Chapter One: A Meeting and a Revelation

Colonel John Sheppard stood on the edge of the small balcony staring at the arching bridge spread out before him. He sighed and stretched out, his eyes scanning the horizon. They were back, Atlantis was here, they'd arrived 'home'.

So why didn't he feel like it?

It was twilight now, with the sky slowly darkening and faint stars beginning to show. Everyone else had headed to bed ages ago, the eight of them, him, Woolsey, Rodney, Ronon, Amelia, Teyla, Jennifer and Carson had sat on the pier for hours, talking, laughing and – for once, just letting life pass by. The Wraith Hive had been destroyed and the Earth was safe. He'd thought that was enough.

John clenched his fists, hunching over the cold railing as a wave of unexpected pain washed through him, almost forcing him to his knees with the power of it.

He'd killed Todd. Murdered him most would say. After the ally had come and warned them of the danger, after he had supplied the ZPM's that saved John's planet and its entire people he had just killed him.

John was soldier, it was his job to fight, to defend, to protect. He didn't lie in bed crying every night after he'd taken a life; if he did that it would have destroyed him a long time ago.

So why was he so bothered about Todd? He'd lied and betrayed and manipulated them, if John hadn't got to him first, would only be a matter of time before the Wraith returned to stab him in the back. Sure he'd done it in cold blood, not in self-defence or in the heat of battle or natural reflex. The action had been planned, coolly calculated but HE HAD DONE THE RIGHT THING.

Or that's what he had to keep telling himself.

John closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the rail, trying to erase the image seared behind his lids. It was done now, over. Whether right or wrong there was no way he could turn back the clock. If he could that wouldn't be the first thing he'd change.

"I'm a killer," he thought numbly, "sure, I've saved a few lives but there's no way that could make up for everything else I've done."

He stood there drowning in hate and self-loathing. He'd just saved the world, saved millions – billions of families, friends and loved ones, but that didn't change a thing for him, not now, not inside, because no matter how much you tried to make up for the mistakes of the past, it never left you. He'd learnt that along time ago.

John forced himself to think back over that revelation, when had it begun, when had the guilt and the doubt first begun to truly catch up with him?

After Afghanistan definitely, Nancy leaving had something to do with it, though he never realised that at the time. Maybe after so much time watching his friends get massacred before his own eyes, helpless to do anything about it was when it really hit home. Even in Antarctica – the wild, lonely, beautiful landscape of Antarctica – he had never been truly content.

Content...what an unusual concept. He hadn't been content for a long time, well...not on Earth anyway.

John's mind wandered back to that time after leaving Earth, the years in a war torn, blood-thirsty, hard and bitter galaxy. Fighting against enemies that would haunt most people's worst nightmares and battling terrible odds that would have most humans fleeing for cover.

He frowned, opening his eyes again though they were still fuzzy and out of focus, unable to believe what he'd known was true for a long time:

It was in those horrific, petrifying, mind-blowing, incredibleyears, that he – he'd...*he'd felt content again.* It was when he'd been trapped in a horror movie, in a terrifying dream, that he had begun to believe in himself again, to learn himself, to let things go...to like himself.

That just proved there was something wrong with him.

John refused to admit why he had gone spiralling downwards into the old catalyst of hate again, why he had lost that new path he'd been following and wandered lost and alone back to the other one. He refused to admit why, in the last two years he had once more began to become someone he loathed and detested. Why he had slammed the protective armour around his heart shut and rebuilt the wall surrounding it.

He knew but he wasn't going to admit it.

Faces flicked through his mind; air force officers, children, colleagues'. The faces of those he'd left behind; of those he'd failed.

His subconscious lingered on the last one longest of all, examining every detail that had been stored away in his soul, now it wasn't there for real life.

That facewas the reason he had become not the man who ended lives rather than saving them. If that face had still been there, now, beside him; then maybe just maybe he could be the type of man that did good for the world instead of evil. Who could love and live a life full of joy and not hate.

As it was, that future had been slowly dragged out of his reach as surely as she had been.

John shrugged and pulled away from his stance on the railing, he should probably head to his quarters, the team had been ordered to return to Stargate Command tomorrow; there was a lot of stuff to get through.

The next morning, SGA-1, Jennifer and Carson met in Woolsey's office, preparing for their return to America; even Teyla and Ronon had been ordered to attend the debriefing, not only to discuss the recent events but to sort out the future as well. What was going to happen to Atlantis now?

It was like being back at school with the teacher preparing for an inspectors visit. "Just remember," Woolsey was saying, "the IOA are extremely thorough, they will demand the reasoning behind each and every one of your decisions. Make sure you are prepared and don't give them any chance to catch you slipping up, because I assure you – they will try."

