A/N: This is the third vignette in the Lamentations series and takes place after "Lifeline," so there are spoilers!The fourth and final part of the series will be up shortly.

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis or any of her characters.

"And all the winds go sighing, for sweet things dying…"

–Christina Rossetti

He had never been good with people; his mother had once joked that Jeannie had gotten all the genes in that department. If it was ever discovered that such a gene cluster existed, he was sure he'd be diagnosed with a major disorder. Most of the time his lack of social skills didn't bother him as his brain was a valuable enough resource for most to overlook that particular flaw in his character; but sometimes, just sometimes he wished he could understand other humans, or at least be able to relate to them. There were no laws that dictated emotions and feelings, no equations he could use to solve problems of the heart; and it frustrated him to no end.

Before joining the Atlantis expedition he hadn't had to deal with the constant threat of danger hanging over his and his coworkers' heads; things had gotten dicey once or twice when working with the MARK generation of nuclear generators, but no one had ever been seriously injured. The few times he'd been called upon to save a fellow being's life, he had been so focused on the problem that he'd forgotten about the poor soul he was trying to help. Back then, it had been easy for him not to care, but relocating to another galaxy had changed his views, put things in perspective. She had been a major factor in his transformation; she was always so kind to everyone, not in the superficial way that a lot of people were, but genuinely nice. She had put up with him, liked him, cared about him even; and that was rare for him. She was a good leader and one of the few individuals he actually respected; but more than that, she was his friend. The first time he'd ever thought about another human being before himself was when he'd placed himself in between her and an invader's gun. He found himself more and more willing to do that lately, for these co-workers who had become so much more. He had a real family for the first time since he'd left his own behind; he even had a beautiful, sweet, understanding girlfriend who was somehow able to like him for who he was.

She had been the one who'd opened the door for him, who had inadvertently made him want to be a worthier person just by being herself. He owed her everything; and yet somehow, time and time again, he'd failed to let her know that.

Now it was too late.

He decided that he would work harder at telling people how much they meant to him. And there again, she was still helping him improve; she didn't even have to be on the same planet to have an influence on him.

She brought out the best in him; and as selfish as it sounded, that was why he couldn't let her die.

He sometimes wondered if she'd ended up wishing he had.

It killed him to know he was ultimately to blame for her capture. If only he'd listened to Sheppard…

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions." That had been his grandmother's favorite adage. He only wished he hadn't had to learn just how true that saying was at her expense. He never would have guessed it would be his good intentions that would lead to her hell. If those machines had ended up killing her, then his saving her life would have been an act of unparalleled cruelty. To have visited such an act on the selfless woman who had helped him become a better man than he'd ever hoped to be…it would plague him with guilt for the rest of his days.

It almost felt as though he'd lost his direction, like all of them had, really. Dealing with the loss of a leader was hard, but dealing with the loss of a great leader had almost broken them. The only reason the expedition had been able to go on was because of the strong foundation she'd laid, and the people she'd left behind who wouldn't let her legacy fail. Still, people were finding it hard to cope; it felt like the cohesiveness, their purpose, the oneness of mind that had driven them was missing. He suspected it was because, in a way, she was a big part of that purpose; the common denominators in all of their goals were Atlantis and her keeper.

Tension and strained voices filled many of the city's hallways and rooms. He tried to do his best to fill the awkward silences with scientific explanations and mindless anecdotes, but he didn't know how to fix the heartache and disorientation. He had finally found a problem he didn't know how to solve; and while his inability to unravel human emotions was as frustrating as ever, his underlying feeling was one of profound sadness. He felt like a failure, yes, but more importantly he felt like he had failed her…again.

Maybe time would find a way to do what he could not; perhaps it was the variable needed to solve the equation, or maybe it was the constant. All he knew was that the situation was out of his hands, and that was hard enough to admit. He had spent his whole life relying on himself to get through problems, and he had almost reached the point where he believed he held all of the answers. This experience taught him that he didn't and never would. Humbled, he had to learn to believe in something other than himself and the science he held so dear, to trust that there were other forces at work in the universe; he had to hope that those forces would heal them, or maybe even bring her back.

He had to have faith in the unknown.