Disclaimer: They aren't mine and I have no rights to them.
Summary: A tag to Miller's Crossing (so obviously there are spoilers) in which guilt eats away at John as he struggles to come to terms with his role in Wallace's death.
Choices - Chapter 1
John struggled against the sheet currently tangled around his legs, slowing his frantic rush for the bathroom. He barely made it to the Ancient version of a toilet before the meager supper he'd eaten made a spectacular come back, followed by several seconds of dry heaving. When he'd finally finished and slumped sideways against the wall for support, he caught himself rubbing his chest, trying to make the phantom pains of being fed on by a Wraith go away. When he closed his eyes, he could see Wallace's withering form as if it had happened only moments before instead of a week ago.
"No, I'm not doing this," he said out loud, pushing himself to his feet and flushing the reminder of his recent inability to hold down food. That had been a continuing theme the past few days. Every time he even thought about food, it brought images of the feeding Wraith to his mind, along with very vivid memories of his own experience as Wraith food. It was all he could do to choke down a few bites at mealtime before having to bolt from the mess hall in order to keep it down. And sometimes it didn't stay in his stomach for long, no matter what he did. He knew he'd lost weight, even without stepping on any scales and it was only a matter of time before someone else noticed. At some point, he had to figure out how to take back control.
John washed his hands and face before returning to his bedside. Looking down at the tangled mass of bedcovers, he quickly decided he didn't want to go that route again. He'd just get an early start on his morning run. Changing into his light athletic pants and a t-shirt, he set off across the city to some of the uninhabited parts for his workout.
Since returning from Earth, he spent most of his day wearing a mask that mimicked the John Sheppard that left Atlantis to help his friend get his sister back. He purposely busied himself doing anything and everything that would keep his mind off the blood on his hands. He'd done dark things before, but somehow this seemed worse. When he was alone, his mind began to add up the things he'd done the last few years, the things he'd become capable of, and it was starting to scare him. He was growing darker, more ruthless. Some days he wondered if he was on a path to becoming Kolya . . . or maybe something worse.
It had been easy to reason with himself that what he was doing was for the good of Earth and mankind. Orchestrating Wallace's self-sacrifice had saved one of the most brilliant scientists in the world, a man who had saved said Earth on many occasions, not to mention Atlantis. Besides, Wallace had been willing to sacrifice an innocent to get what he wanted, so wasn't it fair that he should be willing to give his life in exchange for that innocent? It had made sense to John at the time. And John's fear for Rodney had made it easy to ignore the little voice in his head that kept raising questions.
The line wasn't so clear any more. How was he better than Wallace? He'd done what the grieving father had tried to do, sacrifice someone else in order to save his loved one. On some level, John knew that made him a killer just as surely as it had almost made Wallace one. They had both just used other means to kill their victim. John stopped and leaned over, resting his hands on his thighs as he sucked in air. All this thinking was giving him a headache, along with the lack of sleep. After a few minutes, he stood and veered onto the outside walkway, concentrating on the rhythmic sounds of his footsteps and the burn in his muscles and lungs so he would stop thinking about his most recent choice to take a life.
oOo
After a shower and a change of clothes, John made his way to the mess hall. He had no appetite, but his stomach was growling in disagreement and he knew he needed to somehow get back on food again. Man cannot live without food . . . just like Wraith cannot live without food. Wincing at the sudden image, he shook his aching head and walked into the large room, breathing through his mouth so the food smells wouldn't have him bolting for the bathroom.
Selecting two pieces of toast and a cup of coffee, John sat down at a table in the far corner, hoping he could struggle with his breakfast privately. He managed two bites before Teyla and Ronon joined him. The sight of Ronon's heavily laden tray almost sent him outside to the balcony, but he quickly averted his eyes while swallowing several times.
"Did you leave any for the rest of the city?" John asked, moving his gaze up to the former runner.
Ronon grinned and stuck his fork into the mound of eggs. "He who eats last, eats least. That was our unit motto and it fits here as well.
"You mean if anything's left," John muttered as he picked at his toast.
"Missed you this morning," Ronon said between bites.
