To die, to sleep; —
To sleep, perchance to dream: — ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
The eyes he awakens to are not the ones he was dreaming of. The brown orbs he'd come accustomed to were replaced with blues that he'd known for so long. His breathing is shallow, his body slick with a thin layer of sweat. At least this time he's not screaming, though his pounding heart is louder than he's ever heard it. Her hand is on his forehead, cool and gentle and he closes his eyes at her touch, trying to calm his body.
"You were dreaming again."
It's more of a question than a statement and he sits up slowly, forcing her hand from his head. It comes to rest gently on his arm, just above his elbow and when he looks at it, it's not as pale as he knows it should be. A blink and then it's as porcelain as it always had been. He stares straight ahead to the blank wall in front of him, his knees tucked to his chest, arms slung around them. He nods in reply to her question, turning away from her, shuffling to the edge of the bed and planting his feet on floor. A shudder runs up his body as the coolness seeps into his warm body.
"I'm going for a walk," he murmurs and stands up, only his subconscious mind registering the gentle sigh that escapes her lips.
The quiet halls of the old city of the Ancestors always served well to calm his racing mind. His bare feet slap against the floor, echoing across the hallways and he revels in the stillness of the night. He can feel the restful of the city seep into his bones but it does little to calm his troubled mind. He'd dreamed of her since his return – felt her strong arms pushing him through the 'Gate with promises of following him that she'd ever got to carry out.
The doors swished open as he stepped up to them and he was greeted with the familiar sights and sounds of the sea and sky. The waves whispered against the piers, the swells lulling the each other to slumber. The warm air wafted against his skin, misty with salty droplets of sea, cooling his temperate brow. The inky sky was streaked with thin strands of gray and silver, rose and lavender; nebula and clouds. Tiny crystals scattered across the deep velvet, winking at him, easing him with their sense of familiarity.
It had killed him not seeing the stars while he'd been held captive. They were his reprieve from a world of constant change, they reassured him that he was in a safe place. He hadn't had that on Genoa. He gulped, his eyes closing of their own accord as the image played out on the blank canvas of his mind. It was futile to resist them and he lowered himself to ground, propped up by a wall at his back.
Sleep would not come easy.
--
The Wraith hadn't taken all of the life from the young boy and both John Sheppard and Aiden Ford wished it had. The lieutenant lay in John's arms, a withered husk, his skin leathered and dry. John knew this was a worse torture than the feeding. It was torture for him and for Aiden. John was the leader, his people being picked off one by one underneath him until he told them what they wanted.
He wasn't sure how many Wraith they'd managed to capture, nor was he sure how. But they had and it frightened John. He didn't know his captors but they certainly knew him – knew of Atlantis and its great power. And they wanted it.
"Sir..."
John looked down to the cracked lips of his team mate and felt hatred well up within him again. Ford was too young for this! He didn't deserve the fate that was fit for no one, not even John's worst enemies.
"Ford," he replied with a lightness he did not feel.
"Do it..."
John shook his head.
"I can't."
"You..." he coughed and John hissed at the hollowness of it, the emptiness. "You did it for Colonel Sumner."
John closed his eyes against the guilt the memory of his words conjured. It was not something he was proud of but he knew it was all that could have been done. This was different.
"This time, I actually can't." He thought he saw Ford frown but he wasn't sure. "I haven't got the means."
From the far corner where the other prisoners were, he heard a shuffling sound as one of them stood. They hadn't interacted much with the others, knowing that they would no doubt be dead the next day anyway; there was no point in exchanging pleasantries. A woman came towards them slowly, her head lowered as she fiddled about with something on her waist. In the dimness, John couldn't see what it was but when the single shard of light caught the reflective surface he knew what it was.
"It is something I have done for many of my people," she told him as she handed the knife to him. He wondered where she got it from but didn't question it as he took it from her. He studied her for a moment, held her steady gaze until she nodded resolutely and turned back to where she'd come from. She paused and turned her head to him slightly, her dark eyes catching his once more. "It is the right thing to do."
He waited for long minutes before turning back to Ford, who shuddered in another breath. He looked questioningly at the younger man who nodded slowly, resolutely. But John faltered. How would he live with himself if he did this? Chances are he wouldn't live long enough to have the regret eat away at him.
He'd want someone to do it for him.
"It was an honour, sir..." Ford groaned as John and two of the other marines turned him into his back.
John closed his eyes for a second, a cold fist clamping his gut in a tight grasp. He opened his eyes only long enough to manoeuvre the knife to the base of the young man's skull, at the tip of his spine. John only hoped the blade was long enough to pierce right through to his heart. He spared a glance to the two marines on either sad who nodded sadly before closing their eyes as they held the withered body up by its shoulders.
"Goodbye, Aiden..."
He closed his eyes as he thrust the blade into his neck.
The feeling would haunt him forever.
