Sheppard had never felt so exposed in all of his life.

He had, for as long as he could remember, been a closed off person, through choice rather than circumstance. He didn't like people to get too close and in a sense he purposely kept them dangling that way. He doubted anybody really knew him. Other than what they knew from instinct or experience, they really had no idea what made him John Sheppard. None of them knew about his family, his father for instance was a respected General in the Air Force.

Elizabeth had known about his black mark but he had never said specifically what it meant.

He continued to stare at the screen in front of him, knowing that after that event there was one more thing which managed to replay in his mind. If anything he was partly thankful to it for steering him to Atlantis but on the other hand without him Sumner might be alive and as a result the wraith would be no more and Ford would be…well Ford, instead of super Ford.

He wondered if Sumner and Ford would pop up on the screen, but ultimately it was this one event which had shaped the course of his life

The screen went black for a second before coming to life and showing a dark corridor.

He could hear everyone's hushed breathing behind him as his point of view from the next day played out in full Technicolor.

He remembered that day clearly. His court hearing was scheduled for the next day and he had been banned from flying and fraternizing with the other men, but he had managed to get out and had gone for a much needed run.

From his point of view he was entering the communal shower rooms and walking over to the sink. He could feel the pain in his shoulder flaring up and when he rolled up his shirt sleeve he could see that there was blood there and realised that his stitches must have split. He set about using the water to clean off his arm and it was only when he looked in the mirror did he catch the reflection of something behind him.

He turned slowly and realised he could see a boot poking out from the large wash room behind him.

"Hey?" he called out uncertainly.

The boot was immediately retracted and he was sure he could hear a sob escape the troubled person.

He approached the wash area slowly, not knowing what to expect, and peered around the corner. He could see a figure sat in the corner, legs pulled up to their chest and a gun dangling in the hand between their legs.

All pain in his shoulder forgotten he walked over to the figure and knelt down. As soon as his knees connected with wet floor he could see the face of the soldier more clearly, "Davey?" he asked reaching out and gripping him by the shoulder.

Daveys head snapped up and even in the darkness he could see the track marks of tears.

"Davey, what's going on?" he asked glancing down at the gun in his hand.

Davey didn't answer. He merely buried his head back into his arms and a sob escaped him.

He swallowed thickly and with his good hand reached forward to take the gun.

Davey obviously sensed his movement and in an instant his grip on the weapon became firmer and he pointed it up at John, "Don't," Davey said as he heaved in a painful breath.

He pulled back slowly and put his hands up in a gesture of peace, "Come on man, it's me. It's Shep."

Davey's face crumbled when he could no longer hold his composure and he looked at the gun in his shaking hands, "This was the one-," he said wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, "This is the gun I used to kill our men."

He bit his lip and heard the words echo around the wash room, "Look Davey, I know this is hard but-"

"You," Davey spat, his voice rising in pitch, "Didn't kill those men."

"You weren't to know," he said still holding his hands up despite the pain which radiated down his shoulder, into his back and around his side.

"You dragged me into this," Davey was saying and he was scrubbing at his face. His voice was breaking.

He couldn't argue with him there. He was right and he knew that a day wouldn't go by where he wouldn't regret that decision for the rest of his life. He even hoped that tomorrow at his hearing he did get punished so that it could justify the guilt he felt.

"I know it's hard," he said inching closer, "but you have to pull yourself together. You get through this hearing tomorrow and-" he paused and tried to think what he could say.

Davey closed his eyes wearily and shook his head, "I can't," he said as fresh tears stung his eyes and fell down his face.

Davey in an instant he was looking at the gun with absolute clarity and as he talked he slowly repositioned the gun up against his temple, "I'm not a hero," he said with a shake of his head. The gun pressing harder into the side of his head.

He shifted closer now, "That's what you're worried about? Not being a hero?" he asked, realising that Daveys choice to even go into the military forces was a misguided one.

"I wanted to help our men, instead I killed them. In the split second I pulled the trigger I knew he was an American but my brain responded too slow and by then-" his finger depressed the trigger slightly, "By then it was too late."

"Davey, you don't want to do this, not like this," he said feeling his own composure wane.

Now he was not only fighting with Davey to stop himself from ending it all in this way, but he was trying to keep himself upright and strong, "What about your wife?"

Daveys eyes were open wide and his lips were trembling, "I couldn't look her in the face," he said tears dropping off the end of his nose.

"You have a baby on the way," he said inching even closer to his friend, "Please don't do this."
Davey was pressing the gun even harder against his skin. His hand was shaking and he was beginning to doubt the mans ability to stop himself.

Davey was shaking his head, sobbing, his right hand was balled up into a fist and hitting the wet floor, "I can't."

His hands were reaching out now and they were shaking but he had to stop him, "Think about this, just…think," he said.

"Aimee," said Davey.

"Yeah Aimee, she wouldn't want to hear about this. Not like this."

His aim on his head was dropping, becoming loose and his arm lowering.

"She wants you to come home."

Davey was still sobbing and he had never seen a man cry like this before.

It angered him somewhat that he couldn't cry like this, that he couldn't let all the demons out in this one expression. Instead, he knew they built up inside like a house of cards.

It would only take one breath of this to bring them all down.

"Please," he said as his hands cupped around Daveys.

They were silent, both men breathing heavily and him with the added pain of his injury reminding him he was alive and not to let Davey get out so easily, "Just let go of the gun."

Davey shook his head.

"Okay," he said, "Okay, just don't…don't do anything stupid."

Davey nodded. Silent and seemingly in control of his emotions. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Its fine," he said, his heart hammering so hard n his chest he thought it might burst out. "That's…fine," he said and tried to keep his head clear.

The moonlight lit up the room enough for him to see his friend.