John rubbed the back of his neck a second before letting his hand drop. "I got an early start."
Ronon stopped chewing a moment to look at him. "That's three times in the past week." John shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.
"Is that all you are eating?" asked Teyla, staring down at his nearly empty tray.
"Not very hungry today," John replied, realizing his team was beginning to see the problems he was having. Well, everyone but Rodney, who seemed to be avoiding him. Or maybe he was avoiding Rodney. More likely they were avoiding each other.
"You have not been eating or sleeping well since you returned from Earth. Is something wrong? Perhaps we could help you," offered Teyla.
John rolled his lip down to chew on it, trying not to notice the way Ronon was staring at him. He'd purposely kept both Ronon and Rodney out of the loop, not wanting either of them to be subject to any fallout that resulted from his actions, but Rodney had confronted him until he finally caved. He suspected Ronon knew something other that what was in the report had taken place.
"Nothing's wrong," he lied. "I just . . . uh . . . maybe I have gate lag or something."
"Gate lag?" asked Teyla.
John shook his head. "Sorry, uh, just means my rhythms are all off from traveling between time zones, or in this case, galaxies. I'm fine, just need to get settled back into a routine." Anxious to avoid further inquiries, he stood up and grabbed his tray. "I've got a department head meeting with Carter in a while, so I'll see you guys later."
Dumping his tray, he quickly left the mess hall and headed for the conference room. He really did have a meeting, but it didn't start for another half hour. He'd just be early for once. As it turned out, Lorne caught him in the hall with some questions about the team rotations and by the time they finished, he just barely made the meeting on time.
The meeting lasted nearly two hours and John spent most of it trying to stay awake. He sourly noted that Rodney sat at the other end of the table. Definitely avoiding him. John couldn't really blame him. Rodney wasn't cut out to hang around with killers, which was what John had begun to feel like. As Dr. Mathers droned on about soil samples from the mainland, John let his head drop forward and rubbed his eyes, willing the expanding headache to leave him alone. For a moment, a distant buzzing filled his ears and his mind wandered in sea of haze.
"Colonel?"
The sharpness of Carter's voice brought John back to the conference room in a jolt and he jerked his head up to find everyone staring at him. Carter wore a new expression that he couldn't decipher as worry or anger. "Uh, what? Sorry, I guess I kind of zoned out a second," he said sheepishly.
Carter's expression softened just a little and he definitely saw worry there. Holy crap. "Dr. Mathers wanted to know if someone could take his team back to the mainland later this week for more samples?"
"Yeah, that's fine. Just email me the specifics in a formal request and I'll get it set up." John shifted uncomfortably, feeling like everyone there was studying him, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. Everyone but Rodney, who had nailed him with one of his patent you're an idiot expressions.
"Is there anything else?" asked Carter, glancing at each person around the table. When no one responded, she gave a quick nod. "We're done then, until next month."
Tipping his head forward, John rubbed circles on his forehead, waiting until the room cleared so maybe he wouldn't have to talk to anyone. As the shuffling of feet and chairs died down, he looked up to see if the coast was clear to find Carter taking the seat next to him. He wasn't surprised, but he was disappointed that he hadn't gotten off without some kind of lecture.
"Look, I'm sorry about the whole letting my mind wander thing. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again." He figured a preemptive strike was worth a shot.
Carter studied him, a little too closely for his liking. "John, are you all right? You've been kind of quiet and elusive since you got back and, no offense, but you look like you haven't slept for a week."
Making himself meet her eyes, he held her gaze for several seconds before dropping his head again. "I . . . I'm okay, just haven't been sleeping too well lately. It'll pass."
Drawing in a deep breath, Carter held it a second before blowing it out. "You feel guilty about what happened to Wallace."
John almost laughed, but it wasn't because he found the situation humorous. He was just so freaked out, that possibly he was in the process of losing it completely. Guilty did so little justice to what he was feeling. A nod was all he could manage.
"There's more to this than what's in the report, isn't there?"
John remained silent, but looked up at her again. She knew the report was full of holes and he was debating the wisdom of continuing the lie. He just couldn't bring himself to tell her what had happened, what he'd done. There was a reason he had told Rodney he didn't want to talk about it. He wasn't entirely sure he could.
