A/N: This is my first SGA fic. It's very Sheppard/Weir (and was labeled such), but if you happened to miss the big neon signs...here's another one. And this is post-The Eye. And this is semi-full of spoilers for that ep. Other than that, enjoy!

The sunlight was beginning to stream into his room, the blessed relief from the storm that had ravaged their home and their souls. He simply watched it, almost flinching as the light hit him, enveloped it in its warmth. He let out a shaky sigh and fell onto his bed. He didn't know how it could go like this—how he could go from never-ending energy in a murderous rage to feeling like he could never be more tired. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to dwell on it, but he couldn't help himself. Those men, the men that he had killed, slaughtered, didn't really deserve to die. Not really. They were simply doing their duty, following orders, like he had to do in the past, and like he would make others do in the future. And no matter how he tried, he eventually reached the conclusion that he could not justify their deaths, and he would never be able to.

The whole day had been a treacherous ordeal. Kolya, the bastard, had realized that she was his pillar of strength, somehow, and had used it against him, had made him choose between his home and her, knowing that he could never make the choice. And down to the end, he still had that damned arrogance, the fucking cockiness to think that he could just pull her into the Stargate with him and that he wouldn't shoot because he'd be too worried about hitting her. And he had been. Not that he'd let it show. And if he had taken her back to…whatever the hell his planet was called…he would have followed him, to hell and back, and would try and get her back at whatever cost. But he took confidence in his marksmanship, and fired.

She had been motionless for what seemed like eternity, and he had been absolutely out of his mind, thinking that a stray bullet had struck her. He ran over at the slightest sign of movement, and helped her up to her feet. He had wanted to hold her, to wrap himself within her, if only to simply convince himself that she was real, that it was over, that it was Kolya who was dead, and not Elizabeth, not his Elizabeth.

And now, somehow, he found himself at her door. He didn't know what he was doing here, but he was sure it had something to do with his own…issues. And whether or not he wanted to knock, his hand seemed to move of its own accord and made the decision for him. The door opened, and its opener seemed surprised…and tired. "John." He nodded slightly and she stepped aside, granting him entrance. She was still in her wet clothing. Before he could stop himself, he launched himself into her arms, burrowing his head into the crook of her neck. She embraced him awkwardly in return. But he didn't care. She was here. She was alive.

"I thought I lost you," he murmured into her hair. "He told me you were dead, he said you were—" And the words were coming out before he could stop them, in one gigantic mad rush, and he realized how many emotions had been simmering beneath the surface, how nerve-wracking it had been for him to take aim and try to shoot Kolya, and how utterly afraid he was that he had hurt her in the process.

Her hands went to his face, her thumbs brushing gently across his lips. And he stopped talking. His eyes flitted down to her lips, red and tender. And he began to shift closer, closing the space between them. "John?" she whispered. But he didn't stop moving.

"Yeah?"

"We shouldn't—" But he had. It was the faintest hint of a kiss, merely a brushing of lips against lips. And his Pandora's Box of emotions fell, shattered into a million tiny shards. He deepened the kiss, sweeping her mouth with his tongue. She had responded, and kissed him back. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, and kissed her again. This kiss expressed his need, his absolute fear, and it was rough and uncontrolled. But she welcomed it, and replied with equal ferocity.

She breathed slowly, raggedly, through lips red and swollen from kissing. He began to kiss her neck, and she tilted her head back, allowing him more access, releasing a soft breath that resembled a moan. He began to pull at her clothing, wet from her exposure to the storm, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. They fell onto her bed. She groaned when he found her breast, and pulled him to her to kiss him again.

He entered her in one swift movement, and immediately began to move. It was rough and raw, and it was need. She pulled him closer to her, groaning when his stubble brushed roughly against her shoulder. "Elizabeth," he ground out. "God. I can't lose you again." They both needed it, craved the release. And when it came, all he could hear was her whispering his name. The room smelled of musk, sweat, and sex. He collapsed on top of her, and gently kissed her forehead. "I can't lose you." And she kissed his lips gently.

"You'll never lose me." And they slowly drifted off to sleep, clutching each other, dreaming of each other, and hoping of a happy future.

She woke first, blinking a few times to allow her eyes to adjust to the bright sun and focus her surroundings. She was surrounded by warmth, and she embraced it, embraced her own fragility. He was still asleep, his arms enclosing her within his warmth. She lay her head against his shoulder, and he slowly stirred awake. "Morning," she whispered. He mumbled something, still caught within the throes of sleep. She began to move, to try and disentangle herself from him. He pulled her closer to him.

"Sleep," he whispered.

She smiled at his childlike innocence. "We have to get up. I'm sure we have things to attend to."

"Who cares?" She kissed the right side of his neck, and then the left, slowly making her way up to his ear.

"Please?" she asked. He smiled in spite of himself.

"You're cruel."

"I'm diplomatic."

"Same thing, really." He sat up when he heard the shower running, and stretched. He stood, and began to search for his clothes, and upon discovery of a new article of clothing, he would get dressed. Until, at last, they were both fully clothed, and were ready, in a way, for the morning. "Can we at least get coffee?" He continued before she could interrupt him. "I know we'll be late, but really, coffee…or…Rodney?" He gestured, and she laughed, acquiescing to him.

They had eventually arrived on the balcony, staring at their people. He had wanted to reach for her hand, entwine his fingers with hers, as their bodies had been earlier. Instead, they opted to stand closer. They stood, relaxed, engaging in banter, as they had always done. And maybe…just maybe…there would be happiness in their future. Someday.