Title: Five Moments of a Life He Doesn't Let Himself Think About
Summary: John Sheppard isn't proud of the life he had with Nancy.
Characters: John Sheppard
Pairing: John/Nancy
Rating: PG-15

Thirty-Five Years Old

The cold, meant as a punishment, was a reprieve for John. After the bristling heat of Afghanistan and the stifling humidity of his last summer in Michigan, John revelled in the chill air that whistled across his frozen tundra. Mindless flights, transporting scientists from one top secret locale to the next were a sanctuary from the crazed dodge missions of the Far East, even if the banter was non-existent. He didn't know what the international geek meeting off of McMurdo was for and neither did he care to. He'd deliberately failed the MENSA test twice for a reason. But even the scientific techno-babble of the scientists couldn't breach John's ivory fortress.

He glanced up from his book (one of the less geeky scientists had taken a liking to him and offered him War & Peace in exchange for John's last chocolate bar) and let his eyes fall on the thick brown envelope that rested on the small desk. He picked up his cup of coffee again, sipping from it even as his eyes stayed on the envelope. He'd opened it days before, curious as to the contents before he'd sealed it shut, sat it on his desk and joined the other men unfortunate enough to share his barracks. They never discussed why they'd been sent there to the ends of the Earth but it was known that it was meant as a punishment; nothing else need be said.

The others couldn't wait to leave while John dreaded going back.

War & Peace weighed heavily on his wrist as he glanced back to the envelope. His gut clenched as he slid his bookmark into place and shut the book, tucking it to the side of his pillow. Setting down the cup, John kneeled on the bed and reached for the envelope, heavier than he remembered it being. Sitting back, he lifted his knees, using them as a desk and closed his eyes.

While it had been a mutual decision, it still hurt like hell to know that with one signature (okay, maybe more than one) he was signing away the last nine-years of his life. He hadn't seen Nancy socially since she had moved into one of John's father's apartments back in New York, their only encounter having been the meeting with their lawyer a week before John's trial. He hadn't called to tell her he'd be leaving, that she wouldn't be able to contact him but he didn't think she would anyway. They hadn't been friends before their marriage; they had no need to pretend they were now.

The pain of losing people was not new to John; his mother when he was ten, his grand-parents when he was twelve, thirteen and sixteen, his friends when he was twenty eight... But losing Nancy was different. He'd shared nine years of his life with her, he had loved her and he had lost her. But she hadn't died, she hadn't been torn away from him; they had made the conscious decision to end their relationship and he thought that maybe that was even harder. To live with the knowledge that they had chosen to end their marriage, that they had failed was difficult.

He didn't blame her for breaking the bonds of their marriage; he knew he couldn't have been easy to live with, especially after Afghanistan. But it didn't help to temper the pain that he had tried more than she had. Objectively, he knew she had tried equally as hard – if not more so – as him but when it really mattered, when it came to them... he hadn't given up. He couldn't remember ever thinking that life might be better or easier without her; he knew he'd made some wrong decisions but he had never thought they wouldn't make it through. Not until she'd told him about the baby (and consequently the affair) had he even considered that things weren't right – that they hadn't been for some time, that they wouldn't be ever again. Not for them, at least.

Opening his eyes, he flipped the envelope upside down and the contents slid out. The thick wad of paper shone brightly in the lamp light, the printed words looking unnaturally dark against the alabaster pages. Along the edges, Nancy had attached page-mark notes and he smiled at her consideration. Flipping to the first, he read her signature over and over again.

Nancy Estevez.

He bit his lip and closed his eyes, his head thudding against the wall behind him. She hadn't been Nancy Estevez for seven years and the sight of the name that his had taken place of stung more than he would ever admit. He rummaged blindly in his desk for a pen and, finding one, he made quick work of the six signatures required. He didn't stop to think about what he was doing, scared that if he did he'd stop, that he'd think, that he'd ask her to try again.

Nancy had told him once that life happened in moments; there's was over now.

Instead of shredding the pages like he so desperately wanted to do, he tore a piece of paper from the legal pad in his drawer, the pen hovering over it as he decided what to write. Words of regret formed in his mind but he quickly pushed them away, along with the words of love and unhappiness. He glanced around the room, his breath quick, he bit his lip and scrawled one word.

Quickly, he tore the sticky label from the back piece of paper and stuck it over the address on the front of the envelope. He slid the pages back into their cover and let out a breath that was shakier than he'd have liked. He looked down to the piece of paper still in his lap and picked it up, wondering if it was enough.

Deciding it had to be, he folded it over and stuffed it into the envelope, sealing it shut.

He sat in silence for a long while after that, staring at the envelope, fighting the urge to rip it open and take it all back. He reached for it again when someone knocked on his door.

"Sheppard, you're up," the voice of his Colonel ordered brusquely through the door and Sheppard stuffed the envelope under his pillow, beside War & Peace.

In minutes, he was walking to the heli-pad, wrapped up tight against the cold. As he approached, there was not the usual gaggle of geeks but a lone figure, tall and lean, dark against the stark white background. Approaching, Sheppard saw the glint of silver from the other man's hair and his posture immediately straightened.

Beside his bird, the other man turned to Sheppard and smile crookedly, his tan face older than Sheppard had assumed, more open than he'd expected.

"You Sheppard?"

Sheppard nodded and flicked off a hasty salute.

"Yes, sir."

The other man returned the salute sloppily and Sheppard smiled internally at the half-hearted gesture.

"General Jack O'Neill," the man said and Sheppard nodded, his fingers itching to salute the rank again but O'Neill waved him away. "That's some bird you've got here, Sheppard."

Sheppard nodded and smiled as he turned to his helicopter, the black hull glinting against the rays of sun that filtered down from the vast expanse of sky above.

"Yes, sir," he responded as he made his way around the bird, checking, assessing. In the cock-pit his assessment continued, the pre-flight checks so much a part of him that he needn't think his actions over. The familiarity soothed him, the exchanged words of adoration for the skies and the choppers between him and the General a moment of light-heartedness that he hadn't expected. He was glad of O'Neill's past as a pilot; the scientists had squabbled over the length of time it took to do the checks but O'Neill held back, questioning only once or twice some new devices that were being tested; Sheppard couldn't help but feel O'Neill was humouring him and for the first time, he truly wondered what was going on inside the base he so often flew to.

He shook the thought aside and turned to O'Neill smiling, inviting his superior aboard and O'Neill jumped quickly aboard. Last minutes checks and clearances were given and Sheppard lifted the bird from the ground with a gentle sigh. As he soared over the frozen tundra below, the sky cerulean around him, he began to think that life without Nancy wouldn't be so bad after all.

As he fought against the Antarctic winds, he smiled.

The cold reminded John Sheppard that he was alive.