"John, I'm not a stranger to weird situations with no right answer. I've done some things I'm not exactly anxious to share with others, some things that I still wonder if they were right or wrong. And maybe the answer is both. I'm not going to press you for details on this because I know you did what you had to do to protect your people. Just . . . don't dwell on it too much. What's done is done and all of our people are alive. You can't let this stuff eat you up."
The lump in his throat and the heaviness in the pit of his stomach wouldn't let him answer her, so he just gave a faint nod. He knew she was right and that she probably understood as well as anyone what he was dealing with.
Smiling at him, Carter snorted lightly. "I know, easier said than done. But work on it for me, or I'll have to take you off the duty roster and stick you in the infirmary. Neither of us wants that."
Returning her smile, John bobbed his head once. "Okay, I'll work on it."
Carter stood and pushed her chair up under the table before turning back to him. "I know you don't know me very well yet, but I hope that changes. My door is always open if you need to talk to someone. Especially if you need to bounce some things off someone you aren't quite so close to."
John stood and pushed his chair in as well. "Thanks. I may take you up on that sometime."
With a nod, Carter left the room. John followed soon after, heading for the room where the newest batch of marines should be training with Lorne and Ronon by now. There he would be able to lose himself in focused activity for a while.
oOo
It was almost 1800 by the time he ran out of things to do and returned to his room. He had briefly entertained the idea of eating in the mess hall, but his stomach had protested the minute he was within smelling distance. He'd fought back a gag and made a one-eighty, heading for his quarters instead. After pacing the small room several times, the room began to feel like it was closing in on him and he'd opted for a nice, long run.
The first half hour it was easy to concentrate on his pounding feet and controlled breathing. The lack of sleep and food was beginning to catch up to him, however, and he found himself tiring much sooner than usual. An hour into his run, he diverted to a pier, slowing to a jog and then a walk as he approached the edge and looked out over the water. Breathing hard, he watched the sun slowly sinking down to the horizon, with reds and purples streaking out around the handful of clouds moving across the sky.
John sat down, stretching his legs out on the hard surface, watching the close of the day. He wished he could close this chapter of his life as easily and wake up tomorrow to start afresh, without the lingering guilt. It was weird the way he could convince himself for a while that he was justified in what he did, but then the memories of Wallace's death would burn fresh in his mind. Maybe it wouldn't be so vivid if he hadn't made himself watch every minute, but he figured he owed the man at least that much. He should have to watch the death that he had so carefully arranged. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much if he hadn't been fed on himself, almost to the point of death, and ironically by this same Wraith. It was all too close to home, too familiar.
Sighing, John lay back and draped his arm across his eyes, trying to think about anything besides the trip to Earth. He tried remembering the thrill of coming to Atlantis, unsure of what the journey would bring and yet excited to be a part of it. He remembered that first caress of the city, which he didn't recognize for what it was. The first few weeks of wondering what was wrong with him and why he felt a growing presence in his mind that eventually manifested itself with physical sensations. The memories had him unconsciously reaching out to her now, and felt his connection to her deepen, almost like she was trying to comfort him.
John drifted for a while, eventually finding himself wandering the halls of Atlantis. Only they were empty. He called out, but no one answered. Time seemed to jump around and he found himself outside the cell of the Wraith. His stomach clenched and he fought the rising bile. He wanted to turn and leave, but his feet wouldn't cooperate. Taking in a deep breath, he finally made himself enter the room and face his former tormenter inside the cell.
"Why have you come Sheppard?" asked the Wraith.
John just stood there for a moment. "I don't know."
The Wraith looked at him a moment before laughing. "Yes you do. But you must ask before I will answer."
Searching his mind, John could think of nothing to ask. He stood staring at the creature, his muddled brain trying to figure out what was happening and why no one was guarding the prisoner. Water splashed on him, and he brushed it off his face, looking up for the source. Then there was a lot of water, drenching him and making him shiver and he couldn't figure out where it was coming from.
