My Roommate Is a Wraith
By Holly-Batali

A/N: SOOOOOO incredibly sorry for the long delay. Testing is now done and over with, and I actually have time to write! (in between swordplay clinic, summer orchestra, and online classes, anyway). Thanks for actually sticking around you guys; you're the best!

Disclaimer: I REALLY don't--look, can I stop posting these yet?

WARNING: This story is stupid. REALLY stupid. If you are one of the "sane" (ha!) people like, say, my weird brother, then you MIGHT want to stay away. Because we're all mad here (why yes, I AM crazy! Ha ha ha! Oooh, it's the pretty jacket that let's you hug yourself all day! I LOVE that jacket!)

Chapter 25: The Monster or the Master

"YOU DID WHAT?!"

Sheppard rolled his eyes and stretched his legs, leaning back against the wall outside the cell where his team was staying. "Relax, McKay," he assuaged the agitated astrophysicist. "It's only a strike. Do you know how many of those I've done over the years? Get in, kappablooey, get out. Voila."

"Look, John," began McKay in a patronizing tone. "Maybe that Wraith capture fried your brain or something, but it's not hard to grasp the one rule of the Pegasus Galaxy: you aren't supposed to be friends with the cannibals. Okay? Repeat after me: I will not befriend the life-sucking--"

"Shut up, McKay," growled Sheppard, frowning. "They're not all bad, alright? Just...lay off." Sheppard sulked against the wall.

After a moment of silence, McKay said--sans sarcasm, surprisingly--"You really believe it, don't you?"

Sheppard continued frowning, not looking up. "Whadya mean?"

"You really don't think they're the bad guys anymore, do you? Oh God, you've got Stockholm Syndrome, don't you? That's just great, now we're gonna be stuck here for the rest of our lives because you're too busy playing Mr. Friendly--"

Sheppard rolled his eyes and got up, walking away. "Good night, McKay."

Sheppard lay on his back, arms behind his head. He couldn't sleep; he knew from experience that he wouldn't be able to sleep for at least another hour or so. It was always like this before raids; he just wasn't cut out for the cool and collected mindset. Acting, sure. But he cared too much about everyone else to sleep well knowing that he was leading people to their deaths.

"The one rule of the Pegasus Galaxy: you aren't supposed to be friends with the cannibals."

McKay couldn't be right; these Wraith were different, he knew they were. But does that mean they're all different? Are they all really that misunderstood?

John's thoughts flashed back to his English class his senior year of high school. They had read three books that year: Wuthering Heights, Frankenstein, and Dracula. John remembered despising all the characters as he read; Cathy and Heathcliffe had no redeeming qualities whatsoever, Dr. Frankenstein was a total SOB, and Dracula was obnoxious. But his least favorite was Frankenstein. Sure, the monster had a whole lot of anger to work off, destroying everyone who screamed at him wasn't exactly the best way to do it.

When he'd mentioned in class his dislike of Mary Shelley's characters, his teacher, Mr. Moa, had asked him one question: do you blame the monster, or the master?

John pondered that thought forever after that. Even now, as he lay in bed, Todd's words came back to him just as Mr. Moa's had:

Do you blame the Wraith, or the master?

The Dart Bay was a bustle of alien activity the following morning. Pilots ran all over the bay, finalizing preparations for the strike. System checks, repairs, and tune-ups made up the morning's activity.

John Sheppard walked confidently into the bay, flight helmet under his arm, Wraith jacket in place. He had already had his lecture from the stooges that morning.

Striding towards his dart, John gave confident greetings to his students, lifting the gloom considerably. When he reached his craft, John hopped lithely into the cockpit, tapping his three dashboard pictures for good luck: one of him and his Atlantis team, one of a skyview of Atlantis, and one of his dart class.

Putting his mike and oxygen mask in place, John prepped for flight. Systems check...brakes, go. HUD, go. Acceleration controls, go. Weapons console, go...

Looks like we are go, John muttered internally, the euphoric adrenaline rush of the flight starting to come on. This was why he had become a pilot.

"Housten, we are go for launch," he said into his mike.

"Who's Housten?" asked Moe from the other end.

John rolled his eyes. "Never mind, Moe. Flight, this is Bond 1; do we have a go?"

"Yeah, yeah, bon voyage, Shemp."

"Hey," said Sheppard, grinning, "you're learning French."

"I pick up this and that," quipped Moe. There was a scuffling on the other end of the line, then Larry came on.

"Hey Shemp!"

"Hey Larry."

"You've got a go, Bond 1. Safe flight and bring back the bagels."

"...It's 'bacon', Larry, not 'bagels'."

"You have a go, Bond 1. Safe flight and bring back the bacon. There, happy?"

"I'm really more of a bagel person, Larry," said Sheppard with a grin.

"Shut up and do your job," growled Larry.

"Yes Mother," quipped John.

Curly came on the comm. "Okay Shemp. We've uploaded the schematics into your darts, so go by the interface, not by the layout of our hive. They're similar, but there are critical differences. Don't get turned around in there."

"Yes sir."

"Good. Well, get going, you crazy SOB."

John grinned. "Yes sir."

A/N: SOOOOO sorry for the HUGE delay. But now everything is over and done with and I'll have a new update soon. You guys are the best for putting up with me and all my crap!