He has always been stuck between things, worlds. He's been used to making hard decisions, things that affected people's lives, things that he had no time to think about. If he thinks about it long enough, every decision he's made in his life seems to boil down to do or die. The individual or the group. And this time, it's no different. It's never any different. He's always been used to losing people, but he thought maybe he'd subdued the roar within himself, thought maybe it had finally subsided into a dull ache rather than a full-fledged burn.

"Sheppard, we have to save her."

He swallows hard, bites his lip. It's hard not to see her face in his head right now, hard for him not to imagine the millions of times they both met up on the balcony with mugs of coffee in hand. He remembers the way the breeze made her hair brush against her shoulders, the way the cold made her cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink. He hears her laughter in his head, like the soft tinkling of bells, remembers how soft her skin felt.

But he thinks of the hundreds of people on Atlantis, thinks of it as her city and thinks of what she'd do to save it. Elizabeth was always a humanitarian, always the diplomat. She would always be willing to sacrifice herself for the sake of others. He always thought that maybe it would be the both of them, some kind of last defense against the Wraith, with a bottle of wine and lost hopes and regrets and maybe one shared kiss before it all went up in flames. He never thought he'd have to deal with the idea of losing her.

If anything, it should be him. He's always the one going out on missions, he's the one who always ends up making ridiculous choices that put his team in danger. But she was just doing her job, being Elizabeth. She was patrolling the fort, and it was one mistake, one slip-up that could cost her…everything. He wants to save her as much as they all do. He hears the desperation in Rodney's voice, sees the look in Teyla's eyes that tells him that they want him to go against protocol, to save the individual at the risk of the group, like he did in Afghanistan. But it's not the same. The only person he was endangering in Afghanistan was himself.

"Sheppard?"

He clears his throat because he knows, as a military officer, that he can't show weakness right now. He can't show emotion. "No."

"But—"

"I am not going to risk the lives of everyone for…her."

"She's…" He's never heard Rodney sound quite so…subdued.

"I know." He swallows the guilt that rises up high in his throat, swallows the bits of remorse that are floating up again. "We have to let her go."

Rodney casts him a glance of seething anger, and he feels a slight twinge of respect for Rodney. Dr. Keller stands off to the side, looking stoic as they stand back. The shrill sounds of the machines cut through him. She walks over and shuts them off, casts a glance down at her watch.

"11:01," she says, her voice cracking with emotion. She pulls the sheet over Elizabeth's face.

Later that night, when Rodney and Radek are burning midnight oil trying to deal with the hyperspace issue, he sneaks down to see her. He uncovers her face, pulls a chair up next to the table. He takes her hand between his own, rubs at the cold skin. "'Lizabeth," he murmurs. "I—you understand why I had to do this. Hell, I understand why I had to do this, but that, uh, that doesn't make it any easier." He huffs out a bitter laugh. "I wish…things could've gone differently. I wish I could have saved you this time." He leans in, presses his lips against hers briefly.

"Colonel."

He pulls away, rights his posture, and turns to face Dr. Keller. She opens her mouth to say something, but he cuts her off. "Don't say a word." Because he has to be a leader and he has to be a man, and right now, he can't be both.