Disclaimer: My words are mine. The settings and characters are not.

A/N: Just something I couldn't get out of my head. I have an idea for a -gasp- longer story, and if someone wants to volunteer for the job of helping me hammer out the plot and harassing me until I get it written, please let me know. And it won't be THAT hard, but I have the beginning of a story and nowhere to go with it.

Breakdown

In retrospect, she was surprised that it hadn't happened sooner. His team had been captured, held prisoner for ransom she couldn't pay. It had been days before they'd gotten free, every moment of that time an agony for her, a private torture she suffered in silence. She'd done this before, many times, suppressing the pain at his potential loss, being about to be no more than normally glad at his safe return.

This time was different. This time, when she heard the gate tech announce his IDC, she stayed to see the gate open, then turned on her heel and all but ran to her quarters. The door slid open with a wave of her hand, and she barely made it inside before her legs went out from under her. She waved the door shut and crawled to her bed, curling up in a ball, shaking with head in her knees.

She couldn't control the tremors that spread throughout her body, so she gave in and let them tie her muscles into knots. It was odd; she felt as though she should be crying, but there was a numbness to this breakdown. She couldn't muster up enough emotion at the moment to do anything.

She was still shivering when he found her. He'd been surprised not to see her in the gate room when he'd returned; it was a habit of hers he'd gotten used to, looked forward to. As soon as he'd been able, he'd made his way to her rooms to check in. He spent the short walk trying to come up with a reasonable excuse for it, but when her door had slid open when he knocked, all that was forgotten.

The sight of Elizabeth, on the floor next to her bed, knees up to her chin, shaking like a leaf, was enough to make him drop his jacket and run across the room. "Elizabeth?" He fell to his knees beside her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She turned her eyes on him, her expression full of pain. "John."

"Elizabeth, what's wrong?" When she showed no signs of moving, he slid his hands under her and lifted her gently onto her mattress. "Come on, talk to me."

She refused to let go of his shirt, so he was forced to remain hunched over her awkwardly, faces almost touching. "You're here."

"Yes, I am. Come on, what's wrong?" His hands ran over her, checking for injuries, unwittingly soothing her tremors.

"You're here. I'll be fine." She buried her face in his stomach, and finally the tears started. He could only hold her helplessly as she sobbed into his shirt.

"God, Elizabeth, I'm sorry." He didn't know what he was apologizing for, but it was the only reaction he could think of to stop a woman's tears.

She couldn't even tell him not to be stupid, that it was her, not him. She couldn't find the words. She couldn't find any words. And so she cried, and he stroked her hair, and they both knew there was time later to sort out what had happened.