Edge of Darkness

by Cielito

John Sheppard isn't afraid of the alien entity claiming his life, he isn't trembling because they're trapped in some demonic ruins, but boy is he ever terrified-terrified of his own breaking point crawling just beneath the surface.

for wedjatqi

Category: Fic

Title: Edge of Darkness

Author: jeyla4ever/cielito

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Set post Season 5

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of the Stargate World and make no profit from this, other than general enjoyment.

Size: Approx 1,783 words

File Format: Word

Comments: Written for Beya's Secret Elf Exchange for wedjatqi. It's a little something that should really be a much bigger something, but there's no time. Maybe someday there will be more. For now, it stands as a one-shot. I hope you like it.

Edge of Darkness

John studied the forest and then stared at the seas. The sky was clear and the sun's rays were bright and there was no sign of death in the air. Behind him the white mist was blowing through the trees, but only a few steps ahead of him, within the ring boundaries of the ruins, a rock was soaked with Hammon's blood glistening in the sun's light.

This was not an unusual sight for him but it did bother him, especially in its most brutal forms and for certainty when it involved someone he knew. The fact that he was experiencing both in this god-forsaken planet was particularly upsetting. It crawled through his blood, the thought of justice, to seek out vengeance. A real vivid reminder that regardless of the years he'd spent in this galaxy, a place he now called home, and it didn't lessen the fact that this was still dangerous ground. A flesh living hell and no less than the other horrendous nightmares that he'd lived back on Earth; for Holland's fatigued face, sour breath and wounded body still plagued his dreams. And this was no different.

Never before had John experience the urge to just open his mind to a private place, one where he was apart from what was happening all around him. Hell, he was even willing to journey into the tunnel in his nightmares where his arms were pinned at his sides; his breath was crushed from his lungs, his spirit and soul sucked from him by the hands of a Wraith. But this kind of fantasy didn't make the sounds that were less evil with its need to feed on his sanity. He could already picture in his mind his return to the Ancient city dragging Lieutenant's Cash's bloodied remains through the Stargate, gathering with the Athosians in remembrance of Hammon, leaving out so many details of this mission, waiting for the moment when he's left alone with the ghosts in his room beckoning, haunting him, never leaving his soul to rest.

Another wrinkle on his forehead, another promise broken.

Don't close your eyes, don't face the truth, his inner voice beckons over and over again, because facing and confronting the occasional ruthlessness of his methods, the exploitation of those lesser, would crushed any trace of his humanity.

Because you can only fight the battles you can win.

This was his mantra and without it he'd be somewhere isolated, strapped and locked for the rest of his life. This was survival 101 just as it was taught to him back in his military training and it's what keeps him sane after all these years. And he clings to it even now as death surrounds him- because he knows-he knows this battle is already lost.

John stood silently, standing beside the withered corpse of Lieutenant Cash, and he knew what he had to do. But first-first, he had to get the young man's tags. But he had no strength left in him. And yet, if a Wraith Armada showed up at this very moment, he knew for certain he could take on every single one them all by himself. It was truly the most disturbing and exhilarating feeling he'd ever experience in his life. It didn't even come close to how he felt during his conversion into a bug. And of course, it didn't help matters that the sun was drawing precious moisture from his skin, adding its last bit of heat rays to the other discomforts of his body, his thirst and hunger, his fatigue, his growing sense of failure here, of doing of acting, only adding to that inner voice inflicting as much inner harm as he was attempting to prevent. Too much to think about, too much pain close to his heart-too much too loose. And none of it good.

His eyes glanced towards Teyla sitting with her back leaning towards one of the walls lining the ruin's boundaries. Quietly, she sat in the corner with Torren. That image somehow consoles his thoughts, soothe his senses, and brought an inner peace and clarity that almost knocked him over with its intensity. She was trying to soothe the toddler's fears, the ones all of them shared. What he wouldn't give right now to just take them both in his arms and hold them tightly, letting them know...No, assuring them, promising them both, that he won't stop until they were safe. That he won't ever relinquish to this fight. He'd get them to safety. He'd be the hero once again. He wasn't going to fail them; not Teyla, not ever!

