Chapter Six

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Lt. Col. John Sheppard sat in Dr. Heightmeyer's office. It was his own fault he was there, really, but it had been driving him mad. It just seemed that everyone, except his friends, had been walking on eggshells around him, talking all polite and trying to be pleasant. Was that pity that he saw on their faces? Or was he just being overly sensitive and imagining things? He'd managed to take almost two weeks of it before he had exploded at an airman in the mess hall for no apparent reason.

"Just knock it off, already!" he had yelled, throwing his tray off the table. "All of you! No, I'm not alright! And no, I don't want to talk about it, so STOP ASKING!" Unfortunately, Dr. Beckett had been in the room and insisted that he talk to Heightmeyer.

"You do realize, Colonel, that most of the personnel don't know that you and Dr. Weir were in a relationship, right?" she'd asked during that first session. Yeah. He'd realized, but despite that fact, still here he sat in her office for the third week in a row.

"Carson tells me you haven't been sleeping," Kate said.

"I can't sleep," Lt. Col. John Sheppard replied.

"Why is that?"

"I think you know why."

"I could speculate, but I'd rather not," she told him patiently. "Why can't you sleep, John?"

"Because every time I close my eyes, I—I see her face, her smile... I can still smell her shampoo. Green apple. It was her favorite..." he gazed wistfully out the back window of Kate's office.

"Have you tried taking the medication Carson prescribed for you?"

"No. It hurts less to just keep... going. Not think, or sleep..."

"To just go into autopilot?" Kate suggested.

"Yeah." John straightened some books on the table beside him.

"You can't stay awake forever, colonel. You need to get some sleep," the psychiatrist informed him, "and until you do, I cannot clear you for off-world duty. It's natural to grieve—it's healthy. Just don't... I don't think that Elizabeth would want to see you do this to yourself." The woman placed a familiar-looking bottle on the table between them.

"Alright," he murmured, pocketing the sleep medication before leaving the room. "I'll try." Upon reaching his quarters, Col. Sheppard set the new bottle on his bedside table with four others. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His eyes drifted shut and he opened them.

"What's the matter?" Elizabeth was looking down at him, concern in her soft hazel eyes.

"Elizabeth," he breathed, reaching out a hand and touching her face. Her hair was rumpled and she wore that overlarge t-shirt that she always wore to bed. She placed her hand over his, her frown deepening.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I am." There was a knock at the door.

"You should get that," Elizabeth reminded him.

"I can't," John murmured. "You'll disappear." She smiled gently and kissed his lips.

"Don't be silly," she told him. "I'll always be right here." He felt her place a hand over his heart as there was another, more insistent knock. "You should get that." Reluctantly, John got up and stumbled to the door.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"Carson wanted me to make sure you were eating," Ronon told him. "I'm going to lunch."

"Are you kidding me? I'm a little..." he trailed off as he looked back into his empty quarters. Hitting the door jamb, John cursed under his breath. He'd dozed off.

"You coming?" the Satedan asked, mercifully not mentioning his CO's small outburst.

"I'm not hungry." Col. Sheppard moved to close the door, but Ronon took a step forward, blocking the way.

"Doc said to force-feed you if necessary." It wasn't a threat. It was a fact—something the larger man wouldn't hesitate to do if he thought he needed to. Nevertheless, John felt a surge of anger. What right had Carson or Ronon—or anyone else, for that matter—to dictate what he did? Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

"Fine!" he snapped. The officer pulled on his shoes and took a moment to smooth his bedspread, pausing briefly as memories flashed through his mind. Maybe he didn't want to remain in the room, after all... "Let's go." He stepped out into the corridor.

"You look tired," Ronon stated, falling in step beside him.

"I'm fine," Sheppard told him.

"You're a bad liar."

"I don't want to talk about it!"

"Fine," said Ronon, "but you're still a bad liar." He pursued the topic no further. Carson had told them how close John and Elizabeth had really been so that John's team could comprehend his grief. Rodney, of course, had already known, while Ronon and Teyla had suspected that there'd been something between the two, though neither said as much. Truth be told, Ronon didn't want to talk about the situation anymore than Sheppard did, so he let him be.

They entered the large room which served at Atlantis' mess hall. John halted. There was still a string of lights that someone had left nearly a year before. A memory pushed its way forward in the colonel's mind. He could almost see Elizabeth walking ahead of him as she talked, almost hear her voice...

"I've come to the realization that we've been here for almost three years, but we've never done anything to celebrate Christmas," she had began.

"Yeah, well, usually we're too busy fending off the wraith or some other bad guy," John pointed out.

"Well, for the moment, we aren't and I've been talking to General Landry and he said that if we could get it organized, he'd approve the funds necessary to throw some sort of Christmas party."

"He did?"

"Well, I did have some help in convincing him," she admitted. "Kate told him that she thought it'd be good for morale."

"A psychologist and an arm-twister," Col. Sheppard raised his eyebrows, then asked. "So, what did you have in mind?"

"I think we should have a Christmas dance," Elizabeth told him, the sparkle in her eyes reminding him of a little kid eying presents under the tree.

"A dance?"

"Yes, John, think about it," she motioned to the room around them, "we could hang lights and holly, there'd be music and everyone would dress up. We could have a tree..."

"You realize the room is full of tables, right?" he pointed out, mostly teasing.

"We could move them to the break room, I just..."

"Cinderella wants a ball?" John had asked, smirking in amusement. Elizabeth had smiled, giving a sheepish nod.

"Cinderella wants a ball." Her voice seemed to echo in the room. Cinderella had gotten her ball and he had had the privilege of being Prince Charming, Elizabeth's Prince Charming, her knight in shining armor, the man she had loved... But now, she was gone and all that remained was that damned string of lights.

"Airman!" John nearly shouted at a passing personnel.

"S-sir?" the man stammered.

"I want you to get a ladder and take down those lights," the colonel's tone was acerbic.

"Yes, sir, as soon as I..."

"I want it done NOW!"

"Yes, sir!" the airman put down his tray and rushed off to get the ladder. Sheppard turned to leave, wanting nothing more than to escape the room and the memories that haunted his mind: Elizabeth smiling at him over a cup of coffee. Elizabeth trying to decide what experimental dish she was brave enough to try. Elizabeth directing the decorations for the dance. Elizabeth in that dress, her hair swept up off her ivory shoulders, that gem sparkling at her throat, the lights casting shadows of her eyelashes down her blushing cheeks...

"You're forgetting something," Ronon reminded him, stepping into his path.

"Ronon, if you don't get out of my way, so help me, I'm gonna..." John began angrily.

"You're gonna what?" the larger man cut in, though not unkindly. "No offense, but I'm more afraid of Beckett than I am of you. You might beat up on me, but doc has all sorts of needles and stuff he can stick into me. I think I'll take my chances."

"I can't do this right now," the Air Force officer spoke softly, tears stinging his eyes. "I can't stand to be in this room." Ronon gazed silently at him for a moment before giving a brief nod.

"I'll bring something to your quarters," he said.

"Thank you," Sheppard whispered. He turned and left the room.

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To be continued...