Author: buggs
Recipient: Kuwdora
Rating: PG
Fandoms: Stargate: Atlantis/Farscape
Summary: Sheppard's bored
Sheppard feels completely ill-at-ease the first time he shakes the hand of the famous John Crichton, Astronaut and Prodigal Son Extraordinaire. There's a look in the other man's glassy, bloodshot eyes that Shep's having a hard time identifying, but he knows the heebeejeebees when they smack him in the face.
He does his best not to flinch when he meets the Orange Tentacled Dude and the Gray Girl, the only two aliens around when the first round of introductions are made. He's sure that he'll meet the others in time. He hopes by then he'll be more comfortable with the less-than-abstract proof that there is big, colorful, intelligent life beyond what he ever expected.
"So how's this gonna work, flyboy?" The voice is low and rough from lack of use, too much booze and cigarettes or some combination of the three. Sheppard doesn't react to the nickname; it's not exactly original enough to elicit much of a response, and he simply files it away in his brain to look at later. They talk over the parameters - it's Sheppard's job to play military pit bull and media bouncer for the human branch of the Amazing Alien Flying Circus - a few minutes before Crichton's pulled into the first of six meetings on the day's schedule. Sheppard sits just inside the door and watches with growing amusement as every scientist and politician tries to pry information out of the ridiculously stubborn man.
Aside from the meetings, Crichton doesn't do that much the first few days that Sheppard is on detail. He keeps his distance from his family initially, only seeing his father when they happen to be at the same meeting or function. He seems completely disinterested in everything and everyone around him. Most of the day -- at least when he's not stuck in an endless hell of meetings -- the Commander sits in the sun, on a pier or by the pool, and writes equations and words, English and alien apparently combined to form his own Crichton Speak. Sheppard wonders if he mixes the languages to be purposely cryptic or if that is just the way he thinks now.
After a week, Sheppard's bored.
"So what's it really like out there?" Sheppard winces before all the words are out of his mouth. Real subtle.
"Don't want to talk about it." Crichton tucks back into his notebook, the current page just as indecipherable as the others. Sheppard isn't above sneaking a peek every once in a while and Crichton doesn't seem to care much one way or the other.
"You're boring, you know," Sheppard say. "You've been to other galaxies and all you do is sit there and brood. You realize that at least six different women have offered you sex in the past three days, and you didn't even blink."
"What the frell are you talking about?" Well. That's got his attention.
"Okay, so maybe they didn't exactly ask, but their eyes. It was all in their eyes." And now he's back to that damn journal. This gig was supposed to be wacky. There were supposed to be alien hijinks.
"You need to get laid, man," Sheppard declares after a few minutes of watching the broody spaceman brood some more.
"Major. Shut up."
"Some blonde girl came over the other night. You were already asleep. She had the whole 'ex-girlfriend regretting the ex part' vibe." Sheppard's eyebrows waggle over his sunglasses.
Crichton smiles slightly at that, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, then shaking his head as if to clear it. "Alex or Caroline?"
"Caroline sounds more familiar, but your dad answered the door."
"My dad was here?" Crichton sighs and scrubs his hands across his face.
"This is ridiculous," Sheppard mutters to himself, then tries again louder, "I'm getting a beer. You missed beer, right? You can have one to, but I definitely need beer. While I'm drinking the beer and maybe you're drinking some beer too, perhaps you'll let me in on the reason why your brain is still stuck on the other side of that wormhole you came through." Sheppard heads towards the house, not even looking back. It is beyond time for this guy to enjoy the comforts of home, and if that means he has to play the role of the reverse-psychology wielding mother, then so be it.
"You're military," Crichton growls hoarsely after him, but Sheppard smirks, pausing when he catches the Commander slowly getting to his feet.
"Yes."
"I should just trust you with my deep dark secrets?"
"Yes?"
Crichton laughs, short bitter and sharp.
"There's no way, bub," Crichton's still walking towards the house as he says this, though, and Sheppard takes that as a good sign.
