Maybe it didn't happen. Maybe it did, and they forgot. Or maybe it was just one click away on the quantum mirror.
October 27, 1999
By the time Elizabeth gets to Kyrgyzstan, she hasn't slept in, what, two days? It feels like longer.
Now, to get the rest of the way back to DC.
Her flight from Beijing only ended up here because of mechanical issues on which the crew hadn't elaborated, and your average young lady might not know what to do all alone on a military base outside Bishkek, but Dr. Elizabeth Weir is no average young lady.
The supply officer is out, but his clerk is at the desk. Elizabeth explains her situation - what she's allowed to say, anyway - and the lieutenant immediately picks up the phone.
After calling what seems like every officer in the Air Force and possibly a few in the Marine Corps, he looks up at Elizabeth. "We've got a plane headed to Ramstein, ma'am. You should be able to get to DC within a day or so."
Elizabeth slumps into the nearest empty bucket seat and buckles the straps, cinching them tight, and it feels like the first time she's breathed in weeks. Finally. Finally. She's going home.
A small group of soldiers come aboard, but they cluster together at the other end of the bay, and she can overhear their commander explaining something about whatever mission they've just been on. It's almost certainly classified, but then again, she probably has a higher security clearance than even the commander does.
The only passenger who comes on besides them is a man about her own age. Dark hair, bright eyes. Handsome. It looks like he's wearing a pilot's jumpsuit, although it seems odd for a pilot to be here in the back. This base serves as midpoint for a lot of destinations, so she has no idea where he might be coming from. But apparently she's not the only poor foolish loner stranded here in Kyrgyzstan.
He takes the seat across from her, shoves his bag under it, buckles himself in like someone who's flown on a lot of these planes, and waves a hand at her casually. "Hey."
"Hi."
"Ready to get swept off your feet?"
She stares at him for a long moment. She's met a few pilots, but never one who tried so hard. "Really?"
"Sorry." To his credit, the guy looks suitably embarrassed. "It sounded cleverer in my head."
"I hope so."
He grins at that, a lopsided smile that's at once endearing and reassuring. At least he seems to have a sense of humor. "I'm John." The patch on his right pocket says SHEPPARD, and if she's reading the insignia on his jacket correctly, it looks like he's a captain.
"I'm Elizabeth." She leaves out Doctor and Weir, as neither seems necessary at this point.
"Nice to meet you, Elizabeth." He offers her a firm handshake as the plane starts taxiing. "Seriously, though. What brings you to Kyrgyzstan? Is it the weather?"
"I'm afraid it's classified."
She's not deflecting. It really is classified. Sometimes it occurs to Elizabeth that she lives a strange life.
He blinks. "Oh. Right. I should have figured."
"What do you mean?"
"Kyrgyzstan's not exactly a vacation hot spot. But you're clearly not military," he adds, folding his hands, "which means you're either a contractor, which I doubt, or you work for the government. And you're important enough to get a last-minute seat on military a flight, which means at the very least, you work for someone pretty damn high-up."
"Wow." Elizabeth can't help but smile. He looks so proud of himself.
"Impressed?"
"Very." She lifts an eyebrow. "That almost makes up for your pickup line."
John looks stunned, his mouth open in surprised delight, as the plane starts to pick up speed and lifts off with a lurch. Elizabeth grips the arms of her seat, waiting for the plane to level at altitude before she relaxes.
"You okay?" He's watching her with visible concern.
"Fine," she assures him, taking a deep breath. "I just - don't fly in cargo planes very often."
"Oh. Well. It'll be fine." He waved a hand generally at the stark grey interior around them. "It's not fancy, but we'll get there."
Normally on airplanes, she reads diligently, as it does a good job convincing seatmates that she's not particularly interested in talking.
But she's not even pining for a book as they soar above eastern Europe, because any man who starts off with such a spectacularly lame attempt at flirting deserves a chance to either redeem himself or make it worse.
"I wish I'd brought a deck of cards," he sighs, digging through his pockets. "I could demolish you at Texas Hold 'Em."
