Vegas tag - Way It Should Have Been
Title: The Way It Should Have Been
Author: Padawan_aneiki
Rating/Pairing: PG/None
Characters: Dr. McKay and Det. Sheppard
Summary: The rest of the story...
The Way It Should Have Been
I believe you have the same...strength of character...
“’Strength...a’...chara’...tha’s...r...rich,” John slurred; he was only vaguely aware that he’d said it out loud. He told himself it was something like that when he’d disobeyed orders in Afghanistan. That McKay person had been right about the details, of course. Dishonorable discharge and all that. John hadn’t had the ‘strength of character’ right then to tell the smarmy man about the nightmares.
McKay’d been right about the gambling, too, of course. It wasn’t so much of an addiction, per se, as his private purgatory. The occasional black eye, bruised kidney or whatever wasn’t nearly enough punishment for the inner demons, it seemed, so he dared the cards to let him down again.
Or something. He’d stopped trying to figure that out a long time ago. John looked up at the stars overhead and blinked sluggishly. Out here, night falling, the sky was stark and clear and the stars a million points of silver blinking back at him.
Truth blinked back at him. There were bad guys up there, too. John laughed as a line from Independence Day came back to him...just anxious to get up there and whoop E.T.’s ass. At least, he tried to laugh; what came out sounded weak, and wet...and tired.
The pain wasn’t so bad now, and he knew that wasn’t a good thing, but on some level he’d ceased to care. And not just the everyday self-loathing not-caring, either. That...Wraith thing had said something about destiny. Maybe this was it. And, John was surprised to find, he was okay with that. He had a trunk-full of ‘woulda, shoulda, coulda’ stashed away and now he’d finally done...what? What had he done? Rescued the planet, he guessed, but that seemed too big a thing to him.
He wasn’t that other John Sheppard that McKay guy had talked about. He wasn’t a leader, he wasn’t a hero. He was bleeding out in the middle of the damn desert, for pete’s sake because he couldn’t let it go, couldn’t...
The stars above grew a little hazy; John blinked and he could’ve sworn that simple act had taken minutes to perform. The haze remained, and his harsh, wet breathing was the only sound beyond the crackle of still smoldering wreckage.
The Camaro was toast. John turned his head lazily, looked at his lone possession besides the Cash poster and a faint, ironic smile twisted his lips at the sight of it, shot to hell. Kinda like him right now. It was all that was left of John Sheppard, shot to hell. Another faint chuff that ended in a weak cough was as close as he got to laughing at it all.
I met another version of you, once...
John wondered vaguely as his eyes slipped closed how many versions could there be...and if any of them were still alive to tell their tales...if any of them liked Johnny Cash, and if any of them would have done what he’d done today.
++++++
I coulda swore I was gonna wake up dead today.
John groaned as the effort of finding wakefulness a tough go; his eyelids refused to open, and if this was hell, he was oddly numb for a place of never-ending torment.
“It’s a hospital, that torment thing goes with the territory,” a voice said from somewhere nearby and John realized then that some-or perhaps all-of his thought process had leaked out of his mouth. “And the ‘comfortably numb’ is likely a nice cocktail of drugs. Enjoy it while you can.”
He wasn’t sure how he managed to do it, but John dragged his eyes open, and found a blurry form standing nearby. “How...long?” he meant to ask how long had McKay been standing there, but getting the words and the meaning to work together seemed a little too complicated a task at the moment.
“Since you were brought here, or since the last time you woke up?” McKay replied and reached up to unknot the tie around his throat. “Well it’s been three days since I’ve had a clean shirt or a decent cup of coffee, if you can’t tell, and I’d say it’s been about six hours since you woke up before.”
“Why?” John croaked out, and the word seemed to stick in his throat; it made him cough and the numbness disappeared in a cascade of fire that swept through his chest, forcing him to fight for breath.
“Breathe!” McKay commanded, just a slight hint of anxiety creeping into his tone. “We didn’t go through all the trouble of patching you up just to have you die on us.” A straw appeared at his lips and John weakly sipped a little at the water it provided. “Better?”
“Y...yeah,” John murmured as the fire died down to burning embers someplace deep in his gut. Twice, he realized sluggishly. Bastard...Alien bastard shot me twice. “Thanks.”
“I suppose I should thank you,” McKay said in a somewhat pinched, condescending manner. “We never would have located the Wraith in time to prevent that signal.” The tie got tossed into a nearby chair, one that already contained a rumpled suit jacket. “You slowed him down long enough for us to take...the appropriate action.”
“Huh,” John grunted slightly. “There...some kinda...medal or somethin’...go with that whole...savin’ the world thing?”
Something akin to a snort left the other man, and McKay settled down into the chair, heedless of the jacket. “You asked me what I wanted you to say, and I told you nothing. That hasn’t changed, you know.” The chin jutted out, almost as if daring him to contradict, and John just didn’t have the energy for that.
