Happy Little Delusions (busaikko, Vegas-verse AU, PG13)

[busaikko]

Happy Little Delusions (3252 words) by busaikko
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: John Sheppard/Nancy Sheppard
Summary: Vegas-verse AU: John didn't stop the Wraith message in time, and the SGC didn't let him die. He thinks the latter's not a mercy but a punishment, as he falls hard and waits for the end of the world.
Prompt: So go ahead. Fall down. The world looks different from the ground. (Oprah Winfrey)

Sheppard: Are people ever gonna know the truth?
McKay: Not my decision. Personally, I think people choose to live in their own happy little delusions. They don't really wanna know the truth.
SGA Vegas

"I always knew you'd come to a bad end," Nancy said, but she smiled sadly at John as she stepped back into the warmth of the apartment so the dour SGC nurse could wheel John inside. John didn't get a say in where he ended up; the wheelchair was arbitrarily parked next to a tree in a pot, and the nurse installed John on the sofa and got him to sign all the papers saying he was taking responsibility for himself.

He wouldn't be here for long, John knew. The aliens – the Wraith – were coming, and that would be the end of everything. Earth would be sucked dry – John, Nancy, the SGC, all of Vegas, kids and parents, cats and dogs for all he knew. End times.

He stared at the potted tree and wondered who'd water it when humanity was gone.

"John?" Nancy said, loudly, and John jumped. She was sitting on the arm of the sofa, and he hadn't even realized she was there. Hadn't heard her the first few times she called his name either, he guessed. Hell, he didn't remember the nurse leaving, though a quick look proved he and the wheelchair were gone. Dizziness washed through him at the movement, and John clenched his teeth.

"I'm on drugs," John said when he could, voice raspy and low, wincing after he said it because he didn't want Nancy remembering the last time they'd met. He'd been so drunk, but he knew she'd been there, and then she'd been gone, like a ghost.

All John had ever been successful at was being an asshole, or maybe a loser, maybe both, so he asked Nancy if she had anything to drink.

She gave him a cold flat stare and told him she'd dumped everything down the sink because he was coming. John was startled that he didn't get the rush of pleasure that usually came from pissing off people with power over him. He told her he was sorry, and she stared at him as if remembering all the reasons she'd broken off their engagement and sent back her ring.

"Do you have a gun? You're going to need one," John said, and let his head settle gingerly onto the back of her sofa. "Something really bad's going to happen."

"I've heard rumors," Nancy said, and John's head snapped up too fast. The SGC had enough power to hold secret alien wars and travel to other galaxies without answering to anyone, and they were willing to take drastic measures to preserve their secrets. Nancy didn't have a clue how dangerous pursuing those rumors would be. John was glad he'd had enough practice not throwing up in the hospital; he sucked air in through his nose, a deep breath, ignoring the way his chest ached. Nancy put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed small circles. He'd loved that about her, the way she never thought twice about touching him. "I work for the government, John. My security clearance isn't high enough to see the whole picture, but for the past few weeks there's been unusual activity. Unprecedented. Like everyone's preparing for a war."

"I signed a bunch of papers," John said. "But I'll tell you everything I know, if you want." He tried to smile, but he was too out of practice, and why should Nancy believe him about that, when all he'd ever done when they were together was lie to her. "The worst that can happen is they don't execute me or throw me in jail."

"Nuclear war," Nancy said, eyes sharp. "There was a large radiation leak in Nevada. Right before you were shot."

John's head got too heavy again, and he shifted, settling into a slouch among all Nancy's tasteful beige throw pillows. "I was too late," he said. "That's what McKay said. Even ten minutes earlier and I could've been the guy who saved the world." He reached up to tug one of the pillows away from where it pressed into his shoulder with a sickening kind of insistence. "Isn't that just the story of my life."

Nancy didn't say anything, just got up and came back with a blanket, soft and as warm as he imagined her hands would be.

"Get some sleep," she said, brushing his hair back from his face in a way that made him wish he could open his eyes. "If the world doesn't end before morning I'll make you breakfast."

***

John made Nancy get herself a gun and ammo. She drove them to a shooting range where John tried real hard not to be frustrated at how rusty her shooting was after so many years. It was pretty easy to pretend that his frustration was due to the way he couldn't raise his left arm high enough to brace his right, which he needed to do because his hands always shook these days. He wondered if Nancy would buy him a gun anyway.

Probably not, considering she dragged over a chair and made him sit after he wore himself out just squeezing off six rounds. He hadn't thought that holding a gun would bring on memories, but he felt hot, like the desert sun was beating down on him. Or like he had the comforting warmth of a car door behind his back as he tried to figure out which would be worse, bleeding to death or having his life ripped out of him by the alien that just doomed Earth. He'd figured the latter, and had tried to bleed faster.

He was running a fever when they got back home, and Nancy had to help him pull off his shirt so he could struggle with pajamas before falling into bed. He heard Nancy talking on the phone about him, but he figured even if she managed to get hold of Doc Keller there wasn't anything to do except wait it out. His chest was mapped with scars; he'd finally succeeded in dying, and then the SGC swooped in and forced his heart to beat again, filling him up with borrowed blood.

