AN: One-shot. Alt ending to The Real World. Shweir, of course! Sheppard is irritated that people think he shouldn't have risked his life. "Except he never risked everything, he risked his life for everything"

Disclaimer: Title is from "Take on Me" by the A-ha. …Because. And of course all characters belong to other, far wealthier people than I. And you think poor college student is just a silly stereotype…

...X…

…It's No Better to Be Safe than Sorry…

…X…

Beckett had let him go after a fierce lecture that both knew wouldn't do any good, although Sheppard had nodded and apologized in all the right places. Towards the end Beckett had stopped looking pissed and had just looked tired, and that had upset Sheppard, and he'd grabbed his arm but Beckett had just shook his head and walked away.

Sheppard has never liked the feeling of people giving up on him, and this is no different—even if he knows he'd done the right thing. Even though he knows he'd do it again even if he knew he was going to get infected. Beckett had called it self-destructive, but really, deep down, they both knew he was doing the very opposite—preserving life, or what his life meant.

Dr. Elizabeth Weir had been lying on the bed, helpless—and she was the sort of woman who doesn't do helpless well, which had made the entire situation even more infuriating. He'd kept looking through the plastic wall and wishing he could see her in all her bristling determination and strength. She'd always been better at the bedside vigil.

Seeing her unconscious made everything harder.

So given the barest possibility that he could save her, could help her fight—god, he hadn't even thought, he'd just acted, and wouldn't that just piss her off? She was always going off about how he needed to think things through more and not just go off half-cocked with a bit of a plan and a lot of instinct, and…

Ah. But she's alive to lecture him, and really, he can live with that. And she is living with that. He grins a bit, and thinks that maybe he ought to pay her a visit. Just….somewhere with witnesses.

He's walking down the hallway on autopilot, and tries to pretend that he's going to run into her on accident, because there's no way he knows her well enough to know where she'll be right now. That would just be vaguely stalkerish. Well, not stalkerish, her being his friend, but all these people around him that keep insinuating themselves closer and deeper into his heart—he's not used to it. And he's not used to her. Except he is—everything about her.

"Elizabeth," he says by way of greeting, actually half-surprised that his feet have already taken him so far so fast.

"John," she nods, still looking over the balcony that she's leaning against. The smell of salt is strong and he's discovered a sort of passion for it. After being away from Atlantis too long he invariably finds himself out on a balcony, just inhaling. Which…really might be a little weird. Well, fantastic. He's a weird stalker. Good job on the whole life thing.

"How're you doing?" he asks, walking out farther until he's leaning on the balcony next to her, and now she does turn to look at him, and she's frowning except…her eyes just look worried.

"I'd be better if you'd stop trying to turn me gray," she tries to laugh, but it doesn't quite come out right or real, and she stops before the attempt turns painful. She looks back over the ocean, and her shoulders have gotten tenser and her lips are losing the war with her teeth and he fights the urge to reach out and touch her, sure that that would be a monumentally bad idea, even though just hours ago it saved her life. Maybe because just hours ago it saved her life.

"It worked, didn't it?" he asks, and his voice is only defensive and irritated because everyone seems to want him to apologize and he's not sorry.

"John—" she starts, but he's already shrugging off the hand she's placed on his shoulder and turning furious eyes on the woman he risked everything for so little time ago.

Except he never risked everything, he risked his life for everything, because he risked it for her, and why does no one understand this?

"I did the right thing," he tells her, and he knows he sounds angrier than he has any right to be, especially at her, especially at the woman who could have died a few hours ago, but he can't seem to rein himself in, especially since she seems bound and determined to lecture. Because everyone seems to think he ought to just let people die. Great plan, that.

"Thank you for saving me," she says, and he blinks, surprised.

"Oh," he replies, and he's treated with a real smile for his incoherence. He struggles to gather his thoughts, and his brain that has evidentially fled the building. "I couldn't let you die."

"I know, I just…I wish you wouldn't act as if your life is disposable," she sighs, and now she's avoiding his eyes, and he can't gaze longingly into them while he confesses his heart's desire, so instead he shrugs.

"It's my life."

She half-laughs. "I know, John, but how do you think it makes your friends feel when—"

"I was risking my life for you! I do know what I'm doing, Elizabeth! I'm not an idiot, I just—"

"John—" she says, sounding alarmed, but he continues as if he hadn't heard.

"I just—why does no one understand this? I wasn't throwing my life away on a whim! I'm allowed to risk my life for my friends, all right! If I can save them—"

"John—" she repeats, this time louder and punctuated with a hand on his arm, but he refuses to let himself get distracted now that he's finally speaking his mind.

"And it wasn't even for just a friend! I would've done it for Rodney or Ronon or Beckett or Teyla but this was you, Liz, and if I can't risk it for you without people throwing a fit…"

"John," she interrupts, and by now her voice is simultaneously irritated and gleeful and it's enough to shut him up for half a moment, for her to have the time to say, "John, if you're so smart, why aren't you kissing me right now?"

He looks at her, and blinks, and looks again, and she's still there, eyebrow arched high, lips twisted up in a smirk, confident and daring with a look of mischief that makes him…

Well. Why isn't he kissing her?

So he takes a step closer, hands trapping her between his body and the balcony, of course it would be here, where else could it be?, and she tilts her chin up, her eyes still focused on his until they drop down for half a second to look at his lips and then they're fluttering shut because those lips she was just staring at so avidly have found hers, soft but determined, just as he was expecting and yet so much more.

She nibbles on his bottom lip and he half-moans into her mouth and he can feel her grin, can feel the exact moment between her wanting and her having and her hands have curled up into his hair and his are sliding across her back and her neck and if Beckett were here maybe he'd understand why he didn't have to think, why he just risked, and maybe he should stop thinking about Beckett when he's busy kissing her, but it doesn't matter who thinks what because Elizabeth Weir is in his arms and kissing him to distraction and no lecture in the world could ever make him regret his recklessness, because he wasn't being reckless, he was being prudent.

Because she's everything to him. And he can't risk losing her.

Finis

AN: So I ended up flipping through some old SGA eps, including Real World tonight, and then I was posting my Charlie Bartlett fic and skimmed through my old entries and was like, huh, I haven't written an SGA one-shot in a while... and then I stayed up an extra hour writing this. Oh man, work today is going to be awesome...lol. Anyways, hope you enjoy me dabbling back into my SGA one-shots. (I had no idea I'd actually written that many, lol). Shweir love forever! Viele Lieben, Wolfie

(and yes, my german sucks)