“Still...still believe that, huh? That...strength of chara...cter crap?” It didn’t come off as sarcastic as it might normally have, nor as jaded; his voice was still too weak for that. But it was more than that...both men knew it, even as they looked each other in the eyes. John wanted the truth; he’d seen it in the stars in the middle of the desert. Now he wanted to see if it had meant anything.
“Yeah,” McKay said without hesitation. “Yeah, I do.”
John closed his eyes then, weariness stealing over him. Maybe something better waited in those stars, high above the sands. But at least he had his answer. “So...this is your day job, huh?”
“Well...like I said...usually I’m not even on the planet,” the other man answered, and then he seemed to warm to the idea of having a captive audience. “Usually I’m in another galaxy, you know, off saving the universe, and all that.”
“Oh...so this...just an easy day...for you...jus’ savin’...the planet...” John waved his hand slightly. “No...no big deal.” There was silence for a moment. “An...any chance I get...to see what that’s like?”
“I...I don’t know,” McKay seemed to falter an instant. “I’m sure you understand things like matters of confidentiality, et cetera, et cetera.”
“But...?” Sheppard was gaining the edge of his endurance; he could feel the heavy pull on his eyelids, the desire to go back to the comfortable numbness, yet he knew there was something McKay had not told him.
“But...there’s also a...test,” McKay seemed to grope for the words he wanted, and it was the first time John had seen him do so. If he wasn’t so tired, he might’ve pressed the man harder, but as it was all he could do was repeat the guy.
“Test?”
“Yes...ah...you see something came up in your bloodwork, and I...” Words failed McKay and the next thing John knew, a small, odd-looking device was being pressed into his hand. “Figures,” McKay huffed to himself.
John shifted his head just enough to look down at his hand. The little item had begun to glow, a brilliant emerald green. “What...is this?” he managed, and McKay looked almost defeated.
“We think it’s a personal shield device. We found it back in Pegasus, and it works like the chair...takes that gene I was telling you about to operate. Apparently, you have it. Still want a look at that day job?”
“Coulda...used this coupla days ago,” John grumbled. Still he couldn’t take his eyes off it, slightly curious. “Can I bring my Johnny Cash collection?”
“What?” McKay sputtered and shook his head. “Apparently that strong character hasn’t got a thing to do with good taste.”
“I suppose you like Celine Dion...” John whispered, and his eyes drifted closed. “She’s...overrated...y’know.”
If McKay said anything else, John was unaware of it. One good deed had apparently earned him at least the right to sleep in peace.
He was unaware of the half-grin that showed up on McKay’s face as the man folded his arms across his chest and settled in to wait. Maybe it was the way it should’ve been.
And perhaps, would be again.
Author: Padawan_aneiki
Rating/Pairing: PG/None
Characters: Dr. McKay and Det. Sheppard
Summary: The rest of the story...
The Way It Should Have Been
I believe you have the same...strength of character...
“’Strength...a’...chara’...tha’s...r...rich,” John slurred; he was only vaguely aware that he’d said it out loud. He told himself it was something like that when he’d disobeyed orders in Afghanistan. That McKay person had been right about the details, of course. Dishonorable discharge and all that. John hadn’t had the ‘strength of character’ right then to tell the smarmy man about the nightmares.
McKay’d been right about the gambling, too, of course. It wasn’t so much of an addiction, per se, as his private purgatory. The occasional black eye, bruised kidney or whatever wasn’t nearly enough punishment for the inner demons, it seemed, so he dared the cards to let him down again.
Or something. He’d stopped trying to figure that out a long time ago. John looked up at the stars overhead and blinked sluggishly. Out here, night falling, the sky was stark and clear and the stars a million points of silver blinking back at him.
Truth blinked back at him. There were bad guys up there, too. John laughed as a line from Independence Day came back to him...just anxious to get up there and whoop E.T.’s ass. At least, he tried to laugh; what came out sounded weak, and wet...and tired.
The pain wasn’t so bad now, and he knew that wasn’t a good thing, but on some level he’d ceased to care. And not just the everyday self-loathing not-caring, either. That...Wraith thing had said something about destiny. Maybe this was it. And, John was surprised to find, he was okay with that. He had a trunk-full of ‘woulda, shoulda, coulda’ stashed away and now he’d finally done...what? What had he done? Rescued the planet, he guessed, but that seemed too big a thing to him.
He wasn’t that other John Sheppard that McKay guy had talked about. He wasn’t a leader, he wasn’t a hero. He was bleeding out in the middle of the damn desert, for pete’s sake because he couldn’t let it go, couldn’t...
The stars above grew a little hazy; John blinked and he could’ve sworn that simple act had taken minutes to perform. The haze remained, and his harsh, wet breathing was the only sound beyond the crackle of still smoldering wreckage.
The Camaro was toast. John turned his head lazily, looked at his lone possession besides the Cash poster and a faint, ironic smile twisted his lips at the sight of it, shot to hell. Kinda like him right now. It was all that was left of John Sheppard, shot to hell. Another faint chuff that ended in a weak cough was as close as he got to laughing at it all.
I met another version of you, once...
