Violets in Vegas: Man in Black7

I didn't know my heart could be broken by a single look.

7:34pm

There was a moment. One moment where John's and Moira's gazes locked and held. A look that conveyed everything that they had never said, but felt nonetheless. A look that spoke volumes of emotion, attachment. Love. It was a look tinged with despair, with longing of what could have been, what might have been and now would never be. But most of all it was a look that told each other everything.

Then the moment was gone.

And Todd fed.

"NO!" John shouted, struggling violently. It took all four men to hold him down, to keep him on his knees. They were keeping him in place as Moira was being drained of her life before his very eyes.

Todd had ripped her shirt and had slammed his palm onto her chest. She gasped, back arching as the adhesive pads on his fingertips took hold, as the sucker bit into her. A surge of the enzyme made her straighten and she was almost able to fight him off her. But then he began to feed on her, draining her of life, of vitality, of strength.

The Wraith's expression was a soft smile, his eyes fluttering in an almost orgasmic rush as he took and took and took, but he turned his head to watch John. To watch the man's anguished look and his suffering and that was almost better than the life he was greedily imbibing.

Moira's head fell back and her eyes fluttered. She had never felt such pain, had never imagined it would be like this. She had imagined what John had suffered at the hands of the Wraith but this was much worse than anything she could have imagined. It was as if every cell was being drained of life, every molecule of liquid was being taken from her She could feel the years slipping away from her. She could feel the march of time quickening as she was forced to age.

Worst of all, she could feel the tiny life inside her fighting and could imagine a tiny scream that made tears sparkle in her eyes.

Moira was dying in front of his eyes. Decades were being taken from her in mere seconds. She was visibly aging and weakening, the years being drained from her. Her youth fading as surely as her long brown hair was turning gray. Her rosy lips were becoming dry and as wrinkled as her face. The light in her brown eyes was slowly vanishing into a void of pain and darkness and misery. Her future was being stolen from her. Stolen from him. All the possibilities were being taken from them both and it was killing John as surely as if he was the one being drained.

It was worse. It was the worst thing imaginable to witness, and John was being forced to watch it, unable to help her. Unable to save her. Unable to do anything at all.

Except watch her die.

"McKay!" Evan shouted, latching onto the doorframe as the whirlwind sucked everything out of the room. Even things bolted down were being torn apart and tossed like toys. People screamed as they flew in circles and then flew out of the room to certain death.

Rodney latched onto an iron beam on the wall and clung, but his legs were flung into the air and he hung there like some living banner. "Did it work?" he shouted, squinting to see past the debris of papers and glass and dirt. The whirlwind swirled and swirled, grabbing everything in its path and hurling it all out of the room.

"Yes! You did it! Just hang on!" Evan replied, trying to move towards the scientist but as he loosened his hold he felt the vortex try to suck him into its path. It was like a mini-tornado and just as deadly, just as violent.

"Tell them! Tell them I saved the world!" Rodney said, meeting Evan's gaze.

"No! You can tell them yourself!" Evan shouted. "This is a stupid way to die!"

"It's not what I expected!" Rodney rejoined.

"Just hang on! How long can this thing last?" Evan wondered, but as another man was swept to his death he knocked into the wall, then into Rodney. The man spun and flew out of the room. The iron bar followed, bending like a plastic straw. Bits of debris followed after them.

So did Rodney, unable to get a firm grasp of what was left. His backpack jumped like it had nothing in it as he flew out of the room and was gone.

"McKay!" Evan shouted again, but he couldn't move to grab the other man. Evan clung to the doorframe for dear life as his feet lifted off the ground and the vortex tried to suck him into the whirlwind but he wouldn't budge, he wouldn't let go. The wind was a screaming monster tearing at him, ripping at his clothes and whipping the remaining glass shards into a frenzy. Evan shut his eyes and prayed.

He prayed it would be quick. He prayed he wouldn't feel a thing. It would be like flying, really. He would be freefalling all the way down and it would be the landing that would kill him, not the flight. It was almost a fitting way to go for a former Air Force pilot. But he didn't want to go. He didn't want to die so he clung to the doorframe and fought with every ounce of strength he could against nature's fury.

His fingers were slipping and just as it felt like his nails would break off one by one the wind abruptly stopped. His feet hit the floor and suddenly he was upright. Evan opened his eyes and stared round at the completely empty room. Not a thing was left in it.

Not a soul, except for him.

Shots.

The hold of the men momentarily weakened. A moment was all John needed. He surged to his feet, wrenching his shoulder but not caring. He struggled violently, slamming his elbow into one man, lashing out with his foot at another to hear the satisfying sound of ribs snapping. He spun and grabbed a third at the throat and head, and efficiently snapped the man's neck.

Carson was running towards them, shooting at the one man left standing.

John careened into Todd and both man and alien flew away from Moira into the dirt. The Wraith was fast, slipping free but John was faster, knowing he couldn't outfight the alien, especially not after a feeding. He slipped out of reach and pivoted, lunging for the gun Carson was tossing him even as the doctor was shooting at the alien. John caught the gun, whirled and fired. Kept firing as Todd staggered, snarled and finally went down.

"No, John! We need him alive!" Carson shouted.

John rushed to Moira, fell to his knees beside her. He cradled her in his arms. "No, no, no, Moira, no! Stay with me, baby, stay with me!"

Moira's gaze was dimming. She had been staring at a stray clump of violets, wondering how they were growing out here in the desert of all places. John was a handsome blur silhouetted against the brilliance of the orange and purple sky. Liquid colors dancing and swirling in a vibrant aurora that dazzled the eyes.

She was glad she hadn't been able to tell him about the baby. She was glad to spare him that additional anguish because she knew she was dying. She knew the baby was dying with her. Tears filled her eyes and she tried to raise a hand to touch John's scruffy face but her limbs were cold, growing colder. Paralyzed by the shock or the enzyme or both. "John," she whispered.

The wind took his name and whisked it away but John had heard her soft voice. He lifted her cold hand to his lips, kissed it. "Moira, no. Please, hold on, baby, hold on," he said, blinking back his own tears. He was staring down at the woman he loved except she appeared decades older and was on the brink of dying in his arms.

And John couldn't take it. He couldn't take it and part of him wanted to run, to scream, to get out of the nightmare but he wouldn't let Moira die alone. He wouldn't leave her.

He wished he could die instead of her.

He wished he could die with her.

He wished he could die.