"Then how about we play catch. Or go out to the shooting range, or play ring around the frickin' rosies. You're boring."
"You said that already."
"You can't honestly be this boring. So you've got to be hiding something."
"Nice leap in logic."
"Thanks. So the way I figure, what you're holding is both good and bad; you were gone too long for it to all be bad." Sheppard opens the front door and wanders into the kitchen. Crichton stays quiet and keeps his face neutral as he grabs two beers from one of the over-stocked fridges, handing one to the Major.
"Like I said, if you don't want to talk about it we can do something else. Go fishing, play basketball; bars are always good. Or we could take a ride up to that ship of yours..."
"You need to work on your subtlety, flyboy," Crichton replies with a half-smile.
"You say that as if I was trying for subtle."
"You know I'm not s'posed to go up, and I'm certainly not allowed to take you." Sheppard can see a new glint in Crichton's eyes.
"Something tells me that rules aren't something you care too much about these days. At least not when they don't suit you.'
Crichton winces and Sheppard takes note. He's been keeping a running tally of sore subjects in his head for the past week. It's an impressive, if depressing, list.
"You'd be in for a world of trouble if anyone saw us," Crichton says. "Anyway, there are at least six other folks watching us right now. Would be a bitch to sneak off."
"That's gonna stop you?" Sheppard quirks an eyebrow and takes a long draw off his beer.
"You'd honestly risk your career to go up and see a ship?"
"Like you wouldn't. It's an alien ship, man! That's got to be worth at least ten careers."
"Not really, no." Crichton closes his eyes and stretches his neck from side to side. "Maybe. Frell."
Sheppard stays quiet and tries his best to keep from smiling. This just might work.
"You realize this means we're going to have to steal Aeryn's ship." Crichton almost smiles.
"And I'm completely okay with that," Sheppard replies with a grin as he takes one last gulp of his beer.
"You obviously haven't spent enough time with her," Crichton mutters bitterly with a disturbingly evil spark in his eye.
It turns out to be fairly easy to steal the Prowler from its temporary home with the US government. The scientists have been primarily focused on the module and transport pod, so the Peacekeeper ship been left poorly guarded.
"So how do we get the hangar door open and the ship out without calling down the wrath of every branch of military from every country in the western world?"
"There's enough fire power on this thing to blast the doors open, but somehow I doubt that's what you had in mind."
"Blowing the door up doesn't exactly scream stealth to me, no," Sheppard agrees with a wide-eyed nod. He's also creeped out a bit by the way Crichton is fondling the sleek black machine.
"She's beautiful," Sheppard says, unable to find any other word to describe the ship.
"That she is." There's a longing in his voice that's just this side of pathetic and Sheppard doesn't have to stretch his imagination far to know that Crichton's not just thinking about the Prowler. "I say we open the door the old fashioned way and then make a run for it."
Sheppard shrugs. If it gets him away from the brooding for a couple of hours, he's up for just about anything. It helps that he actually has permission already, but he doesn't need to let Mr. Paranoid in on that particular bit of information.
He should have known that while Crichton might be paranoid as hell, he's far from stupid. What should have been a daring sunset escape turns out to be a Sunday drive and he stays silent till they punch through the atmosphere.
"What game are you boys playing at, Major? And did I pass or fail the test?" an obviously irritated Crichton asks through a tightly clenched jaw.
"Hell if I know. We're in space. Without space suits. Is that okay?" Sheppard asks distractedly. He can't keep his eyes of the wide expanse of nothing that stretches out before them.
"What'd they ask you to do, Major?" The way the Commander says "Major" makes Sheppard feel like he's five and his mom is shouting his full name at the top of her lungs after he's almost set fire to her nice kitchen towels. He figures he might want to try and focus before he gets hit.
"Nothing other than what I've been doing, Crichton. Stay with you and go where you go, make sure no one bothers you who isn't being paid by the government to do so. I'm not supposed to restrict your movement or exercise undue influence." He punctuates that last bit with air quotes. They're in space. They should be talking about space things, not the games that the suits back home are playing with Mr. Paranoid.
