Title: Of Ghosts, Quests and Magic Fingers.
Summary: Lying there, trapped beneath the rubble, John Sheppard had more than enough time to think. The Last Man tag.
Characters: John
Pairing: John/Teyla, McKay/Keller
Rating: K plus for swear words.

Challenge: Angst, John/Teyla & McKay/Keller, The Last Man

Lying there, trapped beneath the rubble, John Sheppard had more than enough time to think. And he did. He thought about everything and nothing, the memories flitting past his eyelids as he lay in splendid wonder at the intricacy of his recent life.

He was going to detest the fact that the last five years had come to this; met at this point. He should have known Michael had booby-trapped the facility. Should have known not to let Rodney touch anything. Or maybe he had and he couldn't remember; if he had and Rodney still touched it – well, John would kill him if he made it out alive.

Michael was a bastard. Truly. That was the symbol of evil, right there; the man had kidnapped Teyla's people, embroiled her and her unborn child into some kind of sick plan to take over the universe. Bastard. Absolute bastard.

His head throbbed painfully, blood trickling into his eye whenever he opened it. He tried to move, failed and closed his eyes again. Was this it, his life flashing before his eyes as he drifted slowly to the end of it, crushed under a hundred tonnes of rubble? He felt woozy, the world spinning on its axis, even though his world was black.

That, he knew, could not be good.

He was tired. He wanted to sleep but he couldn't; he'd come here for something, to help someone and he'd be damned if he wasn't doing it. He tried to sit up, confused as to why he was lying down, tried to open his eyes to see why he couldn't move – couldn't breathe.

"Oh..." he managed, the word paining his body, the muscles in his leg cramping and shuddering. He slumped back and his muscles sighed in relief. He was supposed to be moving, supposed to be helping someone. But who? Why wasn't he?

What the hell had happened?

The pain was excruciating; almost too much for his already pounding head. He just wanted to sleep; to rest his weary head and let the warmth seep back into his body. He was so cold. He was pretty sure he was wet but he didn't know for sure.

As he drifted off, the images flashed again, slowly, painfully slowly, reminding him of a life he'd tried to leave behind; the memories of a future he was trying to prevent. He tried to sit up, almost screaming in pain as something slid further into him.

"Teyla!" He tried to shout but it came out more of a strangled whisper, broken off on the first vowel. He had to help her; she was supposed to be here. Where was she? Why couldn't...



Then he remembered, slumping back, whimpering in pain as he gasped for a soothing breath. She wasn't here; not like she was supposed to be.

Rodney had lied to him.

But not Rodney. Older Rodney.

Oh God, he thought, the pain.

They'd all died. While he'd been stuck in the future, they'd all died in his past; he helpless to save them. He'd been sent on a quest to change the past – or the future? – and he was failing. They were all going to die anyway.

But not Lorne. He was going to be a General.

John never wanted to be a General. Too much paper work.

And Keller had died too; died before she'd been able to find a cure for Carson so Carson could help himself. And Rodney; he'd lost the woman he'd loved. John wondered why he empathised with that. He wondered why the thought of Rodney as an old man scared him.

Older Rodney had been hollow, not really there. Had he been a ghost?

"Rodney?" John called out, hoping the ghost of Atlantis' future would appear to him again, help him through this mess. But this was a different past, a different future he'd created because he'd made it back and that was different. He'd created a paradox.

His head hurt. So much.

A concussion, probably. Teyla would fix it, he knew, when he got back to Atlantis. Her herbs were good at that.

"You just rub it here," he heard her say, felt her gentle fingers soothing the creamy substance over his forehead and nose. He smiled up at her hazy outline and tried to lift a hand to her face.

"I'm trying to save you," he told her quietly then laughed, looking down at his chest, compressed beneath a heavy looking stone.

"I know you are."

He looked back up at her, his eyes meeting hers.

"I think a building fell on me." He laughed again, ridiculously. "If McKay was here, he'd laugh. This is right up his street. A story to tell the grand kids..." he trailed off again, wondering why her gentle ministrations had stopped but she was gone. He looked around, trying to be quick but his neck would not co-operate. "Teyla?" He called but she didn't answer. "Now's not a good time to play hide and seek... I can't move... Teyla?" He looked to the other side but saw nothing. "Teyla, come out – you've been hiding for too long."

Somehow, those words rattled something in his brain and he felt something clear in his head, the pain lulling just a little to allow him a moment of beautiful clarity.

The god dam building had fallen on top of him. He'd been trying to find Teyla, missing for too long. Sent back in time by the hologram of Rodney from the future.

His head was seriously screwed.

Michael was a bastard. An absolute bastard.

John would kill him, once and for all, once he got out of here.

His head hurt.

"Teyla?" She smiled down at him, stroking his hair. "You're not supposed to be here; I haven't found you yet."

She shushed him with a smile, a gentle shake of her head.

"The others must find you first."

"Okay." He closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly feeling like a little boy again at bed time, before opening them to her again. "Then I'll find you?" He asked, as though she knew the answer to the fairytale inside his head.

She nodded. Kissed her fingers and touched them to his forehead.

"Then you'll find me."

He closed his eyes, wishing to continue his dream of ghosts and quests and knights. But there was just darkness.

And Teyla's fingers stroking him to sleep.