Finally saw Vegas and just had to tag it, I mean, how often do I actually have an excuse to kill Sheppard?
I warn you it's not a fix.
Do not engage.
He was never one to follow orders and he'd be damned if he was going to follow this one. Walking forwards, his shoulders hunched under his crumpled jacket, stubble spreading a shadow across his face and the reflective glasses hiding haunted eyes, John Sheppard walked across the searing desert. There was no hesitation in his stride, no caution, no fear for his life at all; after all, he was no one, just a shadow, just a ghost among the many who walked these streets.
The irony of the situation was not lost on him. Even in the mess he had buried himself in after Afghanistan the world still had to find him and give him one beating. It wasn't enough that he had no future, it wasn't enough that he was miserable, it wasn't enough that no one would care if he died in the middle of the street. No. The world would not destroy him. She would just make him destroy himself. Keep on walking, walk up to the life sucking alien in the trailer, as if your little pistol will do you any good.
He heard the shot, felt the impact, but there's no time for pain, as the adrenalin kicks all you can do is run, get to cover as the old instincts kick in. He was tempted to groan in despair as the automatic weapons fire tore into his car, the one thing that hadn't left him was here getting shot up with him. He loved that damned car, more than he loved anything in the world right now. Still the clatter and noise as bullets shred his car and his body, as blood begins to flow and the pain comes.
Again it happens. Alone in the desert under fire with no one but himself and the enemy and no one left to care for him because everyone he ever loved is dead and buried, or so far away from him that they would probably not even notice that he was gone.
And it hits him again that he doesn't really matter, that his life never meant anything to anyone, so why should it now? He realised that the important part was over, they knew where the wraith was, they would get him. There was no reason for him to be alive any longer, so he gasps, lets the pain in and falls to the ground, the wraith closing in and he couldn't care less.
The freaking goth walks around the car, faces him. He cocks the gun once more, pulls the trigger. Empty, wasted, useless. Just like him. Without a blink he lowers the weapon, watching as the wraith throws his away. No need for guns when you can suck a person dry with your hands. He reaches up and takes off the reflective glasses, if this things going to drain his life he's going to look him in the eye while he does it. He licks his lip unconsciously, wondering whether it will hurt. It doesn't matter, he hurts already, the adrenalin is gone and the pain has come and its bad. He's as good as dead anyway so why doesn't the damn thing finish him off.
He hears the distant rumble in the sky and looks away. It's all over now. Fire, heat, thunder in the desert but somehow he escapes the blast, not that it matters. He stands up, doesn't want to die slumped on his car and makes it a few steps before crashing down again but it doesn't matter. Here is as good a place to die as any, in the desert, with the fire and the heat, the sand and the blood and he rolls up just to see the sky again.
Killed by a freaking life sucking alien goth. Killed saving millions of lives, not that they would ever know, not that they would care if they knew. Hands reaching up to grasp the silver cross that no longer had any meaning to him. Heaven, Hell, who cares? Anywhere but here, nowhere but here, as the sky stretches out before him and the life seeps out of his body he lies alone on the desert floor, and no one would ever know, no one would ever care, but in that moment John Sheppard fled to the sky. Fled from this world and the hurt and the pain it had caused him, no guilt, no debt, all books closed. Nothing but shadow. Nothing but sky.
Hope you enjoyed my little self indulgent story.