Work Text:
John drove down the 147, past Nellis, his Camaro dusty but well up to the desert heat. It wasn't a conscious choice of direction; just the fastest way out of Dodge. His 8-track blared Johnny Cash:
"Don't know that I will, but until I can find me,
Someone who'll stay, and won't play games behind me.
I'll be what I am: a solitary man."
It had been a hell of a day. Aliens. His mind still shied away from the thought. He'd seen some weird shit in his time, Vegas pretty much guaranteed weird, but aliens? And Dr. Rodney McKay hadn't played any games. He'd told John the truth, straight up. About the Wraith. Something called a Stargate. And showed him a glowy blue chair that whispered to him, somewhere deep inside.
And he'd talked to John about Afghanistan, something nobody ever did, because the civilians didn't know, and the Air Force'd busted him out as fast as they could, once they knew. He'd risked it all, to save Matt. And he'd failed. McKay understood, somehow; maybe he'd had to make those decisions himself, at least that's what John saw in his eyes. And more. It was ALL okay, and McKay'd held his gaze, and stood just a little too close to him, and John wondered, driving down the dusty, deserted highway, just how well McKay had known that other John. The one who was a hero.
But he hadn't lied. He'd said John was free to go, and he was: he was going. He had a bag of hundreds, a full tank of gas, and a chance at a new start. Somewhere. Anywhere.
The other John was a hero, McKay said. He saved everyone. John couldn't even save the poker game. And the guy had run--God, how he could run. John could outrun most guys, but he'd never had a chance with the Wraith. Nobody did; not with a guy who could drop 100 feet from the top of a building and walk away.
Walk away. He just walked away. Like John was doing, except, you know, driving. The Wraith. And except, the Wraith had headed for an RV, hadn't he? One of those old, Silver Bullet styles? Did McKay know about the RV?
McKay had had really blue eyes.
What the hell. And John pulled the steering wheel, hard, as he hit the brakes.
He'd always been a gambler.
The End