Wraithbait

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Response to the first sf_friday48 challenge. buggs asked for "Sheppard running into his equivalent of Alex/Caroline (Farscape) when he was back on earth"

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Earth. Home. Green, growing things that he could name and weren't likely to attack. A vast world, billions of people, untouched by the Wraith, by the nightmares the universe at large could conjure. And beer. There was lots and lots of beer. No fear of running out or having to ration and savor what little he had.

Except, he thought, it might actually taste even better when you didn't know if it would be the last you could have for a while. He took a sip, let the cool, bitter liquid run over his tongue and down his throat. Nope, still tasted pretty good.

And what goes good with beer? Pretzels. And he had a whole bowl to himself. It was actually his second bowl. He'd been at the bar for a while. He was only on his third beer, though, so a long way from drunk. Which he wasn't particularly after. Not right now, anyway. He plucked a pretzel from the bowl and slowly, carefully stripped the salt off, then he licked the salt from his fingers and popped the pretzel into his mouth, chewing slowly.

Several more pretzels met the same fate, and he sucked at his thumb absently as he watched the other bar patrons. It was early, the bar wasn't a dive, just a nice neighborhood joint, and the room was populated with young couples and groups of laughing friends. From his dark booth in the back of the room, he watched them all enjoying the early evening.

He missed Atlantis like a drowning man misses breathing. On Earth for not even forty-eight hours and he was already feeling a sort of restless agitation. He needed to get back. Needed to do the things he had to do. Needed to take care of the Wraith. They were his fault, he had to fix it.

Unfortunately, there wasn't really any guarantee that he'd be sent back to Atlantis. His record was against him, the seriousness of the situation out there called for somebody better, brighter, stronger. He'd only scored a place on the expedition because of a stupid, random gene, and only got himself elevated to military commander by fucking things up royally and waking the Wraith. Hell, he wouldn't be his first choice out there.

Elizabeth would fight for him. Maybe. They certainly had their moments. He picked at the beer label with a fingernail and let the sounds of the bar fade out to a low buzz. He trusted her. He did. Truly. More than he trusted just about anybody. More than he'd ever trusted just about anybody. He hoped that over the past year she'd understood and came to trust that part of him that just had to act. The part of him that didn't exactly say "screw the orders" but, rather, looked past them to what he felt he had to do. Granted, sometimes his five-year old fidgeting got them into more trouble than it saved them from. No, she'd fight for him. He hoped. It scared him to think that she might not, that she might find somebody easier to work with. He'd understand it if she did, but he was scared she would.

Atlantis was home. Strange musty corridors, bizarre tech that lit up when he entered the room and greeted him like an old friend, alien cultures and people who challenged him, taught him, showed him vast, new worlds. He needed it. It was where he belonged. The first time in a long time. And, honestly, who was going to keep Rodney out of trouble if he wasn't around? Huh? McKay'd blow up Atlantis if he wasn't around to watch him.

He picked up another pretzel and stared down at it, squeezing it gently between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the bite of the grains of salt into his skin. He did his pretzel stripping routine again and chased the salt with a slug of beer.

"John Sheppard? I ... wow. You're the last person I expected to see here."

John looked up from his naked pretzel and blinked in confusion. Tall, leggy, brunette. The face was familiar but his brain was sluggish in putting a name to it. And then it hit him.

"Uh, Amanda. What are you doing here?"

"Nice greeting."

"Yours was better?"

"Maybe not. Can I sit?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Are you stationed at Peterson now?"

Amanda Cross, Major, US Air Force, ex-ex-ex girlfriend. Yeah, there were reasons he'd liked Antarctica.

"Not exactly," he told her with a small smile.

"Not exactly?"

"That's right. I'm just in town for a few meetings."

"Last I heard you were at McMurdo. And then you dropped off the face of the Earth."

John gave her a flat smile and shrugged his shoulders. Taking a fortifying mouthful of beer, he looked her square in the eyes and said, as seriously as he could, "Need to know."

"Right," she said slowly, and not without a little bit of disbelief. "McMurdo to top secret?"

"Well, you know, impress the right people ..."

"Uh-huh."

"So ... uh, you're at Peterson?"

"Schriever, actually."

"Well ... that's, uh, nice. Satellites?"

"Space warfare," she said shortly.

"Cool."

"Yeah."

"So ..."

"So ... how have you been, John?"

"Oh, pretty good. Busy."

"With your need-to-know stuff?"

"Exactly."

"Well, good for you. I always knew you were better than McMurdo," she said firmly.

"You ... you did?"

"Of course."