John opened his eyes to find himself lying on his side in a huddle, soaked to the skin as the rain continued to fall. What the. . . It was dark, the lights from the city barely illuminating the pier on which he rested. John sat up, making him groan as his stiff and sore muscles protested the sudden action. Pulling himself to his feet, he staggered a few steps before getting his legs fully under control. Seconds later, he entered the city and squinted at his watch. Two hours. He'd apparently slept two hours during which the sun had gone down and it had clouded up to start raining. Glancing down at the way he was dripping a pool in the hallway, he wondered how bad it was that he'd slept through the pouring rain until he was completely soaked.
Wiping the water from his face, he headed back to the active part of the city and his quarters. His first priority was to get warm and dry. He was still shivering and it was extremely uncomfortable walking in his wet clothes. Ten minutes into his walk, his stomach growled loudly and it felt like a big, empty pit. Looked like food was next on the list after warm and dry. He'd just have to keep himself distracted long enough to eat something before his stomach tried to eat itself.
An hour after waking up on the pier, John had taken a long, hot shower and put on dry clothes. He wasn't warm, but he was warmer. The cavernous pit of his stomach was talking loudly to him as he quickly made his way to the mess, trying diligently to keep his mind focused on food and not feeding Wraith.
The mess hall was almost empty, just as he'd expected and hoped. The food had already been put away for the night, with the exception of some fruit and desserts that didn't need refrigerating. Martha Griggs, a large woman with short, dark hair, smiled at him and hurried over to where he was eyeing the fruit.
"We haven't seen you around much lately, Colonel. Can I get you something?"
John flashed her his boyish, lop-sided grin. Martha was always friendly and tended her soldiers and scientists with motherly affection. Everyone on base had a soft spot for her. "Nah, I'm good. I got distracted with something I was doing, so I'm running late tonight. I'll just grab some fruit." His stomach chose that moment to gurgle loudly, almost as if protesting his statement.
Martha's eyes widened. "You most certainly will not," she said sharply. "I hear your poor empty stomach begging for something to eat. You just wait right here."
Not only did John not want to risk hurting the woman's feelings, he was genuinely hungry for the first time in a long time. He wanted something to eat. He was looking at the desserts a few minutes later when Martha returned with a heaping plate of roast beef with potatoes and carrots and a couple of rolls. When the scent hit him, his stomach almost leaped for joy as opposed to the usual rolling and churning.
"Wow, Martha, that smells heavenly. I can't believe you had any left. Thank you," he said as he took the plate.
Martha blushed a bit as she smiled back at him. "Well, I noticed you didn't come in for supper and . . . you're looking a bit thin these days, so I saved you a plate in case you showed up later. I hope you don't mind. I . . . we worry about you a little."
John was surprised to hear some of the cooks noticed him that much, not to mention cared enough to save him food. "Uh, thanks. I think that's nice."
"Oh, wait a second," she said as she hurried back to the refrigerator. Returning a few moments later, she breathlessly handed him a bowl of banana pudding. "We made banana pudding today and Carol knew you liked it, so we kept one back for you."
"Okay, now you guys are just spoiling me," he chuckled, his mouth watering as he took the pudding.
"You deserve it," she said seriously. "We . . . well, those of us in places like the mess hall, we don't have to face the dangers you and some of the others face all the time. We just like to show how much we appreciate the way you protect us. And we know . . . well, you know how people talk and how word gets around. We know you've put yourself in harms way on many occasions to protect those of us who live here and we just like to do a little something every now and again to say thank you. So eat up and enjoy, and let me know if you need anything else."
John was touched that they had gone out of their way to make sure he had a good meal. It was weird how simple things seemed so important sometimes. Looking up at the smiling woman, he nodded and gave her a big smile, finding his throat completely frozen. Slightly embarrassed, he quickly made his way over to his standard table in the back corner and sat down.
The first few bites were heavenly and he ate slowly, savoring every mouthful. About halfway through the plate of food, his stomach began to feel full, so he took a break while he figured out if he was really done or not. Looking around the mess hall, he noticed Rodney come in and head for the remaining desserts, complaining to himself as he studied the selection. Finally picking up a piece of apple pie, he poured himself some coffee and looked around the room. John knew when he spotted him from his expression and was a little startled when Rodney seemed to be deciding whether to come over or not.
