Author's Note: Chapter 36--and the long awaited confrontation! Please note, Italics are Elizabeth's POV in this chapter.

V

I am sitting on the edge of my bed in the darkened room, the bedside lamp illuminating only a small circle of space beside me. Staring down at my lap, I flex my hand, watching the artificial skin wrinkle in all the right places as I test the movements; a forever reminder of what I have done.

The room is just as I remember it; save, of course, for a few old possessions that are no longer present. But the picture frames are all right where I left them, a thin layer of dust having accumulated on the glass over time. My locket is coiled up beside them, along with a brush and some other old things.

My quarters are large—larger than most, considering they are commander's quarters. I never needed this much space, but John had insisted I take it. One thing I do remember is the view—the personal balcony that looks out over the entire city. It was part of the reason I chose this room.

Getting some time to myself had been difficult. Even after I managed to break away from the large group in the mess hall, John stuck with me like a loyal puppy dog all the way back to my room, when we finally parted ways.

I don't blame them. In fact, I appreciate the concern they seem to have for me. It's just that... I don't feel I deserve it. After everything I've done? I don't deserve friends who care about me and would risk their lives for me. I don't deserve this guest treatment I am receiving, or the genuine respect everyone is showing me.

Suddenly, a knock on the door draws me from my thoughts and I close my eyes in exhaustion. It's probably John or Rodney or someone, come to check up on me.

"Come in," I call, hoping not to sound too impatient.

I hear the door slide open, followed by a somewhat hesitant voice.

"Sorry, am I interrupting anything?"

I whip around, my breath catching in my throat and instantly becoming dry.

Standing in my doorway is Sam, the slightest trace of a friendly smile on her lips.

I stammer for a moment, trying to form words. "Umm... no, not at all." I shift my position slightly, standing and smoothing the sheets over and then sitting back down. "Please, come in."

Sam smiles and nods to the security guards, stepping inside. I notice how she keeps a careful distance between us, discreetly staying as near to the door as possible. I try not to look at her, turning my attention back to the hand lying face-up in my lap.

I can't stop the rush of memories that come back to me with her standing there. All I remember of the Colonel Carter I knew is the bruised and bloodied woman curled over on the floor before me, screaming for me to stop.

"How are you feeling?"

Her voice drags me back to the present and I begin to flex my hand again, trying to hide my emotions with a forced smile.

"It's a strange feeling," I say, referring to the newly structured limb I am studying. "It's mine—I can feel it, control it—but at the same time it's not. It's like it doesn't feel pain or... any other sensations. It's truly extraordinary," I say, for lack of a better word.

"I can imagine," Sam says, clearly feeling just as uncomfortable as I am.

There is a pause.

"Colonel, you don't have to do this."

Sam cocks her head to the side, as though completely unaware of what I am referring to. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about."

I sigh. "I can't ask for your forgiveness, Sam," I say, my hand curling into a fist.

"Then don't," Sam says. "There's nothing to forgive."

Frowning, I turn to face her. Besides a few scattered cuts and bruises, it would be difficult to discern that anything had happened to her. "How can you say that?" I demand. "Sam, I tortured you!"

"It wasn't you," she says firmly. "Do you really think I'd be standing in the same room with you if it was?"

I don't respond, concentrating again on some spot on the floor below my feet. Somehow, I knew I would be faced with this argument; but whether she's willing to admit it or not, what happened back on that ship was real. There's no denying it. True—I never wanted any of it to happen—but that can't excuse it. I will never forgive myself for the things I did and I won't ask her to.

She sighs and wanders over, sitting down on the bed beside me.

"You know," she says, thinking back to some early experience. "After Fifth created my replicator duplicate, I was in a similar situation." I fail to see how that's possible, but I let her continue. "When she was created, she was me—in every sense of the word besides the presence of flesh and blood; but Fifth changed her. He turned her into something I wasn't.

"Even so, up until this day, I still blame myself for the things she did.

"But... an old friend of mine once shared some wise words with me: "You can't be held responsible for the actions of a replicator."" Sam shrugs. "I suppose, after a while, you just have to come to accept that."

I am silent, my mind processing her words like a computer, and I shake my head. "But that was different," I say, continuing to stare at the floor. "You were two different people. That monster that hurt you..." I look up at her now to gauge her reaction, but she shows no trace of fear or emotion—only attentiveness and understanding. I shake my head again. "...She's still inside of me."

It is Sam's turn to shake her head now, and she peers down at the floor for a moment. "Again," she says. "If I really believed that, do you honestly think I'd be sitting here right now?"

I look away from her, irritated that she shows no fear of me. "I can't tell you why you came to see me tonight," I say, frowning. "But if you want me to get down on my knees and plead innocent to you, you're wasting your time."

There is a short pause, and I can feel my fist clenching and unclenching in my lap.

"I came to see you tonight," she begins, again showing no sign of either pity or resentment. "Because I thought you should know that I'm stepping down."

My head snaps up and I stare at her in wide-eyed confusion.

"You can't be serious," I say in an accusatory tone.

She shakes her head, her eyes wandering off to some place far beyond the wall in front of us.

"Elizabeth, when I came here, I had one objective in mind," she explains. "And that was to keep your seat warm until we found you." She turns to look at me again and I am still in a state of disbelief. "Now we have—and my job here is done."

I shake my head. "Sam, you can't just leave. This city needs you! Who's supposed to command with you gone!?"

She looks over at me, a small smile forming on her lips. "You are."

My mouth drops open for a moment and, if possible, my eyes widen even further. "Excuse me?" I stand up, backing away from her a few steps. "You can't seriously think they'd let me command like this!?" I say, thrusting up my artificial hand.

She frowns, ignoring the gesture. "Like what? The nanites are deactivated, remember?"

I laugh half-heartedly throwing up my arms. "Like that means anything!?"

"It means you're no threat to us."

I frown, my eyes narrowing. "I can't let you do this, Sam. The IOA..."

"Already taken care of," she assures me, standing up and folding her arms over her chest. "Of course, you can be sure they'll want to do their own exhaustive review of your mental state, but... I'm sure you'll do fine."

I collapse back onto the bed in the same position as before, still in total disbelief. This was not at all an outcome I had predicted. Sam leaving is the last thing I wanted—it's a selfish wish, but it is also a likely assumption that things, specifically, my accommodations, would be very different right now if anyone else was in charge.

I'm beginning to wonder if she truly has lost her mind—whether it be by fault of my own or not. She must know that leaving me in command is just not doable. Even if it were, I doubt I'd take the opportunity.

"I just don't think things can ever go back to the way they were," I mutter, half to myself, and she comes and sits down beside me again.

"I used to think that after every mission gone wrong," she says, and I look up at her sadly. "—that nothing could ever be the same again. And you know what? You're right. Things change." She smiles warmly and takes my hand, somehow warming it by the contact. "But that doesn't mean life can't go on."

And with that, she gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and lets herself out, leaving me to my thoughts.