His Girl Friday

The night was surprising cold, but there were enough brunches around for Sheppard to build a reasonably sized camp-fire, using the flint-and-steel from the survival kit to start it and then adding kindling. Soon the blaze was large enough to warm them, but he wrapped a foil blanket round Weir to try and fend off the shock that was setting in. Grabbing the emergency rations, he started to boil some water to make tea, knowing that it would not only help Weir fight the shock, but was also one of her favourites.

“John...” Her voice was frighteningly soft and weak, “The Jumper...”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” He rushed to her side, offering her water from one of the canteens, “We just have to sit tight until the other's figure out what happened and come rescue us.” He smiled faintly, “Hey, isn't Carson always telling you to take a few days off?”

“R...radio?”

“No; we're to far from the Stargate to get a clean signal, and even if we could, there'd be too much of a time-delay lag for it to be effective.”

“The beacon?”

“Working, but we don't know enough about Wraith technology to know if they monitor subspace, and it is a wide-band transmission. It's just not worth the risk.”

They lapsed into silence, both just looking at the fire. Weir tried to shift, cursing when the broken bones in her arm ground against each other, despite the inflatable cast Sheppard had fitted round it. He made the tea as best he could, unused to anything but freeze-dried instant coffee, and helped her into a sitting position to make it easier for her to drink. The hot liquid help warm her up, but her head still swam every time she tried to move it.

“I think I've got a concussion.” She winced, her voice a little stronger than before.

“I'd say that that was a fair bet.” Sheppard smiled as he put the tin mug down, “Your seat gave way when we stopped, and you got thrown into the controls. It could have been worse; if you hadn't thrown up your arm to protect yourself, you might have been killed.”

“How badly damaged is the Jumper?” Weir asked, “And I want the truth this time.”

“Let's just say that she won't be flying again.” Sheppard looked across the fire to the stricken craft, “Most of the systems are off-line, but there's still some power, enough for short-range communications and sensors.”

“How short?”

“A few miles at best.”

“We'll need fresh water...”

“We've got more than enough for tonight.” Sheppard leaned back against a fallen tree, resting Weir against his shoulder, “”We'll worry about it tomorrow.”

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Sheppard woke first, and for a moment couldn't remember where he was. All he did know what that he was curled up behind somebody, one arm draped over them protectively. He inhaled deeply, a slight smell of roses and something else, something he couldn't identify, but was somehow familiar. Whatever it was, it made him feel safe and happy, something he hadn't felt for a very long time. Then the past few days memories came flooding back, and he slowly opened his eyes: chestnut coloured hair filled his field of vision, and he pulled his arm away so as not to wake Weir from her much needed sleep.

“That could have been awkward.” He warned himself, looking round; the near of the systems two suns had already risen, but he suddenly realised that he had no idea if and when they would see the other. The Jumper had stopped smoking, but it was clear that it would not be leaving the planet under its own power. Still, it was shelter, and until they had a better idea what to expect from the weather, it might be needed. He prodded the fire for a moment, before fetching more wood and kindling to restart it; alien planet or no alien planet, he still needed his early morning cup of coffee, at least for as long as their supply's held out or they were rescued.

“Oh god.” Weir groaned as she woke, “What hit me?”

“A planet.” Sheppard smiled, glad to see that she had woken of her own initiative; a good sign that the concussion wasn't as bad as he had feared. “How you feeling.”

“Let's just say that I haven't felt this bad since my collage room-mate got me to try Tequila.” Weir managed to pull herself up into a sitting position, “Have we got any pain-killers?”

“Some, but I'd rather not give you anything too strong until you've gotten over that concussion.”

“Aspirin?”

“That I can do.” Sheppard dug through one of the medical kits until he found some aspirin, then handed it over with a canteen of water, “Tea?”

“Thank you.” Weir nodded as she bit off the warping on the pain killers and then downed them with a mouthful of water. In truth, it was all she could do to keep even the water down, but the last thing she wanted to do was worry Sheppard any more than she already had. The truth was that she was feeling better, even if her left arm was in near constant agony. She looked round, “You said you were going to find some fresh water today.”

“No, I'm not letting you out of my sight until your feeling better.” Sheppard shook his head as he poured near-boiling water into the two tin mugs, adding a little powdered milk to the tea but non to the coffee. “Anyway, we have more than enough to last us a few days, and hopefully Atlantis will have been in contact by then.”

“I'm not a total invalid.” Weir protested.

“I'm not saying you are. But we're on a strange planet with limited supplies and no way of knowing for sure that the Wraith didn't detect us.”

“If they detected us, they'd be here by now. And if they did find us, just how do you suppose we fight them off?”

