COULDA, WOULDA, SHOULDA

SUMMARY: A series of several different ways Common Ground could have gone down. Each chapter is one way it could have happened.

WARNINGS: Some chapters, though not all, will contain character death. I will warn you at the beginning of each chapter if it will.

NOTE: I have no idea how many chapters this will actually be.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters.


1. Time for Mercy


WARNINGS: This chapter includes character death.


The cry of pain resounded off the trees, ringing in their ears, pushing leg muscles to move them that much faster towards the source. The rescue team broke through the trees in time to see the Wraith leaning over their missing friend. Colonel Sheppard's face was twisted in agony as the Wraith gripped his chest.

McKay fumbled with the safety on his P-90, but before his fingers had more than brushed the trigger, Ronon was already letting loose a frightening roar along with several rapid blasts from his pistol. The Wraith jerked in surprise, looking upon the rescue team with what could only be horror. "No…," he whispered before Ronon shot him again, sending his corpse reeling to the cold ground.

Sheppard twitched as the Wraith's head connected with his hip, but it was hardly noticeable under the tremors that rocked him. Ronon rushed over, brutally kicking the Wraith's head off his friend. "Sheppard?" he called quietly, resting his hand on the quivering shoulder.

Sheppard's eyes were squeezed shut in pain, and his mouth was twisted, not with its usual smirk, but a tight grimace. Heavy pants escaped his mouth and his arm started to jerk, trying to reach Ronon's. Ronon silently grasped his hand, trying to send his strength through the grip while wrestling with the fear of damaging the weakened appendage. For the first time in years, Ronon felt moisture well up in his eyes as he already began mourning the end of a great man.

McKay could only stare in horror at what was left of his friend. Sheppard was old. Not cool, grandpa old, but dead old. Gaul old. This was all his fault. Sheppard was going to die because he hadn't been there to save him. Never leave a man behind. Well, he hadn't; he had his friend back. Or what was left of him.

Doing his best to quell his horror, McKay staggered up beside Ronon, and the two carefully lifted Colonel Sheppard under the arms, settling him to his feet with an arm over each shoulder. Sheppard's legs trembled, his knees unable to lock, and his friends were quick to take his weight. McKay's hand, resting on Sheppard's shoulder blade, moved in slow circles over the chilled skin. McKay swallowed hard when he felt the thin bones protruding from beneath the weathered skin.

Sheppard was looking around dazed, taking a moment to slowly blink at each person standing with him in the clearing. His breath formed into mist as soon as it left his mouth, making McKay think of an eerie presence standing between Sheppard and the rest of them as though death had come for him already.

Sheppard's gaze settled on the Wraith just a foot away. He stared at it, his face an unreadable mask. Finally he looked away as harsh coughs raked his lungs, and his screwed his eyes shut once more.

"Let's get you home," Teyla offered, leading the way for her team back to the waiting puddle jumper. Ronon and McKay followed with Sheppard, leaving the four marines to follow in shocked silence.


"He's sleeping comfortably," Beckett assured us. We're all sitting around Colonel Sheppard's bed in the infirmary, listening to the steady beat of the heart monitor battle with the Darth Vader breathing coming from beneath the oxygen mask covering half his face.

"Is there anything… anyway we can…?" Elizabeth, normally an ace with words, was at a loss. All she wanted to do was hug John, to reassure herself that he was back safe and sound. Instead, she was fighting back her tears with every last ounce of her strength. Like John, she was a leader who needed to be strong and set an example. She would not break down when she needed to be strong for John and his team.

"No," Beckett said quietly. "When the Daedalus makes its next round, well… it's back to Earth for him." Carson shuddered, knowing that was the last thing the Colonel would want.

"Will he even make it back there? He looks like he could keel over any minute." The words sounded harsh, but no one doubted Rodney's concern for John. He sat on a stool next to the Colonel, and was actually holding the man's wrinkled hand carefully. "He's got to be what, a hundred?"

"Possibly even older," Carson grimaced. "There's no way to know for certain, Rodney. According to his medical history, people in his family don't usually reach this age as is, so there's no precedent to even guess how long we can expect him to live. I'm sorry; I wish I could give you better news."

Rodney tried to imagine an Atlantis without Sheppard. He'd be stuck in his stuffy lab with the monotony of his work, no crazy flyboy to randomly stop by and disrupt his routine. Going off world with some new military grunt ordering him around. No thank you.

"I'm going with him," he announced. Everyone turned to him in surprise. "I'm going back to Earth with him. I'm not leaving him to die alone." I couldn't save him, but I can do this for him.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but her voice fell silent before it could even speak under Rodney's gaze. Sensing his detemination, she nodded her assent. What else could she do?

The silence hung heavily in the air. Atlantis already felt as though John Sheppard had died. Elizabeth rubbed her arms roughly, shivering from the coldness that already seemed to permeate every corner of the city.


