Hi all, I seemed to have gotten a bit of Writer's Block whilst writing this chapter (you may see why when you read it). But the important thing is that I finally finished it. Whew! I watched Whispers today (a bit behind the times, I know, but Australia's a bit lax on its American viewing) and wasn't that just creepy! Great to see Paul McGillion again, too. I hope we get to see more of him. Hoping to watch The Queen real soon after I get my hands on the season five finally of NCIS.

Mail Bag:

To nanda, thanks, we'll be in Atlantis soon enough, another few chapters I hope.

To The City of Atlantis, LOL! It was something I had always planned to do, to add a bit of complexity to the character's past. I think that just saying she's Sheppard's sister isn't enough. And about the lemon campaign, I think I saw a photo of one of them on Joe Mallozzi's blog! It's a great idea – please send a dozen lemons on my behalf!

To baileylak, wow, thanks I'm so glad you like it so mush. And believe me, there is a LOT more to come!

To jasminesmommy, hehe – you have no idea! (grins evilly)

To trecebo, thanks. I know she's not perfect, but I'm working on it. Cheers!

To KendraC, thanks. You presume well. But I'm not going to give anything away yet. Tricking John into sitting in the chair is a good idea that I hadn't thought of, but like I said, not giving anything away!

Thanks to everyone for reviewing – please keep them coming. Now, please enjoy.

--Chapter 4 – Chicago--
Training exercises had always been something that Sierra enjoyed; no threat of being attacked, all the time in the world to do all kinds of cool maneuvers while trying not to knock yourself unconscious – thank heavens for inertial dampeners was all Sierra could say on that regard.

It was the art of flying that held so much appeal to Sierra. The danger, the high-speed, high-risk formations and maneuvers. All of that rated up there with fast cars and rollercoasters. John had joined the Air Force for the heights planes could take you. Sierra joined for the thrill of speed.

Unbeknownst to her, though, this training session was going to be the worst of her life.

The Prometheus had brought them to a lightly populated asteroid field around a gas giant in a system on the other side of the galaxy. Sierra had thought it made more sense to go to the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter, but Mitchell told her that it would be possible for people to see them from Earth.

The asteroid field appeared to be the remains of a moon that had been decimated by a meteor centuries ago, and contained high concentrations of nickel and iron, which wreaked havoc with their sensors. That was the objective of the exercise – both pilot and co-pilot had to navigate their way through the asteroid belt without the use of their sensors.

Though the asteroid field was sparsely populated, it was very broad. As Sierra gazed at it from the observation room near the hanger, she guessed that it had been a very large moon that had been destroyed; a habitable moon possibly, with trees, birds and animals, and possibly even a Stargate. She had been informed that she and Mitchell were going first, racing against Captain Connor and Lt. Stevenson. Carrie had joined her at the window to tease.

Soon they were given the go-ahead for launch and Mitchell took the first pass through the asteroid field. While Sierra monitored the systems on their on-board computers with one eye, she watched Mitchell pilot the 302 with the other. He was a natural – that was all she could say about him. He swerved and ducked and dived around house-sized rocks like he was a part of it, like the ship was an extension of himself. And he was so graceful at it.

Needless to say he won his leg of the race. As the two F-302s prepared to head back into the field, Sierra looked over at Carrie. Her friend was waving at her.

"I'm gonna beat the pants off you, Sheppard," she called over the comms.

Sierra laughed. "I don't think so, Stevenson. I got the Force on my side." Carrie laughed.

"Whoever wins buys the other those shoes we saw last week."

"You got a deal!"

"Hey," Mitchell said, cutting in. "You two gonna fly or chatter?"

"Sorry, Sir," Sierra said as she punched the craft into the asteroid belt. Carrie wasn't far behind her. Sierra pushed the small ship to its top speed while ducking and weaving the huge rocks. While the inertial dampeners compensated for the extreme speed they were traveling at, it didn't help a great deal with the cornering.

Sierra guessed they must have been about half-way through the field when a burst of static came through the radio. It was followed by indistinct and fractured voices.

"This is Connor… requesting… alien ship… immediate… repeat… assistance."

"This is Mitchell, Connor; repeat that."

"This is Con… may-day, may-day… under attack… alien… requesting assistance!"