John wondered vaguely as his eyes slipped closed how many versions could there be...and if any of them were still alive to tell their tales...if any of them liked Johnny Cash, and if any of them would have done what he’d done today.
++++++
I coulda swore I was gonna wake up dead today.
John groaned as the effort of finding wakefulness a tough go; his eyelids refused to open, and if this was hell, he was oddly numb for a place of never-ending torment.
“It’s a hospital, that torment thing goes with the territory,” a voice said from somewhere nearby and John realized then that some-or perhaps all-of his thought process had leaked out of his mouth. “And the ‘comfortably numb’ is likely a nice cocktail of drugs. Enjoy it while you can.”
He wasn’t sure how he managed to do it, but John dragged his eyes open, and found a blurry form standing nearby. “How...long?” he meant to ask how long had McKay been standing there, but getting the words and the meaning to work together seemed a little too complicated a task at the moment.
“Since you were brought here, or since the last time you woke up?” McKay replied and reached up to unknot the tie around his throat. “Well it’s been three days since I’ve had a clean shirt or a decent cup of coffee, if you can’t tell, and I’d say it’s been about six hours since you woke up before.”
“Why?” John croaked out, and the word seemed to stick in his throat; it made him cough and the numbness disappeared in a cascade of fire that swept through his chest, forcing him to fight for breath.
“Breathe!” McKay commanded, just a slight hint of anxiety creeping into his tone. “We didn’t go through all the trouble of patching you up just to have you die on us.” A straw appeared at his lips and John weakly sipped a little at the water it provided. “Better?”
“Y...yeah,” John murmured as the fire died down to burning embers someplace deep in his gut. Twice, he realized sluggishly. Bastard...Alien bastard shot me twice. “Thanks.”
“I suppose I should thank you,” McKay said in a somewhat pinched, condescending manner. “We never would have located the Wraith in time to prevent that signal.” The tie got tossed into a nearby chair, one that already contained a rumpled suit jacket. “You slowed him down long enough for us to take...the appropriate action.”
“Huh,” John grunted slightly. “There...some kinda...medal or somethin’...go with that whole...savin’ the world thing?”
Something akin to a snort left the other man, and McKay settled down into the chair, heedless of the jacket. “You asked me what I wanted you to say, and I told you nothing. That hasn’t changed, you know.” The chin jutted out, almost as if daring him to contradict, and John just didn’t have the energy for that.
“Still...still believe that, huh? That...strength of chara...cter crap?” It didn’t come off as sarcastic as it might normally have, nor as jaded; his voice was still too weak for that. But it was more than that...both men knew it, even as they looked each other in the eyes. John wanted the truth; he’d seen it in the stars in the middle of the desert. Now he wanted to see if it had meant anything.
“Yeah,” McKay said without hesitation. “Yeah, I do.”
John closed his eyes then, weariness stealing over him. Maybe something better waited in those stars, high above the sands. But at least he had his answer. “So...this is your day job, huh?”
“Well...like I said...usually I’m not even on the planet,” the other man answered, and then he seemed to warm to the idea of having a captive audience. “Usually I’m in another galaxy, you know, off saving the universe, and all that.”
“Oh...so this...just an easy day...for you...jus’ savin’...the planet...” John waved his hand slightly. “No...no big deal.” There was silence for a moment. “An...any chance I get...to see what that’s like?”
“I...I don’t know,” McKay seemed to falter an instant. “I’m sure you understand things like matters of confidentiality, et cetera, et cetera.”
“But...?” Sheppard was gaining the edge of his endurance; he could feel the heavy pull on his eyelids, the desire to go back to the comfortable numbness, yet he knew there was something McKay had not told him.
“But...there’s also a...test,” McKay seemed to grope for the words he wanted, and it was the first time John had seen him do so. If he wasn’t so tired, he might’ve pressed the man harder, but as it was all he could do was repeat the guy.
“Test?”
“Yes...ah...you see something came up in your bloodwork, and I...” Words failed McKay and the next thing John knew, a small, odd-looking device was being pressed into his hand. “Figures,” McKay huffed to himself.
John shifted his head just enough to look down at his hand. The little item had begun to glow, a brilliant emerald green. “What...is this?” he managed, and McKay looked almost defeated.
“We think it’s a personal shield device. We found it back in Pegasus, and it works like the chair...takes that gene I was telling you about to operate. Apparently, you have it. Still want a look at that day job?”
“Coulda...used this coupla days ago,” John grumbled. Still he couldn’t take his eyes off it, slightly curious. “Can I bring my Johnny Cash collection?”
“What?” McKay sputtered and shook his head. “Apparently that strong character hasn’t got a thing to do with good taste.”
“I suppose you like Celine Dion...” John whispered, and his eyes drifted closed. “She’s...overrated...y’know.”
If McKay said anything else, John was unaware of it. One good deed had apparently earned him at least the right to sleep in peace.
He was unaware of the half-grin that showed up on McKay’s face as the man folded his arms across his chest and settled in to wait. Maybe it was the way it should’ve been.
And perhaps, would be again.