A/N: To give you all an idea of what kind of sadist the Major Lorne in my head is, I woke up at 06:30 (about 4 hours before my usual wake up time) with a scene playing in my head that he put there. I doze off. It starts up again with even more detail at 07:30. Then he makes me watch it again at 08:30 and again at 09:30.

All of this was on a work day, mind you.

So I drag my exhausted butt out of bed early and head to my computer to write out this one little scene he was demanding. Oh no, that's not good enough. He spends the rest of the day demanding I come up with a story to go with it. Great, lovely. Buckets of fun. So, here I am twelve hours after I started writing this and ready to put it up here. I'm almost willing to hire an assassin to take him out at this point. Anything so I can just get one good night's sleep.

I hope you all enjoy!


Prologue

Sheppard stared down at the man in the bed. He was hooked up to so many monitors, tubes, and equipment he almost didn't seem human anymore. Watching the chest rising and falling in that steady, controlled rhythm Colonel Sheppard took in the inhumanly pale features of his second in command, Major Lorne. What was left of the man, anyway. Looking at him now, it seemed there was nothing left of the lively, cheerful man he had known. And, if Doctor Beckett was right, there might not be.

He just couldn't reconcile this image of Major Lorne to the one he had seen only two days before. Retelling the story of an acutely embarrassing off-world incident for one of his teammates, the man had been laughing almost hard enough to fall out of his chair in the mess hall. So had most of the rest of his team and everyone else gathered to listen. But now there was just him, lying there, so frighteningly still. For a brief moment Sheppard wanted to go over there and shake the man, demanding he wake.

In the silence of the infirmary's ICU, the ventilator and other equipment seemed almost too loud. With each continued hour Lorne spent in that coma the likelihood of the man they all knew returning seemed less and less likely. He knew he was drawing attention, just standing there staring. But he didn't care. He didn't know what else to do. For once he was helpless to do anything. Even Beckett was helpless. It was up to Lorne now, if he was still in there. And he had less than day before all life support would be cut off.

Sheppard still recalled those first, heart stopping minutes that had lead up to this.

"Hang in there, Major. We'll get you back to Beckett, and he'll have you patched up in no time."

"Yes, sir."

Sheppard could still see the terror in the Major's eyes, even if not his expression, once they both realized where he'd been hit. But the man gave none of it away in his voice. He had absolute faith in his commanding officer. That faith never wavered, even later when they both knew how this would end.

"It's okay, John. Just tell my sister…"

"Tell her yourself, Evan, 'cause we're getting you out of here!

"Yes, sir."

Silently cursing himself for the hundredth time since this whole mess started, Sheppard turned away. He just couldn't anymore. He knew he would suffer for the lack of sleep tomorrow as his duties continued unabated. But he couldn't spend another night in his quarters tossing and turning, unable to get the image of Lorne in the ICU out of his head.

He was so preoccupied with those memories, that he didn't even realize where he was until he found himself standing outside the door. He knew why he was here. He just didn't want to admit it to himself. For a while he just stood there. He couldn't even summon the anger that had buffered him for this long. Not even thinking at all anymore, he overrode the door lock to Major Lorne's quarters.

And there it was, staring back at him.

Sheppard couldn't see anything else in the room. He was so fixated on that one object, nothing else existed. It was the envelope. He'd known for a long time that that was Evan's way of dealing; his preparation for what they all expected, but hoped would never happen. Everyone had something. This envelope and the three sheets of paper inside were Evan's.

Taking a deep breath to steady his hands, John opened the unsealed envelope. All he could hear was his heartbeat as he held his breath, standing there, reading Lorne's neat handwriting on the first page. He knew he was supposed to. He knew that's why Evan had mentioned it, even if there had been too much blood in his lungs by that point to finish the sentence. Reading the contents now, he understood. A part of him had always known the man he trusted with his life kept these papers. A lot of people did. But most never shared them; never dared to share that part of themselves with anyone, in life or in death.

I'm not sure who's reading this now, but I wanted to start by saying thank you. I'm assuming I'm either gone or incapacitated, but it doesn't matter. All that matters right now is that you read these. Remember them, because I can't anymore. I just wanted—

No, John thought to himself, refusing to do this now.

There was still a chance. His friend and SiC could pull through this. He wasn't going to give up on the man, yet. Carefully he folded the papers and then slammed the envelope angrily back down on the bedside table. Leaving the bedside table lamp on, he exited the room.