John was tired. No, that was an understatement, he was mind-numbingly exhausted. His body ached and not just from the healing wounds but also from finally being able to relax after months of constant tension. His mind was blank, his thoughts sluggish and fuzzy, only half realised before fading away like wisps of smoke. John laid on the bed, staring up at the ceiling of the infirmary, letting the quiet music of his favourite Johnny Cash CD wash over him.
It was over. After all those long, painful, shadow-filled days, after all the pain and sorrow, all the struggles and fights, it was finally, blessedly over. Forza was dead, Keeshaw was dead, ninety percent of the guards were dead and every guard who'd tortured him and Rodney was dead, the prisoners were free and getting long-needed medical attention and for those who wanted it, getting counselling… it was over, it was really over.
John couldn't comprehend the fact, couldn't understand how his world could suddenly be normal again. It was too sudden, too unexpected, there had been no dramatic buildup or cryptic clues. One minute, he was being forced to fight for the sadistic satisfaction of a now-dead bastard and the next, he was lying in a comfy, warm bed in the infirmary. John didn't have to fight for his survival any more, didn't have to worry about getting killed, didn't have to hide in the corners, hoping and praying that the guards would chose someone else to torment tonight. It didn't make any sense.
John sighed and rolled onto his side, wincing as small flickers of pain fought their way through the medications Carson had given him, to remind him that he was still healing.
How could he explain it? John knew that they all wanted to ask even more questions, wanted to know, to understand, what had happened to him, but he didn't know how to put it into words. How could he hope to explain the terrifying horror of being kidnapped and forced to fight, and kill others, while people watched and cheered? How could he tell them that he wasn't the person they knew, that he'd been changed by his experiences?
Because in the end, that's what it came down to, he'd been changed. Sure before, he'd been a bit of a cynic as well as jaded, but deep down he'd still been innocent, in some respects. Now he wasn't. And what made it worse was that John knew he didn't belong here, in this place, any more. He didn't belong in the bright, sunshiny world that the others lived in. John couldn't share in their happiness and laughter, couldn't join in with their fun and games. He belonged in the shadows, with tears and blood and pain.
John wasn't sure why he thought of it, or even when. It seemed like the thought had always been there, lurking in the back of his mind, waiting for the right moment, because once he did think it, it seemed terribly simple and so very right. It would hurt them, and he knew that they probably wouldn't understand, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that. It was the only answer, and he accepted it gracefully.
Forcing his drug-heavy body to move, John sat up, it took more effort than he would have liked. Taking a moment he tried to gain some control over his body. Walking proved to be a bit of a difficulty, but John found that if he took it slow and put one hand on the wall for balance, he could walk in a relatively straight line. The corridor was thankfully empty and after a few steps John realized that, that was probably do to the fact that it was the middle of the night. Good, that meant there was less chance of running into someone.
John managed to get to his quarters and then out to the southwest pier without being spotted. John stood for a moment, catching his breath and letting the moon light soak into his skin. It felt strange, to be standing in the moon light with a soft breeze brushing against his skin. Just another little reminder that he didn't belong in this happy world anymore.
John glanced back over his shoulder at the city, wishing for a moment that he could say goodbye to them in person. He wanted to tell Aiden that he was sorry, that he wished things had turned out differently. He wanted to thank Teyla for understanding him, better than most peole. He wanted to thank Carson for all the times he'd saved his life. He wanted to thank Elizabeth for bringing him along with the expedition, for giving him a second chance at having a family and for giving him a place to call home.
John sighed and looked away from the city, staring at his bare feet as he pulled out a knife, it was the same knife he'd used to kill Rodney. Nobody else knew John had it, he'd found it when he was looking for Forza and the others, but hadn't told anyone about it. For a second, he found himself unable to move, too scared to go forward and unable to go back, but then the second passed and slashed at his wrists before plunging the knife into his chest.
To John it was a kind of poetic justice, that the very same knife that had been used to take Rodeny's life, was now taking his life. Slumping against the wall John slid down it feeling the life drain out of him. Thinking back over his life John realized that his only real big regret - besides killing his best friend - was that the others would never truly understand why he was doing this, why there was no other choice. Staring out at the ocean John let a small smile form as the world, the pain, the sorrow, all of it faded away, finally letting him be free.
A/N: Ok now before you all try to kill me remember that there is one more chapter (which I'm working on at this very moment) and I promise that everything will work out. I'm sure you'll all be both surprised and happy with the ending cause everything will work out I promise.