"Oh, you think so?"
Elizabeth is a devastatingly good poker player. She can read other players incredibly well, and she won a decent amount of spending money in grad school at late-night poker tables with other GA's.
John eyes her suspiciously. "Why do I get the sneaking feeling you might kick my ass if we played cards?"
"I have no idea."
They fall quiet for a minute, listening to the dull roar of the engines. The guys in the unit across the bay have mostly dozed off. Noisy as the plane is, Elizabeth knows, a lot of military folk have learned to sleep whenever - and wherever - they get the chance.
She leans her cheek on her hand, wishing she'd had the foresight to change clothes before getting on the plane. She's still in a suit and blouse, and while she knows the look gives her visual authority when she needs it - a twenty-seven-year-old woman sometimes needs to push that a bit - she'd rather not be stuck in a pencil skirt while trekking across half the world.
She wonders if fatigues are as comfortable as they look, because John looks completely and totally at ease.
He notices her looking at him, and his brow furrows. "What?"
Rather than inquiring about the comfort level of utility uniforms, she asks the next question that comes to mind. "Isn't your hair kind of messy for the Air Force?"
"That's why I became a pilot. I can keep it under a helmet." She has a feeling he's messing with her. He seems to enjoy it. "Aren't you kind of young and hot for a government employee?"
He raises an eyebrow at her, a perfect mirror of what she did to him earlier, and she can't help but blush under his frank gaze. "It's too bad you're so shy."
"Yeah," he drawled. "It's a curse. So - what exactly do you do?"
Even if she were allowed to answer the question, it would take a long time. But as it is -
"It's classified."
John narrows his eyes, folding his arms over his chest. "We'll, you're not old enough to be the president. And anyway, I'm pretty sure he's a guy."
"Very good. You're almost like a detective, aren't you?"
"You have a sense of humor when you're giving me shit, so you're not IRS." He pauses thoughtfully. "Wait. You're a park ranger, aren't you?"
"Guilty." She raises her hands in surrender. "I wrestle bears in Yellowstone."
John nods. "I figured."
No sooner does the plane touch down at Ramstein, than John retrieves her bag for her and gestures for her to exit first. "After you, Ranger Elizabeth."
It's a pleasant surprise when they get inside the hangar and Elizabeth finds that the State department is on hold, waiting to talk to her.
As she takes the phone, she casts a look backwards. John's chatting with the unit commander who'd been on the plane with them, duffel slung over his shoulder, and for just a moment, she can see just how weary he is.
He may have a sense of humor, but she gets the distinct impression that he's seen some bad things, wherever it is he's been stationed.
Her conversation is a brief one; the secretary has a plane on the way, and Elizabeth will be back to the States tonight. She doesn't usually get so lucky, but she's certainly not going to look this gift horse in the mouth.
She steals one more look over to see John trudging slowly towards the door and bites her lip. "I appreciate the lift, but - is there any chance you can do me one more favor?"
Elizabeth is waiting patiently when, an hour later, the announcement comes over the loudspeaker. Captain Sheppard, report to Hangar Five immediately.
John appears minutes later, looking confused, and the colonel waves him over.
"Sir?"
"You're headed back early, Captain." The colonel points at the little jet in the corner. "Looks like there's an extra seat headed for DC."
"I - really, sir? How?"
The colonel shrugs. "Ask her."
He turns to find Elizabeth standing behind him, and his face lights up with surprise.
She can't help but smile. "Hi again."
"You got me on your flight?"
She shrugs, trying to ignore the blush spreading over her cheeks. "There was an extra seat, and we're both going to DC. No reason to leave you here."
John looks stunned, and for a moment, she wonders if he's going to hug her. He seems like he'd be good at that.
"Thank you. Elizabeth - I -" John shakes his head. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"You know," he tells her seriously, "if you're not careful, we might become friends."
She can think of worse things.
The pilot, who'd been talking to the mechanics, comes walking over to meet them. "Nice to meet you, Doctor. Ready to go home?"
"Very." She shakes his hand. "This is Captain Sheppard. He's tagging along."
