A/N: This was just a little plot bunny that refused to go away. I had intended to write something about Shep getting rescued at the end but there are already several really good ones like that out there. So I decided to take a different spin on it. Hope it works.

Regrets

Tag for Vegas


Moving had been a bad idea…

Shep only made it a few steps from the Camero before a breath-stealing pain seared through his chest and gut. His lungs heaved and then his shaking legs had crumpled beneath him like wet paper. He hit the ground hard in a less than graceful flop, which stole what little air he'd had left.

It took a few moments before he could scrape together the last of his strength and roll over onto his back… because he'd be damned if he was going to die face down in the dirt if he could help it.

The sky was above him now… its gem-like blue set against the jagged red-orange rocks of the hills, stretching from horizon to horizon. The sky had been one of the reasons he'd chosen Vegas all those years ago… (Well, that and because neither of them ever slept.)

Dazed, he lifted his right hand from his chest and stared at the blood-smeared fingers. He thought he might have been hit lower down too because he could feel his shirt going damp with it. Not good.

Do not engage.

Turns out that was excellent advice… Shep thought vaguely. But then the man apparently knows everything…

I know everything about you. The taunting words whispered through Shep's mind as he lay there on the desert floor amidst the flaming wreckage of the alien's trailer.

Back in the claustrophobic quiet of the interrogation room, Dr. Rodney McKay had oozed with self-confidence. The kind that came with professional success, respect and the homefield authority of rank. Obviously some top-secret, Alphabet-soup agency had taken a keen interest in his little serial murder case. He probably should have expected this approach. The not so subtle intimidation, the demands for cooperation, the locked doors, the subtler threats… His former partner, Harry Canfield had been good at that sort of thing. God knows he'd seen it used against countless suspects since he'd joined the force… just never had it used against him.

John Sheppard didn't think he'd ever had that kind of confidence… or if he had, he'd somehow lost it somewhere along the way. Guess that's what happened when life kept kicking the crap out of you.

His vision swam and for a moment the desert floor tilted crazily beneath him. It made his stomach flip-flop with nausea and did absolutely nothing for the hole in his gut.

I have the power to ruin your life.

You don't know how little I have to lose.

Truer words had never been spoken, Shep thought.

Then had come the list. Like bullet points of failure, one after the other.

-Unmarried.

-Owning only a car.

-Debt.

-Failures at work.

Somehow it seemed a shame that an entire life could be reduced to a few notes in a government report, judged and then dismissed because nothing sparkled or glittered in between the lines… Then again, this was me we were talking about, Shep thought.

The ironic part of it was that McKay claimed to know everything but he'd only listed the high notes… (Or maybe that was the low notes) Shep had never been too sure which were which in his life.

What about the car crash, which had taken his mother and brother? Or the bitter anger and unfulfilled expectations, which had driven away his father? How about when Mitch and Dex had been shot down only a week before their tour was up? Perhaps that sort of thing didn't count in McKay's book. And then there was his own 'tour'… speaking of disasters…

You were a helicopter pilot in Afghanistan, but were dishonorably discharged for disobeying orders and trying to rescue a field medic trapped behind enemy lines. You were shot down- obviously survived, but unfortunately the crash killed four American soldiers, along with eight civilians.

The government man's voice had been relentless and even the bare bones recitation had caused a vivid flashback of that frantic last flight. Memories of his copilot, Kenny, cheerfully volunteering to go with him. Of getting Amy's small group of medics and injured onboard the chopper and taking off under a heavy barrage of enemy rocket-fire. The terrifying spin the bird had gone into when a lucky shot had taken out the tail rotor.

Shep had honestly tried everything he knew to control their descent. The last thing he remembered was telling the other to brace themselves.

He'd woken up in the hospital to find that the crash had taken everything from him. His reputation, his career, his copilot and friend, his sense of purpose in the world and worst of all- Amy and the Sky… Both dead and gone from his life. After what happened, Shep simply couldn't face flying anymore… It hurt too much.

He slid his shaky right hand up to touch the cross around his neck. 'For Luck' Amy'd said when she'd given it to him. Afterwards, he'd always wished that she'd been the one wearing it.

Keep dreaming… There must be some other reason for your existence… The alien's voice had been creepy, echoing oddly after each phrase. Subtly tempting him to step closer in the hope that the creature would share the long held secret.

Wraith are never-ending. I know the future. Come inside… I'll show you… your destiny, John Sheppard! It had been insidious… even knowing the danger and having seen the end results. Perhaps especially knowing the end result.

They can get inside your head.

Thinking back, Shep thought he now understood what had happened during the poker game. He'd calculated the odds on his full-house and had fully intended to call the alien's bluff. The guy next to him had even said so out loud, but he'd somehow found himself folding instead. Just his luck. Mind-manipulating aliens at the poker table… Only in Vegas.

He could feel himself shivering on the inside. Not from the pain, which seemed farther away now, but from an insidious rawboned cold the was slowly creeping through his limbs, making them feel as if they might vibrate apart from shear brittleness. His chest and side felt branded and yet his body might as well have been floating in ice water.

"C-Cold…" he whispered, his teeth chattering.

There was no one to hear, no one to come and lastly no one to care…

I once met another version of you. He was very different.

Would have to be… to be some kind of hero, Shep thought idly. Or at least have better luck.

The flames were dying away now on some of the smaller bits of wreckage. The long shadows were creeping across the landscape as the late afternoon sun slowly sank toward the western horizon. The temperature dropped away. Sounds of the desert night began to emerge as the sun lost its power over the land, rustles and chirps of nocturnal creatures. Overhead, the electrical towers reengaged with a powerful hum as whatever damage the Wraith's device had done was reversed. Everything was settling back to the way it should be.

We met a team, only you were the leader. You were a hero, saved the world several times over.

Shep guessed that his biggest regret was not being able to be that person… even for a moment. No one was ever going to mistake him for a hero.

The sky overhead faded from his vision and came back again. The stars were beginning to peek through here and there. Each and every one up there circled by worlds of possibility. Shep had never realized there were so many stars… so many things he'd never get to see… so many…