On the Road to Humanity
By echotango
Prologue
He's lying in the desert, bleeding out, and in pain. He's back in Afghanistan but not for long because after all this time he finally could let go.
Holland was gone along with eleven others and it was time to let go. This wasn't about him. It had never been about him. If he didn't know that before he knew that now.
"It's about time you got your head out of your ass, Sheppard," Mitch's voice boomed.
"Yeah, Shep stop beating yourself up, it was a team decision."
Dex stood patiently on Mitch's right, one hand resting lightly on his hip while the other rubbed the stubble on his chin.
"No," he gasped as the pain moved from a booming throb to a sharp stab in his chest "it was my responsibility; I let my relationship with Holland influence my decision."
Whom was he kidding? When the order had come to abandon the mission and return to base, he had been overwhelmed. His feelings had come crashing down on him with a clarity he had never known and he had allowed himself to be persuaded to stay the course, to ignore the order to abort the mission.
Twelve people had died because he couldn't say no, he couldn't hang tough and follow orders. He couldn't obey orders that would have saved twelve lives.
Mitch knelt down beside him and pulled an oxygen mask out of his pack, which he gently secured in place over his nose and mouth. "That is so much bullshit and you know it. You did it because we don't leave one of our own behind. You would have done the same thing for a stranger, Shep," he reminded him gently.
His breaths were shallow and ragged and he fought the insane urge to laugh. He really didn't have the energy.
"You can't take that away from us Shep," Dex told him gently as he pressed down the field dressings that had appeared in his hands onto the still bleeding wounds.
"Can you see them John," Mitch asked him, his face turned to the sky that was suddenly a rich velvety black.
John blinked and the stars bloomed in the darkened sky. He could feel hands, gentle and smooth on his own and then the prick of an IV needle.
"This is bigger than you, you know that now."
"I'm not him," John whispered.
"No but you're more than you've allowed yourself to be John," Dex told him firmly, his fingers brushing John's hair off his forehead.
"Call Ahmed, he's been waiting for you." Mitch told him as he administered a field dose of morphine.
He was cold, so very cold. The desert was like that, blazing heat in the day and startling cold at night once the sun had retreated in a sweep of fiery colours.
"Are you ready John? Are you ready to move on?" they asked him in unison, their voices entwined together and floating on the cooling desert breeze.
"I'm ready," John agreed as he finally closed his eyes.
He was ready for the next step whether that was death or another chance at life. He was ready to move forward because that was the only direction left for him to go.
"I'm ready," he slurred as the pain in his chest flared leaving him cold, numb and shaking in a clean white light.
"We miss you Shep," they told him softly as they lifted him up.
Mitch's snort and Dex's deep chuckle faded away and he remembered taking one last shuddering breath before the white coalesced into a welcome darkness.
The Emerald City
McKay had it backwards, he hadn't learned to live with it; it had come to live with him. It lived with him every day and every night, especially the nights; four American soldiers and eight civilians and two survivors.
The Senator and his aide had been forceful and threatening. John had been arrogant and overconfident. He could have resisted, he could have refused to listen.
He had almost made it too. He had reached the extraction point and the stranded med team had scrambled on board but a combination of mechanical failure and enemy fire had brought the Chinook crashing to the ground well within Taliban territory.
Ahmed had tried to come forward, tried to defend John. Tried to explain how the Sentator had pressured and then downright threatened him into attempting the rescue despite the orders to abort. John had found out and through his lawyer had made sure Ahmed's father knew what his son was trying to do.
John hadn't been the only one desperate to reach the med center that day. As pilot in command, he had the final say and the final responsibility. The burden was for him and only him to bear.
He hadn't seen Ahmed after that but John suspected that it was thanks to the influence of Ahmed's father that he had avoided a prison sentence. Despite John's best efforts to distance himself, Ahmed had kept in contact. Once a month, without fail, for the last five years, Ahmed had called him.
"How are you doing? Do you need anything?"
John had tried to avoid the calls but had failed miserably. Once he had been called into the Captains office where he had been ordered to take the call, the captain's personal cell phone held out to him. He had bowed to the inevitable from then on.
"John if you need anything at all call me, OK?"
"Yeah, yeah sure."
Now John found himself doing something he thought he would never do again as long as he lived. He reached out for help.
"Hey, it's John. Yeah, I'm good. Listen, I, uh, kind of got shot and I need someplace quiet, you know until I figure out what to do next."
~*~
It had been two weeks since he had been mortally wounded. He winced as he thought about it. They had done something to him, something alien, he was sure because he should have died. He was certain he had died. At the very least, after only fifteen days, with the kind of injuries he had suffered, he shouldn't have been able to move much less feel as great as he did.
He didn't ask though and instead he walked out of the desert facility on his own two feet and without looking back, with only McKay's business card and a packet of spearmint gum in his pocket.
He flew into JFK and melted away into anonymity.
Ahmed's family was very, very wealthy and with that came power and connections that Ahmed was smart and astute enough to use.
The SGC didn't stand a chance. John Sheppard had disappeared.
~*~
It was early morning and the city of Seattle was bathed in a surreal swirl of mist and fog. They had made their way to the waterfront where John now stood in the middle of the street absolutely stunned, his open mouth and wide eyes completing the dumbfounded look.
Before him stood their restaurant, the black lettering glistening in the morning sunshine – The Blacktail Rooster.
"You did it. I can't believe you actually did it."
John grinned and for the first time in ages, he allowed himself to care and to remember the good parts for once.
His unit, his team had spent a good deal of their down time planning. A restaurant the team would open and operate together.
