"And now we dance!" The grateful, and rescued, village leader announced

"Dance?" Sheppard queried. He was pretty sure dancing wasn't in the job description.

"To celebrate! Together! Like this!"

The odd little fat man in the brightly coloured trousers held up with string took Elizabeth in his arms and whirled her around the fire.

"Dance!" he said, releasing the laughing Elizabeth, dizzily falling against John. He steadied her.

"I'm not much of a dancer." John said, although he didn't let go of Elizabeth's arm.

"Then we play slow music, so you can dance slow!" the little man told him, running over to the violins.

"That makes it worse!" John called after him.

"I don't think he heard you." Elizabeth said. "Well, Colonel, are you going to dance with me? Or should I find Rodney?" she demanded, grinning mischievously, her eyes twinkling in the firelight.

"No, I can dance." he said, defensively. "I just haven't done it in a while."

The music started up, and as promised, it was slow. A soft, sad melody, played on cheap violins, that echoed in his heart and made him remember and want and yearn. He placed his hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, and the other, very correctly, on her waist. Looking down at his shoes, he began to shuffle his feet.

"I guess you were right." she said after a moment.

"Hmm?" He replied, not paying attention.

"You're not much of a dancer."

He looked up sharply, outraged.

"I'm just concentrating, that's all!" he told her, stung. She smiled a little, that quirky smile, one corner of her mouth raised.

"Well, concentrate less on your feet, and more on me." she told him, teasing gently. "You're supposed to look at your partner, not the ground."

"Sorry." he admitted, and looked down into her eyes. Those deep, beautiful, expressive eyes, reflecting back the firelight, his face, the sky behind him.

After a few moments looking at her, he realised he didn't have to think about what his feet were doing. They were managing fine by themselves. That wasn't the problem anymore.

The problem was her. He wasn't used to having her so close, for so long. She wasn't looking up at him anymore, she was glancing around the camp, smiling at Cadman and Carson dancing, but he still stared down at her. The curve of her cheek. The curl of her hair around her ear. The hollow of her throat where her necklace nestled. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

She looked up at him, and smiled suddenly, making him stumble. He let go of her, stepping back awkwardly.

"Sorry." he stammered. "Guess I am no good at his."

"Don't give up now." she told him, smiling a little, her eyes wickedly innocent. She took his hands, and placed one on her shoulder "You were doing so well." she put the other around her waist. "Just relax." she told him.

But how could he relax, when he was suddenly so aware of her hand resting on his shoulder, of her hand warm and soft in the small of his back?

Without thinking, he pulled her a little closer. It was an entirely physical reaction, his body reacting to the closeness of hers, the way his arm tightened possessively around her, pulling her so close she was barely more than a breath away. Mortified at his unbidden and un-Colonel-like response to her, he started to think up a good apology.

But then she looked up at, smiled, and whispered "There, I knew you could do it."

"You did?" he said, his eyes wide as he looked down at her upturned face.

"Dance, I mean." she told him, smiling widely, her eyes sparkling.

After that, he was incapable of saying anything.

He just concentrated on her. The way she fitted into his arms. Her heart beating against his, just a little faster than it should be, or did he imagine that?

He pulled her a little closer, and into his arms she came. Her cheek against his, soft and warm. He could smell the scent of her, sweet and heady. Her body pressed against his, giving and tender.

He was thinking distinctly nonmilitary thoughts.

But he could no more push her away now than he could have cut his own arm off. She belonged here. With him, beside him, in his arms. More than that, he needed her there. Somehow, everything made sense when she was there. Everything seemed worth it. Everything that had ever gone bad or wrong in his life seemed worth it because it led to her being there, dancing with him.

He could barely believe it. He was dancing with Elizabeth.

She pulled back a little, but only so she could look up at him. Her lips were only a moment away from his. He looked down at her, his Elizabeth. He was utterly oblivious to everything but her.

"John." she said, softly.

"Hmm-mmm." he replied, happily drowning in her eyes.

"You're dancing."

"Yes I am." he replied happily. "With you. I'm dancing with you."

"John..."

"Elizabeth?"

"The music's stopped, John."

He pulled away, sharply, looking around. Everyone was staring. Everyone had been staring at the sight of Atlantis's commander in the arms of Atlantis's military commander, and as there was no music, there could be no dance, and no excuse. And everyone had seen them, everyone except Carson, who had sneaked off with Cadman somewhere.

"Sorry." John said sheepishly. She watched him for a second, watched the blush creep up his cheeks. Then she turned round to the others.

"Start the music again, please." she called. The violins scraped up another tune, happy and quick. Ronan grabbed Teyla and swung her into an energetic whirl around the fire.

Elizabeth reached out to John. He pulled her back into his arms again. Her cheek rested against his. His hand clasped the small of her back. Cheek to cheek, they danced a slow dance, as everyone else whirled and span around them to the fast-paced music.