Time Immemorial

Chapter 29: Finished

July 17th
0754 Hours

John's eyelids slowly fluttered open. His looked left, then right, gaining his senses.

"Major, you're awake!" he heard a relieved voice say - McKay's, he was pretty sure.

Picking his head up, John found himself prone on the hallway floor, still just inside the doorway to the pier. Gingerly, he hoisted himself to a sitting position, using the wall to brace himself.

"You had me worried," the Canadian went on, babbling as he did when he was tense. "I thought you were... you know..."

John squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the pounding inside his skull. "Yeah, well I'm not so sure I'm not... you know," he croaked. "I feel like I've been dragged behind a semi."

"That's no excuse! You almost dropped this when you passed out!" McKay accused, hefting the ZPM. "It could have shattered - what were you thinking?"

"That it might be a good time to pass out," John answered tiredly. His eyes suddenly shot open. "The ZPM... come on, we've got to double-time it to the Power Room!" he barked. He quickly attempted to regain his feet, too quickly, and fell to the floor with wince as his shaky legs gave out from under him.

"I don't think you'll be double-timing it anywhere," McKay concluded.

"Fine. Then you'll be double-timing back to the Power Room."

The physicist looked at him incredulously. "I can't just leave you here."

"McKay, we need that shield up, ASAP."

"Look, I already ran that gauntlet once solo, and I'd rather not repeat it."

"Were you followed?"

"What?"

"Were you followed?"

"No... I don't know, why?"

"Here, take this and go," John continued, offering Antigonos' pistol to the scientist.

"No! I'm not leaving you here," Rodney maintained, "and I'm certainly not leaving you here without a gun. Now would you just take all of two minutes to catch your breath, Rambo? We'll go when you can stand."

John sat back against the wall with an exhale of protest, as good of a surrender as Rodney was going to get. He steadied his breathing.

"Commander Antigonos?" the Canadian asked.

Sheppard shook his head. "The Wraith got him."

"You made sure of that," Rodney surmised quickly. His tone wasn't accusatory, simply factual.

Assessing his teammate, John answered truthfully. "Yes, I did."

"And you feel better because of it?"

You're damn right I do. I'm sorry, Rodney, but I'm not the good guy you once thought I was. John cleared his throat. "It only made me realize there are a half dozen other problems we need to solve before this thing's in the bag. Lucky for us, there's solution number one." He nodded toward the ZPM.

McKay accepted his friend's sidestep around the question. It had been intended to gauge his wellbeing, nothing more, no psychoanalysis or reprimanding.

"Speaking of which, when I got back inside I definitely didn't expect to see you. What are you doing here anyway? The plan was for me to bring the ZPM to you."

The physicist cleared his throat, bashful. "I thought you might, you know, need some help."

Sheppard snuffed a laugh. "I guess you were right. Thanks."

"Yeah, well I'm not doing it again. Now what's this about being followed?"

"It's probably nothing, just an overreaction."

"It's probably nothing," Rodney repeated skeptically.

Rolling his eyes, John explained. "Antigonos wasn't going to leave this City without that." He nodded toward a small bundle of cloth tucked into Rodney's combat vest. It was the ascension device. "As he was making his escape, he told me he'd sent someone to collect it. I assumed that meant he'd sent one of his soldiers to the Power Room to acquire it from you, but since you're now here instead-"

"You're wondering if I was tracked and followed by the soldier."

"Like I said, probably just an overreaction."

"Right," McKay muttered, but his face had gone pale. "And by 'acquire it from me', you mean kill me and steal the device?"

"Well I doubt he would have asked for it nicely, McKay."

Rodney gulped and let out a small whimper.

John looked at the long, darkened hall before them. He needed to get moving. Sitting doing nothing was making him anxious. "Ready to walk me home?"

The physicist, too, was looking down the corridor he had just travelled and suddenly didn't look nearly as eager to make the return trip.

"Rodney McKay, thirty-something years old and still afraid of the dark," John quipped.

"Major, let me let you in on a little secret. No one's afraid of the dark. We're afraid of the creatures that lurk in it."