"Sir?" Sierra questioned.

"Maneuver to intercept, Sheppard," Mitchell ordered.

"Yessir." Sierra was already angling toward where she hoped Carrie and Connor would be. She ducked and weaved closer to Carrie's known position. She glanced down at her sensors, but already knew that was useless; the sensors couldn't detect anything in the asteroid belt. Soon, Sierra saw what looked like explosions ahead of them in the field. She didn't need Mitchell's order to know to head in the general direction.

Sierra cleared the final bus-sized asteroid in time to see the alien ship line up Carrie and Connor's 302.

"Carrie, dive!" Sierra screamed into her comms as she shot after the alien ship. But her order came too late and Sierra watched as the alien craft opened fire on the 302. Sierra froze as Carrie's scream echoed in her ears. The explosion zipped passed them, torn metal and flames. Ahead of them, the alien ship swerved to avoid an asteroid that was in their path. Sierra knew that she should bank as well, but she couldn't move. She was on the brink of hyper-ventilating and there was screaming in her ears. Soon she registered that it was Mitchell that was yelling at her.

"SHEPPARD!" he shouted as he quickly transferred control back to him and banked hard right, missing the rock by inches. "God, Sheppard! Wake up, will ya!"

But Sierra couldn't concentrate. Her hands were shaking and she stared at the controls before her, not knowing what to do. Mitchell swore at her, punching the ship forward again, pursuing the alien ship.

Their ship hadn't been armed with missiles for this training run; they hadn't thought they would need them. Therefore, their only weapons were the guns on the ship. Mitchell opened up a volley of 50 caliber bullets on the alien craft as it tried to out-maneuver them. The major was yelling at Sierra to pay attention and do her job. But she was finding it hard to concentrate.

Sierra had lost friends before, so, so many; she'd almost lost her brother – twice – in Afghanistan. But she didn't understand why she was so affected by this. Carrie was her friend, as was Connor, and going into this program, hell, this career path, they all knew that every day could be their last. She'd been through all this before, a hundred times, had death paraded before her so blatantly, so perceptibly; she knew exactly what it was like to loose someone, to have them torn from your fingers.

But that had been a long time ago. The war had been years ago and since then she'd had a desk job. She hadn't been in the field for years and then suddenly thrust into this world of aliens and wormholes! It had taken its toll on her.

The rest of the battle passed in a blur; she was jostled around the cabin of the 302, unaware enough to anticipate the high-speed maneuvers that Mitchell was pulling with expert precision. Her friend's face loomed before her, followed by the smiling faces of her family in the frame that she kept on her night-stand. The sound of her laughter filled her ears, only to be suddenly replaced by her agonizing scream as the life was ripped from her body.

Numbness paralyzed her, filling her mind with static. Mitchell's shouts washed over her in a haze as one thought turned around and around in her head – This shouldn't be happening to me!

And then the battle was over. The fireball that was once the alien fighter blew passed them as a cloud of torn metal and slag. As though a spell had been lifted off her, Sierra felt movement return to her limbs and turned in her seat to watch the ship that killed her friend fly by, the remainder of the ship slamming into a asteroid in its path.

Mitchell cursed under his breath as he maneuvered the ship from the asteroid field into radio range of the Prometheus. Sierra hung her head as Mitchell reported the incident to Ronson. She was slightly surprised when he left out the part about her going to pieces. He hadn't forgotten it, though, and grilled her in the hall outside the hanger.

"And God help me," he hissed at her, "the next time you space out on me like that again, I'll have you goddamn reassigned! Understood Sheppard?" He had a firm grip on her upper arm, her back firmly pressed against the bulkhead. She was still feeling numb, avoiding his eyes as much as possible.

She softly replied, "Yes, Sir." Mitchell pursed his lips a little before he loosened his hand around her bicep.

"Look," he said, a touch of sympathy creeping into his voice. "I know that you and Stevenson were friends, but you can't let it affect you in the middle of a dogfight. It's the one thing that I've noticed about you, Sheppard; you act on your emotions too much."

"So what am I supposed to do, Sir? Follow orders blindly and not feel anything at all?"

Mitchell lowered his voice a little. "I'm not saying that, Sierra. I'm saying that you should act with your head a little more. It might save your life." And with that, he let go of her arm and walked away from her.