"You are going to be okay," he said.

Daveys eyes seemed to agree, but they went wide on noticing something.

"You're bleeding," said Davey pointing with his unarmed hand.

He looked down and could see the blood through his shirt, "Shit, yeah I am," he let out a strangled laugh.

"We're a state huh?" said Davey. He bought a hand up and wiped at his tears.

He nodded, "Yeah."

Daveys eyes met his in the dark, they glistened from what little light came through a small window. "You should go clear that up."

"No, I'm good."
"Go on, I don't need you bleeding all over me here, just…go over there and clean it up. I'll sit here."

He eyed the gun and swallowed, not wanting to leave the fragile man.

"Look I'm fine," he said, "I just had a…crazy moment. I love my wife too much." He said, but something in the way he spoke had his heart hammering again.

Was there a tremor in his voice?

"Okay," he said on feeling the pain in his shoulder flare up, "I'll be right over there." He reached out for the gun.

"What you don't believe me?" Davey narrowed his eyes.

He stood slowly, "Of course," he said, his eyes still on the gun and still hesitantly moving backwards, "I'd just feel better if I had it."

"I'm fine," said Davey more firmly and smiling. He was looking more like himself.

"You sure?"

"Yeah Shep, you saved me."

"Okay."

"You're a good friend man."

He nodded and gave him a glance over his shoulder before walking back over to the sink.

He was pulling up his top and said, "Look maybe when this is all over-"

The shot that rang out behind him split the air and he found himself instinctively going to his knees. His hands were gripping the sink tightly and his knuckles had gone white.

Without turning, without saying a word he sat on the floor silently and breathed in heavily against the dizziness in his head.

"You son of a bitch," he murmured as he lowered his head against the sink.

He could only hear the dripping of the water from the tap and his heart in his ears.

Both reminding him he was alive.

He didn't need to turn to know Davey was dead.

All he had to do was look at the floor as a rivet of blood ran towards him.

The screen in front of him suddenly went dead and instead of jumping out the chair like he had earlier planned he leant forward and put his head in his hands.

He didn't know how long he was sat there like that but he was left alone for a while. He thought he heard them shuffling out of the room to give him space at some point, but he couldn't be sure.

It was only when he felt somebody touch his shoulder did he look up with tired bloodshot eyes.

"Its okay," said Beckett.

He nodded and lowered his head again, unable to maintain eye contact, unable to shift his last images of Davey from his head.

"Your EEG is looking good," said Beckett quietly, "but I want you to spend the night in the infirmary anyway."

Sheppard nodded. His senses were completely numbed and he didn't know how to get over it, "Daveys wife was distraught," he said with a sigh, "I had to tell her at his funeral some made up heroic shit." He laughed and sank forward, heaving in another sigh and fighting the prominent urge to cry.

He never even cried at Davey's funeral, nor when he saw those bodies, but now he felt drained and ill equip to deal with his fellow men and women.

Was it possible to cry without spilling any tears?

Beckett stood next to him silently.

"One of the men who had died, his father was a General. He was actually thankful that I bought his sons body back. Often relatives don't get a body in war and they bury an empty coffin, but this guy he actually thanked me," he let out a laugh which didn't mask his disgust, "He thanked me for not letting the Afghanistan's desecrate his body." He looked up and stared at the screen as if he could still see it playing out there, "That saved me. He put in a good word, they put a spin on it to make me sound more heroic and at the hearing I got the choice to continue my tour with them or go to Antarctica," he looked down at his hands and clenched them, "But Davey, I kinda wish his parents never got to see his body." He balled up his fist, "Shot to the head. Not pretty for them." He tried to even his breathing out, "You know, they blamed that on guilt for not saving the men." It felt good to talk, despite the subject matter.

For so long he had suffered in silence.

For so long he had been crippled with guilt.

"I can't imagine how that must have been for you," said Beckett taking a step back. Close enough to let Sheppard know he was still there, but just far enough to give him space.

Sheppard laughed quietly, but it seemed to become caught in his throat and strangulate into a groan, "I should have taken the gun off him." He looked up, "I believed the son of a bitch when he said he wouldn't kill himself."

Beckett wasn't sure what to say. There was no book which told you how to deal with a scenario of this sort. It wasn't often people were forced to watch history play out in front of them, especially not traumatic history.

Sheppard's hands and legs were trembling and his stomach roiled. "Where are the others?"

"Outside," said Beckett, "They wanted to give you space."

"Scared huh?" he said looking up and leaning on balled fists.

"No," admitted Beckett, "They want to help you."

"Ha," he said rubbing at his eyes, "Help me." He smiled softly as he thought of them all pacing outside the door.

"What do you think Doc? Honestly."

Beckett took a step back and leant on one of the consoles there. He raised a hand and started t stroke his chin whilst he thought, "War is messy," he offered, "And you weren't to know. Your shot was fired in motivation to save your friend. Covering it up wasn't smart but you wanted to give the soldier a chance. You didn't leave the bodies behind."

"And what about Davey?" he asked now turning to Beckett fully.

"Some people are stronger than others. We all saw it, you tried John, but some people are beyond saving."

He nodded and stared at the screen again. He had secretly hoped on screen it would play out differently.

"I just hope you're not beyond saving," said Beckett honestly.

"You don't have to worry about me Doc," he said eerily calm.

"Maybe if you talked to Kate-" he offered.

He shook his head gently, "No Beckett. No shrinks."

"Okay."

Silence again.

Blessed silence.

Sheppard bought his hands together again and rested his head on them, "I'm going to sit here for a while."

"Okay, I'll sit with you," said Beckett jumping up onto the console and getting comfortable.

-------------

TBC

There's going to be some much needed recovery and possibly room for more whump. Please keep reading.