Jennifer blinked as Evan and Sheppard turned to face her. She needed a drink, and her hands wouldn't move more than a few inches from her sides.

Evan gave her a relieved smile and stepped to her side. "Hey, Doc." He reached out to touch her arm and stopped himself, putting his hands on his hips instead. "How are you?"

"Water." Jennifer licked her lips as Sheppard slipped out of the cubicle. She heard others moving around, and she hoped she and Evan wouldn't be interrupted just yet. As he lifted her head to help her sip from a cup of water, she frowned. "Oh!"

"What?" He suddenly looked panicked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She smiled at him. "Just a headache." After a few sips, she lay back on the bed, surveying her position. She'd been placed in a curtained-off cubicle, but she clearly saw movement in the observation deck above. She looked down at the restraints around her wrists and legs. "I hit someone."

"Yeah." Evan sounded a little unsure. "What do you remember?"

"Red." She frowned. "I remember seeing red-literally. And hearing you call me 'Jenny.'"

He rubbed his face. "Yeah. You didn't take too kindly to that."

"I'm sorry." She wished she could explain everything, but the memories were a jumbled mess right then. She wanted to drift back to sleep, but Evan's worry kept her from doing so. "It's complicated, I guess. Just bad memories related to that nickname."

"I get it." This time, he did touch her arm. His hand sent warmth shooting up her arm, and he squeezed gently. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's okay."

"So, Jenn," he began, emphasizing the new nickname, "do you remember what happened out there?"

Jennifer closed her eyes, trying to put the memories in order. She remembered trying to hit Witman, shoving Evan, attacking Carter, and getting stunned. Her eyes flew open. "Oh, God."

"What?" He jumped to his feet.

"I attacked almost every command officer on this base!"

"Yeah." He hesitated again. "Before that, Jenn, what do you remember?"

"Uh. . . .The clinic. I was at the clinic." She scowled, forcing the memories into order. "There was a fight. Two men duking it out in a full-blown rage."

"Anything else?" He actually looked a little pale at the mention of the clinic.

"No." She shrugged as Dr. Cole came into the cubicle. "It was a normal clinic."

"Okay." Evan squeezed her hand one more time. "I'm going to step out for a few minutes."

Jennifer nodded and waited while Cole checked her vitals. Finally, Cole turned to her. "You'll be under observation for a little while longer, but I think we can remove these restraints."

Jennifer grinned. "I'm glad." Her eyes followed Cole, noticing the black eye. "I'm so sorry!"

Cole faced her, a reassuring smile in place. "Don't worry about me, Dr. Keller. I'm fine. Just a black eye. And, before you worry about whether I'm afraid of you, I'm not." She paused. "Not unless you intend to get exposed to that compound again."

"What compound?"

"It's some sort of plant-based compound that triggered an overload of your hormones. It sent you into an uncontrollable rage." Cole shook her head. "I've never seen anything like it. We almost lost you."

Jennifer blinked, this time at how fragile life had become. When had she almost died? "How long have I been here?"

"A couple days." Cole began loosening the restraints. "Your hormone levels are still off-kilter, but you'll be fine. Your body actually treated the substance like a drug, and you went through one heck of a detox."

Jennifer wanted to ask how she'd almost died, if anyone else had died, who else had been hurt. But she couldn't. Only one person came to mind right then. "Evan?"

"He hasn't left your side since we allowed him down here." Cole grinned. "My advice? Snap him up." She left the cubicle and nodded to someone behind the curtain.

Evan appeared a minute later. "How are you?"

"According to Dr. Cole, fine." Jennifer shrugged. "Well, I will be fine, once my hormones regulate themselves." She frowned. "Never expected to have a conversation about hormones with you, of all people!"

"Yeah, well, hormone levels sent you into such a rage that you were almost unstoppable." He perched on the edge of her bed, taking her hand in his. "Forgive me for being concerned."

She took a moment to truly study him. His hair stood on end, looking more like Sheppard's at the moment. And he had shadows in his eyes, as well as shadows under his eyes. His face was lined, and his shoulders slumped. "Go get some sleep."

His head came up quickly. "What?"

"I'm fine." She smiled. "I'll be fine. I'm not going anywhere. Go get some sleep and something to eat." She lowered her chin and looked at him with as stern an expression as she could muster. "I'll make it an order if I have to. And I can do that."

Evan stood. "Yes, Ma'am." He grinned suddenly. "For the record, when you punched Witman, that was kinda hot."

Jennifer felt her face heat, and she shoved his hand away. "Go, Evan. Get some sleep."

He grinned one more time and left her alone after that. She settled back on the bed, drifting to sleep with his grin in mind. She could do far worse than Evan Lorne.

oOo

After leaving Lorne with Keller, Sheppard went in search of his team. Ronon had already taken up residence in the gym, sparring with any Marine stupid enough to take his challenge. The Satedan stung from meeting his double as much as he reeled from Elizabeth's death. Sheppard admitted that it had been a little strange. Coming face to face with yourself isn't all its cracked up to be.

