of Origin during the briefing.
There’s a market set up in the middle of the village, and they make their way past the various stands. John keeps his hands off his weapons-he has a knife sheathed in his boot, and a zat hanging off the back of his belt. Zats are less likely to give them away as members of the Tau’ri.
As more and more men begin to shadow them, wearing hostile expressions, John moves closer to Mitchell. “Mitchell?”
“Yeah, I see them,” Mitchell replies grimly. “Vala, we’re going to create a diversion. I want you to focus on gating back to Earth and calling in the cavalry.”
Vala keeps a pleasant expression on her face, but her eyes betray her anxiety. “What about you?”
“You know how the Ori feel about you,” Mitchell replies. “I don’t want you in their hands.”
The hostiles begin to move closer, and John’s hand twitches. He longs to pull his zat and start shooting.
“Cameron…” Vala trails off, finally acceding his point. “Fine, but you’d both better be in one piece when I get back.”
“On my mark, then,” Mitchell murmurs. “Shep, you’ve got a hostile on your six. Take that one first.”
“Yes, sir.”
The hostile parties begin moving in, and Mitchell draws his zat from the holster at the small of his back and starts firing. John does the same, whirling and going down on one knee to fire.
When the hostiles converge, Vala ducks down and slips through a gap that John and Mitchell create for her. John and Mitchell put up a good fight, but there are just too many enemies, and there’s a rising chorus of “infidels” and “unbelievers” coming from the crowd.
John goes down hard, feeling a muscle in his shoulder stretch and pull. Hands grab him, tearing at his clothes, and he feels a sharp pain in his temple. The world grays out, and then goes dark.
When he wakes, John feels heavy manacles around his wrists, but he can’t see a thing. He moves, hearing the clank of the chains, and Mitchell calls out, “Shep? You awake?”
“Yeah,” John says, swallowing hard. “Is it dark in here, or is it just me?”
“They said something about unbelievers not deserving the light,” Mitchell says. “You okay?”
“My shoulder hurts,” John admits. “You?”
“Cuts and bruises, but nothing serious.”
John struggles into a sitting position, feeling for the wall so he has something to lean against.
“Hold still,” Mitchell orders, and a moment later his hand closes around John’s forearm. “This way.”
Mitchell guides John back so that they’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, their backs against the dank stone wall. “Did Vala get away?”
“Hope so,” Mitchell responds.
“What’s the story with her and the Ori?” John asks.
He feels Mitchell’s shrug. “She and Jackson got caught up in one of their nets a couple of years ago, and then Vala ended up stuck on one of their worlds. She had a rough time of it.”
“The Ori didn’t care for her?” John asks. “I thought just about everybody liked Vala.”
“Just about everybody does,” Mitchell replies. “But the Ori are prim and proper, and that description has never applied to Vala.”
John grunts his reply.
“So, what’s going on with the two of you?”
Mitchell’s question surprises John, and he stiffens. “What?”
“Come on,” Mitchell says softly. “Maybe you can fool the rest of the base, but you two are thick as thieves these days.”
John fingers the material of his trousers. “It’s against the rules.”
“Vala isn’t a soldier, John,” Mitchell says, his voice gentle. “She’s not under my command. She stays because she wants to.”
“You two weren’t-”
“She’s not my type.” John can hear the grin in Mitchell’s voice. “You should go for it. She’s good for you. She’ll certainly keep you on your toes.”
John sighs. “Yeah, there’s that. I just-I’ve done it before. I’ve been involved with someone I worked with, and it didn’t turn out so well.”
“I know.”
Mitchell’s quiet assurance causes John’s heart to stutter and skip a beat. “Excuse me?”
“I know.” Mitchell lets out a long breath. “Look, John, it was the kind of story that makes the rounds. She was a medic, she went down in enemy territory, and you went after her.”
John lets out a laugh that sounds bitter, even to him. “You make it sound so romantic.”
“It wasn’t?”
“People died, Mitchell,” John says harshly.