"Oh." He wasn't entirely used to people telling him things like that. He wasn't sure what to do with it. "Thanks."

She laughed and he looked up at her sharply. Giving him a kind but amused smile she patted his hand. "Poor John, always waiting for the kick in the teeth."

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and shifted his eyes away from her to dart nervously around the room.

"That's why we didn't work, you know?"

"You mean other than the screaming?"

"Well, that was symptomatic. You're better than that, John. You just ... drift, though. It's frustrating as hell to watch."

"You didn't want to get stuck with a dead-ender, huh?"

"See? This is what I mean. God, four years later and I still want to throttle you."

He grinned at her then, laughed a little, and stripped another pretzel.

"You waiting for somebody?" She asked after moment.

"Nope. Just ... hanging."

"Well, let me buy you another beer. Old time's sake."

"Sure. Thanks."

She slipped away from the booth and wandered up to the bar, waving to a group of men as she passed. Sheppard licked the salt off his fingers again and crushed the pretzel against the cardboard beer coaster.

"Are you seeing anybody?" Amanda asked abruptly when she returned, setting his beer down in front of his pile of pretzel crumbs.

"Not exactly."

"What, exactly, does that mean?"

"Means, not exactly."

"Uh-huh. Who is she?"

Sheppard pushed the crumbs into a pile and glued the edges together with the condensation from his beer bottle.

"Oh, you're avoiding. Tell me," Amanda smiled in a particularly feral way -- a way that always made him shudder with dread.

"She's a friend, and it's not like that."

"I asked if you were seeing somebody, and you said not exactly, and now you say it's not like that."

"Well, I lied. It's not."

"Is she good for you?"

"I ... I think so." He gave her a crooked smile and brushed his hand nervously through his hair. "You'd like her. She wants to strangle me daily."

"Ah, you work with her. Is that why it's 'not exactly'?"

"Not exactly."

Amanda narrowed her eyes at him, and he grinned back. "Okay. So ... since you're in town, and you're not waiting for anybody, and you're at 'not exactly', I don't suppose I could buy you dinner?"

"Old time's sake?"

"Believe it or not, I've missed you."

"Yeah. It would probably be better if we didn't. Things get all ... messy." He shoved some more pretzel crumbs around then took a long draw at his beer.

She stared at him for a moment and then laughed. Sliding out of the booth, she came around to his side of the table. Running a fond hand through his messy hair she looked down at him. He swallowed nervously, and she grinned. Leaning down she brushed a light kiss across his lips.

"Good luck, John Sheppard. Wherever you are, it looks like it's where you need to be. I'm glad you found it."

"So am I."

"Maybe I'll see you around again some day."

"Maybe."

"And then maybe I'll get to meet your 'not exactly'.

She kissed him again and walked away. He watched her walk over to a large group and sit down. A couple of heads swiveled his way, and he glanced away quickly, back down to his growing collection of pretzel-crumb pyramids.

He needed Atlantis. He needed the friends he'd made there. He needed McKay driving him nuts. He needed Beckett's gate-related paranoia. He needed Teyla kicking his ass and keeping him on his toes. He needed Ford's item naming game. He needed Elizabeth's faith. God, he needed that faith.

"Hey, there you are."

His head shot up again. He blinked a few times and carefully set his bottle back down. "Elizabeth. How'd you know I was here?"

Elizabeth slid into the booth and picked up a pretzel. "Apparently, this is a favorite haunt of General O'Neill's."

"Oh. Dr. Jackson told me about it."

"So, you weren't that hard to track down." She scraped some salt off the pretzel and licked it off her finger while taking an appraising look around the room. "Nice place."

"It's ... homey," he allowed with an uncertain smile. "Can I get you a drink? I can't recommend the house wine, but the beer is cold."

"Beer sounds great. And then we can talk about prep for going home. If you don't mind a little business with your beer." She smiled at him, and he ducked his head. There was that faith. He wasn't sure he deserved it, but damn ... she was good for him.

Amanda was right -- he was just drifting, waiting, waiting for something else. A stupid, simple moment of chance when he sat down in an alien chair and his universe changed. Wraith, alien bugs, nano-viruses, tech light years beyond them ... he wouldn't miss it for anything. She did fight for him, that was everything.

"Nope. Sounds good. Home sounds good."

"It does. We haven't been gone that long, but," she sighed and scraped the salt off another pretzel and John Sheppard watched her fingers work and found himself in the way of being in a whole lot of trouble. 'Not exactly' was turning into 'exactly'. "I miss Atlantis."

"Home," he said with a slightly shy smile.

She licked salt off her lower lip and smiled back, a smile of faith and hope. "Home."


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