Sleepless
by Jules

It's hard to tell sea from sky until pink fingers of dawn start to stretch over the horizon. John checks his watch. He's been out here for hours, tearing up the sky. The inertial dampeners take away some of the fun. He misses feeling it. The pressure in his chest. The weightlessness at the top of an arc, just before the dive. Not a thing he's been able to do anywhere else: take a bird out and put on an all-night aerobatic show for no one just to clear his head.

If anyone asks, it's research. Bullshit, but he's learned things about the jumper he didn't know before. Like how it fights him a little when he does something monumentally stupid. No coherent thoughts. He just feels it, like someone scratching at the back of his brain. It should bother him. Or bother him that it doesn't bother him. Or…something.

He pulls the nose up. Climbs until it pokes a hole in the gathering clouds and then he cuts the engine. The jumper continues to float upward for a five-count, hangs briefly and then starts to fall. Barely a sound in the cockpit. Just the low hum in his head that tells him he's still got a connection. It grows louder as the ship rolls over and goes nose down. Clouds outside, and then the lightening sky as the horizon comes around. And the water, starting to shine as the sun touches the tops of the waves. So much nothing out here. Not empty miles of sand or snow this time, but farther from civilization than he figured he'd ever get.

Not for lack of wishing.

He almost misses the days when they were cut off from Earth. Almost. There's less clutter out here. Orders don't filter through ten different committees before they reach him and the only opinions he's subjected to are the ones that matter. Protecting his people doesn't have the same abstract feeling because they're right here with him, aware of the threats – most of the time -- and they're trying to protect him, too.

He glances at his watch again. He should get back, because he's on in three hours and he hasn't slept more than two of the last thirty-six and he's in no shape to be flying like he's trying to spell something in the sky.

SURRENDER DOROTHY!

The last few weeks he's dozed in fits. It started on the Hive. First because he needed to work and then because it didn't matter if they were human or comatose or stuffed and mounted - the ship was full of Wraith and they gave him the fucking willies. They should have gone out the airlock at the start. He doesn't give a shit what anyone says. They weren't people, they were Wraith. Wraith that were headed for Earth to suck the life out of everyone's friends and neighbors before he got lucky and the cavalry came along and they got lucky, too. He tries not to think too hard about the rest because it's still a bitch to reconcile doing what he knows he had to do with feeling like a first-rate prick for what happened to Michael.

See, this is why you're not sleeping, asshole.

When he does sleep it's for twenty minutes in a row tops. In between he stares at the ceiling or roams the halls or scares the crap out of the control room graveyard crew by wandering in unannounced. They're getting used to it. They've stopped checking their watches. The lack of sleep didn't get to him at first but he's too old to keep combat hours for weeks at a time and he's beginning to feel it.

By the time he starts to brake, the HUD is flashing at him and the jumper is tugging at his brain like a kid that wants attention. John draws the nose up just a few yards above the water and cuts loose with the engines, kicking up a cloud of spray. He half-expects a call. Wonders if anyone's been keeping track of him and hopes to hell not because "Colonel's gone crazy" is not how he wants to start the day.

"Tower, this is jumper three on approach."

"We have you, jumper three. You are cleared to land."

Crap. That was a big "yes".

He stays low to the water and watches it rush past. The closest he's going to get to feeling the speed. Half a mile out, he pulls up and does a lazy circle of the city before he drops the jumper through the open roof. As the ship settles, the HUD bloops at him. Tells him there's someone outside. What it doesn't tell him is whether or not it's someone he wants to talk to. Short damn list.

Open up and power down.

The lights dim to nothing and the tickle in his brain subsides as he hauls himself out of the pilot's seat. He shuffles to the back. Leans on the wall and waits to see who's loitering in the jumper bay at oh-dark-thirty.

She smiles just a little, like she knows he's in a mood or that blatant displays of happiness are inappropriate at this hour.

"Hi, Teyla."

"Colonel."

He misses "John". "Were you, uh, were you waiting for me?"

Teyla raises an eyebrow. She doesn't need to say it out loud. Of course. Idiot.

"Right." He chuckles softly and steps off the ramp. Runs a hand through his hair and rubs at his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just…tired."

"You have not been sleeping."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yes." She starts for the exit. Pauses after a few steps and looks at him until he moves to follow. "There are many things you can take to help you sleep."

"Yeah…" Lame excuses offer themselves up, but none make it anywhere near his mouth. "It's probably a good idea if I avoid the infirmary for a while."

If he was missing a limb and a bucket of blood, he'd still have to think about it real hard.

She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a dimpled silver square and offers it to him. "Take one of these half an hour before you intend to go to sleep."

"I've intended to go to sleep a bunch of times." He slips the packet out of her fingers and turns it over in his hands. He smiles. He can't help it. God, she knows him. "Thank you."

She holds out another packet. Similar, only the little spots of color on the foil are black instead of green. "And take one of these before your shift. So you do not fall asleep."

"I won't," he says. He has no idea if it's true or not. He's never fallen asleep on the job before, but after everything that's happened the last few years any damn thing is possible. He never thought he'd see another galaxy or fly a spaceship or be in charge. He didn't figure there'd be humans who would try to screw them over or a Wraith who would try to help them. And that was his own stupid fault because he knew a long time before he came here that sometimes the enemy looks just like you and sometimes help comes from the places you least expect it.

Fuck, but he is the kind of tired that has nothing to do with insomnia.

Teyla's looking at him like he's an idiot again and he wonders if he said something out loud. Or it could be because she's still holding out the second set of pills, waiting for him to take it.

So he does. "Thanks. Again."

"You are welcome." Tentative and awkward. Two things Teyla has never been with him before. She's not the only one who's been a little tender around him lately, but…Shit. Since they brought back the Hive there's been running

constantly

and planning

poorly

and most of his time has been devoted to things that are important and immediate but sure as hell not personal. He hasn't checked for the goddamned letter. Hasn't even thought about it until now. It's not the lack of sleep that's making his hands tingle, or his heart hammer in his chest.

He clears his throat. "So, I was wondering…"

Teyla walks with her head lowered. No prompting. No curious glance. He's about ready to take a dive off the nearest balcony when she looks up and shows him the gleam in her eyes.

"I did not read it."

"Oh thank God."

-End-