Sierra was left watching his retreating back feeling like there was a pound of lead in her stomach. The weight remained with her through the remainder of the day, as the training exercise had been called off. They started back to Earth as soon as Mitchell and Sierra returned to the ship and Carrie and Connor's service was scheduled for the day after they returned.

Sierra, dressed in her freshly pressed dress blues, attended the ceremony with the rest of her squadron. The day passed in a blur of red, white and blue, salutes and the echoes of ceremonial gun-fire. The next thing she knew, she was in the first-class seat on a flight to Chicago.

--XXX--

The funeral was nice; a lot of people had come to farewell the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the Windy City, something Sierra hadn't known until Mitchell told her on the plane. Carrie's father made a nice speech about his little girl and about how loved she was and how missed she would be. Sierra offered what comfort she could to Carrie's younger sisters and their stout mother. The elderly woman had tears in her eyes as she told Sierra stories of Carrie's youth. They sat in the last row of chairs as people milled about after the coffin had been lowered.

Smoothing non-existent wrinkles from the folded flag in her lap, Mrs. Stevenson described the way that Carrie had been the top of her class. As she tried to explain the degrees that Carrie had taken whilst at college, her throat choked up, tears welling, threatening to fall. Sierra felt a rush of sympathy towards this woman.

"No parent should have to bury their child."

Mrs. Stevenson looked up at Sierra. She saw the older woman take note of the understanding in her face. Mrs. Stevenson placed her hand on top of Sierra's. She squeezed it, glad that she could be someone who understood the older woman's grief.

--XXX--

"Hi, this is John Sheppard… um, I'm not here right now… obviously… yeah, so leave your name and a number and I'll try to get back to you. However, if you haven't heard from me in… two weeks, then I probably won't be calling back… so, yeah…" Beep.

"John… hi, it's me. How long has it been since you changed that message? Look, I know we haven't talked in a while, and I know that you're not gonna get this any time soon, but next time you're in the vicinity of… the States, please, give me a call… even if its just a message, I really need to hear your voice again… Bye."

Sierra sighed and dropped the cell onto the bar top. She stared at the glass in her hand before lifting it to her lips. She had never quite been into beer as much as her brothers had been, but found it was the best drink for drowning one's sorrows. The bar-tender had already taken away two empty glasses and was eyeing her from the other end of the bar. Sierra guessed that he saw a lot of her kind; a lot of people come to drink away their bad days, their angry wives, their cheating boyfriends. She wondered for a moment how many made it home.

Sierra threw a sour look at her cell phone as it began to ring. She knew it wouldn't be John (she had a separate tone set for his calls anyway) and tried to ignore it. After the caller had called three times, and the bar-tender had cast several displeased looks her direction, Sierra flipped the phone open with a roll of her eyes, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

"You should know that I have had enough beers to be completely insubordinate, so I really hope this isn't an officer ranking higher than a lieutenant."

She heard a snort on the other end of the receiver. "Sorry to disappoint," came the slightly amused voice of her C.O. Sierra dug her fingernails into her palm as she fumbled an apology.

"Forget it, Sheppard," Mitchell said. "Where are you? I can hear music."

She cast a glare at the band playing "Johnny Be Good" at the far end of the bar. Rolling her eyes again Sierra said, "You sound like my brother. And you don't want to know where I am."

"I didn't know you had a brother."

"We don't talk that much anymore."

"Right. So, where are you?"

Sierra glared at the phone as though Mitchell would be able to see it. "Alone. With my good friends Miller and Coors."

"You're in a pub?" Mitchell exclaimed with a tad of incredulity creeping into his voice.

"Actually, no. It's technically a bar, but I guess there's not a great difference. Though, I have found myself in worse places over the years." Sierra flipped the bar-tender a wave as he cast a sour glance in her direction. She made note to only order cans for her next few rounds.

The bar was actually not a bad place. It was nicely lit, the band was playing some classy music that Sierra had actually heard before, and the bar stools were quite comfortable. She was simply giving the impression that she was in a shady part of town to see if she could get a rise out of Mitchell.

"Well, I hope you know what you're doing. Am I going to be waiting up all night prayin' you make it back to the hotel and don't end up in an alley somewhere?"

