Three Days Before . . .

John Sheppard was sure he was dying. The banging in his head was getting increasing louder and he thought that maybe a small family of gophers had taken up residence in his mouth the night before. He cracked one eye open experimentally but decided that wasn't going to work for him this morning and pulled a pillow over his head. Surprisingly, the banging in his head was muffled by the movement and somewhere in the recesses of his mind he realized that that meant the pounding wasn't in his head but somewhere in the room. It was coming from the door.

He had paid Mikey off as soon as he had gotten back last week so he knew it wasn't the bookie. He didn't remember a lot from the night before but was pretty sure he hadn't lost enough at the craps table that he couldn't pay for the room. Maybe he had slept past check out? But this was Caesars and he had dropped . . .John grimaced . . . maybe two thousand last night so he couldn't imagine they were eager to get rid of him yet. John grumbled. Whoever it was wasn't going away.

John carefully swung his legs out of the bed and paused to allow his stomach to settle. He had luckily slept in his pants and tee shirt. They were rumpled and smelled of the expensive bourbon and cigars he had consumed the night before but sure beat bending over and losing his stomach in a vane attempt to find a shirt or shoes. John opened his mouth to yell but found it was more of a croak. Clearing his voice, he tried again. "Keep your damn shirt on – I'm coming." Reaching for his sunglasses, he stumbled to the door.

John swung the door open only to see the pointedly annoyed Dr. Rodney McKay. His first thought was, 'Now what?' but he carefully hid his surprise, rolled his eyes and muttered "McKay" before turning from the door.

"Do you know how long I've been knocking?" The scientist impatiently asked as he let himself in, shutting the door behind him.

"Nope, don't care either." John said pointedly wandering into the bathroom but leaving the door open a crack so he can keep an eye – or at least an ear – on the scientist. God he felt like death warmed over. After relieving his abused bladder, he began to wash his hands and face, hoping to clear away some of the cobwebs. Swishing the hotel mouthwash, he heard McKay spouting off but didn't really listen. Strangely, he found the other man's voice reassuring even though it pitched between agitation and condescension in the next room. It was like his favorite Aunt Betty's singing voice, screetchy as hell but fun to hear anyway.

John ran his wet hands over his hair, decided this was as good as it was going to get and stepped out of the bathroom and fully into McKay's rant. The man's volume increased making John wish he had never answered the door.

" . . . and then I find out you quit the department! The one time I actually need a copper and the only one I know is awol." Rodney spun around and glared at Sheppard, wrinkling his nose. "and smells like a walking distillery." Rodney paced as he talked, adjusting his jacket to accommodate his belt and the ancient devise hanging there. John saw the scanner clipped to the doctor's belt and sighed. It was a wonder that McKay hadn't gotten mugged with that in plain view. John smiled as he imagined McKay filling out the police report.

"Are you even listening to me?" McKay demanded.

John took a deep breath trying to harness his emotions. "Yeah, well, after what I've seen, I thought maybe homicide wouldn't hold the excitement it once did."

John didn't want McKay there. . . or didn't want to want McKay there. He didn't want to think about gates to other galaxies and alien technologies and chairs that made you feel . . . .no, it was like cocaine. The rush was incredible but it was never worth the cost.

"Uh huh," McKay replied, waiting. When no other explanation was forthcoming, he decided to plow on. Moving into the room, Rodney picked up a dirty towel with two fingers from a chair and deposited it on the floor before taking a seat. "Yes, well it is inconvenient at best. I need your help."

John's eyebrows shot up for a second in surprise and then returned to their original position. He mercilessly beat down the feeling of . . .purpose? obligation? Meaningfulness? Whatever - back down. "I told you I wasn't interested in joining your galactic posse."

McKay smirked. "I'm Canadian. We don't have posses." The smile disappeared as Rodney's face grew somber again. "No, I need help tracking a missing person. We suspect he has been kidnapped and that they may still be in the city. It was our understanding that you have quite a few . . . contacts . . . throughout the more . . . seedy . . .community here in Vegas and you may be able to help us find him."

John snorted at McKay's foundering about trying to describe John, known for running with the worst of the worst Vegas had to offer but his interest was piqued in spite of himself. "So the guys who took him – we're thinking. . . . Earthling or . . .. "

"Yes, of course," Rodney replied impatiently and then stopped. "We're pretty sure, anyway."