"Uh, correct me if I'm wrong," John began, "but until the last year, weren't you the one sitting on the other side of the table, demanding explanations for our actions?"

Woolsey coughed awkwardly and polished his glasses, "well yes, to a certain extent I was seeing looking at things from a slightly different, ahem, perspective. This gives me a rather, good experience of how these meetings are...managed."

John rolled his eyes and Ronon grunted. Woolsey frowned, "nevertheless I expect you all to behave with utmost propriety."

Teyla nodded reassuringly, "it will be fine Mr Woolsey," she promised him sincerely.

"Good, good," Woolsey paused and shoved his glasses firmly back onto his nose, "well," he said, standing up and looking each and every one of them in the eye. "I guess this is it then."

Almost four hours later John collapsed in his room with a groan. The SGC certainly didn't believe in going easy on you, not so much of a "hey, hello, what have you been up to," before shoving them all in a intimidating and scarily clean room with a long table that looked like it used a whole warehouses' supply of polish everyday just to keep it shiny enough for him to use as a mirror.

At least Sam had been there as well; softening the IOA's blows a little and Doctor Jackson had turned up halfway through which made thing more interesting but even so... they'd just saved the planet, couldn't the damn people cut them a bit of slack?

John thumped his head on the pillow and stared at the blank grey wall, wishing he'd brought his Johnny Cash poster.

On the bright side at least he'd been given the afternoon off, so they could get used to being on his "Home Planet" again. John unzipped his backpack and reached for a scrap of paper shut inside the rather battered copy of War and Peace. He glanced at what was written on it and headed for the door –the team could eat lunch without him today; there was something he had to do.

And it might take a while.

Late that afternoon he drew up outside a large, stately looking house opposite a park, it spoke of money and wealth and prestige, but looked welcoming as well; built in large warm coloured bricks and a sweet smelling wood-panelled door with a silver knocker, carved into the shape of a bear. The small front garden was a riot of flowers and the hedge was perfectly trimmed, with a small black iron gate set deep in the middle of the thick green leaves. He swallowed and got out, fiddling with his trademark Atlantis military jacket. He really should have changed before he left – and done something with his hair. "Still, here we go," John muttered to himself, slamming the car door shut.

The first person to greet him at the door was actually a large white dog, "Hey boy!" He said in surprise, automatically bending down to ruffle his ears, "you're Sedgwick, I'm guessing."

"You've obviously heard of him then," a voice above him said.

John swallowed and stood up awkwardly. "Mrs Weir?" He said. "Uh, I worked with your daughter, Doctor Weir. My name is–"

"Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard." She finished for him, a slight smile hovering around her lips. "Do come in, it's rather cold out there and Sedgwick looks like he's eager to make a new friend. I'll put the kettle on and he can use your feet as a hot water bottle."

John glanced at Mrs Weir as she poured them drinks. She was quite a short woman but still cut a striking figure in her black trousers and cashmere sweater. Although her skin was wrinkled it was creamy and soft with grey hair framing her cheerful features; neat, cut short and not a curl out of place. But it wasn't only in the hair that he could see the resemblance to Elizabeth. Both of them had the same perfect poise and fluid grace when they walked, that inner confidence that you just noticed, though they seemed unaware of it. Mrs Weir was older of course but hadn't lost the self-assertive dignity that you could read in every detail of her posture. He swallowed a lump in his throat; sure that Elizabeth would have aged with just as much grace as her mother – if she'd had the chance.

"Out of curiosity," John asked, tearing his mind away from unwelcome memories. "How did you know who I was?"

Mrs Weir smiled as she passed him a mug, "my daughter mentioned you, you know – in her letters. You were obviously working quite closely together and she admired you greatly, though you do squabble a lot with a certain Rodney McKay."

John grimaced, "There was no hope in keeping that quiet I guess," he said.

Mrs Weir laughed, "It sounded like Elizabeth had her hands full making sure you two kept out of trouble. She could never tell me where she was of course, or what she was doing, but believe me; the stories I heard when she visited!"

John smiled uncomfortably, astounded that she could still talk so openly about her deceased daughter; he'd expected his visit would trigger resentfulness, pain, grief, even blame, but she seemed quite calm and composed, perfectly relaxed to be talking with him.

"Trust me, she had her diplomatic skills stretched to the limit when she was dealing with us," he sighed.

Mrs Weir's lips quirked, "I'm sure she managed. My Elizabeth always had a scalding tongue on her when she needed one."

"I experienced that first hand,' John admitted, "but...she...she dared to negotiate with the most unexpected people." He paused, remembering the Genii.

