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This story is completed
There was only one problem there. Batman didn't kill his nemeses he locked them up in an asylum so they'd be able to rise again. And Superman couldn't just gut the CEO of the major corporation that held the world together, could he? The battle raged, lives were sacrificed, the world was a stage, but no matter how many times good triumphs over evil, evil comes back and balance remains. And not just out of the need for a sequel, either.
The truth is that good can never triumph. The good guys can win, once and for all, but not without a brutal act of vengeance. Self-defense is one thing, and a preemptive strike another entirely.
Rodney, personally, would give almost anything to never have to watch Sheppard kill another soul, no matter how corrupt.
"Hey," Rodney says, moving into the shadows of Sheppard's room. The man is sitting on the edge of the bed, right hand clasped to his chest, directly over five perfect little scars that they've all chosen never to mention.
Sheppard startles, spinning and falling off the bed pretty clumsily.
"Good to know that the person responsible for keeping us in the air has adequate motor skills," Rodney mentions.
"Yeah. Sorry about that." Sheppard always apologizes for the things that aren't his fault, even when he glosses over the things that really are.
"How . . . er . . . how are you?" Rodney thinks about the third Batman movie, the one almost barely saved from Val Kilmer's sleep-acting by Tommy Lee Jones and Jim Carey and their gay little villain love. There's no consummation in vengeance unless it's self consumption.
"Fine." A typical Sheppard answer.
"You killed Kolya."
"How astute of you."
"Are you . . . if you need to . . . You know you can talk to me, right?"
"I'm a soldier, Rodney. He's not the first enemy I've killed." That's true, as much as Rodney would like to forget it. Rodney complains about Sheppard always beating him at 007, but the truth is how can you even compete with someone who does that for real?
"I . . . I know that." Rodney wants to explain all the reasons why Kolya is different the fact that he tortured John, the fact that John killed 60 of his men, the fact that it wasn't soldiers fighting because soldiers fight in war and war is never supposed to be personal. But he can't say those things, because the last thing Sheppard needs is more guilt. "Okay. I . . . um . . . I'm just going to go get something the eat. I hear they're serving not-fish sticks. You wanna . . . "
"Yeah," Sheppard sighs, standing. He looks tired.
"You won't believe what Kavanagh did when we were gone. I hope you weren't planning on using lab 12 anytime soon, because it smells like . . ." Rodney's voice trails off when he sees Sheppard's hand on his arm.
"I would never have let him hurt you," Sheppard says, eyes gone dark and deadly in the way that's always terrified Rodney.
"Yes." Rodney gulps. "Sure. I know," he says, even though he's not sure that's why Sheppard did it. But it doesn't matter. He'll believe it. He has to.
"I'm just saying that you could have gotten him to, that's all," Carson said. "Who knows the kind of information the man might've had. The Genii are our allies, aye, but so were the Wraith and that was a bloody catastrophe if I ever saw one."
Ronon growled, flexing his muscles and looking unhappy. Carson would've been intimidated, except he had the needles and Ronon, well, Ronon's on his side. It's a good side to be on.
"It was Sheppard's fight."
"And if the bugger had actually shot the colonel?"
"He wouldn't have. Sheppard's a good shot."
"Maybe if he'd been here bleeding out on my operating table you'd be singing a different tune, Laddie."
"But he's not."
Carson sighed. Why did he even bother? Once Ronon got an idea into that thick skull of his there was no dissuading him. Seriously, were stitches and ripping of those stitches really all that difficult concepts to understand?
"We're talking about a man's life, here," Carson said. "Yes, Kolya was a terrible man, and one that deserved to be locked up, at that, but wouldn't it be better to subdue him for questioning, or throw him back to the Genii as a measure of good faith?"
Ronon just shrugged, hoping off the exam table. "If I'd gotten my hands on him, I would've killed him for what he did. But if someone was going to kill him, Sheppard deserved the chance."
"It doesn't bother you in the slightest?"
"He let the Wraith feed on Sheppard, cut McKay, almost kidnapped Weir. I'm not sorry he's dead."
The sad thing was, Carson wasn't sure he could disagree. Kolya would've killed them all to get to the colonel. If he didn't believe in the sanctity of their lives, why should they believe in the sanctity of his? But then again, that was a slippery slope a doctor couldn't afford to take even a single step down. Carson sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples for just a second. "Now, we've got just one more test on the post-capture exam routine . . . Ronon?" The man was no longer standing in front of him. "Oh bloody hell."
>
"So . . ." John says, collapsing back into the couch on the side wall of Elizabeth's office. Psychology for diplomats says that he sits there to keep an eye and the Gateroom . . . and to keep from looking Elizabeth in the eye.
"So." She can see the weariness in his posture and an almost childish timidity, unusual for John, unless he's about to fess up to something. She puts down her tablet, giving him her full attention. It's not usual for him to come in to talk to her before the scheduled debriefing. He normally likes to get a shower in first.
"So," he takes a deep breath, sitting pigeon-toed and playing with a stature he swiped off her desk, a child in the principal's office. "Kolya's dead."
If she weren't already sitting, she'd probably collapse back into her chair at this point. She's been waiting for this news for a long time, wanted it even. Elizabeth, as a diplomat, has been known to have the patience of a saint. But she's vengeful in her own little way. The first time she caught her boyfriend cheating, for example, she keyed his car. And when the president of Estonia tried to grab her ass after the treaty signing, she made sure the Russian ambassador got all the credit for the negotiations. She's not above wanting to get even.