Disappointed, John pushed the plate aside and dipped his spoon into the pudding, purposefully not looking at the scientist. He wasn't sure if he was surprised or not when Rodney plopped down in the chair across from him.
"You're eating late."
John shrugged one shoulder. "Been busy."
"Yeah, me too," said Rodney as he poked his pie. "Is that banana pudding?"
"Yup," John drawled as he scooped up a bite.
"Oh," Rodney muttered. "They ran out at supper. The goon in front of me grabbed two puddings and he got the last one. People shouldn't be allowed to get two until everyone's had one helping."
"You mean like you always get two bowls when they have the hot fudge cake for dessert?"
"I do not! Okay, maybe sometimes, but it's only when my blood sugar is low and I need to get it up quickly," Rodney argued.
"Right," John said noncommittally.
Rodney sat looking at him for several moments, making John uncomfortable. "You okay? You look tired."
John glanced up at his friend, noting for the first time the dark circles under his blood shot eyes. "Probably not any more tired than you."
Rodney lowered his gaze as he began prodding his pie with his fork. "Yes, well, like I said, busy."
"Busy," John echoed, staring down into his pudding. He suddenly realized the color was familiar. Just before Wallace had died, when he was withered and old, his skin had been an almost translucent yellowish color, very similar to the pudding in the bowl. John's stomach suddenly clenched, pushing burning bile up his throat. Snapping his teeth together and swallowing the vile substance back down, John dropped his spoon, splattering the dessert on his hand and the table. Another round of stomach contents tried pushing up his esophagus and his eyes watered with the effort of not expelling it. Jumping up, he quickly headed for the door, barely registering Rodney's protests from behind him.
By the time he reached the nearest balcony, he had his hand over his mouth, barely keeping his stomach contents in place until he reached the railing. He was thankful it was too dark to see the reappearance of the first decent meal he'd eaten in a week, as well as for the way the balcony jutted out over the water. Dry heaving until he was exhausted, he staggered over to sit against the wall when the spasms finally stopped.
Although it had stopped raining, the air was still cold and damp, so it didn't take long for John to start shivering. That was the prompting he needed to make himself get up and head back to his quarters. Once there, he stood looking at his door, knowing he couldn't go to sleep yet. Memories were stirring again, and he wasn't ready to face his nightmares. So for the third time in a week, John made rounds of the city in the middle of the night. He checked all the places guards were posted, making sure everyone was alert and doing their job. No one even acted surprised to see their CO wandering the corridors half the night any more and John wondered if that was a bad thing.
At 0300, John was finally exhausted enough that he couldn't put one foot in front of the other any more, so he returned to his room. After a hot shower to soothe his aching muscles, he stumbled to his bed, falling asleep almost before he got the blankets pulled up around him.
oOo
A strange buzzing and chirping kept trying to pull him from a warm, soft embrace. He resisted, but the noise got louder and the softness slipped away to leave him annoyed.
"What?" he asked sharply, lifting his head a few inches. The chirping continued and John blinked a few times, clearing the sleep from his eyes and enough of the fog from his brain to realize he was in bed and someone was trying to contact him on his radio. "Ah, shoot," he muttered as he snagged the device.
"Sheppard here," he snapped as he gazed at the bedside clock. 5:17 the red numbers told him. Great, all of two hours sleep. Colonel Carter's voice filled his head.
"Colonel Sheppard, I'm sorry about the hour, but I need you to report to the control room. We've received a message from the Umarians and they need our help."
"On my way," he replied, already half out of bed and grabbing for his clothes. They had managed to reestablish contact with several of their closest allies after their forced move to another planet. Although the Umarians were not technologically advanced, they had helped with food supplies several times when Atlantis reserves had run low. Carson had traded Earth antibiotics and pain relievers for several treatments for Pegasus variety illnesses that had proved very beneficial. Tama and his people had proven trustworthy and loyal, passing along any information they gleamed during trading that they thought the Lanteans could use.