"Nah," Sierra said with a shrug. "I doubt it. I'll just ask this burly-lookin' biker next to me to give me a ride." The banker three stools down from her looked up in slight alarm and she threw a wink at him.

There was a pause from Mitchell before he snorted again. "You're just messin' with me, aren't you?"

Sierra gave a short laugh. "See you in the morning!" she said with a sing-song voice before snapping the phone shut. Little did Mitchell know, she was sitting in the bar across from Reception in the hotel they were staying at. Sierra chuckled to herself as she swiveled on her stool to watch the elevator bank. As she waited she sipped her beer.

He didn't keep her waiting long. She timed him at 3 minutes and 12 seconds. The elevator doors opened and Mitchell emerged pulling his coat on against the Chicago spring evening, with his room key between his teeth. He had decided to change, obviously, but Sierra recalled him cursing about forgetting to bring another pair of shoes. His brightly polished dress-shoes picked up the light from the chandelier in the foyer. Above them, he had changed into a comfortable-looking pair of jeans, a plain white button-up shirt and well-cut, dark blue dinner jacket. The coat he was straightening the collar of was, surprisingly, his standard issue dress coat. As he slid his key into his pocket she noticed that he had taken his clusters off the sleeves, as well as his medals that were normally donned on the front of the canvas.

Sierra wondered if he would glance into the bar as he walked by and was not disappointed. She raised her glass to him in a mock salute as he did the mother of all double-takes. He stopped in the foyer and chuckled to himself before stepping into the dimly lit area. Sierra swiveled back to face the bar as he came to lean against it next to her.

"You seriously had me worried," he said glancing over at the bar-tending and ordering a beer.

"Sorry, Sir," she said as she took another mouthful from her glass. Mitchell's glance at her told her he had heard the sarcasm in her voice.

"Come to drown your sorrows?" he asked handing the barman the money for the drink.

Sierra shrugged. "You gonna join me?"

Mitchell gestured to the beer in front of them and shrugged. "I guess I have." He raised his glass to hers and the gently clink of glass on glass sounded like the jingle of medals on a general's chest. They sat in silence for a few moments before Mitchell broke it with a clearing of his throat.

"You never told me you had a brother."

Sierra stared straight ahead. "Does it matter?"

"You just seem to resent him, that's all."

Sierra was silent for a moment. "I don't resent him," she replied finally. "I resent the fact that we don't talk to each other as much as we used to."

"Why is that?"

Sierra turned to him, not liking the fact that he was digging so much into her private life. "Why do you wanna know?"

Mitchell shrugged, idly sipping his drink. "I guess I just wanna get to know you better." Sierra turned back to the bar and threw a glance at him again as he set his beer on the bar top. "I also wanna know why you froze up when Stevenson was killed."

Sierra's attention became very focused on the bar-runner before her as though it would answer for her. She really didn't want to have to explain herself to him of all people. The last thing she needed was him thinking she was weak. Not that he didn't think that already, what with her going to pieces a few days ago.

As though he was reading her mind he said, "It's not a weakness to feel grief when a friend dies, you just picked the worst time to do it."

Sierra drew the symbol for Earth's point of origin in the condensation on the bar top. She shook her head a little and decided that he at least deserved an explanation.

"I haven't been in the field for years. I was a teacher – a damn teacher – and my C.O. practically shoved this opportunity down my throat." She gave a soft snort. "I tried to tell them I'm not the right one for the job."

"Who is, then?"

She gave an almighty sigh and drained the last of her beer. "My brother. Typical, isn't it? He's the one who's the hot-shot pilot, the one who always wanted to fly, and here I am, where he should be."

"And where should you be?"

Sierra turned to him, her temper bubbling at the surface. "Why are you suddenly asking so many questions? Since when have you been so interested in my life?"

Mitchell shrugged and watched her waiting for her answer, as though he didn't doubt it would come.

"In a lecture hall – teaching Advanced Mathematics," she said with a touch of bitter resentment in her voice. She flagged down the bar tender and requested a refill. Mitchell also asked for another, more politely than she had, though.

Her next beer went down quickly, but still felt no ill effects from the alcohol. It was then that she decided to hit the spirits. Mitchell was one behind her. When Sierra started feeling light-headed Mitchell suggested she call it a night. She threw a look that told him that was unlikely to happen.