"That was her." Mrs Weir agreed. "I always knew she was destined to go into politics one day, she was argumentative even as a child."

"I can imagine," John replied, grinning slightly, "Every time we got into an argument I found it hard to keep up with her it got so confusing. Sometimes I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, just that it sounded good and she was probably right – as always."

Mrs Weir let out a low chuckle, "I know what you mean," she said, "She could take her father on by the time she reached fifteen." She sighed and gazed into her tea, swirling in the cup, "I miss her so much."

John's heart sank; they'd reached the point that he'd hoped he could avoid. He took a gulp of his drink, unsure of what to say. "I miss her too," He whispered, "A lot of people do." He stopped and went on uncertainly "and uh, I just want you to know, that I really am sorry about your loss. She was an incredible woman and nobody regrets her death more than I do." He clenched his mug, "but trust me Mrs Weir, Eliz – Doctor Weir is remembered."

Mrs Weir poured herself another cup of tea; "I wondered when we would reach this particular issue." She said, scratching Sedgwick's head. "Sweetheart, I'm not quite sure how to put this but;" She paused, "my daughter isn't dead."

John gripped his mug tighter; he'd seen this before, in the families of soldiers who had died in battle: Denial.

"Mrs Weir –" He started. But she cut him off.

"Caroline please." She said firmly, "Now I know what you're going to say: that I'm refusing to believe the inevitable and sticking my head in the sand, hoping all the troubles will go away. Many other people have told me the same thing, but I know what I feel. Elizabeth isn't dead; if she was I would be able to tell. My daughter is still alive Colonel and she will come back; against all the odds. Trust me."

"With all due respect Caroline," John said quietly, "I saw her death with my own eyes. There is no possible way she could have survived; otherwise, I would have saved her."

The woman opposite him narrowed her eyes, "I notice you don't actually say what your true feelings are about the subject, just what you saw a proof." She stopped and sighed, "Sweetheart; I can tell you were close to Elizabeth and cared about her deeply and she obviously felt the same way about you; so I am telling you Colonel. Don't depend on your eyes as the only source of truth."

She stopped briefly again and continued. "Dear, I'm going to tell you something that very few people have heard, so listen carefully." She sipped her drink, gathering strength. "A while ago, when my mother died, I knew she was gone; aware of it before the news even arrived. Don't ask me how, but I just felt that she'd left me, had been sent, as they say; to a better place. It wasn't easy but I mourned and I grieved and moved on. However when a Doctor Daniel Jackson and General O'Neill came and told me that Elizabeth had been killed I felt nothing. Not like I had lost part of myself, not that there was something missing, just the same as ever. That is how I know Elizabeth isn't dead."

"But –"

"I don't care what you saw," she said, her voice sharp, "I don't have any knowledge of what she was she was doing at the time or how she was lost but that is all she is; lost. And she will be found. Maybe she might even work with you again, I'm not sure. But my daughter will return, and –" here Caroline leaned forward slightly.

"And I think that deep down you believe that too Colonel, I've seen it in your eyes. Don't give up on her yet. You said you would have saved her, well you still can, instead of waiting for her to return, bring her back, she's out there, we just have to be patient and trust her."

John opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out; he shut it and looked at the carpet. She was Elizabeth's mother alright, the only person ever been known to out-argue him and leave him speechless.

"I'll go and make us another cup," Caroline said, sounding slightly embarrassed. She left the room leaving John deep in thought.

They talked for a while longer, relieving memories of Elizabeth. John told what he could of what she'd done in Atlantis without revealing the exact location and details and Caroline accounted endless stories of her childhood. Indeed everywhere in the house there were signs of Elizabeth. Photo's, pictures, awards. John fought hard to keep down the still-constant lump in his throat; in time maybe she would have shown him this herself. She'd spoken a little of her family and been sensitive about his obvious silence around his, but now he wished with all his heart he'd asked more, offered more. But it was too late.

Wasn't it?

When he finally left a couple of hours later with Sedgwick twined around his legs and promises to come back soon, Caroline whispered in his ear. "Remember what I said Colonel. She'll come back; you just have to open up that military mind of yours." She kissed his cheek lightly, "think about it."

John did think about it. Obsessively. On the whole long drive back to Stargate Command, the thoughts and conflicting emotions whirled around in his mind. Making his head ache, and heart bruised from beginning to beat again at a speed it hadn't reached for almost two years, fuelled by suppressed hope. He plodded along the quiet corridors, barely replying to the rare greeting, unable to shake of the words pounding through his brain "she'll come back, she'll come back, she'll come back..."

