Vegas Blues: I See a Darkness9

"It's amazing how one incident can entirely alter the course of your life."

Music was blaring. John turned down the radio. The song Wanted Dead or Alive thumping from the speakers as he drove down the street, swerved and parked along the sidewalk, startling several passers-by who jumped out of the way. Although they were perfectly safe. John merely smiled at their stares. Got out of the car, snatched the model and entered the art gallery.

A few people were milling about, quietly conversing in hushed tones as they examined a few of the more expressive pieces. They were expensively dressed, the women expensively coiffed. John's lip curled at the sight of them. Comparing his own appearance. The somewhat wrinkled clothes, the scuffed boots. He walked towards the counter. Evan was talking to a very beautiful woman with blond hair piled on top of her head. Rings flashing on her fingers. Rings that would have paid a stack of bills or even a few month's rent. He recalled Moira selling her jewelry to do that. Scowled. "Heads up!" he called, at the same time tossing the model towards the artist.

Evan turned, deftly caught the gruesome sculpture. The woman yelped in surprise, almost dropping the champagne flute she was holding. Evan scowled at John. "Funny. Thanks. Hang on a sec, would you?" He turned back to the woman as he set the model behind the counter. Out of sight. Out of mind.

John didn't like being pushed aside. He moved to the counter. Rang the bell. Flashed his badge at the woman. "LVPD. Police business can't wait, I'm afraid. There was a rumor of some counterfeit art being sold in here."

"What? That's ridiculous and completely untrue!" Evan declared, but the woman was backing away from the counter. Either from John himself or from the allegation he couldn't be sure. Didn't care. "Wait! He's pulling your leg! Everything in here is legit! Wait!"

"And then of course there's the porn stuff, the bondage series. Hey, I think I recognize you from one of those pictures." John accused, pointing at the woman with a lascivious smile.

"What? Shut the hell up, would you! Wait, wait! Oh shit!" Evan was moving after the woman but she was gone, fleeing the store. The other customers were staring, slowly edging their way towards the exit as well. "It's not true! He's just joking around. Tell them! Tell them!"

"Yeah, I'm just joking around. We cops always joke around about pornography and bondage."

"Damn it!" Evan moved to him. "What the hell do you think you're doing? I need those customers! I needed that particular customer! I needed that client! Do you have any idea how much she would have paid for some of this crap? Do you have any idea how much it costs to run a place like this? Do you?"

John shrugged. "No...no idea. I was just returning the model. Thanks. It did the trick."

"Great, that's great. And where's my fee?"

"You weren't doing this out of the goodness of your heart?" John quipped. Handed him a plain brown envelope. "All there. Cash from the sting operation. All right?"

Evan opened it. Counted the bills. "All right. Now get the hell out of my gallery and never come back here!"

"Don't be like that, Lorne. We might need your talents again and I–"

"Hell, no. I never want to see you again! Get out now!" He pointed towards the door.

"Sounds like you're breaking up with me."

"I am. Get out now!"

"Suit yourself, Lorne." He snatched a flute of champagne from the tray. Drank it down in big gulps. Licked his lips. "Nice, but I prefer something stronger. See ya around."

"No, you won't."

John smirked, nodded at the staring customers and exited the store. The heat enveloped him but he hardly noticed as someone was loitering by his car. "Again?" he muttered. "Hey! Hey, you!"

The guy turned. It was Aiden. "Ford! Wait!" But Aiden ran. John ran after him, dodging through traffic. "Stop right there! LVPD! Get out of the way!"

The two raced down the sidewalk, swerving past people who scrambled out of the way. Aiden rounded a corner. John did the same, saw it was a dead end. He slowed. Aiden was no where in sight. "Aiden, I want to help you. Come out now. We can talk this through, buddy. Just you and me. All right? You did good back there. With the bust. You did real good. Come on, kid."

Shadows sliced the alley in half. Dumpsters lined one side. There was movement. John pulled his gun, only to see a rat scurry out of its hiding place and into another. John carefully advanced, lowering his gun. "There's no way out, Aiden. I'm tired of playing hide and seek. Let me help you. I know people who can help you. Can give you the enzyme you need."

Motion at the far end of the alley, where a chain link fence straddled, blocking all egress. Aiden stepped out of the shadows. He looked awful. Thinner then the last time. Visibly shaking until he suddenly went very still. Empty hands at his sides. "Shep?"

"Yeah, buddy. Let's go get you some help. You need help, right?"

"I don't, I don't feel so good..." his voice was weak, stammering. "Whatever, whatever that thing did to me, gave me I need more. I need more!"

"I know. I got you covered, buddy. Let's go. I know a place that can help you." John slowly advanced. Holstered his gun. "I want to help you, Aiden. Bring you back to the fold."

"You do? All I ever wanted...all I ever wanted was to be a cop, Shep. To help people. Like you do. That's all I wanted!" He seemed near tears. Shaking again. "Look what you did to me! Look what you made me! A freak! A monster on the run!" He tore off the eyepatch. "See? See?" He revealed his forearm. Scaly skin was lining it, like nothing that John had ever seen. "What's happening to me, Shep?"

"We're gonna find out, buddy. Just come with me now and–"

Aiden rushed at him, shouting. Brandishing a pipe. John acted on pure instinct. Falling to his knee and drawing his gun. One shot. Another, as Aiden kept coming but then fell abruptly. Bleeding. Convulsing as a seizure took him. As his body's need for the enzyme consumed him.

John dropped his gun, rolled the young man onto his back. "Ford? Hang on, buddy, I'll get you help, I promise!" John was calling it in but he paused. It was too late. Aiden stared up at him. Lifeless. Gone. John could see his own reflection in Aiden's solid black eye.

Accusing.

The bar was oddly crowded, yet John found a seat at the end. Sipping his beer as he watched Carson limp past him, serving customers. "Hey, doc. Good to see you back," he said. Needing some distraction, some sense of normal human interaction.

Carson met his gaze, pausing. "No thanks to you, detective."

"About that. I..." John didn't know what to say.

"Let me be plain, detective. You're not welcome here."

"Come again?"

"You heard. Next time you need some analysis done go find your own expert."

"Hey, it was Moira who brought me to you, remember?"

"Aye, I do, and I will tell her the same. I've heard things about you, Sheppard, and they're not good things. Not at all."

"So you want me out of your bar?" John asked, feeling a genuine dismay.

"Got it in one, detective. Good for you. Not get out. You're barred."

John stood. "Are you going to warn me off Moira as well?" he snapped, flinging bills on the counter to pay his tab. Pissed.

"No. Her business is her business."

"Glad to hear it. For what it's worth, doc, you were a big help to the case."

"It's worth nothing."

"I heard you've been through worse."

"Aye, I have. But getting shot in my own bar by some damn thug was not in my agenda. What's next? Am I going to operate on some guy who has an exploding tumor and die stupidly in the act, only to be replaced by a clone of myself because of a vigorous fan campaign to save me? Now go!" He pointed to the door.

"Huh? Fine. If that's how you want it, Beckett."

"It is. Don't darken my doorstep again. Ever."

John scowled. Left. Pissed. Oddly disappointed that he had inadvertently lost the doctor's good opinion. An idea had been forming. The glimmer of another life, another chance. A new job. The foundations of a sort of team. But Beckett's coldness washed over these thoughts. Lorne's disparagement drowned them. O'Meara's iciness all but froze them.

John made his way back to the precinct.

Back to work. Back to a monotonous job, a monotonous life with pieces missing. Gaps in his memory. Gaps in his life. In his heart. Back to the darkness of yet another life lost because of his actions. Another tally in the always increasing black marks against him.

Back to Vegas.