His Girl Friday

It was, difficult, getting back into their normal relationship after what had happened. As Sheppard had started, the intoxicating affects of the fruit lacked the memory loss associated with alcohol, which may have made things easier. As it was, remembering exactly what had happened with crystal clarity was painfully embarrassing. It was days before they could look each other in the eye, even longer before they could hold a conversation that was longer than a few words. In the end, it was the other thing on their mind that broke the tension.

“It's been two months.” Sheppard sat at one side of the camp fire, looking up at the stars, trying to map the unfamiliar constellations in his head, “I though the Daedalus would be back by now.”

“Three weeks to Earth, then another three weeks back to Atlantis, assuming that they could return right away.” Weir looked at him over the top of her tin tea-cup, savouring what little remained of their dwindling supply of her favourite drink, “I think we still have a little while before we can write off any rescue attempt. And if the Wraith are here to stay, then there's not much we can do but sit and wait for the others to come up with some kind of plan.”

“Either way, I think we need to assume that we're going to be here for a lot longer than we'd like, and make plans accordingly.” Sheppard pulled out a notebook and flipped through the pages, “I've been trying to make a rough estimate of how long each day is, when sunrise, noon and sunset are, and I've come to a rather disturbing conclusion...”

“Winter is coming.” Weir nodded, smiling at the confused look on her companions face, “Even as a kid, I was always able to tell when the first hint of autumn was in the air; my mother used to say that you could set your calender by it.”

“Yes, well, winter equal cold and snow and other such niceties, especially at this altitude. I think we we should look at making some preparations.”

“Such as?”

“Well, the only shelter we really have at the moment is the Jumper, so we need to make the most of it: I want to try and take the back two seats out of the front section, and find some way to cover over the window. It's not rained yet, but it will and I for one don't want to get wet. Then we need to look at stocking up on fire wood what foods we can preserve somehow. I know it's a lot of work, but you're arms getting better...”

“It's okay, John; I'm not afraid of getting my hands dirty.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Another week passed uneventfully, the days filled with hard work that made it thankfully easy to sleep at night. True to his word, Sheppard managed to remove two of the seats from the front of the Jumper, and with a little hard work, turned them into something that they could sit on outside. Then he went to work constructing a cover for the shattered front window, while Weir collected what fruit and nuts they could find locally, experimenting in drying it in the sun to see if it would keep. She had offered to go fishing again, but Sheppard had vetoed the idea until he could go with her, still afraid that another of the sabre-tooth bear like creatures might be lurking in every shadow.

Weir had protested, but found it hard to make a compelling case: he was only trying to protect her, and with her arm still a little weak, she couldn't carry or use the P90, the only weapon they had that they knew could stop the creatures if they attacked again. So instead she sat about her allotted task with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, spending most of her waking time away from camp. This helped disguise the fact that she'd been feeling a little uneasy for the past few days, and had found it hard to keep anything down. She racked her brain for a rational explanation, flat out refusing to accept the obvious answer, even if she was a little late. After all, she'd lost quiet a bit of weight since arriving, and that was know to mix up a woman's cycle.

That had to be the answer, didn't it?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“I'm going to go back to the river and get some more water.” Sheppard announced two days later, “I shouldn't be more than a few hours. Just remember to keep your gun with you at all times, and try keep an eye and an ear open for anything out of the ordinary.”

“Okay.” Weir nodded, trying to keep her emotions under control, “We need to talk, when you get back. It's important.”

“Okay: I should be back in an hour or two.” Sheppard just nodded, his mind already elsewhere. Without a second thought, he turned and walked away; canteens over one shoulder, while of of the spears rested over the other, his P90 hanging from his webbing. He started to whistle tunelessly under his breath, his long legs covering the ground quickly.

Weir sat and watched him until he disappeared from view through the trees: in truth, she needed the extra time to work up the courage to tell him what she had only recently come to accept herself. She kicked herself mentally, knowing that if she was going to tell him, and she knew that she had to at some point, she was going to have to bring herself to at least say it out loud, even if in her own head to start with.