John arrived at the control room to find Carter talking to Tadako, Tama's daughter. The girl was in her early twenties with dark hair cascading down to her lower back. She smiled at him and gave a small bow, which John returned. "Colonel John, you will help our Akira, yes?"
John gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm sure we can help, Tadako. Tell me what happened."
"You remember Akira, the son of my father's friend, Matsu. He went hunting with two other boys his age, but they became separated several hours ago. The others returned when they could not locate Akira. We would not worry so, but a storm approaches and it will be very cold before morning. My father fears Akira is not skilled or experienced enough with life in the wild to survive."
John nodded. "We'll help find him," he stated confidently. "Give me a minute to round up my team and some supplies and then we can give you a ride home."
Tadako's eyes widened. "You will let me ride the junker?"
Carter stifled a laugh, quickly bringing her hand up to her mouth. John sighed and put one hand on the girl's shoulder, looking into her wide, dark brown eyes. "Please, don't ever call my ship a junker again. It's a jumper," he said, emphasizing the p.
Tadako snickered. "I am sorry Colonel John. Do I get to ride on the jumper?"
Smiling, John nodded. "Yes, you do. Tell Colonel Carter about the shika your people hunt while I get my team and get the jumper loaded."
John was wide awake and pumped as he contacted his team and got the marine on duty in the jumper bay to help him load a few extra supplies. He remembered Akira, a boy of around twelve with a round face and dark hair and eyes like those of most of his people. He'd been very taken with John, following him around and asking questions any time they visited the planet. The chance to do something positive, to save a life instead of sacrificing one, on top of the pilot's fondness for the missing boy had him hopped up, all thoughts of exhaustion left behind.
Twenty-five minutes later, the jumper had been loaded and the team had arrived. John ushered Tadako onto the ship and Teyla sat down beside her on one of the back benches. Lt. Swindle, a field medic, was accompanying them in case Akira was in need of medical attention when they found him.
"Ready to go for a ride?" asked John.
"Yes, Colonel John, I am very excited! We are safe, right?" asked the young girl, suddenly looking a bit unsure.
"We're safe, as long as Rodney doesn't drive," quipped John.
"Hey, I drive just fine," argued Rodney as he passed them on his way to the co-pilot's seat.
John exchanged a grin with Teyla and Ronon as he made his way to the front and began getting the jumper ready for flight. A few minutes later, they were emerging on the other side of the gate. From there, it only took a short time to reach the village and they landed just outside the rough wooden structures of the settlement.
It was late afternoon on the planet and John was still struggling with the shift in time zones as they emerged from the back of the jumper. Tama met them, along with several people from the village, and led them to the building that served as a sort of town hall. There they explained where Akira had become separated from the two boys he was with. Search parties had been sent out immediately, but they had also chosen to contact Atlantis for help since night was near and a winter storm was closing in. John was a little surprised to hear about the storm since it was only slightly cool outside, definitely not what he'd call winter weather. Rodney voiced his uncertainties.
"It's not even that cold outside. Spend a winter in Canada and then we'll talk cold, but this isn't it," the scientist stated defiantly.
"I understand that it is not so cold outside now, but the wind comes and with it, the warmth of the air will be taken away. I fear we have but a short time to find Akira. He is still young and not experienced enough to deal with such changes in the weather. And then there is the possibility that he is injured."
"Don't worry, Tama, we'll find him," assured John. And he was determined that they would do just that. John turned to his team. "We'll take the jumper to the area where Akira was lost and find the closest place to set down so we can join the search."
"Uh, how cold is it going to get? It's going to be dark soon, and then it'll just get colder and even harder to see and my night vision isn't all that good," stammered Rodney.
"Rodney, I want you to do an aerial survey of the area and take Lt. Swindle with you. You may be able to spot something from the air that we can't see from the ground. You'll also be able to get the Lt. here to Akira as soon as he's found," instructed John.
Rodney seemed surprised for a second, but quickly recovered. "Yes, I can do that. That's good. There's several clearings around there and if he's near one, this may not take long at all."
"Yeah, not long at all if we're lucky," John said. He was thinking how often they were lucky with things like this. It promised to be a long, cold night.
TBC