He can't see Crichton's eyes, but he can tell by the way he's holding his back and neck rigid and stiff that he's on guard in an entirely different way than he was on Earth. It's enough to put Sheppard on edge, to heighten his focus on the situation at hand.
"They should have told you it was okay to come and go as you please," Sheppard says feeling slightly guilty at his part and annoyed with the ones who most likely are playing some sort of game. Crichton doesn't say anything, so he continues; "All I do is report what you do and say -- other than that this is practically a vacation for me, man. The bosses are concerned, yes, but I'm not trying to mess with your head." Crichton flinches at that, and Sheppard mentally files that away, too.
"Whatever," Crichton bites out.
Sheppard sits anxiously as Crichton fiddles with some of the controls before radioing to Pilot to let him know they'll be there in just under 1000 microts. Sheppard wishes he had a better grasp on just how long a microt is exactly. He notes that Pilot's response eases the Commander enough that his posture relaxes, and forgets for a moment that the voice belongs to what's been described as a big purple octopus-crab.
"You're going to have to decide if you want to take the translator microbes." Crichton's low, clipped voice tells Sheppard that he definitely didn't escape the brooding, but he's in space and he's finding it hard to care.
"I'll pass for now, if you don't mind translating for me."
"Whatever."
Their silence is broken a few minutes later by Sheppard's gasp as he gets his first glimpse of Moya.
"It gets better." Though Crichton's voice is still tense, Sheppard is able to detect his fondness for the behemoth.
"It's amazing."
"She's definitely amazing. Moya's got a real personality. Loving and caring but she's a bitch when you piss her off. Step lightly when we dock. And don't kick the DRDs. She doesn't like that much."
It's beginning to sink in for Sheppard that he's actually going to be on a living, breathing alien ship. Excited doesn't even begin to cover it.
The docking web grabs them a minute later and Sheppard has to swallow down the temptation to give in to a giddy freak out when the Prowler touches down and opens to reveal the hanger bay.
"Home, sweet home."
Sheppard looks over to Crichton and it strikes him how much more peaceful the astronaut seems now that he's back inside this ship. He follows as Crichton does his rounds, checking various systems that Pilot asks him to look into. He's struck by how comfortable the man is in this bizarre environment. Sheppard may not be the biggest tech geek on the planet, but he's aware that Crichton had to learn a completely different set of rules to deal with things. As broody and pissy as the man can be, he deserves that acknowledgement at least.
He can't help but throw an odd look at the shiny gold blanket on what looks like a very uncomfortable bed when they swing by Crichton's quarters to pick up a few things.
"It's actually more comfortable than it looks," Crichton drawls as he reaches into a storage bin, pulling out another journal and some small black objects that he tastes before nodding in satisfaction.
"What the hell are those?" Sheppard's trying to keep the questions to a minimum on this little jaunt but box-licking compels him to ask.
"Cartridges for Winona." Crichton pulls his pulse pistol from where it's holstered on his thigh, stroking it like a pet.
"Good name for a gun."
"I thought so."
Crichton throws everything into a black bag and motions Sheppard to follow him out, securing the door behind them.
"Gotta watch out for Sparky." At Sheppard's raised eyebrows, Crichton clarifies, "Rygel likes to take things that aren't his. So does Chiana for that matter."
Crichton leads him down winding stretches of corridor that all look alike and Sheppard wonders how anyone could ever manage to know their way around. He steers clear of any buzzing yellow DRD's along the way, and is about to ask where they're going when Crichton palms open a door that looks exactly like half the others.
"Pilot's den. Watch your step and don't look down."
"Why'd you have to say that? Now it's practically required that I look." As soon as he crosses the threshold, Sheppard looks over the edge. "Whoa. That's...deep."
"Yeah." Crichton rolls his eyes and smirks. "Yo, Pilot! How's the game going?" Pilot blows off the question barely sparing a glance in Crichton's direction, keeping his attention on the vid screen. The affection and amusement in Crichton's voice is obvious, but it doesn't keep Sheppard from swearing when he actually looks up to see the huge freakish creature they call a pilot.