The bar tender slid her refilled glass toward her with a look at Mitchell. Sierra caught it in her peripheral vision and guessed that the bar-tender was trying to get Mitchell to drag her out of there.

Sierra shrugged a shoulder and drained what was in the glass, almost coughing as the liquor burned her throat on its way down. She slid sideways off the stool, managing to stand without swaying, something that Mitchell seemed impressed at. Sierra smirked at him.

"I drank my younger brother under the table at his twenty-first," she said in way of explanation. She collected her coat from the counter and headed for the door.

"Hey," Mitchell called after her. "Where do you think you're goin'?"

Sierra shrugged. "Dunno. Watch a movie, order Room Service. What do you care?"

In the foyer, Mitchell put a firm hand on her arm and turned her toward him. "'Cause you're my team-mate and we're supposed to watch each other's backs."

Sierra blinked at him. She had forgotten that was the primary mandate of a team. She laughed at her own naivety. That's what you get for spending eight years behind a desk.

Mitchell must have taken her laugh as a laugh at him. He followed her into the lift, his hand on her arm again. "Listen," he said in an angry whisper. "You may be a pain in the ass, Sheppard, but despite that I actually care about you."

Sierra blinked at him. He also seemed to have realized what he said and tried to take it back. She smiled at his discomfort and the fact that he was babbling and did something she probably shouldn't have to shut him up. She kissed him.

As she leant back from him she took in the look of surprise that was plastered on his face. She laughed again as the elevator doors opened onto their floor. She stepped into the hall and watched it spin for a moment. She felt Mitchell's hand on her elbow and turned towards him, catching the flash of desire in his eyes. She wondered if he would be willing to risk his career and follow through on it. The answer he gave her was a yes.

Sierra knew that Mitchell hadn't had as much to drink as she had, so it seemed a little wrong to her that he was the one pushing her against the door of her room. The heat of his body pressing against hers sent shivers down her spine. She tried not to whimper as his tongue explored her mouth with an almost desperate vigor. This was so much more than she expected from someone who was risking his very career. But when everything is at risk, why not go all in? Sierra wondered briefly why she, herself, was so willing to risk a court-marshal. Perhaps she felt that she had nothing to lose. Maybe it was that same sense of unworthiness that filled her when she took this assignment. Maybe he was worth it.

Mitchell's strong arms around her waist pulled her thoughts away from consequences and causes and refocused on the insane passion that was coursing through her veins. An encouraging hand guided hers to the pocket where she had stowed her room key. She broke her lip lock with Mitchell to slide the key card through the lock on the door. She failed the first attempt when his lips slid down her jaw to the inside of her neck. She managed to unlock it on the second, and nearly fell backwards as the door opened behind her. Mitchell managed to hold her up with an arm tight around her waist. Sierra looked up at him as he guided her over the threshold, kicking the door behind him. Her back met the wall again as he rested his forehead against hers, his breathing as labored as hers.

"You OK?" she breathed. He was silent for a moment. "Cameron?"

His eyes darted up to hers, their normal clear, blue depths dark with desire. "We don't have to do this," he said, his voice barely above a growl.

"I know," she whispered back.

"We shouldn't be doin' this," he said with more strength, but at the same moment he slid his hands under her blouse.

"I know." Sierra closed her eyes feeling the heat rise in her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her mouth.

"It probably isn't a good idea."

"I'm not known for those," Sierra said, tugging at his coat. It fell to the floor with a 'fwump'.

Mitchell chuckled, a hearty, warm baritone that made Sierra's heart skip a beat. "Neither am I."

--XXX--

Sierra lay on her back, staring at the ceiling fan. Letting out an explosive sigh she dashed a glance across at Mitchell as he turned away from her in his sleep. As he rolled onto his other side, she felt the arm that had been previously resting across her breasts slide off, leaving her skin cool with exposure. With a twist of her mouth she pulled the bed sheet up further, tucking it under her arms.

She had never been able to sleep in hotels. She had slept in a tree-house when she was ten, under a library desk when she was nineteen, and in the cargo-hold of a C-2A Greyhound in major turbulence when she was twenty-five. But nearly all her life, she had never been able to sleep well in hotels. And tonight was definitely not an exception.