"Good point. Well, the sun's coming up. Maybe that'll drive the vampires away."

"That and a fully functioning shield."

"Then I guess the only thing left to do is to do. Ready when you are."

Groaning, Rodney answered, "Ready as I'll ever be." He offered a hand to the pilot and pulled him to his feet.

Taking a moment, John braced himself with a hand on the wall. Once his head-rush passed he eagerly took a step forward, but his body had none of it. His legs nearly gave out again. Rodney grabbed a fistful of vest to catch him from falling.

"McKay... I think you may need to, ah..." John began sheepishly, leaning heavily against the wall.

"Right," Rodney jumped in, sparing his friend the full embarrassment of having to ask for assistance to walk. He slung the major's right arm over his shoulder and supported his body's weight with his frame.

Slowly they moved forward, McKay carting John and John carting the all-important ZPM. They paused to rest every five minutes or so. Though McKay bore the brunt of the workload, it was the major who looked the most wearied.

Rodney eyed Sheppard during one of their breaks. His face was pallid, a sickly sheen of sweat lacing his brow. Cuts, blood, and the beginnings of bruises covered his skin. His eyes were glassy, unfocused. He had grown quieter as their journey progressed.

"Are you okay?" McKay asked.

A tight nod was his reply. The major was obviously in a great deal of pain, and had managed to hide it well until now.

"Do you want to keep resting?"

A stiff shake of the head. His breathing turned ragged. McKay wasn't sold.

"Sheppard, I think another minute would be best-"

"We don't have another minute," John rasped irritably. "We've already wasted enough time."

Rodney suspected the major's vexation was not directed at him but rather at his own condition. In one ear, Rodney could hear John's labored breathing. In the other, the sounds of the outside battle echoed. In his heart, he knew John was right: they didn't have another minute to waste.

Though it pained him to do so, he hoisted Sheppard to his feet and forged onward.

"You know, you're a lot heavier than you look," McKay tried, hoping to keep the major talking. It earned him an amused huff.

"Guess I'd better lay off the mess's chocolate pudding," croaked in a fatigued response.

"That makes two of us." Rodney looked at his surroundings, tried to gain his bearings. "When this is all over, though, I think we've all earned the right to pig out on as much chocolate pudding as we want, what do you say?"

"Sure."

The clipped response made McKay nervous. "Stay with me, Sheppard."

There was no reply.

"Major?" Still nothing. Rodney shrugged his shoulder, tried to raise John's lolling head. "Sheppard?"

"Yeah," was the weak answer.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Rodney replied ruefully, "Just checking."

"Still here."

"Good, just make sure it stays that way. I am not dragging you all the way back just because you wanted to nap."

"Sorry. I thought this was the express route, anyway."

Rodney understood the concern. Though they were forced to go at a snail's pace, he assumed they would have arrived at the Power Room by now. He recognized their surroundings... at least he thought he did. All these damn Ancient hallways look the same, he thought to himself.

Propping John against the wall at a three-way intersection, McKay took a few paces down the right-most corridor. He trotted back a few moments later, only to wander ahead along the mirror corridor to the left. He wore a rare, befuddled expression.

Too exhausted to tease McKay about being lost, John locked his knees, the only way he could remain standing. He leaned his weight against the wall. God, his eyelids felt so heavy.

"Ford, come in," John croaked into his headset. He could at least make use of the unscheduled pit stop. "Ford, this is Sheppard, what's your status?"

A few seconds worth of static was the reply, as if someone was keying the mic on the other end but was unable to transmit clearly.

"Ford, how do you copy?" He was more than a little worried about his marines being engaged against the Wraith and the Lacedami. There was just no way of knowing without a radio what fate had befallen them.

More static greeted John. Maybe the problem was on his end. His radio hadn't exactly been treated with kit gloves over the past day.

"Doctor Beckett, do you copy?" John tried on another channel. He could feel his legs starting to tremble under his own weight.

"Major Sheppard, is that you?" a thick Scottish brogue immediately replied.

