mickeym

Wow, I haven't been nervous about posting fic in a long, long time. Not sure if it's good or bad that I am now. It's not very long, just a little thing that popped into my head as I was contemplating bed, then wouldn't go away until I got back up and wrote it down. So here goes.

Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Title: Here and There
Rating: None
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay

Sometimes, times like right now, when there's a cool, gentle breeze blowing and he can hear the soft slap-slap sound of the water rippling in waves, Sheppard can almost forget he's not home on Earth.

Almost.

It works even better if he closes his eyes; denies his body the one sense that can prove he's not there. Otherwise, with the scent of salt air coming in on the soft breeze, he could be on any continent on Earth with a coast and beaches.

It's when Sheppard opens his eyes that he can't pretend any more. Nowhere on Earth is there architecture like Atlantis has. Nowhere on Earth do the doors open and lights come on just by his will alone.

Nowhere on Earth can he climb into a puddlejumper and fly to other, distant worlds, and be back again in time for dinner.

There are things he misses: Big Macs, the internet, being able to jog down to the corner store on a Sunday morning to get fresh coffee and the Sunday paper. Not that there was a lot of jogging as such at McMurdo, but yeah. It's the thought that counts. Oh, and fresh-made pizza at the deli across from his apartment, two assignments ago. Before McMurdo, before Afghanistan, before he became cocktail-party gossip for high ranking officers.

Sheppard rolls from his side, facing the open window and its view of the stars, onto his back. The ceiling is pretty nice, painted in soft, muted colors that swirl and shift. Sometimes he sees shadows in those colors; other times he sees nothing. If he closes his eyes and concentrates, thinks really hard about the stars, and the velvety sky they're sprinkled across, the ceiling of his apartment becomes transparent, and the view turns from cool to breathtaking.

This is also something not available on Earth.

He asked Teyla once, do the constellations here have names?

She told him she didn't know of any, then wondered what Earth stars were called. Sheppard spent an hour or so showing her pictures of Orion, and Pegasus, Cassiopeia, and the Big and Little Dippers, explaining how they'd come to have those names.

Ford thinks they should name the constellations they've discovered here, but then, Ford thinks everything should have a name. Sheppard feels sorry for any kids Ford might one day have, based on what he's seen -- or heard, really -- of his Lieutenant's tastes in the name game.

It's so quiet here at night. Sound just seems to melt into the shadows, swallowed up into nothingness. Sheppard isn't sure if he likes the quiet, or not. He's getting used to it, but accustomed to something and liking something aren't the same things. Any military base he's ever been stationed at always had its share of night noise: trucks or tanks rumbling past in the darkest hours, or planes taking off or landing. Somewhere there were always a few personnel doing early -- or late -- PT exercises, or a drill, or something. Maybe it's the lack of motorized anything. Everything here runs smoothly, quietly, no pistons or crankshafts or rotors, or anything else.

Now that he's had time to get used to the quiet, Sheppard appreciates it, even if it still unnerves him a little. Which is why he doesn't mind so much when McKay rolls from his side onto his back, soft snores rolling up into the silence.

There, on Earth, he could have Big Macs and surfing and no Wraith trying to kill him and his people. He could have fast, noisy cars and faster, noisier planes and choppers.

Here, on Atlantis, he has quiet...

...and he has Rodney.

And really, given a choice, he'll take that over anything else, any time.

~Fin~