"Falafels for Mitch," Ahmed told him with a matching smile lighting up his face "and pizza for Dex."
"And Caesar Salad for Sarah and ice cream for me," John added softly as Ahmed unlocked the door.
"That's right, eleven flavours," Ahmed added giving John a speculative look.
"Fifth prime number," John murmured "for the five Blacktails."
"John, I wasn't sure if you would approve."
"Don't Ahmed, once a Blacktail always a Blacktail. You were part of the team. You still are. This is good, we're good."
John struggled for a moment with his composure. Damn it, five years and it still hurt as if it had happened this morning.
They had entered the restaurant when a thought suddenly struck John and he whipped around to study the menu board.
"Oh, you didn't," he groaned, "spaghetti and meatballs for Ahmed."
"Yep, they were voted best in Seattle three years in a row."
"So it's a going concern," John asked more to break the silence that had settled over them than a real need to know.
"It's wildly successful."
They were sitting in the living room in the small studio apartment in which John would be staying. Built above the restaurant it was small but efficient, it's clean lines and neutral colours exhibiting a quiet elegance that John found soothing.
"So know anyone who could use an ex-military, slightly bent detective? There are some people I owe and the sooner I start paying them off the better."
"Yes, about that."
John narrowed his eyes as he looked at Ahmed. Even after all these years, he recognized that tone. The tone that said 'I went ahead and did something and it's all good and anyways you really can't do anything about it because it's a done deal and by the way you won't like it.'
Ahmed had been the team's 'go to guy'. He not only got what they needed but he anticipated not only their needs but also that of the entire base. Be it in the boardroom of the most powerful corporation in the world or in a secondary military base at the edge of the war zone in Afghanistan, Ahmed was a natural hustler.
Ahmed used his intelligence and cunning to benefit those close to him. What set him apart was that if he could this group would include everyone on the planet. Minus the bad guys, of course, which he would crush with a ruthlessness that astonished them all. John used to joke that it was his job to make sure he didn't end up in spandex tights meeting with the League of Justice every second Wednesday.
"I bought your markers."
"You did what?"
John choked down his coffee, and carefully set the cup down on the table in front of him.
"I paid your gambling debts. All of them, including those off the books. Mikey was quite accommodating, actually."
John took a deep breath and willed both his jaw and fists to unclench. He hadn't felt this irrationally angry since the last time he had spoken to his father.
"You can't," John gritted out "I didn't ask for that."
"I didn't do it so you would owe me. It was necessary in order for you to be able to disappear safely. These people would have never given up, John. You really did pick some winners," he added sadly.
John deflated, the anger draining out of him leaving him exhausted and nursing the beginnings of a big headache.
"Besides you'll have it paid off within the year."
"And how am I going to accomplish that?"
"Well, first of all you will give it up."
It was a statement of fact, not a demand and John nodded.
He had already made that decision, had already figured it out. No more gambling, no more drinking. He wasn't sure what would hold back the nights but he would find something.
He got up from the couch, rummaged through his duffle bag, and pulled out a small box. Opening it up, he retrieved the bottle of thirty-year-old scotch and the pack of playing cards. Looking around the room he finally placed them on one of the shelves built into the wall next to him, the focal point of the living room area.
"They'll remind me where I've been and where I want to go."
"I want you to manage the restaurant," Ahmed blurted out.
"Ahmed, I know nothing about running a restaurant."
"John you were a Major in the United States Military, the definition of middle management which everyone is screaming for, by the way, especially the military. They can't get enough Majors. Too bad they threw away a perfectly good one."
John looked doubtful.
"I'll teach you the specifics you need to know."
"I have my own unique style of management as you may recall. It'll have to be done my way."
"Oh, I remember and I wouldn't have it any other way."
"I still hate paperwork."
"Jenna will be your assistant. She already does most of that for me. So you'll do it?"
"Oh, God, I can't believe I'm even considering this. Yeah, I'll give it a shot."
John flopped down further into the couch. He would have to start running again. It had always provided a welcome distraction.
Ahmed stood for a full minute an odd expression on his face. A brilliant smile tinged with a hint of sadness and regret.
"Oh, before I forget, here's your new I.D."
John studied the documents Ahmed handed him. Passport, driver's license, social security number, birth certificate even a pilot's license. They were very good forgeries, very good.
"Jason Smith?" John asked his eyebrows rising into his hairline.
"Yeah, this way you keep your initials and don't look at me like that, Smith is the most common surname in the United States."
John could feel his emotions surfacing again, the unexpected name change forcing them to the forefront. Reminding him of the only other time he considered changing his name. It was as if he had been dead, cold and numb for the last five years and was just now thawing out.
McKay's voice echoed across his consciousness.
"I know everything about you. You've never been married."
John Holland-Sheppard. Sarah Holland-Sheppard. Their fifth wedding anniversary would have been coming up next week.
"Ahmed, do you believe in destiny?"
Three times now he should have died. Three times, he had somehow cheated death. Once in the crash in Afghanistan, once when the sidearm his father had given him before he left him alone with a bottle of scotch had jammed, and once when a dangerous alien creature had shot the hell out of him and his car.
Ahmed looked at his friend.
"The John Sheppard I know chooses his own destiny. I believe we all have that choice."
The lone wraith's voice twisted through his memories.
"There must be some other reason for your existence. I know the future. I'll show you your destiny…John Sheppard."
"John, what is it?"
Ahmed's voice broke through his reverie, the edge of concern he heard telling him that he had called more than a few times.
"You know what? You are absolutely right and it's time I made those choices." John told his friend, after letting out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
