The wraith hovered in front of him, a stark image of pale gray skin and intricate black tattoos, the Grim Reaper of the Pegasus Galaxy.
"I must feed Shep-pard. The hunger burns through me, undeniable, I must answer."
John steeled himself for death. He knew it was coming and he resigned himself to his fate. 'So just get it over with already!'
The hand came down like a vicious punch, branding him for his death. Air exited his lungs in a harsh whoosh and John felt something being taken from him even as the wraith stole the life from his body.
Images rushed past him even as his eyesight started to fade to black edges…Elizabeth sitting at her desk concentrating on the report in front of her…Rodney hunched over and tinkering with an ancient device in a lab… Ronon running alongside him towards the Stargate as enemy fire rains down around them…
His friends, his family.
The last image didn't waver but held steady in his mind and he latched onto it, a feminine face framed by soft cinnamon colored hair, wisps that floated across her cheek, a sweet smile that had enraptured him the first time he had caught a glimpse of it
And with that image warming him, held close to his heart… he met death.
John Sheppard woke to darkness of night…not death.
He was very much still alive, in his quarters in Atlantis…two levels down from Elizabeth, one up from Rodney and one hallway over and two doors down from Teyla.
And he had a wraith to thank for it. The nameless enemy he now only in retrospect realized he had never given a name too, not even subconsciously. No Steve…no Bob or Michael…
"It is a right we reserve for those alone we consider…brother."
John abruptly threw off his bed coverings, stood up and headed over to the small adjoining room in his quarters. A quick thought and cold water rushed from the tap of the sink. He cupped his hands and splashed the water over his face as if the shock of the cold and the wetness would wash away his dream.
The water merely warmed at the touch of his skin and in rivets ran down his neck to soak into the fabric of his shirt.
John stared at his reflection in the mirror, seeing a shell of himself staring back at him…no jovial grin, no smirk just…tiredness.
He reached down and gripped the edge of his shirt and pulled it over his head, baring his chest for his own scrutiny.
The shirt was dropped to the floor, forgotten, as John stared at the upper left portion of his chest.
Smooth skin and dark hair.
There was no sign, no scar to give testament to what the wraith had done to him yet he felt different. As if even thought the wraith had given him back his life, he had also kept something for himself because John felt…incomplete.
With a raised hand, he mimicked the wraith and placed it over his heart.
And outwardly flinched at the memory.
Even though his heart thudded beneath his hand and blood pulsed through his veins…John didn't quite feel alive.
He felt like he was on borrowed time not his own.
Carson had given him a clean bill of heath, not being able to find any remnants of what the wraith had done to him in his physiology. There was no duress from his ordeal…that anyone could see…
John thoughtfully rubbed his flat palm over his chest….no physical scar…yet how did one give a diagnosis for the human soul?
He had never before considered himself to be a spiritual man, more use to dealing with what was plain in sight and what his two hands were capable of…but now…
Now he had changed, he sensed it within himself that he was not the same as he was before his capture by the Geni…just as how he saw the image of the old, withered old man layered over his own in his reflection.
The wraith had changed him.
Soft chimes sounded through the silence of his quarters and a slight frown crinkled his brow at the unwelcome intrusion.
He didn't feel like having company. Didn't want to be forced to wear a grin and pretend he was alright, that he was still the same.
But the chimes at this hour could only mean one thing.
He wasn't in the mood to face Elizabeth's smile, her façade to prove she was dealing with what had happened to him and her own decisions as leader.
He didn't think he was capable of handling the late night chatter of McKay's prattling on about some Ancient device, his way of coping.
And he truly believed he would snap if Carson asked one more time to set up more tests to try to find out how the wraith had returned his life to him…
Not now…not yet….
But still he forced a light hearted grin across his face and formed a greeting in his mind as he walked to his door.
Facing the closed the door, he composed himself, made sure he could be what they wanted to see…and opened the door…
The smile faded, no greeting came…
The person standing there before him was the one who could see right through him…
Teyla