The way things ended with Nancy had always been a big regret. He figured now he had the chance to put things right. Or at least apologize. But he remembered what he was thinking when he died. He'd had Johnny Cash stuck in his head, and he was staring into the sky waiting for the first star to appear, so he could make a wish. He liked to think he'd've wished for world peace or at least no alien invasion, but if he was being honest with himself, he'd probably have asked for a guitar.

His had been lost years ago, somewhere in the Middle East, around the time he'd taken up not caring about things as his new pastime.

When he was dying he hadn't thought about Holland, or Mitch, or Dex. He hadn't thought about Nancy; his life hadn't flashed before his eyes. He worried now, as Nancy came in to give him an adjusted dose of medicine, take his temperature again, and pull the comforter up, if missing some essential part of being human.

What he did was stare up at her and ask how much she was being paid to look after him.

"Not nearly enough," she told him, sounding amused. He reached up and caught her hand, reckless and stupid.

"I never stopped loving you," he said.

She bent and gave him the kind of kiss mothers give, quick and dry on his forehead. "I know. But I'm still part of the establishment you have to rail against." She rubbed her fingers against the back of his hand and there was nothing John wanted, more than to surrender. "I'm still The Man."

John sighed. "There's going to be an alien invasion. Their scout in Vegas sent up a big nuclear flare to show where Earth is." He swallowed. "They eat people. We're an all-you-can-eat buffet, open 24/7."

Nancy pulled her hand away. "Tell me about it when you're not running a fever," she said, eyes narrowing, and John figured maybe she had a point.

***

John got better. He felt kind of betrayed by his body for not staying broken, but he pushed himself anyway. He built up his stamina taking shaky walks on Nancy's treadmill while she was at work, and he learned her neighborhood. He found a barber shop run by the kind of sullen old geezer John'd be in twenty years if he didn't die first. Nancy didn't say anything about John's crappy haircut when she came home, but she gave him a hug and rubbed his cheek.

"Now you look like yourself again," she said.

John put his arm around her, his hand on her back. "I can grow the beard back."

Nancy laughed. "You know, back when we were living together, the one thing I learned was to never ask you to do anything. You loathed being told what to do." She gave him a gentle squeeze that John took to mean she didn't hate him for that any more.

"You can ask me stuff now," John said, feeling less forgiven and more trapped. "I've changed. Some," he added, to qualify, and to not be out-and-out lying.

Nancy put her head against his shoulder, right above the bullet scar. "Then ask me about myself, because I'm not the same person I was before, either. I hardly remember being that girl who saw you surfing and wanted you, right then. You looked so...." Her voice trailed off, but John filled in the blank just fine: young, free, happy.

John couldn't remember the last time he saw the ocean. Surfing was like flying, and he wasn't going to do either ever again. He couldn't avoid the sky, but he knew how to stay the hell away from the water.

"You have a good day at work?" he tried, figuring that was a decent place to start. And then, because he was curious, he added, "I don't know what you do. Actually."

Nancy stepped back, out of his embrace, and gave him a look that he couldn't read. "Remember that law degree you paid half of?"

John shook his head. "Working for the government's not real specific."

"Homeland Security," she said. John raised both eyebrows to show he was impressed. "Domestic counter-terrorism. And I had a rotten day at work because there were server problems, and the copier died, and I had four hours of meetings, and there were onions on my sandwich, so I was crying all afternoon."

"I remember about you and onions," John said. "You want a backrub?"

Nancy gave him another, very serious look, and John was glad for his clean face and quasi-tamed hair. "I'd love that," she said. "Let me just – " she gestured down at her suit – "get comfortable."

John never was good with touching people. Since returning Stateside he had sex a few times but never the kind that involved undressing any more than necessary. If at all. The idea of getting a massage made him tense, but he was pretty sure that was a sign of how fucked up he was. Nancy wasn't fucked up at all, so she had no problem with stretching out on the sofa, face down, waiting for John's hands. He tried to be gentle with her shoulders, faking it mostly, and followed her directions, chasing the tension down or to the left, trying not to notice that under the sweatshirt and t-shirt she wasn't wearing a bra.

He was working on her neck, which was good because he could do that one-handed and his left arm had started aching when he got to Nancy's lower back, when Nancy said, "You were right about the alien invasion. I thought you were nuts. I did a little digging." She turned her head so she wasn't facing him. "I downloaded a file and right after that the servers stopped working, and the whole time I was reading I kept thinking that this was it, they'd send the men in black for me." She sighed. "There weren't really onions. I locked myself in a bathroom stall at Starbucks and called my mother to cry for half an hour. I didn't tell her about the aliens," she added. "I said you moved in with me and I didn't want to love you again."

"Bet she cried, too," John said. "She hates me."

"She had reason."

John put the flat of his palm against the back of Nancy's shoulder and held it there, trying to impart some kind of comfort through the touch.

