Not the 'finding the enzyme' part of surviving, because if there's one thing the Pegasus Galaxy isn't lacking, it's Wraith, but, you know, the other stuff. Like food. And clothes. The basic necessities of life. Those sorts of things.

But, twenty-six years under his belt, eight of those in the military, another twelve under the supervision of his grandparents, and Ford has learned how to survive. How to make the best of what he's got. How to stay alive under 'extreme duress', as they put it in his survival training. How you gotta be able to squeeze more from less, as his grandma always said.

How, according to his grandpa, you had to play to your strengths. How everyone had skills that other people wanted, you just had to know how to market them.

Ford has gotten good at the marketing, because if there's one thing he's learned since leaving Atlantis—heck, since coming to the Pegasus Galaxy—it's that people are pretty damn grateful if you can take care of their friendly neighborhood Wraith. He can't stop a full-on culling, of course, but he can do his part against the raiding parties that are appearing on more and more planets, calculating their 'resources', then staying on to guard their flock. He can save a few lives that way.

Enough to get what he needs, anyway.

Over the last month, he's developed a spiel. He'll go into the nearest town, find the local bar (or eating tent, if the planet is too primitive for a bar or a pub) and say, "I heard through the grapevine that you all might be having a Wraith problem." Because that's the other thing: before he leaves a town, he'll always ask if there's another planet that they know about that's dealing with the raiding parties, too.

They always say yes.

There's always another planet.

Then he'll say, "I might be able to do something about that."

He'll grin, wide and friendly—his grandma always said that his smile was one of his best features. He'll try to look trustworthy, and usually he succeeds. He'll say, "I'll be happy to take care of the problem for you. All I ask for in return is a hot meal."

(That's all he asks for, yes, but most times they give him enough food to last him for a few days.)

Usually, they say yes. They say yes often enough that it's actually a surprise when the bartender on PX2-583 says, "No." It's why Ford is already saying, "Okay, great. Just tell me—" Then he says, "No?"

The bartender nods, picking up a glass and wiping it down. "The other group that came through the Great Circle last week, they took care of the Wraith that were here."

And for an instant, a moment of possible premonition, Ford's heart freezes. He feels his blood go cold, a flutter of breath in the back of his throat. "The other group?" he asks. "A group came through the Gate? Took care of the Wraith?"

The bartender nods. "Yes," he says. "They called themselves 'Atlanteans'. The survivors of a Great Siege on the City of the Ancestors, or so they said." A pause. "Well, most of them were Atlanteans, anyway."

And Ford can't stop himself from asking. "Two of them? By the names of Sheppard and McKay? And the other was an Athosian woman? Teyla?" Ford's breath is still stuttering, catching. He's leaning forward over the bar, too close, he knows. Too interested, so he makes himself pull back. Smile again, all friendly-like. A smile that his grandmother would approve of.

The bartender nods, looking pleased. "You know them then. The three of them and the other."

For an instant Ford feels a sharp ache in his gut, a bruised feeling, like he's been punched, because it's only been a month since he last saw Sheppard. Only two—or is it three?—months since he left. He forces his smile to remain on his face, though, as he says, "And the other, of course. Of course. How could I forget him?"

As he says the words, though, his smile becomes more genuine, because it has been nearly three months since everything and of course Dr. Weir would have made Sheppard pick out a fourth man for his team. Someone to replace Ford. It just wasn't smart to go out into the field with less than four, after all. Especially when one of the team members was a civilian like McKay.

The bartender raises an eyebrow as he says, "He is rather hard to forget, isn't he?" Then he pauses what he's doing, setting the glass back down on the counter. "Actually, they're scheduled to return back through the Great Circle today. Liked our grain, they did. If you know them, maybe you'll be wanting to stay, to say hello."

But Ford can't, can't, his heart freezes at the thought, and he's shaking his head even before the other man stops speaking, no matter that he doesn't have a plausible excuse for leaving. No matter that he has no reason to go. He says, "No, no, I've really got to—" pause "—go. If you don't need my help, then I should be moving on to some place that does, you know?"

As far as excuses go, it sounds flimsy, even to his own ears.