But that was his burden to share and his alone. He made it the day he first met her, even though he can't for the life of him remember when he ever thought of it or when and why that decision was made. It was just there; always there. It was the only thing that made any sense to him and at this moment, the only one real thing that kept him at bay.

But he wasn't about to voice it. Because the words won't come out; because the fear was too great; because the voices were too loud.

This was so much like his dreams. If it weren't because he knew the others would think he'd gone mad, he'd laugh about it. Yes, those dreams of his that plagued him every night. He could still feel the weight of the blade that cut through his flesh and severed his arm in the form of Koyla. He could still hear the bone shattering as the blade dismembered his wrist. He could still smell the acrid stench of his burning flesh. But that was nothing compared to Elizabeth's cry for help, Ford's menacing eyes and Heightmeyer's scream, staring at his face-the face of what he was sure was the face of her executioner.

What could he have done differently in every one of those scenarios? This was the question taunting him every night knowing that there really was nothing differently that he could have done, finding the impulse to justify, to explain, as if he were fending off some accusation.

I was trying to save their lives.

And this too were the wrong choice of words because in trying there's a hint of failure, a thing hoped for, striven toward, but nonetheless unattained. Because it was true. He was running from something, from someone. After all, wasn't he his own worst enemy?

And now he was facing this nightmare. And the worse of it is, that in this case, there is nothing he can do. They are trapped. Trapped in this ring that if they move away from it, from the protection of the ruin's walls, they will die. Somewhere in this planet there was a horror so inexplicable, so indescribable that it only really comes in those horror movies where you see the main characters being killed one by one in front of your very own eyes and with you nothing to do but watch. That's what this was. And so far, the only hope he had was that Atlantis would send for another team. But what if they got stuck in here as well? He couldn't let that happen.

And where the hell was McKay when he needed him the most.

And Teyla, God Teyla! Here, with Torren. On her day off. The very day that they were to spend time together. The last bit of hope that something-something was bubbling inside of both of them. Something that was lost at some point. It could have been lost when she confessed her pregnancy to another man, of another life that didn't include him. But then, there was Torren. And he could never deny his feelings for that little boy, the one that should have been his.

Yet, hope reappeared in the form of the woman he loved more than life itself. And here was his only chance to see if he could recapture that, bring some of that magic between them, rekindle what he knows has always been there-And now, her life and that of her son and her son's father was in peril!

She was here trying to spend time with her family and still be close to him, but her presence here...

Whose stupid idea was that? McKay? Ronon? Kanaan? Was it his idea? The thoughts were all jumbled. The voices were too loud.

Because he'd call hell from within him and this wasn't it. This had to be some foreign being growing within him, striking a blow that was too overpowering, confusing his mind.

And the clouds were starting to build and the rain would come soon.

Something was wrong.

John could feel it in every part of his bones. He always felt the brush of death pass right by him, and this was much more than that! Yet, he was too weak. But if he were a betting man, he'd bet that behind this physical weakness there was more. He had only been here a couple of hours and yet it felt like weeks. This physical decline somehow mirrored a more general deterioration: everything was slipping beyond his control. His body and mind were trying to control that building rage and he couldn't resist the pull, couldn't quell the desire to punish-shout-kill and fill the rage with its hunger.

Because he's lost many, he's seen and fought in the gates of hell many times, but his own turmoil has always been tucked away nicely from others. In his life, there are some things he simply can't bargain with. There are those in his life he can never fail. And then, there's that part of him that he can never let known.

For there's no question in his mind as to what he can become when all hope is gone, when all is lost. Because simply put, there are things in his life that can't be unbend and for every man, a time and a place where there's no going back. It's the breaking point in all of us that we never want to see.

John Sheppard isn't afraid of the alien entity claiming his life, he isn't trembling because they're trapped in some demonic ruins, but boy is he ever terrified-terrified of his own breaking point crawling just beneath the surface.

The End