Brigadier General John Sheppard stepped out of the Stargate with practiced ease. As soon as his feet touched Atlantian soil, he could breathe again. The trips to earth were nauseating at best, sickening at worst. Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked around the Gate room at the Marines.

"At ease," he said. They lowered their weapons instantly and he stepped forward. Instantly his eyes went up to see Dr. Elizabeth Weir looking down at him. Their eyes met and both looked away instantly. John closed his eyes briefly as if in pain. Elizabeth's deep green eyes had turned cold and hard, something that bothered him more than he'd admit to anyone.

Atlantis was home, but now it was a somber one. Ronon's death had left a gaping hole in the fabric of their world. He had no idea how used to the great warrior he had become until he was gone, a sentiment he was sure most of Atlantis shared.

He wanted to cry.

Really, really wanted to break down and sob. If he thought it would bring Elizabeth to him he'd do it right there, but he knew it would not and Brigadier Generals did not cry. Tugging uncomfortably at the neck of his uniform, he wished he was back in his room right then. He hated formal wear, especially when the uniform was for an occasion like the one that just happened.

He had been promoted.

It had been some attack and his anger combined with his enhanced abilities meant he had killed off the Wraith single-handedly, saved his entire team and rescued two Athosian prisoners of war. He had been summoned to SGC where a team awaited with his new rank and Champaign that tasted like poison to him. He had thrown himself through the Stargate, desperate for true emotion other than their falsehood. How could they celebrate when Ronon had been dead for less than a full month? But he had kept his emotions under control with a surprising amount of success.

"Brigadier General?" Teyla's face was plainly confused, "it sounds odd."

"Especially with my name after it," he muttered, "how are you?" he asked, concern in his eyes.

"Better," Teyla said honestly. John accepted it, even if her eyes told him differently, "how was earth?"

"Boring," he said, just as honest, "got you something," he added pulling something from his pack. He had contacted SGC with a list of things he needed. They had obliged their new Golden Boy. He offered Teyla the parcel wrapped in brown paper. She shot him a questioning look and opened it.

Inside was a leather bound journal. The leather was a deep tan, almost an exact match for Ronon's coat. For the first time in a while, Teyla did not feel her eyes well up. Her hands did shake slightly as she pulled open the inside and looked at the blank pages.

I hate shrinks too,

Hope this helps

J.S.

Teyla smiled. It was small and timid, as if she were afraid to smile, but she did. John was proud of her and clasped her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said turning to go, book clutched to her chest, "oh do not forget to see Carson, he said he would," she paused for a moment, "'skin you alive' if you did not."

"I won't," John said walking up the stairs, his pulse pounding in his ears. He rapped on the door and heard the voice allow him to enter. Stepping inside, he was not surprised she was bent over her paper work, dead eyes taking in the information with rapidness. He knew that was a habit of hers, when something went wrong personally, she ignored it as much as possible, burying the wound. Not for the first time, John wished they hadn't Connected. He hated knowing all these things about her without her consent—without her telling him.

"Well don't you look smart Brigadier General Sheppard," she said looking up, "I assume everything went fine?"

"Yes Dr. Weir," he said stepping forward, "SGC sends it's regards."

"They relayed as much," she said leaning back in her chair, a false pose of ease, "I was unaware promotional trips require de-briefing," she added.

"They don't," he said easily matching her tone, "but can't a guy bring a present back for his boss?" The look on her face was priceless before she covered it. But he knew he had his ticket and bent down, shuffling through the backpack before extracting her present and approaching her desk, holding it tightly against his back, "pick a hand."

"Really Brigadier General—" she began.

"Maybe I shouldn't have accept the promotion," he said, "Brigadier General Sheppard is quite a mouthful."

"That was out of line," she said, her face closing off instantly. He regretted his words.

"Sorry," he said, "pick a hand."

She pursed her lips and sighed. For a minuet he thought she'd tell him to keep the gift and get the hell out, but he saw her resolve break. She pointed to his left hand and he held out the hand, waving.

"Okay okay," he said, "you can have it anyway," he produced it with a flourish. In a moment of complete weakness her jaw dropped and John had to force himself not to jump up and down with glee, instead he kept his mask of mild amusement on.

Truth be told, he had no idea what to bring back for Elizabeth. So in a moment of insanity he asked one of the SGC women what the perfect gift was. She had told him jewelry. In his hand he held a jewelry box, inside was a simple silver chain, jade stone wrought in the shape of a snowflake dangling from it.

"Thought with all the red, you could use another color," he said, eyes dancing. She shot him a look of annoyance but accepted the jewelry anyway. When she looked up, he was gone, using his speed to his advantage. She traced the stone with her fingers before closing the box with a snap.

Pulling her hand back, she looked at the piece of paper lying flat in it.

"Dr. Weir!" someone yelled into the earpiece. Elizabeth slipped it into the box and snapped it closed.

"Yes?" Elizabeth said quickly.

"You need to come to the Gate room immediately."

"On my way," she said walking out of her room. Pounding down the stairs she got to the gate room. Carson was there, a smile on his face. She shot a questioning look at Rodney who mouthed the word "Bagpipes" at her. Stifling a laugh she looked at Radek who was shifting his weight from foot to foot rather guiltily.

"What's going on?" John asked jogging into the room. Radek cleared his throat and they looked at him again.

"Uh Teyla, this is about Ronon if you want to leave—"

"I'll stay," she said quickly. He nodded.

"Okay, so, Sateda had roughly three hundred survivors," he said, "and they're coming together again to try to form a new world together—a new homeworld. Well they've asked for our help."

"What aren't you telling us?" John demanded.

"Uh well," he began, "you see—well remember how the Wraiths took Ronon? Well there's a reason for that."

"For the love of God Radek, what's going on?" Rodney demanded looking at Teyla worriedly.

"Fine! He was a Prince!" Radek yelled, "Ronon Dex—" he spun the monitor around and everyone stared. There was an older man and woman, the woman dark skin and was dressed in a gown of deep gold. Her husband was paler and dressed in deep black. Standing next to his father, a bit behind his mother, was Ronon. He looked much happier, younger and more carefree. He had his dreadlocks though, but they were shorter and pulled back, "was the first in line for the Satedan Throne."

"He was not joking when he said 'my people'," Teyla murmured softly.

"No he was not," Radek said, "and since it is confession time, I should tell you all that this message was received on behalf of the Royal Family."

"And?" John prodded.

"Royal Family," Radek said, "as in heirs, as in—"

"Contact the Satedans," Elizabeth cut him off, "was there a vid. feed?"

"Negative," he said, "verbal contact only."

"That's fine, patch it through to my office. The rest of you continue as normal. If people ask, acknowledge the fact that the Satedan's have contacted us. Nothing else. Until we know more, Ronon is still dead. Understood?"

"Yes Dr. Weir," came the responses.