A/N: I own nothing, I'll put them back when I'm done. Thanks!

For my muse, as always, and everyone who reviews.

She ran a hand through her dark hair and the candlelight reflected off the strands and danced as she moved from one side of the room to the other. Watching her from the edge of the big, and only, bed, he shook his head.

'Think of this as humouring the locals,' he said with a shrug. 'It's only until McKay can get the jumper fixed.'

'And if he finds this too amusing?' she retorted, turning to face him. The candles were mostly behind her and the light bounced off her hair and formed a halo around her head. He thought it prudent not to mention that, or that she looked like someone's, his, fantasy in the deep maroon nightgown she was wearing.

'He won't. Between us we're basically a fix it or die situation.'

'Thanks for the compliment,' she replied wryly. Despite the apparent sarcasm, he swore there was an edge of hurt, and bitterness, in her voice. The frown on his brow was gone almost as it appeared. The moment stretched uncomfortably.

'If I promise not to seduce you, will you come to bed?'

'I'm not an Ascended, or Ascending, Ancient, I don't have to worry about that.' The change of topic didn't work as well as he'd planned and she spun away from him, tension clear in the way she moved, in the way she held herself, and he was silent. What she'd said didn't hurt, the undertone did, the fact that it hurt her somehow, that cut painfully.

'Elizabeth,' he said, getting to his feet and walking over to her, 'you know it's not like that.'

'It doesn't matter John, I'm taking the floor.' She didn't look at him, stood facing the wall and the covered window. She'd been like that when he'd walked in earlier, before they started this discussion, and if he was honest, he could remember walking into her private room and seeing the same thing. Something was bothering her. Really bothering her…

'You're not taking the floor,' he said softly, unsure if he should reach out and touch her, 'you're taking the bed. Right now, we need you able to be you, not a martyr… Besides, that's how this all started, and I already told you, I'm taking the floor.'

Elizabeth whirled around, a retort ready. As she came to face him, she stumbled, not realising he was so close, and he reached for her instinctively, pulling her to him. Cursing himself, he ran his hands down her arms once she'd steadied, not letting her step away.

'What's going on Elizabeth? And don't try that "we're the leaders of Atlantis and this is really inappropriate" line.'

'Let me go, John.' She lowered her eyes and looked away. For the first time John could remember, she turned away from him. And it wasn't because he was the military leader, it was something to do with him being him. He'd thought he'd suffered at the hands of enemies, but nothing could prepare him for the pain and helplessness that washed over him at that moment. What had he done?

'Elizabeth?'

'Please, I can't-' she drew in a shaky breath, 'please, just let me go.'

He did, but he gave her a gentle nudge towards the bed and she went. She reminded him of a child stuck in the aftermath of a nightmare as she sat at the top of one side and pulled her legs up to rest her head on her knees. And he watched her, as close to rage as he could get in her presence. What the hell had he done? What had happened to her? That thought sent chills down his spine. Could someone have hurt her? Was that why the nightgown reached from wrist to ankle? Were there bruises under that blood coloured fabric? Of their own accord, his fingers closed into fists and he had to exert considerable control to relax them. If someone had hurt her, he'd find out…

'Liz, what's going on?' He'd never called her that, hadn't ever got that personal with her, but it seemed to have the right affect. She looked at him, and the mask that was the leader of Atlantis was missing. She was just Elizabeth Weir, and she was strikingly beautiful, and suddenly vulnerable.

'Nothing,' she said softly, again looking away, 'I think I'll try to sleep, we've got a lot to do tomorrow.' She managed to get under the covers without messing up the bed and rolled onto her side, facing away from John. He said something remarkably cliché about bed-bugs, but she didn't respond so he made his way around the room, blowing out the candles. He turned and looked over at her from the last one, and decided to leave it, just in case… Shaking his head slightly, he too made his way under the covers. He closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

0o0

It was still dark, and the one candle left alight didn't seem to have burnt down far when John opened his eyes. He wasn't all that surprised, he tended to be a light sleeper when he was sharing a bed. Especially when he had told himself over and over and over again that he could not, under any circumstances, roll over and cuddle whomever he was sharing with. Had it been a male, there wouldn't have been a problem, but with Elizabeth in the bed, things were a lot different. And now, he could almost swear he heard muffled sobs. Without saying anything, he rolled over lightly, keeping his weight evenly spread. She was still facing away from him and it was with considerable control he pulled her to him. At first, she tensed and he wondered if he'd been wrong to act, but then she relaxed and he shifted his weight so he could see her profile in the candlelight. Instead of just holding her, which would have been smart, he raised his hand and started to stroke her hair, silky against his hands. That simple action seemed to shatter something inside Elizabeth and she curled in on herself and convulsed in shudders.

'He didn't…' she murmured, John only picking up the words because he was desperately listening for them. 'He knew about it, and how much it meant to me, and he didn't…' The sob ran down her body and John just kept stroking her hair, his fingers light but firm so she would know that he was there, that he wouldn't leave her. "He didn't even wait." The words seemed torn from her and suddenly the bitterness made sense. And the way she'd been slowly distancing herself from all of them, or all the guys, now that he thought about it. His eyes fell to the curve of her throat and he realised that she'd stopped wearing the silver necklace. Whoever was back on Earth must have given it to her… For a moment, he felt as though he could have ripped the bastard's heart out. Instead, he pushed the thought away and let her cry. The tears stopped, the sobs eased and he rolled her towards him and enfolded her in his arms. Closing his eyes, he savoured the feel of her against his chest, of her body against his, and leant his cheek on her hair. He had no words to reassure her, not that he could actually say… So he just held her, and stroked her back and hair and brushed the tears from her face. Eventually, she fell asleep, murmuring a thank you as she half-heartedly tried to roll away. When he pulled her back, she didn't resist and so he closed his eyes, feeling her breath across his skin, the weight of her arm across his body more welcome and more painful than he could ever have imagined.