GDC, people, GDC.
ESFD is on hold until April, due to the need to work out the kinks in the plot. Sorry!
Warning: Dark, suicidal thoughts.
SPACE SPACE SPACE SPACE SPACE SPACE SPACE SPACE
Mentally, I correct myself as I watch Dr. McKay pace agitatedly, prattling about Major. Sheppard, alternating between curse his stupidity for going out there, and wondering if he's okay. Every now and then I put in something along the lines of 'You should go help him, I'm going to die soon anyway', but I don't hold much hope on that front. McKay is completely committed to not leaving me behind. Who would of thought that?
I'm not just impressed- I'm astonished, flabbergasted, dumbfounded, and completely blown out of the water.
The Dr. McKay currently peaking out the window and muttering about 'stupid, arrogant, gun-ho Americans' is not the same guy who was busting my chops for fifteen hours on the Puddle Jumper. The amped up guy who obviously is worried out of his mind for his friend is not the same person who poked fun at my when I was motion sick. It's not a complete 180, but it's close. He's even trying to be optimistic, in a pathetic sort of way. Not about the Wraith or Major Sheppard, but about me living, being alright, making it back to Atlantis. What is it he said again? 'You just need a good meal and a hot pot of tea and to stop talking.' Of course, when I did stop talking and he panicked, it completely ruined the effect of the pep talk.
I know I'm going to die. I'm old, there's just no way to deny it. I can feel my life force draining away from me as sure as I felt it drain away while the Wraith was feeding off me. It's more subtle, slower and less excruciating, but still draining. I'll probably be dead in a matter of hours. Sheppard might not have that luxury. He's alright been out there, what, twenty, twenty-five hours? A long time. Too long. I'm surprised Dr. McKay can still pace. I shudder to think how the Major is fairing, playing tag with a Wraith that just won't die.
I need to get rid of McKay. Maybe if I told him to leave me alone so I could die in relative peace with out his chatter constantly? Nah, that wouldn't work. The guy doesn't deserve that anyway. All things considered, he's been a virtual Saint Jude.
Somehow, I've got to get Dr. McKay to leave. I've completely given up on just telling him to go. The man just won't listen to logic of Sheppard being injured and probably in desperate need of back up, and me being literally less than a day away from death.
Then I see the gun. I can move my arm at this point. I'm dead anyway. I stare at it in silent fascination.
If I were dead, Rodney would have no reason to stay. He could help Sheppard.
Almost automatically, my mind shifts to the bitter irony of what I'm considering doing. In the letter I had written to my friend in family shortly after arrive on Atlantis, the one they would read if something happened to me, and one day I didn't make it, I had said 'I hope I died for either a good cause, or with a large collection of gray hairs on my head'. Well, now I can do both. A rare opportunity, I suppose, if you want to look at it that way.
Dr. McKay turns around, talking about hearing something. Now's my chance. Sheppard needs his help more than I do.
"Go ahead. Save the day. Be the hero."
I pull the trigger, and the last of my life force is sucked away with a deafening bang. I can only hope that it's not to late.
SPACE SPACE SPACE SPACE SPACE SPACE SPACE SPACE
Saint Jude is the patron Saint of lost causes and hopeless cases. As always, reviews are much appreciated.