She was pregnant, and there was no way of getting round the fact: she had missed her period and was suffering classic symptoms of morning sickness. She knew that it would be another week until she could be absolutely certain, but the sooner it was out in the open, the better. Sheppard had an annoying tendency to watch her when he thought she wasn't looking: she'd confronted him with it once, and he'd mumbled something about it being his job to look out for her, but she'd long suspected that there was more to it than that. So far she'd been lucky enough to be able to hide her condition from him, but it was only a matter of time until he saw enough to piece the clues together and come to his own conclusion. The last thing she wanted was for him to think that she'd been trying to hide it from him; she valued their friendship too much to risk that.

She knew that, in part, it was her own fault: she'd been on the pill when they'd first arrived in Atlantis, but there hadn't been much room for contraceptives in their initial load of medical supplies, so she had stopped taking it, helping to conserve what they had for the more active members who hadn't opted for an implant. Then when she'd briefly returned to Earth, only to be told by Simon that their relationship was over, there hadn't seemed the need to start taking it again. It had taken a while for her body to readjust to regulating its own hormone levels, but equilibrium had returned. And now here she was: trapped on a supposedly uninhabited planet and pregnant by a man she loved as a friend and college.

The idea of motherhood had always seemed a distant possibility to her: a lifetime spent running around the world trying to stop little wars growing into bigger ones and attempting to stop the spread of weapons of mass destruction hadn't lent itself to family life, as all of her past partners had told her when they left. In fact, it wasn't until she had moved to DC and become involved with Simon that she had given it any real thought, and by then she was worried that she might have left it too late. She wasn't as young as she had been, and advances in medical science aside, there was only so much that they could do. She had planed to at least attempt to get pregnant, after the wedding, spurred on by all the nights she had returned to some cold, empty rented apartment somewhere. While she felt that her life had meant something, she had always been always aware that her personal life had suffered for the sake of her career.

Still, she had to tell Sheppard when he returned; while they may only be friends and colleges, he had every right to know, and she would need his full support until they returned to Atlantis. The concept that she might have to carry the child to term on the planet they had found themselves on was not one she was willing to entertain. She knew that he would understand, and would be supportive: his roguish sense of humour aside, she knew that he was a deeply honourable man who wouldn't shirk his responsibilities. She also knew that the IOA would expect her to stand down as head of the expedition, but she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sheppard enjoyed the walk to the river: they'd made the trip enough times now to make a path through the long grass, and that made the going a lot easier. The sun was shinning, what passed for birds were singing, and he was final able to look at Weir without the memories of what had happened between them running through his head like an adult movie. What made it worse was the fact that he was attracted to her, and his feeling where deeper than he was willing to admit. But she was the expedition's leader, and he was technically her subordinate, although the lines were a little blurred in places. All he did know was that things had been strained between them ever since that night, and were only know returning to something approaching normal.

His instincts told him that something was wrong a few seconds before he noticed that the birdsong had died away. Crouching down, he dropped the canteens and gripped the spear tightly in both hands and he strained to hear anything through the long grass. Something, he couldn't say what, was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Then he sensed it; a series of heavy tremors, noticeable even through his thick, standard issue boots, a sure sign that something big was travelling at speed nearby. He started to reach for his P90 with one hand, when his ears picked up the unmistakable sound of running, feet, and he spun round, spear at the ready.

A terrified young woman, no more than sixteen years old with skin like mahogany and jet-black hair, burst out of a thicket right in front of him, almost impaling herself on the end of the spear. She skidded to a halt, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and terror as she stole a glance over her shoulder. She looked at Sheppard, seemingly trying to work out the lesser of two evils, before diving past him just as one of the sabre-tooth bears burst through the same patch of thick undergrowth she had appeared through. It reared up on its powerful hind legs and swatted the spear out of Sheppard's hands with one mighty paw. It's roar was full of anger and power, shaking the very ground they stood on.

“Oh crap!” He swallowed hard as he turned and ran, following the stranger deeper into the long grass, the beast at their heals.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Weir heard the creatures roar echo off the distant mountains, and her blood ran cold as she instructively drew the Beretta from the holster on her hip. She checked to make sure the safety catch was on before she thumbed back the hammer, just as Sheppard had shown her. She retreated for the relative safety of the Jumper: its thick metal walls had already proven an effective defence. Making herself as comfortable as she could, she sat down to await Sheppard's return, certain that he would abandon his trip to the river and return to the camp site post-haste.

An icy hand gripped her heart as she heard a short rattle of gunfire that was cut off by another, even louder roar.

To Be Continued...