Her head pounded with a hang-over and the memory of what had only finished an hour or so ago. It wasn't normally like her to do something like this. Sure, she'd had a one night thing or two; most people had more than a few under their belts; but this was definitely new. Sleeping with her commanding officer – wasn't that a criminal offence? Hell, yes! She'd never had a problem with maintaining professional relationships with her C.O.'s before, mainly because they were too old, her brother, or just plain asses. But Mitchell was different somehow. She still hadn't figured out why yet.

Glancing over at him now, Sierra couldn't help but admire the breadth of his shoulders, the line of his neck, the way his torso followed down to his slim waist and well-toned legs. She remembered vividly the way his strong arms had circled her waist, pulling her closer to him. She could still feel the way his lips slid down her neck, slightly stubble-covered chin caressing her shoulders and collar bone. It had all re-awoken memories that she had tried so hard to suppress.

It wasn't the fact that she just had sex with her boss that bothered her the most; it was the fact that she hadn't had it that good since Eric.

It was like a slap in the face. In the space of a few hours she had been reminded of all the best moments of her life that she could never bring back. Eric had been her lover, her best friend and her reason for life. If it hadn't been for her brother and the support of both her family and his, she didn't think that she'd have been able to go on.

She had almost convinced herself that after Eric she'd never be able to love again. And she had no idea what this was. Absurdity rose in her as she contemplated the idea of falling in love with Mitchell, but it slowly ebbed as she watched him sleep. She remembered the tenderness he'd shown her during their... encounter, but she also remembered the almost animalistic desire that had driven them both. The worst part of all of this was that right now she was craving more.

Scrunching her eyes shut, she rolled onto her side, facing away from him. She didn't need this right now. She had just attended a funeral, for God's sake. And suddenly she was furious at him. She looked back at Mitchell over her shoulder, anger present on her features. Not that it mattered in the darkened hotel room. How dare he! How dare he take advantage of her state of mind just so he could get his rocks off! She had just attended the funeral of her friend, comforted her crying sisters, and handed the folded flag to her mother. How dare he!

But even as her anger grew, memories played in her mind. It had not been Mitchell who had made the move on her; it had been the other way around. Five beers and two scotches were enough to re-ignite the fires that secretly burned, fuelled by his touch. Sierra grunted in frustration and roughly turned her back on him again. She wished and wished that she could turn back the clock and take it all back.

That was until she felt him roll over towards her. She heard him murmur incoherently as he moved closer to her. His strong arms circled around her waist, his chest pressed against her back and his lips found the back of her neck. His breath stirred a wisp of her hair as he sighed contently. She soon felt him settle and his breathing deepened again. Sierra sighed herself, not as contented, though, and tried to get her pounding heart to slow. This was her own fault; she had set herself up for this fall. But reflecting back on their encounter and feeling the strength and possessiveness he held her with now, she swore that it was worth it.

--XXX--

She didn't know when she fell asleep, but she woke with a slight jolt. The first thing she realized was that early morning Chicago light was filtering through the heavy drapes of the hotel room. The second was that someone was moving his hands over her pale skin. She snapped to the realization that she knew who it was, and with that realization came a sense of dread and apprehension that had plagued her most of the night.

She managed to suppress a shiver as Mitchell's hands moved over her hips and up to her waist. Rolling onto her back, she found that he was propped up on an elbow leaning over her. He gave her a small smile before his eyes were drawn to her lips. She licked them subconsciously, knowing that it was practically an invite for him to kiss her. And kiss her he did.

It started out gentle, almost like a first kiss, tender and warm. Everything a kiss should be. But perhaps it was their undressed states that caused heat to rise so quickly in their kiss. What had started out as something tame quickly turned into a hot and heavy mess of limbs and sheets. And for the second time in twelve hours, Mitchell left her breathless.

When she had managed to regain her breath, she extracted herself from the folds of the sheets, offering Mitchell a small smile but finding it hard to meet his ice-blue gaze. Without a word, she locked herself in the bathroom and nearly scoured herself free of his scent. Weariness overtook her but she knew that she'd be able to catch up on a bit of sleep on the plane trip home. Glancing at the foggy dial of a radio-clock that someone had conveniently placed, she saw that their flight was due to leave in two hours. Meaning, they would have to leave very, very soon.