To the bartender, too, apparently because he's narrowing his eyes now, just a bit. "I take it that you'd rather not meet with them then?" he asks slowly, forming each word carefully with his tongue. He's no longer smiling, Ford sees. No longer seems so friendly.

Still, though, Ford nods, even though he's pretty sure that that's the lie.

"Yeah," he says after a beat. "Our last run in wasn't all that pleasant. I'd prefer not to repeat it." And that, at least, is the truth.

The bartender is still looking at him suspiciously, though. Like, if he's not on good terms with Sheppard and his team, then the bartender probably doesn't want to be on good terms with him either. So Ford pushes himself away from the bar and says, "I'll just be heading on my way then. Thanks for the info. Thanks for your time."

And then he's gone, out of the bar, out of town, and on his way back to the Stargate. It's a half hour walk to the Gate, longer if he needs it to take longer, twenty minutes if he speeds, and at first he moves as fast as he can, because he really doesn't want to run into Sheppard and his team, but then he slows, because part of him really does.

He knows that this encounter, if they are to have it, won't end any differently than their last one did. He knows they won't just be content to let him be, but still, he thinks, if he's careful, he could get a look at them. Just see how they're doing without him around. Make sure they're all still in one piece. Check out the new guy; see who it is that Dr. Weir has assigned to Sheppard's team in Ford's stead.

Just get one last look.

He nods to himself as he walks on, slowly now.

Just get one look. That's what he's going to do.

*

There's a cluster of trees and shrubs a few hundred feet from the Gate, across a bit of field, and Ford makes for it as soon as it's in sight. Speeding again, because it wouldn't do for them to dial the Gate now. To come through and see him here like this. But he makes it to the trees without incident, climbs up one of them, perching himself on one thick limb, shifting back so that the leaf cover will hide him from view, and pulling his legs up to his chest. He settles in to wait.

But they don't come, and they don't come, and so of course, just when he thinks that the bartender must have been mistaken, that he got the date wrong, he hears the Gate start spinning. He's too far away to see the details, but he hears the chevrons locking: one, two, four, six, seven. He can see whoosh of the wormhole, the moment of stillness that follows, and then he sees a small figure step out into the field: Sheppard. Then McKay.   Teyla. And then he has a moment to make his predictions about the new guy: big, military. Good with a gun, because Sheppard's team needs that. Explosives also, since that was Ford's specialty and they'll need that, too. Just another soldier, Ford thinks.

But then Ford actually sees the new guy.

Who is not a member of the Atlantis expedition.

Who Ford actually recognizes. From the planet on which Ford had last encountered Sheppard and his team. The one who had fought Ford, and who was now, apparently, on Sheppard's team. Who had taken Ford's place on the team.

Ford watches as Sheppard turns to say something to— probably to McKay, and even though he's too far away to hear anything more than a hint of voices on the gentle breeze, he can picture the indignant look on McKay's face, can almost hear the sure-to-be sharp retort. He wants to see, hear. What he doesn't want to see, though, is the way that the new guy throws his head back, laughing. The way Teyla steps towards him, patting him on the arm. The four of them sharing a joke, like Ford used to share jokes with them.

They don't linger long, though. It's only a few moments later that McKay starts in the direction of the village, Sheppard following close behind, over-taking him. Teyla next, which means that it's the new guy watching their six, just like Ford used to do.

He feels a crawling in his gut as he watches them leave, an itch to go after them, to tell them that he will not be replaced, but he has no choice but to stay where he is. In his tree. Getting his one last look.

Even after they've left, though, he doesn't move, not for several minutes. Not until he can no longer even pretend to hear them. Until he notices the ache of his joints, the way the bark of the tree feels like it's pushing against him in all of the wrong places. Then, reluctantly, he climbs down. He lands on the ground with a muffled thump and starts back in the direction of the Stargate.

After he reaches the DHD, though, after he dials, he turns in the direction that his team had gone and he thinks, I'll show you what you could have had, working on your side. I'll show you what you gave up on.

He takes his one last glance, then turns to the event horizon, walks up to it, and as he steps through it, he thinks, again, I'll show you.

End.