"I don't have to stay. I could go screw up my dad's life." John felt Nancy tense, her back rising and falling like she was trying to breathe through distress. "Hey."

"When the man from the military called me, he said, if you made it through the seventy-two hours after surgery, and if you came out of the coma, would I help you? He said I was your next of kin. That you called out my name, that you wouldn't stop asking for me."

"Pretty sure I was unconscious," John said dryly. "You talked to Woolsey? He's not the poster boy for honesty."

"I wanted to believe," Nancy said, simply. "I was better off once you were gone, but I always wondered.... If we could have been good together."

John touched her cheek, feeling tears. He hated making her cry, but he never knew how to stop. How to be a good person, instead of an asshole.

***

Someone knocked on the door an hour after Nancy left, and John figured as they'd got past the front security desk, odds were it was a neighbor or maintenance or some guy about the drains. Even nice places like Nancy's were bound to have drain trouble every now and then.

There were three people standing outside in the corridor. The man was tall and built, with a fierce scowl and dreadlocks halfway down his back, and the woman at his side was as petite as Nancy, but also looked like she could kick John's ass. They wore black suits like professional bodyguards, and John could see from the way they sized him up that they didn't think he was much of a threat.

The woman they were protecting had blonde hair worn in a knot at the back, and her navy suit could nearly be mistaken for an Air Force uniform.

"Mr. Sheppard," she said, with a short nod, and looked pointedly beyond him into the apartment, as if he'd already invited them in and was blocking their way.

He stepped aside, head spinning, thinking this was it, this was trouble he wasn't getting out of in this lifetime.

As soon as the door was shut and locked again, the blonde woman introduced herself as Carter; her companions – her team, she said – were equally single-named: Ronon and Teyla. "You already met McKay," she went on, and wrinkled her nose, not exactly in distaste, but more like she knew exactly how things with McKay would have gone down. "Let's make this simple," she said, and pulled a green plastic thing out of her pocket.

John took it gingerly, nearly dropping it when it hummed under his fingers and started glowing green. "Is it going to kill me?"

Carter shrugged. "I have no idea. It hasn't killed anyone yet. What it does do," she went on, plucking it out of his fingers and putting it away, "is light up when held by anyone with the genetic code for operating certain kinds of advanced alien technology." She met his eyes. "I met another you once, and he had the gene. We tested you in the hospital, of course, and the results were positive, but I wasn't sure you'd believe me." She patted her pocket. "Proof."

John sat on the arm of the sofa and leaned back the way that always pissed off his dad, who admittedly used to see insolence in everything John did. "I'm sure you have plenty of ways to make fake alien stuff light up, excuse my saying so. But I've met aliens. I know about the invasion. So even if you're lying to me, I figure this is an offer I can't exactly refuse."

Carter shrugged. "I can't force you. I mean, I literally can't. The stuff you can do with the gene has a mental component, so you'll need to be willing. You do what you're told to, we trust you to get the job done, and with any luck – " She spread her hands.

John bit his lip, eyeing the bodyguards. The big guy – Ronon – gave him a challenging stare, like he wanted John to run because chasing him down would be fun, but the woman smiled at him encouragingly. "You know I have a crappy track record for saving anything."

That made Ronon smirk and shake his hair back, looking both amused and threatening. "First time for everything, Sheppard," he said.

"Guess so," John said, and looked around the place. "I have time to pack a bag?"

Carter tipped her head. "Not really, no. We'll beam you up to a ship in orbit. They have everything there."

John nodded and went over to the kitchen counter, grabbing the message pad and a pencil from the mug. "I'll just... say goodbye."

MIB came for me.
Probably won't be back.

He paused, bouncing the pen between his fingers, trying to think of what to add. I love you wasn't enough. Finally, with Carter irritably checking her watch for the third time, he scrawled If I screw this up, then I didn't save the world, again, no surprise. But if we can pull off a hail Mary, I want you to know, that's me saving you.

He felt uncomfortable even being in the same room as the note, left prominently on the dining table, but Carter had been serious about the beaming-up thing. One moment he was next to the sofa, looking at the note and thinking he could just rip it up, and the next second he was standing in front of a floor to ceiling window, looking down on Earth. For a big planet, it seemed somehow small and vulnerable from here.

"You know," John said, walking closer, eyes captured by the brilliant blue of the oceans below, "McKay tried to blackmail me into cooperation. It didn't work so good. So. Was Nancy on your payroll all along? Was she your means of persuasion?"

Carter walked over to stand by his side. "If I said no, you wouldn't believe me anyway," she said, and put a hand on the glass in front of them. "Does it matter? That's our planet down there, and hundreds of thousands of predators will be arriving very soon."

"It matters," John said, stubborn on this one thing, because he knew he wasn't going to fight her.

"Then the truth is, she was simply your next of kin. That's all."

John's gut instinct as a detective told him she was lying; but like she said, that didn't mean he was going to walk away from the fight. "Okay. Whatever." He took a deep breath, and exhaled sorrow until all he had left was dogged purpose. "What do you want me to do?"

end