Not so common ground

Summary:- There were worse ways to die than doing something you loved, but John wasn't ready to meet the guy with the pitch fork just yet…

Warnings:- None, apart from mention of the Wraith feeding in Common Ground.

Disclaimer:- I don't own SGA - if I did it would still be on.

This story got started through a GW challenge, but then it just kind of grew. Thanks to GW for the prompt, Winter, and to the wonderful **Sterenyk** **Strey** for the speedy beta. She also came up with the title for this fic when my own brain froze! Of course all mistakes are mine.

WORSE WAYS TO DIE.

Prologue.

The Wraith's eyes bore through him. Insidious, hungry, full of anticipation for the meal that lay ahead.

John's heart was pounding, and he wanted to flee, but trussed up like a lamb ready for the slaughter he was going nowhere…He turned to Kolya looking for a trace of humanity but found only malicious intent. Not personal be damned, the Genii was enjoying this – his revenge. In Kolya's eyes, he'd humiliated him not once but twice, but now John realised – too late – what he should have done was kill the bastard the first time they'd met.

As usual, his freaking merciful streak had come back to bite him in the ass, which was funny in a warped kind of way because the Wraith was almost upon him. His yellow eyes were locked on his next meal, his nose twitching, inhaling John's fear. The way Kolya averted his eyes, John knew there would be no second chance for him. Besides, it was academic now - the die was cast.

The gag felt tight around his head, but it needed to be. This wasn't going to be pretty, but at least he'd be spared the ignominy of crying out. Why Kolya had done it, he didn't know. Perhaps the Genii did have a soldier's code after all, but it was a weird one to be sure. He thought it acceptable to torture a man, drain the life out his body year by year, but okay to spare the humiliation by muffling his screams of pain? John wondered if it was because the SOB just couldn't bear the noise, or maybe deep down he had a conscience after all – but somehow he doubted it.

At least his friends wouldn't hear him which was a plus, but they'd still have to watch while he suffered, and that was all sorts of wrong. John knew Elizabeth wouldn't give up Ladon, and regardless of what happened, he was pleased she'd held her nerve. Human life was precious, including his, but it was wrong to swap one life for another, no-one had any more right to exist than the next guy, even if that guy was Ladon Radim. So steeling himself, John took slow deep breaths and tried to quell the sick feeling twisting his gut. He'd no choice but to suck it up, every agonising moment of it, until he was rescued or worked out a plan to escape.

ooooOoooo

Sometime later...

John reckoned there were worse ways to die.

It was a perfect power day, the virgin snow untouched and the view awesome, and he'd been having a blast doing something he loved just before that damned rock sent had him flying over the cliff. Still, he was down but not out, and he really wasn't planning on claiming his pitch fork this soon.

The last golden rays were starting to set behind the white toped mountains, and if he wasn't in so much pain, John would have savoured the sight. He'd always wanted to ski Highland Peak. His dream run, but the dream was fast turning into a nightmare. No-one knew where he'd been going. There had been no-one around to witness his accident, and even if someone was there now, John was pretty sure they wouldn't be able to see the wounded skier lying on a narrow ledge half way down the mountain. He couldn't even risk calling out, in case he brought the whole damn piste down on top of him.

His leg was killing him, blood seeping from the broken bone staining his favourite sallopets. John wasn't normally squeamish, but the gut-wrenching pain was making him nauseous. The edge of the joint piercing the skin making each movement tortuous. He was in agony, and he was coming around to the way of thinking, if this was going to be the end – he just wanted it to be over.

He was on vacation, alone, and if help didn't come by nightfall, it looked like this was the way he was going to die. His cell was broken, but reception on the slopes had been patchy anyway. For once none of his team was with him, as he'd needed to get away, clear his head, and try to get a handle on what had happened to him.

John had told them he was okay, better even, after the Wraith had given him the gift of life. The truth was he hadn't been, and still wasn't, the memory of his life being sucked from his body year by year, waking him drenched and breathless night after night. Restrained and gagged, he'd been forced to endure the agonising feeding time and time again. He'd never know anything could hurt so much.

Beckett had tried and failed to get him to talk about it, the Scot finally forcing him to see Heightmeyer. John had gone, smiled, sat back on the comfy chair and fed her the standard replies, told her what she wanted to hear, but he'd been pretty sure the savvy red-head hadn't been fooled for a second. In the end Elizabeth told him to take a vacation, but John knew it had been more of an order. He'd stormed off, determined to fight her all the way, then he'd saw the brochure for this place…

He loved the sea, and surfing was awesome, but skiing had been his first love almost from the day he could walk. It was the one thing he'd shared with his dad. The only bond that had tied them for years, until the day when his desire to fly took over from everything else in his life.

In his younger days Dad was a great skier, and had promised to bring him here…but never had. From where he was perched John saw Round Top to the north, and both Stanislaus and Leavitt peaks. It was a magnificent sight his old man would have loved, and John regretted the lost years that had turned father and son into strangers. A sad smile pulled at his lips when it dawned on him he might be able to tell him that – personally – by the end of the day. Provided of course, his Dad hadn't claimed a harp, instead of the pitchfork awaiting him.

John shivered, and he realised the fierce agony of before wasn't so bad now. His legs were turning numb, along with his arms, fingers and toes which he was pretty sure wasn't a good sign. John didn't know whether to be happy about nature's scary pain relief, or sad it was the beginning of the end.