John shakes the pilot's hand and follows her to the plane. As the pilot opens the door and pulls the stairs down, he leans forward to murmur in her ear. "Doctor?"
Elizabeth smiles archly. "Yes."
It's not a big plane, but there's ample room for two people, and he settles in a chair across from her. "So. Doctor Elizabeth." He looks far more excited about this than he probably should be, given how (objectively) dull her dissertation was.
"Ph.D., not M.D."
Excited John Sheppard looks even more like a puppy, and she has the urge to ruffle that messy hair.
"And I was so sure you were a park ranger. What other secrets are you hiding?" His eyes go wide with mock surprise. "Oh my God. You're secretly Batman, aren't you?"
She leans forward, lowering her voice, watching his eyes go dark.
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."
The flight is smooth and the seats are comfortable, and as they reach cruising altitude, she finds her eyes starting to shut in spite of herself.
Elizabeth dozes fitfully, half-hearing John chatting with the pilots for a while, and finally she's completely out.
She wakes up somewhere over the Atlantic to find the cabin lights dim and cozy. She's curled up in her seat, covered in a blanket that looks like the one that used to be draped over the back of his chair. John's fast asleep across from her, his head tipped back against the seat.
She wonders when he gave her his blanket.
The pilot yells back that they're an hour out from DC, and John blinks owlishly, rubbing his face. "Whoa. Didn't realize I feel asleep."
"No kidding." Elizabeth pulls the blanket around her shoulders and tucks an errant curl behind her ear. She's still drowsy; the dim shadows and low, droning hum of the plane are soothing, threatening to lull her right back to sleep.
She'd never expected her piecemeal journey home to turn into a slumber party on a private jet with a cheeky pilot she met a few hours ago, but really, she can't complain.
"I should travel with people like you more often," he tells her, stretching his arms. "Private plane. Leg room. Pleasant company." He pauses, tilting his head. "Well. Sleepy company."
Elizabeth smiles tiredly. "I didn't mean to leave you bored."
He waves a hand dismissively. "No, no. You looked tired. I figured you could use the rest."
She nods slowly, toeing off her shoes and pulling her knees up to her chest. "We must be getting close by now, right? Didn't he say an hour?"
"Yeah. But go back to sleep if you want, 'Lizabeth." He shortens her name without seeming to realize it, and it's a warm, gentle sense of familiarity that makes her wonder if she's known him for years, long before she met him. "I'll wake you up when we get there."
Sure enough, she wakes again to a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Elizabeth? Elizabeth, we're about to touch down."
The landing is smooth as silk, and by the time she untangles herself from the blanket and sits up, the plane is taxiing over to a hangar. John peers out the window curiously. "Look at that. It's even a nice day."
"Mmm." There's sunlight and blue sky visible, even through the small windows. "Lucky us."
They finally pull into the hangar. John leans over to open the door, but gestures for her to exit before him. "Go ahead." His eyes are twinkling. "There might be bears."
The moment her feet hit the ground, there's a man in a suit jogging across the hangar. "Phone for you, Doctor. It's the ambassador. Says it's urgent. Follow me, please."
She glances back at John, who waves her on. "Go ahead. I'll grab your stuff."
As soon as the long-winded ambassador lets her off the phone, Elizabeth runs back out to the hangar. Her bag is sitting on the ground beside the plane, but John is nowhere to be found.
"Excuse me," she asks the copilot, who's pulling his own bag off the little jet. "Where's Captain Sheppard?"
"Gone, ma'am." He nods at the door. "There was just one last shuttle over to Dulles, and they got him on a last-minute flight. He had to run for it."
"Oh." There's no reason for her to feel so deflated. She met the man less than a day ago.
Somehow, it hadn't occurred to her that she would never see him again.
"He asked me to tell you goodbye, and thank you for getting him back here."
"Of course."
"And he said to tell you, and I quote, 'we'll always have Yellowstone.'" He looked at her quizzically. "Does that mean something to you?"
Elizabeth smiles.
"Yeah. It does."