"The one and only," John answered with a grin. He felt instantly energized at the sound of his teammate's voice, alive.

"Major, you sound bloody terrible."

John's grinned broadened. "Yeah, that seems to be the consensus."

"Where are you?"

"About halfway back to the Power Room, if I had to guess, ZPM in hand." He took a shaky step toward the corner, peering after his partner. "McKay's pulled over to ask for directions-"

John stopped himself, suddenly face-to-face with a Lacedami soldier. He must have rounded the corner from the right, swiftly and covertly. The man was nose-to-nose with him, inches from his face. He scowled angrily at Sheppard. But he just stood there, silent, still. Weird, John thought to himself.

It was then that John felt a pinch in his left side. Baffled, his hand found his abdomen. It felt warm. Wet. His brow furrowed in confusion before he looked down.

The hilt of a Lacedami blade protruded from his stomach, his assailant's fist still firmly clenched around it. Blood, his own, began to soak at an alarming rate into his shirt. The pinch abruptly gave way to an excruciating, searing pain, as though the sight of the wound was the trigger that kicked his brain's receptors into overdrive. His brain told him to scream in pain, but no sound escaped his lips.

Time stopped.

John began to sway on his feet, feeling all at once weak and lightheaded. But the soldier grabbed his vest and held him fast.

"For the Commander," he sneered. "He has not yet lost!"

With the air of a killing blow, the Lacedami brutally twisted the hilt clockwise. All John could do was gasp weakly as he watched it, felt it happen. Then the man mercilessly wrenched the blade from his torso, eliciting a small mmppff of pain from his victim. He brandished it overhead in victory.

Looking at the length of the steel, slicked red with his own blood, Sheppard knew instantly that it had run him completely through. That meant he was bleeding out from both his abdomen and his back, as well as internally. Not good.

He stumbled backward in a haze, the fog of bewilderment plaguing his senses. His back found the wall. His knees instantly gave out and he slid slowly, feebly to the tile floor.

"Major, are you still there?" he heard a voice say in his ear. "I canna hear you anymore. Major Sheppard?"

John knew the voice, but as his body went into emergency survival mode, his brain load shed all tasking irrelevant to his immediate survival. He couldn't identify who was calling him. He couldn't hear anything. His vision began to close in. He fought to keep the terror at bay, but the pain - God, the agonizing pain - made him want to lose it.

He could do nothing but watch as the Lacedami raised the tip of the sword slowly toward the base of his neck. His own pulse pounded inside his skull like ceremonial war drums crescendoing toward his own execution.

"Hey, I know where we are!" cut a voice through the silence.

Returning from the opposite hallway, McKay opened his mouth to triumphantly declare that they weren't lost. The words, though, got stuck in his throat. He stood fixed, staring at the scene before him in horror.

No, John panicked.

The Lacedami lowered his sword, leaving a single bead of fresh blood on Major Sheppard's throat. He recognized the newcomer as Dr. Rodney McKay, the coward his commander had reported possessed the ascension device, the man he'd been tracking from the Power Room. Immediately his gaze found the bundle of cloth peeking out from the man's vest. His ice-blue eyes glinted with ambition. There, there was his prize.

"McKay, run!" Sheppard tried to warn, but only a wheeze came out. He knew the scientist wouldn't stand a chance against the Lacedami warrior, not alone. Shakily, he tried to raise himself onto his elbows, but his grip slid in a pool of his own blood. He crashed down hard.

"Give me the device, Lantean, and I will not kill you," the Lacedami beckoned, sheathing his sword. He took a step in Rodney's direction.

McKay saw the streak of red running down the wall to where John's motionless body lay slumped and decided he didn't believe the soldier. But he didn't know what to do.

He took out the small bundle of cloth from his combat vest, feeling its mass in his hands. It didn't weigh much, though the power it yielded, Rodney knew, was immeasurable. And with great power, comes great responsibility, he quoted Spider-Man to himself. He took a deep, quivering breath. He didn't care if the thing was a paper clip; if the Lacedami wanted it, he wasn't going to give it to them.