Teyla, however, wasn't so easy to find. Sheppard checked her quarters, the meditation rooms, the mess hall, and the observation deck of the infirmary before he finally found her on the balcony outside the control room. She and Elizabeth had often stood here, talking about the day. Out of all the people on Atlantis, Teyla understood Elizabeth better than most. She bore the responsibility of her people.

"Hey." Sheppard waited while she surreptitiously swiped away a few tears. "How are you?"

"I feel. . . ." She shook her head. "I feel. . .a great. . ."

"Yeah." He understood. She'd said the same thing when Carson had died. This time, however, it was worse. This time, she dealt with the disappearance of her people. And something else. Sheppard eyed her, hoping she'd open up about her struggles. She'd lost so many close friends in recent months.

Much like she had right after Kate Heightmeyer's death, Teyla turned and suddenly wrapped her arms around him. John hesitated for only a second and settled his arms around her. She buried her face in his shirt, and he expected her to merely stand there. He wasn't anticipating the tiny shakes that swelled into deep sobs. It seemed that Teyla had finally lowered the mask and allowed him see the hurting woman beneath it.

As he held her, Sheppard looked out over Atlantis. Devlin's face flashed through his head, and he tried to shake the image. The man had frozen at first, terrified of the Wraith staring hungrily at him. Then, a look of determination covered Devlin's face. He'd kidnapped Jeannie Miller and McKay, killed his own daughter, and put Jeannie's life in danger by injecting her with nanites. As the Wraith's hand slammed into his chest, his eyes widened and his mouth opened. Sheppard had stared in morbid fascination as Devlin sacrificed himself to save Jeannie.

Now, the self-loathing tried to take hold. He'd convinced a man to let a Wraith kill him. Sheppard vacillated between disgust, nausea, and rage. When had he turned into that sort of monster? He clenched his teeth. He'd react in private, after Atlantis slept for the night. Right now, Teyla needed him. Later, after signing the paperwork that officially declared Elizabeth Weir killed in action, he closed himself inside his quarters and allowed himself to grieve.

oOo

Evan shed his major's persona as soon as his door closed behind him. Jennifer had ordered him to get some sleep. He'd tried, but the images that invaded his sleep pushed him to explore the city. He had run the same track he ran every morning, not finding release in the physical exercise. After a shower and a snack, he decided to try to capture the moonlight on the water.

This new planet continually amazed him. He'd discovered colors to the ocean that he still couldn't mix. Right now, however, he wanted to show the sadness of the ocean. It seemed to him that the ocean cried. Or maybe he cried. He couldn't be sure.

The colors taunted him. He needed blue, but he reached for red. In his mind, he saw the images from his last mission. He heard Parrish retching behind him as he swallowed his own nausea. He knelt beside children, seeing the carnage of the village as he searched for a cure for Jennifer.

Someone should have been there. Someone should have saved those children. It angered him. He added a touch of red to the white, considering the colors as he painted. He could turn the moonlight into a haunting shade, one that cast an angry light on the water. Instead, he rinsed the brush and began again. This time, he skipped the white, going directly for red.

Evan again dropped the brush in the water. Why couldn't he just paint the moonlight? It was supposed to be calming, not enraging. But he couldn't swallow the anger. Finally surrendering to impulse, he loaded his brush with deep, blood red. Brushing it onto the canvas where the spires of the city should have been felt good. He worked furiously, turning what should have been an ethereal scene into something fit for Halloween. Orange, red, black, and gray layered onto the canvas. Smoke rose from rubble. The moonlight mocked the angry scene below it. The dark of night cloaked the death and destruction wrought by an unknown enemy.

The fury that poured onto the canvas finally exploded. Evan stared at his newly-cleaned paintbrush. Why couldn't it paint what he wanted it to paint? Why did it gravitate toward red and black instead of the calm blue of the ocean? He threw the paintbrush across the room. Breathing carefully through his nose, he reached for another paintbrush. A few strokes proved it equally as useless. And another. And another. The physical release of his anger, combined with the painting, overwhelmed him, and he lashed out.

His bedside table was the first to go. The pillows on his bed followed. If he could have pulled up the mattress, he would have. After that, he moved to his chair. And then his desk. Anger, pure and hot, raged inside as he knocked over his easel. The painting landed face down on the tile floor. Good, he thought. It wasn't that great, anyway.

Evan clenched his teeth against the rage, but a growl escaped anyway. He glared at the painting, at the mess in his quarters. Was there nothing else to throw or destroy? With a roar, he whirled and planted his fist against the wall.

~TBC

Author's Note: A BIG thanks to TychoV for helping me with this scene. Sometimes, the intensity overwhelms me, and I need a little help to fine-tune things. As always, let me know what you think. ~lg