Curled up in bed hours later they were still playing over and over. It must be past one now and John still couldn't sleep. He turned over and gazed up in to blackness. It was all wrong. In Atlantis there was always light and sound, reassuring and steady. The glow of the twin moons would shine through the flimsy curtains and clear windows making flickering shadows on the wall and ghostly silhouettes on the carpet. Some would find it unsettling even spooky, but John could watch for hours. The noises, irritating at first, but once you got used to them like a song playing in the background, mostly unnoticed though unconsciously enjoyed and when shut off; sudden, abrupt loss.

Here it was different. Black and silent. Like a tomb. No windows to show you the whole world out there, that you weren't totally alone and forgotten by everyone. No breath taking views that could refresh you in just a short, snatched moment.

And no balconies. If John really couldn't sleep when he was back in Pegasus he would always crawl out from under the covers and pad out to one of the many decks. He would lean against the railings, his hands gripping the cold metal and gaze out over the ocean; a gleaming sheen of pale silver, sparkling subtly under the dark night. He could see Atlantis's smooth reflection, as if it was floating on a moving mirror, identical except for the faintest ripple, causing the image of sturdy towers and lighted windows to shimmer and he would realise actually, all of it, every building and pier and spire was as insubstantial as mist.

Looking up at the patterns of glowing lanterns of light amidst the blackness, John would play the game he remembered from childhood, making shapes and pictures from the stars. He used to pick the stars and name them after his family, giving one to his brother, one to his father and one for his mum before moving onto friends and extended relatives. His father had taught him the constellations, the Greek myths and legends and John would recount the stories; Orion, Pegasus of course. And Andromeda.

She'd always been one of the most famous, the story of a princess so beautiful and pure that the jealous sea god had ordered her to be chained to a rock and left her to the wild oceans. Everyone gave her up to death before a young hero; Perseus struck by her beauty saved her and flew her away.

Now John had started to do it differently. The Ancients had made their own constellations of course, but something both he and Rodney had agreed on was how bad they were at naming things. So on those quiet, silent nights John would create his own. Take stars and planets (some which he had been to) and form a tapestry in the sky.

There was one constellation though, that John's eyes strayed to more than others. A cluster of stars which seemed – to him – to form an outline of a woman. Graceful and slender with bright eyes and flowing hair. The name had chosen itself. Elizabeth.

John wasn't a storyteller but that constellation had come with a history of its own. A story of a life that told of adventure and discoveries and courage and friendship. Some would say it was a tragedy but to John it was a legend. And as long as she was there, hanging in the sky, looking down on him, John could feel peace. Looking up at her, at her profile he could feel pure, perfect joy that he had rarely felt anywhere else since Elizabeth had left.

Elizabeth wasn't here though. Not in the SGC, though John knew she'd been commander there. And not anywhere on Earth.

He'd lost her, left her behind, abandoned and alone in Pegasus. And now he was suffocating under the mound of Earth, burying him in mind and body.

"She'll come back, she'll come back, she'll come back..." "Shut up!" He groaned, banging his head on the pillow. She was gone. She was never coming back. He thought he'd accepted that by now. He'd failed. And she was dead because of it. He may never forgive himself, but he thought he'd allowed himself to give up.

Because that was easier than to keep hoping.

Yet now, thanks to her mother, that hope, which he thought he'd finally stamped out, was blazing anew.

"She'd dead!" John told himself, "she'd dead and she's not coming back." He turned over once more and settled his head on the pillow, willing sleep to overtake him.

It didn't. After barely a minute John gave a desperate sigh, flung the covers back and struggled out of bed. Stumbling across the floor he flicked on the switch and blinked in the harsh light that flooded the room. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered to himself as he grabbed his bag and rummaged around inside. Drawing out his copy of War and Peace yet again he flicked through it feverishly, until he found what he was looking for – it was amazing how much stuff he had hidden in here. The piece of paper was even more worn than the last, though less crumpled. John sank down onto the bed again and stared at it wordlessly.

It was a photo of the Atlantis team; taken just after they returned to the city after first the Ancients, then the Replicators took it. They'd just dragged all their stuff back in and were in the midst of unpacking; John remembered that even Rodney grumbled less than usual about all of the "heavy labour." Zelenka had whipped out a camera and insisted of taking a photo of the return.

The gate stood behind them solid and unmoving, even after everything it had gone through; Ronon was leaning against the outer edge of it, still talking to Teyla and trying to ignore the lenses while Radek yelled at him in Czech to look in his direction.

Teyla was on the inside of the arch, bending over to lift one of the boxes, her vivid hair flung over one shoulder as she glanced over at the camera, her face lit by a small smile.