He yawned, a deep, weary heaviness settling into his very core. It was more chilling than the cold biting air freezing his limbs, and more dangerous than the dull ache still coursing through his body. It was beautiful here, but nothing matched Atlantis, and John felt empty knowing he would probably never see his home again.

Exhausted, alone and waiting for the end, John closed his eyes and thought of the friends he would leave behind. Teyla – the strong wonderful woman who'd always challenged him to be a better man. Ronon - who was more brother than friend, a man of few words, but always knew the right thing to say. And Rodney – irritating, impatient, but someone who knew him better than he did himself. Some people thought the geek was an unlikely friend for a flyboy like him, but McKay was someone with whom he shared so much in common.

Moist, his eyelashes froze with unshed tears, but not for himself. This was a dumb, pointless way to die, especially when there was still so much he had to do. John was pissed. He didn't want to meet his maker without taking down the Wraith, and to think he was leaving a job half done was frustrating as hell. And…what was that sound?

"Would you like a lift, Sir?"

At the sound of Lorne's voice, John's eyes sprang wide open. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. Evan and a concerned Beckett, standing at the edge of the jumper's ramp, hovering in front of him.

"How?" John croaked, then groaned as he jarred his leg.

A nervous looking Beckett was beside him in an instant. "Try not to move, Colonel. I know Major Lorne says we're quite safe here, but if you don't mind, son, I don't want to hang about. I'd like to get you sorted out and get us both inside the jumper ASAP. Then we'll get you home."

"Home?"

"Aye, back to Atlantis, but with a wee detour to the SGC first, so I can fix that leg." Carson smiled, then loaded a syringe and pushed it gently into the IV he'd set up in the back of John's hand. "This should help with the pain, while I immobilise the limb."

Almost immediately John felt himself start to drift. The combination of exhaustion, relief and the power of good drugs dulling the pain down to an icy tingle. John closed his eyes and welcomed the darkness, knowing whatever happened he was no longer alone.

ooooOoooo

"Are you sure he's going to be okay?" Rodney asked Carson, but when the Scot didn't answer he persisted. "Is it normal for someone to sleep as much as this?"

While Carson rolled his eyes, Teyla, sitting on the other side of the bed answered. "As Carson has already told you several times, Rodney, this is perfectly normal. Not only has John been through surgery, he is also suffering the effects of hypothermia."

Ronon, who'd just entered the ward piped up. "But he's gonna be okay - right?" He asked as he slumping down on the chair beside his Athosian team mate.

"_He's_…fine."

"Sheppard!" Rodney cried out, and John winced at the sharp, loud noise. His head was fuzzy, his mouth dry, but the dull ache although constant was bearable, more muted than before.

"My leg's broken, not my ears, Rodney…and I do remember my name." John croaked, and started to cough. The action forcing a low moan from his throat, as it reawakened the agonising pain in his leg.

"Easy, Colonel. Here, take small sips." Carson put a straw in his mouth and John drank, savouring the cool liquid as it eased the fire in his throat.

Carson removed the glass, and wiped the excess liquid that had spilled on his chin. The Scot then started taking his vitals, not missing the pained expression John was trying to hide. "It's been a wee while since your last meds, so what say I give you a top up?"

John nodded, gratefully. "Sounds good, Doc. But that stuff makes me sleepy so can I have a word with my team first?" He flashed his best puppy dog eyes, when it looked as if Carson was going to refuse.

"Aye…I suppose so, but only for a minute." Beckett finally conceded. He nodded towards the three team mates and included them all in a warning look, before going to wait at the side.

"Okay…how did you know where I was?" He asked. "I didn't tell anyone back in the hotel where I was going."

Rodney folded his arms, and gave him a smug smile. "Your tracker." He explained. "It was pretty obvious to everyone you needed time alone, but as this is you we're talking about – we guessed it was only a matter of time before you got into trouble."

"Anyway, after you left we decided to have a vacation too." Teyla continued, as she came over and took the seat beside his bed and began sweeping the damp hair off his forehead. "We had a lovely time sightseeing." She told him, smiling. "It was cold, but as I am sure you will agree, the snow makes everything look so beautiful."

"Yes, well…personally I can't stand the stuff, but to get back to how we found you, I had to help Haemorrhoid with some repairs…"

"Haemorrhoid?" John spluttered, nearly choking again.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "You know! The Asgard!"

Ronon narrowed his eyes and threw Rodney an impatient look. "Bottom line - we watched your back, Sheppard." Ronon told him.

Beckett strolled forward to the front of the group. "Right, now we're done with the question and answer session say your goodnights – the colonel needs his rest."

"There's no need to be so snippy, Carson." Rodney grumbled, his face twisted.

"Nite, Sheppard." Ronon nodded, and hauled a reluctant, still complaining Rodney out the room.

Teyla gently touched John's forehead with hers. "Goodnight, John, and sleep well. We are all happy you are going to be alright."

"G'night." John mumbled, now so tired he was barely able to form the words.

In the quiet of the ward, the silence only interrupted by the soft beep proving he'd survived yet again, John reflected on the last few months of his life.

He'd been tortured, by the worst means imaginable but he'd endured, lived to fight another day, just like he'd survived the less traumatic, but still painful near death experience on the mountain. Yet there was one constant. The one thing he'd forgotten while trying to cope to his own. He wasn't alone. Not while he had his friends, his family and Atlantis to watch his back.

THE END

I hope you liked this little fic, and please review.


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