Drabble. Post-Lifeline. I do not own Stargate Atlantis.
Free-Fall
It was better than the bottle.
He took the steps two at a time, breath coming in short gasps. Concentrate. Concentrate.
Moonlight filtered through the tall glass windows adorning the sides of the small tower, ensuring that he wouldn't trip himself.
Right, left, right, left, bare feet pounding on metal, he climbed up the spiral. One hundred steps, two hundred, three hundred, and then...
Thank God this place existed. The last thing he needed was a transporter. The last thing he wanted was time to think.
The night air brushed his face as the automatic doors opened before him. He found himself on a balcony hovering just over the water, composed in its tranquility. Black, navy, aquamarine – the shimmering colors summoned forth by the gentle winds – grew increasingly alluring, fascinating, perfect.
Slowly, he pushed himself onto the balcony wall and sucked in the cold air. The goose bumps rose. No need to think. No need. Don't do it. Just...
John jumped.
His heart was a drum in his chest, teeth gritted tightly. The wind was growing colder, colder, biting now. Everything a blur. Blue approaching faster, more and more magnificent the closer he came. Lights from the city glimmering on and off, brilliant then obscure.
No, no need to think about anything as the anticipation of the sea below claimed his attention and he held his breath. Nothing to reflect on while his body turned into an icicle, plummeting head first.
Faster, faster...
A sudden, clean splash. He felt himself fall further beneath the surface and the sting of the freezing water sent his mind reeling. It felt excruciating. It felt so good.
He wanted the ice on his skin, the fire in his lungs. His mind would be wiped of coherent thought – the ideal state.
It was, of course, short lived.
He surfaced, wiped his eyes, and swam slowly, methodically, to the edge of the pier. With numb arms, he hoisted himself up, glancing at the structure from which he'd fallen.
To anyone else he must have looked a wreck. Who cared? He didn't want to think about them. Helpless, desperate. He wanted to dispel every thought, every contemplation. Otherwise, the mantra would play and again he'd see her face and her voice and her laugh and her touch and her smile and her eyes and...
Her eyes would haunt his memory.
The throbbing in his head returned, as it always did, and John willed every fiber of his being not to convulse.
He dug his heel into the ground, one ever-persistent drop having trickled down his cheek, and drove himself toward the imposing tower once more.