"Holy shit." It comes out as barely a whisper, but Crichton catches it and laughs.
"Pilot, Sheppard. Sheppard, Pilot. Pilot's been watchin' himself some cricket. Nonstop. Since we got to Earth. Won't even consider watching football." Crichton's eyes sparkle as he pats one of Pilot's arms.
"Nice to meet you, Major Sheppard."
"That was English." Sheppard's only partially aware of just how lame he sounds.
"If he concentrates he can manage it. He's brilliant. Pilot, focus up for a minute; how's Moya doing?" Crichton asks, concern evident in his voice.
"She's recovering, and pleased that you have made it back to your home. She's concerned about you and the others while you're on the planet, but happy to have some quiet time." Pilot's voice softens a bit when he talked about his symbiote.
"Let her know we miss her. I think we're going to head back down now. Aeryn's gonna be pissed as it is."
"I'd imagine so." Pilot opens his eyes wide and gives Crichton a disapproving look.
They travel in silence for the first few minutes of the flight and Sheppard can't help but notice how Crichton's movements stiffen the closer they get to Earth.
"What on Earth has you so freaked?"
"Look. You're a good man, I'm sure, but we're not friends and I'd appreciate it if you'd leave it alone."
Sheppard is stung by that, even though he knows it's the truth. He measures his next words carefully.
"Down there." He pauses in awe when he realizes that he really is looking at Earth from space. "Back down on Earth, I figure you've got two sets of people to deal with. Those who know the old John Crichton, 'Astronaut and Prodigal Son Extraordinaire' and expect to be talking and dealing with him, and then there are your friends who know you and whatever it is that you've been through the past few years." Sheppard sighs, realizing that he sucks at this. "That...that planet down there is home. But only an idiot would discount the fact that Moya is your home, too. If Moya's where you feel you belong that's fine, but why don't you enjoy Earth while you have it? You've been back more than a week and you've seen your family, what? Once?"
"They want me to be something I'm not." Sheppard's a little shocked that his lame attempt at a pep talk gets any response.
"Maybe. But you've got time to let them get to know you. You've got time to show them what you just showed me. Something tells me they won't turn that away."
Crichton grunts in disagreement but it's half hearted.
Reentry is smoother than Sheppard expects and he suddenly feels tired as the adrenaline leaves his system. Unfortunately, they meet a nice, friendly security team of Marines when they get the bird back in the hanger.
"I thought you said I could come and go as I please," Crichton snaps.
"I forgot the part where there are strings attached," Sheppard replies, sheepishly.
Despite his initial irritation Crichton seems right at home being detained and wears a smirk for most of the long debriefing. Sheppard can't help but admire the way Crichton comes alive when he's acting the part of the cocky jet jock.
Two weeks later the Crichton family is hosting a cook out at the alien mansion and Sheppard has to smile at the way Bobby follows the Gray Girl around like a puppy. Most of the aliens have learned enough English to communicate somewhat; definitely enough to get them into trouble. He hasn't registered that he doesn't flinch at the site of the Orange Tentacled Dude anymore or that he's adjusted to the smell of the Floating Green one and Three Eyed Granny. He even knows their names now, though he doesn't use them. Crichton relaxes more, smiles more and seems genuinely happy to be getting to spend time with his family, though he never completely loses his tension and he never goes anywhere without Winona strapped to his thigh.
Sheppard's time is up and he has to report back to the base at 1400 tomorrow. He's been given higher clearance and he looks forward to what that will bring, but he can't help but look up at the sky and wish that he had a Prowler or, hell, a transport pod of his own.
Crichton looks at him from the other side of the pool and his smile reaches his eyes this time. Sheppard nods at him and chuckles when the Orange Tentacled Dude gives Crichton bunny ears as Olivia takes yet another picture. On his way out he tosses his Coke bottle towards the trash can and looks up at the sky as he climbs into his Jeep.