Mitchell nudges John’s shoulder with his own. “It happens in war.”
“And this time it was my fault.” John hears nothing but his own harsh breaths and the slow drip of water somewhere. “If you knew, why the hell would you want me on your team?”
There’s a long pause. For a moment, John thinks that Mitchell just won’t answer, but then he says, “About the time you were flying choppers in Afghanistan, I was flying missions in Iraq. We got orders to destroy a target that was supposed to be traveling in a convoy. It was a rough mission from the start, and the intel was shaky, but we found the convoy just where they said. I dropped the bomb, and then got the word to abort. It wasn’t our target at all; it was a convoy full of refugees.”
John feels sick on Mitchell’s behalf. “What did you do?”
“I took some time off, I talked to my dad, I thought about resigning my commission. They kept telling me that I was just following orders, that those things happen in war, but it doesn’t change the fact that I killed innocent people.”
John leans into Mitchell a little harder. “No, it doesn’t change that.” He clears his throat. “That still doesn’t answer my question, though.”
“Everybody who goes through the gate wants to know they can count on the rest of the team to come for them if they get left behind,” Mitchell says quietly. “Even if it’s against orders, even if the odds are against us, I need to know that the people on my team have my back.”
John swallows. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
“What was her name?” Mitchell’s gentle question has John putting his head down on his drawn-up knees.
John has never talked about her, not to anyone, but here-in the dark, with the man who knows what a fuck-up he is and doesn’t seem to mind-John can speak. “Laurie. We-we were talking about getting married once our tours were over. She wanted to go to med school. I figured I could find a job flying search and rescue, life flight, something like that.”
“You’d have been good at it.”
“Maybe.” John rubs his forehead and hears the chains rattle. “I guess we’ll never know. Cam-you have to know, if something happened to Vala, I think I’d go a little bit crazy again.”
“That’s the thing, John,” he replies. “I’d be right behind you the whole way.”
John feels something inside him relax. He can’t remember the last time he had someone to watch his back like that, someone he’d follow into hell and out the other side.
He’d go a little crazy if something happened to Mitchell, too, John realizes. But he’s pretty sure that Vala would move heaven and earth right alongside him.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” Mitchell asks, and the question comes straight out of left field.
“What?”
“Christmas,” Mitchell prompts. “I’m having Thanksgiving at my place, but if you’re not going anywhere, I figured you might want to come home with me.”
John shakes his head. “You don’t want me there.”
“Vala already said she’d come-as long as you did too,” Mitchell continues inexorably. “I’m not leaving you to spend the holidays by your lonesome on the base.”
John knows when he’s beat. “Your parents-”
“Already invited you,” Mitchell inserts smoothly. “You’re not going to win this argument, Shep.”
“Fine,” John replies, trying to inject just the right amount of reluctance into his voice. He’s secretly pleased, however, and more than a little terrified by the idea, but he figures there are even odds that some mission or emergency will come up to prevent them from going. “How many people are we talking?”
“Not that many,” Mitchell says in that tone of voice that tells John he’s lying through his teeth-or at least isn’t divulging the whole story. “My parents, my brother, his family-maybe a few others.”
“Define ‘a few,’” John presses.
Mitchell chuckles. “What? Don’t you trust me?”
“With my life,” John says readily. “But I don’t know your family.”
“Vala will take all the pressure off you,” Mitchell says. “I took her to my high school reunion with me.”
“I’ll bet that was an interesting time,” John drawls.
“You could say that.” Mitchell nudges him. “Just wait until you have a taste of my mom’s pie. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”
That sets Mitchell off on a series of stories about his family and his childhood, and John listens with a sense of wonder that families like that actually exist. There’s no artifice to Mitchell; his affection for his parents and brother is apparent in his voice.
Mitchell asks a deceptively simple question, and suddenly John finds himself talking about his first college roommate and the night they’d gotten shit-faced together.
They swap stories until John’s hoarse, having talked more in this cell than he has in years.
