The flowers fell down gently, each twirling before landing with a soft sound on the mound of earth. It was not tradition, but it seemed fitting. The planet shared their sadness, the sky washed in blue grey and the rain falling quietly around them. They were all there, not as military partners but as friends.

The grave was empty. There hadn't been enough human to bury and somehow they knew that remembering what he had become instead of what he was would be wrong somehow. It would be a betrayal, not an honor.

Amidst all the softness, all the quiet, she stood like a statue: tall, proud and protective. Clasped loosely in her hand was a flower, the only one yet to fall. She couldn't bring herself to place it, if she did this would become real. This would be her reality, her punishment for what she had done.

Reaching out with a steady hand, she held it over the earth and took a deep breath.

Inhale

A thousand smiles

A hundred glances full of silent truths

A kiss, filled with desperation before the urges took hold

The look in his eyes, the peace

Exhale

The flower dropped.

And Teyla shot up in her bed, looking around. She was not breathing hard, not gasping for breath, but her heart wsa pounding in her chest. Cautiously, she reached up to her cheek with shaking fingertips and pulled her hand away to examine the glistening droplets that decorated them.

Tears.

She was crying. Silently and quietly, giving hardly any indication she was sad at all, but she was crying. Her heart felt broken, as if someone had physically taken it and torn a hole in it. She made a small noise in the back of her throat, like whimper, and clapped a hand to her closed lips to stifle it, looking around to see if anyone had seen her moment of weakness.

Deciding no-one had, she threw the covers off and stood up, walking to the door and letting herself out. Padding silently down the hallway, she walked through countless doors until she came to the sparring room. Hoping to find solace in there, she slipped silently inside.

Standing in the center was Ronon Dex. Cautiously Teyla leaned against the wall to observe him, a small part of her feeling guilty for doing so. He was not fighting, not practicing but sitting with his legs crossed and eyes closed. If Teyla didn't know better, she'd say he was sleeping.

She did know better though, so she tried to figure out what Ronon was doing. His lips were moving, quietly forming words not meant for her ears. As she looked at him, it dawned on her exactly what he was doing.

He was praying.

She listened closer, straining to hear. Closing her eyes, she tuned everything out but his voice.

"Do you always eavesdrop?"

Teyla spun around to find Ronon towering over her. As always, Teyla was reminded of a giant feline. He moved quickly and quietly, the fact he managed to get within a breath of her was testament to that. Teyla could feel the heat from his body radiating over hers, though all she could focus on were his deep eyes boring into hers.

"Do you always pray this late at night?" she shot back before she could stop herself.

"Sometimes," he said, not drawing back, "do you come here at this hour often?"

"Sometimes," she said matching his tone. He nodded and stepped back, leaving Teyla's knees feeling weaker than she would have liked.

"I'll leave you then," he said turning to go.

"Wait," she said before she could stop herself, "I could us—I would like the company," she corrected herself. He raised his eyebrows, making her feel weak again. Then, to her surprise, he nodded and walked back over to her, settling himself on the mats. Cautiously, Teyla assumed a similar position.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Ronon asked, trying to force the mocking tone out of his voice. Teyla looked away and Ronon bit back a curse. He was used to women throwing themselves at him, the strong and silent warrior. He disliked them, naturally, but he was not used to being confused by a woman—much less one who could (and did) beat him. Seeing her look so helpless bothered Ronon more than he would admit.

"I have them too," he offered finally. Teyla looked at him, eyebrows raised in that infuriating look she gave him whenever she thought he was lying, being dramatic or getting cocky.

"Really?" she said, then felt like smacking herself. He had been on the run for seven years after watching his entire planet get Culled by the Wraiths. Of course he would have nightmares. He was just so good at hiding how he felt that she easily forgot that.

"Yes really," he said, a slight smile coming to his lips as if he found the situation amusing, "do you want too—" he trailed off, unsure of how to tell her he would listen. She saved him the embarrassment by shaking her head quickly.

"Thank you though," she said.

He searched his mind before getting to his feet and opening the weapons cabinet, pulling out two practice swords. He threw one to her which she caught automatically, shooting him a puzzled glance.

"Afraid you can only beat me with those sticks of yours?" he asked and was rewarded with a glint in her eyes as she got to her feet and tested the weight of the sword before making a lazy pass with it.

"Only in your dreams," she said as she brought her sword up to block him.

88

John opened his eyes, looking around his room. Slowly sitting up, he pressed a hand to his throbbing forehead and suppressed a groan. His hair was matted with sweat, even his shirt feltcoarse. Thetaste in his mouth wassovile thatit took all he had not to gag.When the room started to spin, he lay back down and cursed audibly.He could only think of three possibilities for this feeling:

One, he had been drunk. Entirely possible because he seemed to remember hugging Elizabeth and being violently sick—though maybe not in that order.

Two, he had been attacked by some creature, died and was brought back to life. When that bug had 'killed' him he'd had one hell of a headache, a bad taste in his mouthand felt the same ache in his heart.

Three, he'd had the nightmare again.

That possibility was the worst. Because if he had the nightmare again, he had gotten one of them up and made them baby sit him. He had only just discovered that Elizabeth had doctored his earpiece and that his entire team was on 'nightmare watch.'

Realizing option number three made the most sense, he threw the covers off, pulled on his cloths and grabbed his earpiece, fully intending to get a new one, go to Carson and demand answers, then go to Elizabeth and yell at her.

His plan was severely altered when he pressed the door open and was greeted with Elizabeth Weir's familiar face. He was not expecting it and actually took a step back.

"Good morning to you too," she said easily, "may I come in?"

"Sure," he said stepping aside. She walked inside and looked around before turning to face him, "I get the feeling this isn't a 'friendly' visit," he said.

"Why do you get that feeling?" she asked.

"Because you haven't said my name once."

Sighing, Elizabeth turned around and motioned for him to sit, which he did cautiously on the bed. Running a hand through her hair she tried to think of how to phrase what she was about to say in a way that would be the least painful. Turning to him, she opened and closed her mouth several times before exhaling sharply.

"I think you need to see a doctor."

"I do," John said, "the same one as everyone else—"

"Not that kind of doctor," Elizabeth cut him off, "you need to see a mental health doctor."

"A shrink?" John demanded, "why?" Elizabeth sat down.

"I don't know if you remember—it's not really relevant anyway—but you've been having nightmares, you're violently ill and usually found curled up in a corner refusing to let anyone touch you," she said in a single breath, "we're worried about you."

"We?" John asked. Elizabeth nodded, "well if something's wrong with me, maybe Carson could help?" he asked, knowing her response.

"He's tried John" Elizabeth said, using his name for the first time, "but he can't find anything wrong with you. Just got to the doctor, one session is all I ask, and see if he can't help you."

"All you ask?" he said, eyebrows raised, "that's an awful lot to ask."

"I know," Elizabeth said, dreading his response.

"Give up an hour of my terribly busy day to talk to a complete stranger."

She felt like smacking him when she saw the familiar gleam in his eye. Rolling her own, she pushed him and stood up.

"I made an appointment for you later today," she said handing him the address. He nodded, looking at it carefully before pocketing it. She stepped towards the door and felt a tug on her hand. Turning around, she was met with his eyes which had taken on a newfound seriousness.

"Thank you," he said truthfully.

"Any time John," she answered before pulling her hand away gently and letting herself out.