But she's also concerned about John. He's withdrawn and sullen in that listless way he was after Doranda and after they lost the ZPM to the brotherhood. He's disappointed in himself. "Did you do it?"
"Yep, little ole me." It's not even close to funny, but she chokes out a laugh anyway.
"John . . ."
"We were at a standstill. I told him I'd kill him. We both drew. I hit him before he got me."
"John, maybe you should see . . ."
"You're not going to tell me I should have done differently," he looks up, meeting her eyes, and suddenly she's back there, looking into pupils ringed in green fire. Elizabeth has a gun pressed to her neck, the light of the wormhole shimmering behind her, and John is going to take that shot no time to reconsider, no time for regrets. She feels weak, helpless, but looking into his eyes, she knows that everything's going to be okay.
"No, John," she replies. "I'm not."
John tosses and turns in his sleep, but he can't escape the echoing sounds, the intermittent bursts of iridescent green. He's walking through a field and its raining bullets. They pelt off him like hail, flowing down over the shield like a rockslide. Lightning flashes pale in comparison to glow of the shield.
The Wraith is there the single one that he hasn't given a name. He smiles his toothy smile, and reaches forward, but he can't get there. The shield protects him, so John laughs. Time is spinning by and this time, it's the Wraith that's wasting away, hair long and tangled and skin withered as grass grows and fades, seasons passing without even a drip of water passing through the green haze of the shield.
Wars come too. They pass. Time flows casually onward as John stands there, unnoticed, unchangeable, invincible. His body hums with so much power he can taste it. No wonder Rodney didn't want to let this thing go. No wonder Lucius sought it out. Now if only he could extend this shield around the whole world. But then maybe he'd let bad inside along with good.
Kolya is standing there now, smirking at him.
John wakes up panting and clutching his chest, hand pressing down on phantom pain on top of the feeding scar. It was a good dream. He can't for the life of him figure out why his body's still pumping adrenaline like he's frightened.
So much talk, so much talk. All of the villagers had stories of their own now, what did they need Lucius for? Elby had taken out that Genii with a pitchfork, which wasn't even true because the man had surrendered. And then Shanea was so proud of how she'd organized the west half of the village and they were going to make her the new honorary town militia leader, which was completely unfair, because wasn't it Lucius who had saved them from the original ruffians? Wasn't it Lucius who suggested they fight back? It wasn't an easy task, he'd have them know. He could have escaped through the gate, but he went back with Sheppard to help out. He could have been a boulder or fought them all at once, but he'd valiantly given up his personal safety so that Sheppard could step in and take all of the credit? Or these insipid villagers who didn't even know how to tell a good story? He didn't think so.
Lucius grumbled. He'd leave them to their own devices then. Let them defend themselves. If they were going to laugh at him for valiantly allowing one of their little ruffians to permanently throw out Lucius' kneecap, then he'd show them. Yes he would. He'd leave town. She how they faired without a hero.
See, that the thing every town needs a hero. People need legends and storytellers and great men to lead them, without that it's all just boring old gossip that nobody's really interested in anyway. And Lucius provided them with that. And what thanks did he get? Rejection and ridicule. No good. It was all no good.
And Sheppard, coming in like that, cocking his narrow little hips and letting that ridiculous hair of his to blow just slightly in the breeze and being just a showy little pretty boy in general. Could he tell a good story? No. Cure a cold in just a week? No, of course not. Sheppard didn't even need to save the day to have ascended priestess throwing themselves at him, why did he have to hog all the glory too? It just wasn't fair.
But Lucius had learned his lesson. You can't be a real hero unless you defeat a real enemy. And Lucius knew just the thing.
He rounded the corner and entered the house that the villagers had given him. They'd probably take it away tomorrow, the little ingrates. He'd have to work quickly.
There was a lump sitting silent in his corner. The Genii were the perfect enemies. How was it honorable to not even stick around to bury your dead? But no matter. They might not be very nice, but Lucius was. Sheppard gave him a second chance. He felt like that's what good heroes did.
"Well, well, you're certainly sleeping on the job. But don't worry. Lucius has just the cure for what ails you," he said. "You know, Sheppard is just a grumpy gus, that's all. I read those mission reports. He betrayed your people, and then he killed sixty of your men. I think that would make me angry too. And then that whole ZPM thing. Or is it Zed? I feel like its Zed. Dr. McKay knows these things, doesn't he? But I don't blame you about the Zed. I mean, they're the popular thing these days, aren't they? I don't know why . . . a little too phallic for my tastes. And orange, it dulls the color of my eyes. But, you know what they say, one man's poison is another man's bag of gold. And I think you'll find that you'll like this particular one."
Lucius smiled, pulling out a small little vial he'd been saving for just an occasion like this in particular. He'd read those reports about Lieutenant Ford. Poor boy, those reports made Lucius all weepy. They were perfect stories for when he wanted a sympathy foot massage from the ladies. But, anyway, the kid had been practically dead for hours, as far as Lucius could figure it. If the Wraith enzyme could do that, surely it could bring someone back to life, right?
He emptied the bottle into a syringe. "You see, you're not that bad a guy. Pushy, you know, but you never really tried to hurt me. You made a lot of threats even pretended to shoot that guy, but you knew I had the shield and you haven't done anything too terrible to Sheppard yet, despite how much he hates you. I think you'd make a good villain. And after I've gone to all the trouble to bring you back from the dead, you're not really going hurt me are you?"
And with that, Lucius plunged the syringe into Acastus Kolya's arm.
FIN