John realizes that Mitchell’s asleep when he slumps against John’s shoulder, snoring softly. He has no idea how much time has passed, but he figures it has to be late at night, or maybe early in the morning. John ignores his full bladder and empty stomach, as well as his raging thirst, and he tips his head back against the wall.
John wakes with a start when the door slams open, the light spilling into the room blinding him. He’s hauled to his feet by two burly guards before he can recover.
“What are you doing?” Mitchell demands.
“We’re purifying our village by holy fire.” The man who speaks is wearing long gray robes, and he has some kind of odd hat. John figures him for a priest, and he really doesn’t like the sound of “holy fire.”
Mitchell surges up off the floor. “If you’re going to take somebody, you take me! I’m the leader! I’m the one in charge!”
One of the guards hit Mitchell across the face, putting him down on the stone floor. “You’ll have your turn, infidel.”
The guards drag John out of the cell, and there’s even more light in the corridor. John’s eyes sting and water, and he blinks rapidly. They emerge from the stone structure in the middle of the square, and John gets some relief from the pre-dawn light.
They drag him to a charred post set up in the middle of the square and hook the chain between his wrists to a hook above his head. It’s tall enough that John doesn’t have much play-he’s stretched out to his full height while the villagers begin to lay bundles of wood around his feet.
“Okay, that’s enough,” John says, feeling panic begin to choke him. “Seriously, this isn’t necessary. You could just send us back home through the gate. I swear we won’t come back.”
“It’s too late for that, infidel. We know who you are-you destroy worlds and subvert the innocent. We have heard of you,” the priest intones.
“Mind telling me who told you about us?” John asks. “Because I was pretty sure we were flying under the radar.”
“We have our sources,” the priest replies smugly. “We will keep our planet pure for the return of the Ori.”
John snorts. “We got rid of the Ori. You’re screwed.”
“You won’t be alive to know. Light the fire!”
John isn’t afraid of death; he’s faced it before. The thought of burning alive, though-that’s something else altogether.
He begins to struggle in earnest when a man approaches with a torch, but all John can do is twist like a fish on a line. The torch catches the dry tinder at the edge of the pile of wood.
The sound of automatic weapons fire gives John hope, and he goes up on his tiptoes to wrap his hands around the chains. If he can hold himself up for long enough, John might be able to get out of this without third degree burns from the waist down.
Then Vala strides into the square like an avenging angel, the villagers scattering before her. Vala and the Marines she’s brought with her shoot anyone who doesn’t run.
The flames are far too close for comfort by the time the square is cleared. The priest and his guards are dead or dying, and Vala begins yelling directions. “I need water, now!”
Without waiting for assistance, Vala starts kicking at the brush, trying to clear a path to John. One of the soldiers, a big motherfucker, follows Vala, shouldering her out of the way and grabbing John around the waist. He lifts John up, and John takes the opportunity to unhook the chain.
“Colonel Dave Dixon,” he says. “Good to see you in one piece, Major Sheppard.”
“Yeah, thanks,” John replies, still not quite believing that he’s in one piece. “Mitchell’s still in the cell. I’ll show you.”
“One second,” Vala urges. “Just-” She makes fast work of the manacles on John’s wrists with the keys she apparently stole from the priest’s belt.
“Bring those with you,” John says, and then leads the way.
They don’t face much resistance getting into the building, and John manages to remember the twists and turns they’d taken to get to the cell. The door is locked, and the keys they’ve brought don’t work, so he shouts through the door, “Cam, it’s John. Move as far back as you can.”
“Go ahead,” Mitchell calls.
Dixon shapes the charge and sets it; the lock blows a few moments later. John is the first one inside, Vala right behind him. Mitchell blinks at the light. “You okay?” he asks John.
“Vala got here in the nick of time.” John knows that he’s going to crash hard later, when the adrenalin sustaining him wears off. “You good, sir?”
“Better than,” Mitchell replies as the manacles fall away under Vala’s clever fingers. “Let’s go home.”
