Do I remember Arcturis? You'll excuse me if I don't scratch my head and puzzle through that particularly idiotic question. What do you mean remember? How could I forget? One failure in a lifetime of success, and that one project is everywhere I go.

I think of it every moment of the day. It's there, like the elephant in the room, when Sheppard won't meet my eyes in the staff briefings, when we're on a mission and he relays my orders through Ronon, when I need someone to talk to and I have to turn to Carson.

I think about it every time Radek comes up behind me and pats me on the shoulder with that insufferable 'everything will be alright, buck up' grin of his when he finds me eating yet another meal alone. I think about it when I walk down the hall and John conveniently finds an excuse to go the other way. It was there when he met my gaze in the hall outside the mess, and the emptiness in his eyes was everything.

But mostly, it's there when I close my eyes at night to sleep, and my mind repeats that moment over and again, when I took a hammer to that fragile little world of mine in the form of two simple words. "Trust me," I said. He did, and it was the biggest mistake either of us have made in a long time. So yes, the short answer would be, I remember. And it's because I remember that I'm on this balcony, his balcony, waiting.

It's the fifth balcony on the 18th floor on the south side of the northernmost tower. The sun directly hits this balcony almost every minute of the day, and so it's always a safe bet when he wants to fry himself. It's also in a secluded area of the city, so he can come here when he wants to be alone, which has been almost always lately. Until now, I've respected his privacy, letting him stew and hoping he'd come to me on his own, but now I have to take the initiative. So here I wait.

I'm looking out over the edge, staring into the water he loves so much, turning to the city that's become home to all of us, when the door slides open. I hear him gasp, and I can hear him turning on his heal to go, so I turn. "John."

"Rodney." He's turning again, he wants so much to leave, and I can't blame him.

"Wait," I call, and I'm actually surprised when he does. "I—just…sit," I tell him, gesturing to a table and a set of chairs. "I have some things I need to say…you don't have to say anything—just-just listen."

I have to turn again to the horizon as he sits behind me, steeling myself for all the things I don't know I can tell him. I feel tears coming to my eyes and I can't think why I should be crying. I sniff, wipe at my eyes, and turn back to him. The emptiness is gone, replaced by something I can't quite place, and I can't tell whether or not that's a good thing.

I start out slowly, testing the waters so to speak. "Jo—Shep…uh, Colonel," I lamely settle on. I can't say his name, not to his face like this. "Over the past couple of weeks, it's come to my attention that maybe we haven't been spending as much time together as we used to. I—we, uh…You haven't said a word to me in weeks. You always seem to be busy, and I can only think maybe it's intentional." He gives me one of those looks I always give him when he says something so damned obvious. The tears are welling up in me again, and I still can't think of a reason they should be there. Oh, that's a lie. I miss him, miss how we used to be, laughing and talking and being friends.

"John," I start again, finally bringing myself to say his name. "I see you living your life like nothing even happened." I pause for a moment, but carry on fiercely, determined not to let my head get in the way of what needs to be said. "Except it did happen, you know? I screwed up, betrayed your trust and almost got us killed. But that was weeks ago. I won't pretend to know what that was like for you, but I can understand that you were hurt and angry, and going through whatever the hell it is that you're supposed to feel in that kind of situation. But now you're avoiding me like the Wraith, and why the hell can't we just be okay again? Why can't Arcturis just be in the past?"

He stands and I'd think he was leaving, but for the look on his face. "Because it did happen, Rodney, and it's not in the past yet, that's why!" He's shouting at me, but I can barely hear. "I can't let this go yet! It could've been a lot worse, because we both screwed up! I can't forgive you, and I can't forgive myself. Not yet," he finishes quietly.

The tears are fighting again for a control I never really had, and I'm crying in front of him, which is something I always promised myself would never happen. "Why? Why did you do it? You could've, should've said no. Sure, I would have been angry, but I think you know me well enough to know that I like getting angry." He's staring again, watching me fall apart and not even pretending to pick up the pieces. "Dammit, John, how can you just sit there? Say something, damn you, answer me! How could you trust me?"

I'm on my knees, but only because I can no longer stand. I just know he thinks I'm begging. I want to shout, to curse him until I pass out, but I don't have the heart for it. I can barely see through the tears, but was that the smallest flicker of compassion? He stands, and I expect to hear the door slide open, but he's crossed the balcony, kneeling before me, hands on either shoulder. It all took more out of me than I thought, and I collapse into him. There is the barest whisper of "You earned it," before he reaches out and wipes the tears from my eyes. His hands are rough and warm and draw away all too soon.

I swallow around the lump that's found its way into my throat. I look up into those eyes, his beautiful eyes shining with barely contained tears of his own, and he seems somehow more human, less the all powerful Sheppard-god, more the lost colonel I could almost fall for if I weren't always getting in my way.

Something happens then, some barely perceptible shift in the way he stares at me, and everything is okay. No, more than okay, everything's wonderful as he unbuttons my jacket, throwing it to the wind. I peel the black t-shirt off his chest, and after a few more articles of clothing are removed in a flurry of motion, we're together, finally together in the way I think we always should have been.

Many hours later, we lay spent on that same balcony, both of us panting under the weight of our respective chests. I turn my head so that I'm facing him, and that indescribable something is back in his eyes. "Does this mean you forgive me?"