Resolutely, the scientist shoved the bundle back into his vest. He hoped the soldier couldn't see him quaking in fright.

"A mistake," the soldier advised before closing the distance in three powerful steps.

Standing his ground, McKay drew his fist back, just like he had seen Sheppard, Ford, and Teyla do so many times before. Still, the stance felt awkward. Once he deemed his opponent was within striking range, he let the blow fly with all the might he had, roaring with conviction.

The soldier easily caught McKay's fist in his own. He twisted the Canadian's arm sharply about its socket in a direction it was never intended to go, transforming the courageous cry into a howl of unbearable agony.

McKay fell to his knees in pain. He watched pathetically as the man effortlessly wrested the device from his vest. "No!" he begged, using his good arm to grab at the hardware.

The Lacedami swatted him away like a fly. Placing one sandaled foot on his chest, he shoved McKay to the floor. His mission now accomplished, the soldier saw no reason to linger... once he tidied up a loose end. He drew his blade once again, gripping the hilt with both hands.

Rodney squeezed his eyes shut.

"Thank you for the device, Dr. McKay," the warrior said, raising the weapon over Rodney's chest. "I do believe I will reclaim our ZPM as well. Give my regards to the Boatman-"

Rodney heard the iconic crackle of two electrified rounds exiting the barrel of a Lacedami pistol. He cracked an eye open to see his assailant's own eyes wide with shock, his sword-laden arms frozen mid-plunge. It was then his turn to fall to his knees, the steel blade clanging harmlessly to the tile.

The soldier swayed for several seconds before finally toppling to the floor, dead... revealing behind him a pistol-wielding Major Sheppard.

McKay saw how the Lacedami gun, the one John had offered to him only minutes earlier, quaked fiercely in his friend's weak grip. He wondered how the bullets had ever found their mark. He then watched as the gun clattered to the floor, his prone teammate no longer able to muster the strength to hold it.

"Oh, no..." Rodney breathed to himself. He scrambled across the cold tile toward John, holding his left arm askew like broken wing.

Through half-open eyelids, John noticed him favoring. "You okay?" he managed to rasp out. A wet cough clipped the end of his question.

McKay forced a tense laugh. "Me? This is just a flesh wound. What about you?" But even as he asked the question, he knew Sheppard was not in good shape, even by his standards.

John allowed McKay to prop him up to a semi-seated position. He hoped it would help his breathing, but it didn't. "I'm just dandy," he croaked slowly, "but anything that's got you downplaying..." he swallowed, struggling to finish the sentence, "has got me worried."

Examining the sword's ragged entry wound, McKay tried his best to hide his fear for his friend. He delicately peeled back the tattered cloth that hid the exit wound near John's left kidney and examined it, too. There was blood, a lot of blood, everywhere. McKay attempted to suppress the rising bile in the back of his throat. God, how can there be this much blood? he thought to himself.

"You don't..." McKay tried, but he had to clear his throat. "You don't look so bad."

Rodney turned away quickly, hoping the need to make a radio call was a sufficient cover for the tears of frustration he could feel welling up. "Carson, are you there?" he said into his mic. Never before had he been so acutely aware of his own powerlessness.

"The... device?" John asked. He coughed violently. This time blood was spat out.

"What?" Rodney barked, his irritation getting the better of him.

Through a fit of hacking, John simply motioned toward the dead Lacedami soldier.

Rodney scooted back toward the dead body, radioing as he did so. "Carson! Carson, where are you?" Trying not to look at the two bullet wounds in the man's side, his eyes found the bundle of cloth laying on the floor next to the soldier's outstretched hand. He gathered it and rushed back to Sheppard's side. The physicist hurriedly unwrapped it, inspecting it with a keen eye.

"It's fine," he declared, showing Sheppard, irate with his teammate for caring about something so relatively trivial at a time like this.

The conclusion seemed to assuage John. He nodded tightly, grimacing with pain.

"Nice shooting," Rodney said, trying to keep the major alert. Unsure of what else to do, he pressed one hand firmly on each wound. The pressure yielded a groan from Sheppard, whose eyes shot wide open in distress.