~~~~~
After the standard infirmary check, Dr. Lam declares them “slightly the worse for wear, but otherwise fine.” She leaves unspoken the fact that they got off lightly. John’s hands still tremble a bit when he thinks about how close the flames had come.
By the time they arrive at the debriefing, Dixon has radioed in with the report that none of the villagers are too broken up about the priest and his guards being dead. Apparently, there’s a bit of an impromptu celebration going on.
Landry congratulates them on a job well done-although John isn’t sure what they’ve done that’s so great-and tells them to take the next couple of days to recover.
The three of them troop out of the conference room, and Mitchell says, “Dinner at my place tomorrow?”
Vala readily agrees, and John nods his acceptance, grateful that Mitchell has sensed his need for space. For a moment, John thinks Vala is going to follow him into his quarters, but she merely touches his shoulder.
“Thanks,” John murmurs.
She smiles. “I prefer you to be in one piece.”
“So do I.”
She leaves him then, and John feels as though he should be relieved not to have to entertain. The hot water soothes his aching muscles but does nothing to ease his mind. He’s exhausted, but he’s too tightly wound to sleep. John paces a few laps around his room, wanting to get out, wanting to move, wanting to do something.
He pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and his feet take him to Vala’s door. John doesn’t allow himself to think too hard about what he’s doing, or what he’s going to do when he gets there. He just knocks and shoves his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.
Vala opens the door wearing the boxers and t-shirt she usually sleeps in. “John.”
“Hey,” he offers in greeting. “Did I wake you up?”
“No.” She reaches out and grabs the front of John’s shirt. “Get in here.”
Relief floods him as he follows her inside, kicking the door closed behind them. Vala’s hands run over his shoulders, down his arms, and then over his chest. “Don’t toy with me,” Vala whispers.
“This isn’t a game,” John promises.
“What changed your mind?” she asks.
John pushes his hands into her hair and kisses her in lieu of a reply. He can’t explain what he felt when Vala came rushing in to his rescue, or in the cell with Mitchell, finding out that his darkest secrets were already known.
He’s never been good at talking about his feelings.
Vala doesn’t press him for answers. She breaks off the kiss long enough to pull John’s t-shirt up over his head, and lets John return the favor.
And then it’s bare skin against bare skin, and John’s hands are mapping the contours of Vala’s breasts, of her waist. He pushes her shorts down to move his hands over her ass, and Vala fumbles with the button on his jeans.
They fall onto her bed together in a tangle of limbs, sweat-slick skin reducing the friction between their bodies. John can smell the floral scent of Vala’s shampoo, and the faint tang of sweat and soap.
Vala rolls on top of him, straddling John’s waist. She sets a hard pace, and they’re both panting as she rides him. John knows that if he weren’t so tired, he’d have already come, but his weariness works to his advantage this time. Vala comes, her head thrown back and mouth open. John flips them over, thrusting a few more times before his orgasm overtakes him.
John collapses onto the bed next to her, breathless, his blood singing through his veins, feeling fully alive-the way he does after being shot at.
Vala rolls to sling an arm across John’s waist, nuzzling his shoulder. “I have to say, my high expectations weren’t disappointed.”
He grins. “Good to know. Neither were mine.”
“Are you okay?” Vala asks, her tone turning serious.
John presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Never better,” he assures her.
~~~~~
They wake briefly early the next morning for a lazy round of sex, only to fall back asleep again until noon when hunger drives them out of bed.
“Mitchell knows,” John says quietly before heading back to his own quarters for a shower and a set of clean clothes. “But we should probably keep this quiet. I don’t think I could handle it if Landry broke the team up.”
Vala caresses his cheek. “It would never happen.” Her smile is hard- edged and sharp. “I wouldn’t let it happen. I’m not done with you yet.”
Her words are an echo of Mitchell’s from their time in the cell, and John figures that Landry doesn’t stand a chance. For his part, he’s grateful that Vala’s hanging onto him just as hard as he’s hanging on to her.