Rodney and Carson were crouched in front of Ronon; attempting to clean up some equipment Rodney had spilt in a rare effort to help, there were papers and folders everywhere and both of them wore mixed expression of amusement and irritation as the flash of the camera caught them by surprise.

John's eyes trailed over to the other side of Teyla, under the centre point of the Stargate's perfect curve, where he and Elizabeth were. You could tell the sun was setting outside the gate room, shooting through the surrounding windows so golden rays of sunlight danced and criss-crossed around them so they looked as if they were floating in a beam of light. The two of them were standing close together and facing Radek but obviously pausing in the middle of deep conversation. Elizabeth was laughing, her head tilted up slightly, so you could see the sparkle in her clear, green eyes and glint of her glossy hair, spilling down over her shoulders. He was grinning too with obvious satisfaction, his face missing the deep bags under his eyes that had become a constant land mark now.

John's eyes stayed on that image for a long time, drinking in every detail of the perfect joy in that captured moment until his vision blurred and his eyes stung. He blinked, still focused on her laughing face.

The horrific truth hit him once more; pain overtook his entire mind, crippling him.

Elizabeth wasn't coming back.

Tears began to build up in his eyes and he hurriedly blinked them away. "Shut up John!" He hissed furiously, "There's no point crying about it now!" He ripped his gaze away from the photo and closed his eyes, blood drumming in his head. What – what if Elizabeth's mother was right? What if Elizabeth wasn't dead? That she could come back? Stranger things had happened; Carson for instance, killed in the explosion and then returned to them in the form of a clone. Ronon, no one could quite explain was happened there. He'd read mission reports of the Gou'ald sarcophagus, a box that literally brought back the dead. Even he, himself, fed on by a Wraith and then given the years of his life back he was so sure he'd lost forever. Was it so improbable that Elizabeth could make it too?

For a moment John allowed himself to imagine it; Elizabeth returning, taking control of the city again, moaning at him about finishing all his paperwork. Even that vision seemed idyllic compared to now; she certainly didn't whine as much as Woolsey.

No. John couldn't depend on that. He couldn't waste his life waiting for her; he didn't want that and she wouldn't either.

So...what if he didn't have to wait for her? What if he could go and get her himself? John had never been one for just sitting there; thinking, theorizing; that was Rodney's department. He had to do something; actions not words. So what could he do now?

Once that thought had taken hold of him he couldn't let it go; there had to be a way, there always was. He just had to find it.

John leapt up and paced up and down the small room, his mind spinning out of control, running through the possibilities.

They'd met her clone, the year before last. It – she was dead though, had to be. Could there be anymore out there? No. Impossible.

Her real body was destroyed. The replicators had transferred her consciousness into a different form. She'd then abandoned that when trying to ascend. No way of getting either of those back, besides it was her he wanted; not the empty shell.

She'd hacked into Atlantis's system and built FRAN, which had been a replicator. John had never been sure it was really her right until the last minute; but the look in her eyes as she stepped through the gate, told him it was really Elizabeth behind those alien features. That body was frozen out in space. Useless.

Racking his hands through his already messy hair, John slumped against the wall. "Happy now?" He raged to himself, "All you've done is proved to yourself how completely and utterly *dead* she is. Even Rodney can't figure a way out of this and you know he's tried, why do you think you could all of a sudden?" He slid to the floor, staring at the grey carpet.

Suddenly it struck him; so totally and utterly obvious that he couldn't believe no one had thought about it before.

Elizabeth was a replicator. Yes she was stuck in space but that didn't mean she was dead. Right now, she was a machine, and for a machine all you had to do was turn it on...

He sat up, his fists clenched. Would it work? Was that it? All they had to do was reactivate her nanites? John thought back to Niam. They'd done the same thing with him when he'd been sucked out into space and Rodney had reactivated his nanites. He'd been too easy to wake up in fact.

"Alright then, if it's so simple, why hasn't this come up before?" Another part of his mind asked. John was silent, still for a minute. He knew why. They hadn't wanted too. She'd come and gone so many times now; no one could take it anymore. They'd just shut down and abandoned her.

Including him.

John sighed and ruffled his hair again. A sudden calm had come over him though his heart was still racing. He was going to get Elizabeth back. Sure he'd have to face up to Woolsey, the IOA, General Landry, heck even his own team. But dammit, he would try. He yawned, suddenly exhausted, mentally and physically. He glanced at the photo again and smiled, flicking off the light and climbing into bed once more.

He was going to bring Elizabeth home.

For the first time in two years, John Sheppard went to sleep with a smile on her face.

She was coming back.