A/N: Just a litlle filler to pass the time.


Cold. So cold.

"Major Sheppard, how is this for credibility: Weir is dead."

John's world turned pitch black at the sound of those words through the radio. An icy chill washed over him. But neither the cold nor the darkness had anything to do with the storm that was raging around him. No, it was pure hatred that flooded him. A hatred he had felt only a handful of times before and that he had hoped he would never feel again. Had been determined to never feel again, because he knew what kind of man it turned him into. And John didn't like that man.

But none of that mattered now. Kolya had killed Elizabeth. He had taken away the heart and soul of Atlantis – what did it matter now if the city itself would soon follow? Without her, he realized, without the first person in years – hell, decades – who had ever had an ounce of faith in him, none of it meant anything.

Kolya had killed Elizabeth.

"I'm going to kill you." he said slowly, calmly into his radio. He could already hear the change in his voice. The sarcastic, easy-going Air Force major had vanished and in his place there was a man whose dark determination unfortunately matched his abilities, quick mind and able body.

He could and would make sure the son of a bitch witnessed him do as much damage as possible to his strike force as well as his mission, before he let him suffer personally for a while. And then, maybe, when he begged for it, he would allow him to die – slowly.

Kolya had killed Elizabeth.

He was going to die.


He was running through the corridors of Atlantis. Three men down, quite a few more to go. He knew where he was going, the lifesign detector – damn, he should have come up with a better name for it while he still could – was showing him the best way to the generators.

It was hard to keep his mind focussed. Between glances at the white device in his hand, watching out for surprises and guarded use of transporters, his mind kept on drifting back to Elizabeth. The image of her lying somewhere in the vicinity of the control room, blood-stained and lifeless, eyes staring expressionless into nowhere was cutting through him like a knife. Elizabeth dead. He still couldn't quite grasp the concept.

Unbidden, other images popped into his mind. The way she'd stared at him in shock as she'd seen him sitting in the chair in Antarctica. The way she'd told him - barely an hour later, without even consulting any of her superiors – "I don't care Major, I need you with me on this expedition and until you give me a reason I'm willing to accept, you're not getting out of this!" The way he had warmed from the inside at the sincerity and trust in her eyes.

And, if he was honest, he'd been attracted to her stubbornness from the start. An attraction that had only increased through the days of preparation, and then as he grew to respect her as a leader. When she had caught his eye just after stepping through the gate and securing the gateroom, when they had shared that look and small nod, he had for the first time sensed that the connection he felt might be mutual. By now, Elizabeth had become so much more to him than his fellow leader. This connection had deepened, and they had become so much closer than he had intended to let anyone get ever again.

Even more than his team, or rather on a different level, he counted Elizabeth as his closest friend now, the only one he was truly on par with in nearly all situations. The thought of Atlantis without her was all but unbearable.

Dead. Gone. Killed by Kolya.

He fought back the naked rage again as he entered another transporter to avoid the Genii search teams. Anger would only lead him to make mistakes and mistakes would get him killed before he could make the son of a bitch pay for what he'd done. Maybe the distracting thoughts were doing him more good than harm after all.

Elizabeth. All the little things about her that he had noticed throughout the months flooded his mind. The way she frowned slightly whenever she listened to Rodney. Her scent, standard issue soap and a slight hint of strawberries, which must be entirely her. That one curl that would always fall into her face and make his hand itch to tuck it back behind her ear. The way she had that extra sway of her hips when she was in a flirtatious mood – now that was something he'd started to pay particular attention to as of late.

And of course that's when his mind went to the kisses. Three occasions he wasn't likely to forget. Each time they had stopped themselves before things went too far and each time it had become harder. The first kiss had been so unexpected, so sweet that it was almost chaste. But it had fastened that special bond between them and left him to wonder, for the first time but certainly not the last, what it would be like to be able to hold her the way he really wanted to.

The second kiss had been a matter of comforting her – or comforting each other, really. He'd tried to hide it as best he could, but he had been as unsettled by the whole Hoffan disaster as Elizabeth and Carson. She had, of course, seen right through him and known what he really felt. And the kiss that followed had been… lets just say he'd had trouble looking her in face the next day, after the fantasies he'd indulged in that night. But both those kisses had been bittersweet, always tinged with a hint of tragedy. The last one, however, only a couple of weeks ago, wasn't caused by any emotional crisis, fear, comfort or sympathy. This last kiss had been pure and unadulterated lust.