"I was... aiming... for his head," John mustered.

Rodney laughed, genuinely this time, for he knew the comment was made for his own benefit. It only made him more furious at his own uselessness.

"Dammit, Carson, where the hell are you!"

"Go ahead, Rodney, I read you," finally came the reply.

"Carson! Carson, we need you here, now! Sheppard's been stabbed!"

There was a brief pause before the Scot's voice returned. "Good Lord... Where are you?"

"In a corridor halfway between the Power Room and the east pier, on the main level!"

"There're quite a bit of Wraith between me an' you, but Imma headin' out now."

"Carson, wait!" McKay begged. "There's so much blood... I don't... What do I do?"

"Just keep pressure on the wound. Whatever you do, dinna let up."

"Okay. Okay, okay," McKay repeated to himself. "And Carson?

"Aye?"

"Hurry. Please."

Turning his full attention back to the major, Rodney noticed his eyes were shut. He began tapping fitfully on Sheppard's cheek.

"No, no, no, no, no," McKay stammered. "Major! Major, wake up." He shook his shoulder with his good arm. "Don't do this."

There was no response.

He shook harder. "Major Sheppard!"

John groaned. Alive.

McKay was awash with relief. "Would you stop doing that? Now open your eyes." Sheppard's eyelids, though, remained closed, so Rodney did the only thing he could think to do. He slapped him across the face. Hard.

"Ow," John protested feebly, his eyes fluttering open slowly once more. "What... I don't look like I'm in... enough pain already?"

"No - I mean, yes, of course. I'm sorry, I just thought you had-" McKay started before catching himself. "Carson's on his way. He'll be able to fix this up in no time."

Looking down at himself, John saw what should have been a gray uniform completely stained crimson. On the floor a puddle of blood - his own - had expanded to contact his resting hand. He didn't bother to move it. He cleared his throat. "Rodney..."

"You've been through a lot worse than this," McKay continued, cutting off the words he refused to hear. "You're John Sheppard, right? You can survive anything."

"Rodney..."

"As soon as Carson gets through with you, you'll be just fine."

"Rodney-"

"What?"

John grinned gratefully at his friend. "You always were... a terrible liar."

The words sank to the pit of his stomach. McKay felt nauseated, but not from the blood, not this time. The rational part of his brain had finally accepted what deep down his subconscious had already known, what John himself already knew.

John wasn't going to make it.

Rodney's vision began to blur behind the moisture that was collecting in the corner of his eyes. "I'm so sorry," he poured out. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't insisted on fidgeting with this stupid ascension device... I shouldn't have left you alone-"

"Stop," John croaked. "Just stop." A cough. "Not your fault. My responsibility... my consequences." He clenched his teeth against the dizziness. At least the pain was subsiding, though he was smart enough to know that wasn't a good thing.

"Would you quit it?" Rodney yelled defiantly, the tears welling. "Quit it! Make a smartass comment! Make an awful joke!"

The major shook his head resolutely. "No more jokes," he managed between breaths. He coughed again, spitting up saliva and blood. "I always wondered… what the bitter end… would look like," he said to himself more than anyone. "Guess this is it." He wheezed with every labored intake of air.

"No," McKay protested, rallying against the inevitable. "No! This isn't fair. Why did you have to do this? Why did you have to come out here? Why should you have to die?" he raged.

Without hesitation, Sheppard simply answered, "So that no one else has to."

It was in that moment that the tears began to flow from the normally withdrawn scientist, unable was he to stave them off any longer. "But I don't want you to die," he said pitifully through the tears. He didn't care if he sounded like a pathetic child. Far from his mind now were the thoughts of battling Wraith and Lacedami.

But John hadn't forgotten about the battle at all. Still slumped on the floor against the wall, his grasp found the ZPM still laying near his left leg. He picked it up, using both hands to support its mass, and pushed it at McKay.

McKay shook his head, unwilling to accept it, a symbol of the eventuality to come.

"Take it," John rasped, his voice barely above a whisper now. His hands quaked under the power source's weight.