“See you later?”
“We’re still going over to Cameron’s for dinner,” she replies. “Are you going to work out?”
John nods. He’s regained most of the weight and the muscle mass he lost after being shot, but he knows he doesn’t recover nearly as quickly as he used to, and he has to work to stay in shape these days. “I have to keep my girlish figure somehow.”
Vala sends him off with a peck on his lips. “Go. I’ll meet you at your quarters.”
Things have changed enough in the last few months that several people drift over to talk to John while he’s on the bench press. Major Lorne offers to spot him, and John takes him up on it. They talk football and crazy missions, and at one point Lorne says, “You know, they say you’re finally a member of the SGC when you’ve been kidnapped, thrown in jail, or forced to participate in a freaky alien ritual.”
John chuckles. “So, you heard, huh?”
“Are you kidding?” Lorne asks. “Vala came through the gate threatening anybody who so much as suggested that they take some time to get the lay of the land. She’d have led the rescue single-handedly if Landry hadn’t sent SG- 13.” Lorne offers a sly grin. “I was sorry to miss the party.”
John laughs. “It was some party.”
By the time John leaves the base gym, he’s feeling pretty relaxed. He’s in the shower when it hits him how comfortable he is here, how foreign his old life feels to him now. When he thinks about Detective John Sheppard, it’s almost like he’s a different person.
John pushes the thought aside. He’s made a habit of living in the present, not thinking about the past, and not looking to the future. John doesn’t see a reason to change that now.
He’s sprawled on his bed reading a battered copy of War and Peace when Vala turns up. Mitchell picks them up, and they swing by a local place to pick up a few pizzas. It’s a hole in the wall, but Mitchell insists it’s the best pizza in Colorado Springs.
Over the past few months, Mitchell’s apartment has become a home away from home for John, and he feels just as comfortable here as in his base quarters. They fill their plates, grab their beers, and settle in for the night. Mitchell takes the recliner without prompting, and Vala cuddles up next to John on the couch.
Mitchell smirks, shoots John a conspiratorial look, and puts the food on the coffee table, within easy reach for everyone.
Mitchell puts on the first Back to the Future film, because Vala hasn’t seen it yet, and Mitchell owns the trilogy. Vala stays awake for the first movie, but she falls asleep halfway through the second. When John glances over at Mitchell, he’s asleep, too, and John feels a wave of protectiveness sweep over him.
These people are fierce and fearless and his, and he’d do anything to keep them safe.
Anything.
John drops off to sleep somewhere between the dance and the final credits, waking when Mitchell nudges his shoulder.
“Vala’s in the guest room,” Mitchell says softly from his kneeling position next to John. “You can crash on the couch or join her, your choice.”
“I’ll join her, if that’s okay,” John replies.
“Great. I’ll make breakfast tomorrow.” Mitchell hesitates and then says, “You know, if you don’t want to move in here, there’s an empty apartment one floor up. If you’re interested.”
“I’m interested,” John says before he can think better of it.
Mitchell grins. “We can stop in at the office tomorrow. They should be open.”
He rises, and John follows, feeling as though he ought to say something. “Hey, Cam. Thanks.”
John’s hope that Mitchell won’t press for more answers is realized when Mitchell just shrugs and clasps John’s shoulder. “What are friends for?”
John slips inside Mitchell’s spare room, and can see Vala curled up on one side of the bed in the faint light from the hallway. He studies her-dark hair spread out, pale skin almost glowing, dark lashes shadowing her cheek, and he knows that when he joins her she’ll turn to him the way she did last night.
For a moment, the knowledge of what he has now presses in on him, and it’s strange and surreal, but John’s getting better at accepting his life now.
“This is real,” he whispers, and Vala’s eyes open.
She stretches out a hand to him. “Come to bed, John.”
And he slides in next to her, pressing a kiss to her lips, and he thinks that this isn’t a bad afterlife, as such things go.