“It's the principle of the thing, Elizabeth. And before you say anything, I am not being sexist: as head of the expeditions military contingent, it is my job to keep you safe, no matter what the circumstances.”

“I know that, but it doesn't change the fact that, if the others don't find us, or can't for what ever reason launch a rescue mission, then we're going to need a reliable supply of fresh water.”

“Tomorrow, okay? I'll look tomorrow, if, and only IF, you're feeling better.”

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Sheppard spent the rest of the morning exploring the small grove the Jumper had come to rest on the edge of. He had hoped to find a spring or some other readily available supply of fresh water, but found none. He did collect what fruit and nuts he could find, making a mental note of where they could be found if the scanner back at the Jumper could tell them which were edible and which weren't. Not knowing for sure if the planet, or at lest that part of it, was home to dangerous predictors, he had left Weir with his Beretta with strict instructions to shoot first and worry about intentions later.

While he may not have agreed with everything the NRA said or did, with the situation they found themselves in, it was definitely a case of it being better to have and not need than need and not have. Finding no water, and with the planets primary almost overhead (he made a mental note to work out just how long the local days were) he started back towards the camp.

The smell of smoke assaulted his nostrils and he started into a dead run, dodging low branches and tree roots the size of his leg and he dashed back towards the crash site, expecting to find the Jumper in flames. Instead he found a low fire burning away happily, Weir trying her best to fill the large pot he had used to boil water from one of the canteens. But with one arm immobilised and her head still swimming with the after affects of the concussion, she was finding it harder to keep the water from spilling out over the fire. Sheppard held back at the tree-line, a faint smile on his lips as he watched her struggle; while he hated the fact that she had been hurt at a time when he was supposed to be guarding her, the stubborn streak that refused to let her ask for his help was pure Elizabeth Weir. She swore as the canteen slipped through her fingers and she instructively tried to stop it with her left hand. He rushed to her side without thinking, and managed to grab the canteen before too much of the contents spilt out. Weir fumed, as much out of embarrassment as pain, which made Sheppard laugh slightly.

“You were watching, weren't you?” It was more of a statement than a question, the concussion having cleared up enough as to not imped her reasoning.

“Not for long.” Sheppard smiled, not noticing the slight edge to her voice, “You just looked so determined to fill that pot.”

“Oh did I?” Weir almost snarled, her anger, frustration and pain bubbling over like a volcanic eruption, “Well I'm glad that I could be entertaining.”

“That's not what I meant!” Sheppard went on the defensive, his own sence of guilt and anger fulling his words more than common sence, “What I meant was that you must be feeling better if you're back to disobeying...”

“Disobeying?” Weir snapped, “Since when did I ever have to obey YOU?”

“Since we found ourselves in a military situation!”

“A situation we would not have found ourselves in if you hadn't acted so rashly!”

“Me? Rash? I'm not the one trying to fill a kettle with a broken arm!”

The argument continued for some time, the accusations becoming more venomous and less rational until Weir finally stood and stormed off into the Jumper, leaving a heavy tension in the air. Sheppard looked at the fire for a moment, then stormed off back into the trees.

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It was almost dark by the time he found his way back to camp, the anger and resentment that had fuelled his earlier outbursts having long since been walked off, leaving only a greater sense of guilt that he had abandoned Weir when she most needed him. The thought that something might have happened to her while he was gone hastened his pace until he tripped and almost fell head-first over a rock. Steadying himself against a tree, he forced himself to slow down, less he end up in an even worse state that Weir.

Reaching the Jumper, he was relived to see that the fire was still going strong, if a little smaller than it had been the night before. Grabbing a few downed branches, he built it back up and put some water on to boil, the sight of the tin sending a stab of guilt through his guts. Looking around, he saw a light from inside the Jumper and walked over slowly, not wanting to upset Weir any more than he already had. He founder her curled up on one of the inflatable mattresses that had been added to their supplies due to their intended trade-partners habit of sleeping on bare wooden planks. He didn't have to see her eyes to know that she'd been crying; the mattress was still damp where her tears had fallen. Kneeling down beside her, he brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, his gentle touch enough to wake her.

“How long have you been there?” She yawned.

“Not long.” He smiled, “I'm sorry about earlier; I was way out of line.”

“You're not the one that needs to apologise; I was angry at myself, because I couldn't do more to help and you had to spend so much time helping me.” Weir looked up, “And here I am, crying like a little girl because we had an argument.”

“I think we'll chalk that up to the concussion.” Sheppard sat down cross-legged on the floor, “We're both a little shaken by everything that's happened the past couple of days. It's only understandable that we needed to let off a little steam.”

“Truce?” Weir asked hopefully.

“Truce.” Sheppard nodded, “Now, how about something to eat?”

To Be Continued...