John's mind ran over the hand full of people he had met while recovering at Area 51. "Anybody I know?" John asked as casually as he could.

"You met him – Zelenka? Dr. Radek Zelenka"

"You mean the little Russian guy?" John remembered nervousness, glasses and flying hair mostly.

"He's Czechoslovakian."

John bowed his head, running his hands through his hair making it stick up even more. "Whatever. I don't know what you expect me to do. As you so smartly pointed out, I'm no longer with the department so I don't really have any jurisdiction."

"WE have all the jurisdiction we need. What we need from you is information. We have to find him and quickly before we have enemies here on Earth as well as . . ." Rodney's hands fluttered in the air.

John grew quiet as his mind worked at lightening speed. They needed him – HIM. To rescue a lost colleague. John could respect that, understand the need. It was exactly that need – that responsibility - that lead to his current – situation? life. John's mind unwillingly flashed back to Afghanistan and the feel of Katie dead in his arms; to his dreams where everyone around him, McKay included, died in a tangle of fire and blood and drought.

Unconsciously, he began to sweat and his heart began to pound, bitter adrenaline flooding his mouth. This was a mistake. He could hardly keep himself afloat much less take responsibility for someone else's life. John closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. His initial response was best – always go with your gut instinct. McKay needed to leave.

Rodney's eyes narrowed as he watched John Sheppard's body visibly tense, almost drawing in on itself. He knew Sheppard had everything he needed to be someone of consequence, someone who made a difference – if he could just move beyond his demons. Rodney didn't know how to help the man – he wanted to - he just didn't have knowledge or patience.

"I don't think I can help you," John said in what Rodney now recognized as John's 'I am walking a fine line and could fall off the edge at any moment' voice.

John made no movement as a look of bitter disappointment flew across Rodney's face. He was used to seeing that – from his family, his superiors and although he showed no reaction, for some reason it hurt more coming from the man across from him.

Rodney said nothing for a moment. He wanted to rail at the man but he refused to expend the energy. Instead, he rose swiftly to his feet and headed towards the door. He paused with his hand on the knob and said in a steely voice, not looking back, "Sorry to have bothered you. I thought you were someone else." McKay left the door ajar as he strode quickly down the hallway.

I once met another version of you . . . he was a hero . . . he saved the world. The memory of McKay's voice floated back to John and he grimaced as a wave of anger and self-loathing washed over him. Damn it! Damn McKay! He wasn't a hero; he was just a guy trying to do what he needed to to get by. He knew he could call Carmine and find out what was on the grape vine. Carmine owed him for blowing the poker game with the wraith that in turn left most of his winnings on the table that night. That wasn't the point. The point was that in order for John to survive with any sanity at all, he couldn't afford to get involved – to care too much. He couldn't afford to trust anybody but himself. John knew that teamwork was all good and fine until it came time for someone to hang – then someone was getting thrown under the bus – more than likely him.

Even as this ran through his mind, John had already pulled on his shoes and shirt and had headed out the door after McKay. Turning the corner, John could hear the elevator doors shutting "McKay! Wait!" John slid to a stop in front of the doors impatiently punching the button. "Come one, come on, come on."

John rode down, concentrating on keeping his temper as the elevator stopped for tourists, retired couples and newlyweds. As the doors parted into the lobby John pushed his way out frantically looking for McKay. John could just see him across the casino floor heading out the side door. "McKay!" he shouted but could not make himself heard over the sound of the slot machines and lounge singers.

John moved as quickly as he could through the throng of people. McKay couldn't be more than two-three minutes ahead of him. John plunged out into the alley looking up and down the street, spying the dark sedan pulling away. Heaving a sigh, he turned to head back to hotel when the sound of screeching tires had him instinctively spinning and crouching at the same time.

As John watched, an unmarked white van halted blocking the alley exit and in broad daylight three men pumped about fifteen shots into the sedan, blowing out the windows and tires. John reached for his gun and swore when he realized he had left in the room. Looking up, he began moving as a barely conscious McKay was pulled from the back seat by two of the men and unceremoniously thrown into the back of the van, while the third one covered them. The door slid shut and the van sped away leaving John Sheppard in the alley, yelling, "NO!"