"No-"

"McKay. Take it... before I...," a cough, "drop the damn thing." He took a deep breath, though it plainly taxed him to do so. "Need to ask you... to save the day... one last time for me."

Reluctantly, Rodney accepted the ZPM, accepting, too, that he would be making the return journey alone. He couldn't meet his friend's gaze.

Next, John picked the Lacedami pistol off the floor. It only had a few rounds left, but it was better than nothing. He stuffed it in McKay's vest. The action drained what little energy reserves he had left. He had to force his eyes to remain open. His lungs no longer wanted to work on their own; he had to will them to draw air. He could feel himself slipping away.

He'd been on death's doorstep once or twice before, but had never felt so certain of its inescapable certitude as he did now. But he wasn't hiding from it. Why should he? There was nothing left for him in this world. And he wasn't fearing it. He knew the City would be safe in the hands of Teyla, Ford, McKay, and Carson.

He'd told Antigonos he'd willingly die to save his friends. Now he had his chance to prove it.

Finally, John found his friend's hand, stained with his own blood and still pressing firmly - though futilely - on his wound. He gripped it tightly.

The action drew McKay's averted gaze.

All John said was, "Thank you."

McKay didn't understand. Thank you for what? For taking the ZPM back? For being here, now? For being his friend? He noted that his eyes had gone glassy, unfocused. He doubted John even knew where he was anymore, or to whom he was talking. That, most of all, tugged at Rodney's heart.

McKay swallowed, determined to answer his friend anyway. "You're welcome, John."

John's breathing slowed. His eyelids flickered, threatening to close. "Tell... Elizabeth..."

Sobbing, McKay wiped the tears streaming down his face. Sheppard didn't remember Elizabeth's death, and for that McKay supposed he was thankful. Some random neurons were firing in some part of his brain, dredging up a random memory of Dr. Weir. Hell, he probably wanted McKay to tell her he'd be late to the staff meeting.

It was plain to Rodney that Sheppard was gone, at least rationally, and it was only a matter of seconds before his body caught up.

"Tell... Elizabeth..." John tried again, to no one in particular.

McKay waited for the completion of the request, but it never came. "I will," he told John anyway, hoping it would bring him peace. "I will."

Instantly, John relaxed, closing his eyes for the last time.

The physicist didn't believe in the notion of an afterlife, but for the first time in his adult life, if only for a split-second, he allowed himself the supposition that if - if - such a place resembling heaven awaited the worthy, there were none more worthy than Major Sheppard and Dr. Weir. He hoped they found each other in whatever plane of existence that translated to. John had loved Elizabeth fiercely, Rodney could see that now. He wondered if he himself would ever be capable of such devotion. And for that, even in his last moments, Rodney envied him.

Rodney gripped his friend's hand tighter when a thought occurred to him. He rushed to unfurl the ascension device from its cloth. It was a long shot, idiotic even... but Rodney preferred to think of it as a Hail Mary.

He placed the piece of faceted glass on John's chest - was it too late? - entirely speculating from his prior experience with the Ancient's personal shield. He waited. Nothing happened. What am I doing? McKay thought to himself. I don't know how this thing works - how will I even know if it works? I don't even know if I fixed it!

Determination overrode his self-doubt. The major would have never stopped trying on his account. He picked up the apparatus and desperately inspected it for any buttons or switches, though having done so dozens of times before he already knew there were none.

"Come on, come on, come on!" he cried at it, pleading for a break, just once, not for himself but for someone far more deserving. Fruitless, he affixed it back onto the major's shirt, abandoning all scientific reason, and simply willed it to work.

But John's chest remained still.

Rodney waited, watching for the rise and fall of his teammate's breathing. He waited. He waited longer still for the movement.

It never came.

"No," he whispered incredulously. He knelt down over the major's chest, listening for the sounds of his lungs. There were none.

Rodney sat up on his knees. He stared vacantly at the ascension device, laying cold atop Sheppard. A dense silence filled the air.

It was over.

Major John Sheppard was gone.

TBC