The infirmary lights were dim, but they still managed to sting his pathetic excuse for eyes as he lay staring at the ceiling. This was no way for a soldier to go, he thought bitterly. He was barely reaching forty years old, and already his skin was wrinkled, his bones were brittle, his arms too heavy to lift, his back sore and stiff, arthritis locking up every joint in his body, crippling his once agile fingers, and fogging up his perfect pilot's vision. Overnight he had become an invalid, and now he was being shipped off back to the hellhole he had come from, to die alone slowly, one long day at a time.

Well, not completely alone. Rodney was going with him. Rodney was trading in his future in Atlantis to watch John die. Rodney was giving up the life that John would kill and die for, had killed and was dying for. Because of guilt? Because he thought Sheppard blamed him?

Tears stung his eyes, and he turned his face into his pillow to hide his shame. Or he tried to, but the oxygen mask was in his way. One more insult to add to his many injuries. He couldn't even breathe properly on his own. The mask was his new lifetime companion – however long that was.

Why hadn't the damn Wraith just finished him? John wasn't an unreasonable man; he understood the logic of why the Wraith had stolen his life so that he would have the strength to fight for his own. Life sucks; it happens. But rather than finishing him, the Wraith had left him to linger, with just this little smidgen of breath left. Why? So that he could come back and relish the meal later? But then what was that look in his eyes the final time he'd started to feed? He'd looked so pained, so… apologetic! A Wraith!

In the end it didn't matter. Sleep tugged at his brain, and Sheppard was unable to hold onto his thoughts. Maybe this is just what he deserved for trusting a Wraith. Never turn your back on your enemy….


Carson looked at the sad figure lying in the bed in the darkened corner of the infirmary. Apparently Carson's estimate on the Colonel's lifespan had been too generous. Two nights ago, Colonel Sheppard's kidneys had given out. He was now on dialysis, and hooked up to even more machines than he had even been before. And he would be for the rest of his life.

He knew that Earth was the last place his friend wanted to be. The order to transport him back was cruel, especially considering what he had to look forward to, or rather, didn't. Maybe a month, six tops, in a sterile hospital room, bed-ridden and in pain. But more importantly to Colonel Sheppard, a whole galaxy away from anyone who cared about him, except Rodney. Rodney would be there to hold Sheppard's hand as he wallowed in hell, and they would both be smothered by the guilt until there was nothing left of either of them.

He couldn't watch his friend suffer anymore.

Walking over quietly, Carson gently shook Sheppard awake. Sheppard's hazel eyes opened slowly, blinking several times. In the end, he only had the strength to keep them open at half-mast. Beckett took a seat at his side, making sure he was in the Colonel's line of sight.

"Not really much of a way to go, is it lad?" Beckett asked, very carefully watching his patient's reactions. He had only done this twice before and it had torn him apart inside to do so. He had sworn an oath, after all. But if there was one person he could do this for, it was this man he considered both friend and family. Sheppard watched Beckett in confusion, lacking the strength to even ask the doctor what he meant.

Carson carefully took the loaded syringe out of his pocket and showed it to the Colonel. Sheppard looked between it and Carson, the question obvious in his eyes. "Morphine," Carson said levelly, determined to be strong for John. Sheppard's eyes narrowed before widening in understanding. Carson put the syringe back in his pocket, never taking his eyes off John.

"The Daedalus won't be here for a few days yet. Think about it carefully; you still have some time."


Rodney hunched over in the chair by Sheppard's side, rubbing his aching back muscles. His mind wandered to the research he had left in his lab, but he couldn't focus on the intricate details necessary to finish it. Not with all the hissing and beeping of the infirmary surrounding him.

Strangely Carson hadn't tried to usher him out, even after Sheppard had fallen asleep after briefly saying a few words to McKay. Why the man needed to waste his precious supply of air thanking McKay for being a good friend, he had no idea. Rodney was a terrible friend with a big mouth who was useless when it really counted, but it was nice to hear Sheppard say it. It was also nice to know he didn't blame anyone other than Kolya. Sheppard had smiled in grim satisfaction when McKay told him Teyla and Ronon were out hunting the bastard now, then had fallen asleep. Or passed out, whatever old people did. "Or faint," McKay grumbled at his unconscious friend, ignoring the way his voice hitched.

Rodney hid his face in his hands, trying to hold back the overwhelming emotions that were cascading into him from all sides. Why did it have to be Sheppard?


Carson carefully fitted the needle into the IV port, his face blank as he slowly depressed the plunger. When it was empty, he removed the needle and followed the path of the clear liquid as it disappeared into his friend.

John was watching him back. His eyes were bright for the first time since they'd brought him back. Clumsily he pushed at the mask, trying to dislodge it. Carson rushed over quickly to help him. Once it was off, John just continued looking at Carson until his eyes began to slip closed. Carson took up his hand, reassuring John that he was not alone. John blinked a few times, determined to see his last moments of the world. "Thank you," he whispered so quietly Carson almost didn't hear him.

When John's eyes closed for the last time, Carson lowered himself heavily into the chair, feeling his friend's grip slacken and tuning out the heart monitor's screaming. "I'm so sorry this was all I had to offer you, son."