Sierra groaned with frustration. She turned the water off and toweled herself dry. Wrapping a towel around herself she slid out of the bathroom to an empty room. Hoping that her CO (Sierra couldn't help but cringe at that thought) had left to pack, Sierra took the opportunity to change and re-pack. She carefully tucked her Class-A uniform back into its bag and turned to hang it on the hook behind the door. As she cast her eyes up, she saw that there was a navy-blue sock that had been caught on it. She carefully untangled the sock from the hook and stuffed it into her pocket. She then tried to swallow her heart back down from her mouth.

The cab ride from the hotel to the air-port was probably the most uncomfortable car ride she had ever experienced. And that included the time her father caught her making out with a boy at a school dance. Just before they got into the cab, Sierra had palmed Mitchell the sock she found hanging on her door. It gave her a strange sense of satisfaction as she watched him turn the colour of a tomato.

At least on the plane there was room for her to escape. Not that she was the one who did the escaping. Mitchell spent most of the trip talking to a fellow SGC officer they met in the air-port lounge. Sierra didn't know him, nor did she really want to. All she wanted to do was sleep.

She was jolted awake as they touched down in Peterson two hours later. She had gotten a bit of sleep, but didn't feel as refreshed as she wished she was when dragging her suitcase to the government car and personal driver that were waiting for them. Mitchell placed a hand on her arm, making her pause. They had left the other officer at the gate as his family was there to meet him.

Sierra met his eyes with determination for the first time in hours. His face was shadowed by the same guilt and regret she had been feeling since before they left Chicago.

"Look, Sheppard," he said, clearly struggling for words. "About what happened last night… and this morning, I feel like I should apologize –"

Sierra nearly laughed. "You don't have to say anything, Sir," she said. "It was primarily my doing. I'm sorry I put you in such a difficult position."

Mitchell's eyes went a little wider. "No! You got nothing to apologize for. I shouldn't have… you know." He left his unsaid words wash over her as a wave of guilt: her guilt.

She lowered her head and muttered a quiet apology before sliding into the front seat of the car, effectively cutting herself off from any further conversation. As she watched the town-scape of Colorado Springs pass them by, guilt and shame began to gnaw at her insides. Her heart beat began to race and spots began to fill her vision. In all her life she had never done anything so… stupid! She hoped that this all could be forgotten as a really bad mistake.

She glanced back at Mitchell in the back seat. One look told her that he was as distressed about this as she was. He looked up at her and gave her a small smile. Finally, feeling as though things might end up OK, Sierra returned the smile.

Turning back to the front, she sighed. Things may work out OK, but suppressing the memories of their night in Chicago was going to be a hell of a lot harder than the kiss that started it all.

--XXX--

Sierra stepped into the elevator as she turned on her cell phone. She sighed as she saw that she had missed a call. The number wasn't one she recognized and so she listened to the message with a frown creasing her eyebrows.

"Sierra, hi it's me," started John's surprised voice. "I got you're message last night. Sorry I wasn't home… it's good to hear from you." Sierra winced at the fact that he sounded like he was talking to an old friend from college. Apparently he thought that too. "Shit, sorry, Sierra, I just wasn't expecting you're call." He laughed. "Now I sound like a really bad brother." He paused and she could almost hear him pinch his nose as he sighed. "Look I'm really sorry, but I'm shipping out again tonight. I'll be leaving L.A. by 1400 so if you get this before then –"

Sierra pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the clock on the display – 1510. Her curse echoed around the empty metal box. She quickly put the phone to her ear again.

"- dunno when I'll be back in the States, but I promise we will catch up. Look, I gotta go, cab's here, but I'll call you when I get back. Bye."

Sierra managed to smother a groan of despair. Things just kept getting better and better. She kicked the elevator doors with frustration, only to have them open a second later to reveal a surprised-looking Dr. Jackson.

"Sorry," she muttered as she dragged her suitcase past him and to the door of her temporary quarters. Slamming the door, she stalked over to the bed and collapsed onto it. Seeing as they weren't set to ship out until tomorrow, Sierra kicked off her shoes and crawled beneath the covers. The dreams she had were filled with the past.

--XXX--