Author's Note: Well, I didn't expect this to end so quickly - especially since it's the only story I've posted without having it all mostly written down first. Oh, and this ending does NOT reflect the suggestion of one of my friends - that I go the unconventional route and have Elizabeth call him to her office because the envelope has anthrax in it. So... sorry, no such original ideas here.

Thanks to everyone for the reviews - there's nothing better than opening my e-mail to find I've had another one! I might not respond to them (probably, should, huh? I'm so lazy) but I really really do appreciate them.

There is a rather long letter in here – I hope it doesn't make this boring to read.

John tapped the envelope against his leg, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand as he stared out his office windows.

He brought the letter up to stare at it for a minute, the dropped his hand and resumed tapping.

When Elizabeth had first called him into her office, he'd been worried that something was wrong. Well, actually, his first thought had been that she was going to yell at him about the bouncy ball incident some more, followed quickly by worry that something was wrong.

He'd hurried to her office, only to find her standing calmly beside her desk, arms folded as she looked out through the glass wall towards the Stargate.

"What did you need?" he'd asked.

Elizabeth turned to look at him, her expression serious. "I found something in one of my letters."

Wondering if it was more bad news for her, or if someone had sent her something regarding the expedition, he nodded for her to continue.

She walked back to her desk and picked up an envelope. "Whoever was sifting the mail at the SGC accidentally stuck another letter inside one of mine."

Elizabeth drew a breath. "John, it's for you."

He'd taken the letter she handed him, mumbled some sort of goodbye or excuse, and hastily retreated to his own office. He wasn't sure what the letter contained, but he knew he wanted to open it in private.

And Elizabeth would give him that privacy, at least for a little bit. But he also knew that she would be by eventually, checking on him.

So he supposed he should read the letter before then.

John turned away from the window, dropping into his chair and propping his feet on the desk. He held the envelope up one more time.

His name and the address were printed on the front, but there was no return address. He flipped it over and discovered that one had been printed on the back flap – no name, just a street address. His sister's address.

He wasn't sure if he had hoped it was from his father or not.

Finally, John reached for a knife and carefully slit the envelope open. A thick letter fell out – three pages long, he realized, flipping through them. He picked them up but intentionally didn't focus on the words.

He thought about going to get some coffee from the mess, or maybe finishing that inventory from the other day. But no, that would just be avoiding the whole issue, and he wanted to get this over with.

Raising the letter to eye level, he started to read.

Dear Johnny,

You probably still hate being called that as much as you did in high school, but that is how I will always think of you.

I was surprised to get your letter – surprised but happy. It's been so long, John, so so very long, and I missed you.

I don't know what made you decide to write to me now, after all these years, but I'm glad for it. I'm glad for a chance to set things right. We all said some things back then that we shouldn't have. But you have to know that I never blamed you, Johnny. No matter what I said, I knew it wasn't your fault.

I was angry – angry at Mom, for leaving us like that, for not loving us enough to stay with us, angry at myself for not being there, and later I was angry with you for cutting yourself off like you did. And I thought that if you didn't want anything to do with us, fine, we didn't need anything to do with you.

But I couldn't blame you. And I hope that you don't blame yourself. Because if you're to blame, then so am I. I deliberately avoided coming home from school back then because I couldn't deal with it, didn't want to deal with it. So I should have been there, too, and I wasn't. And even Dad didn't want to deal with the situation.

And he didn't blame you either, John. But like us, he was angry at Mom and at himself, and hurt, and he didn't know how to deal with it so he lashed out at you. And by the time he realized what he'd done, you were gone.

None of us are to blame, and I can accept that now. I hope you can, too. I've even got over being angry at Mom. I admit, it took some time. After I finished college I didn't want anything to do with home, so I left. Moved to Oregon, worked as a waitress while I tried to find a job in my field. But I was still so angry, and one day I just lashed out, started breaking plates at work, and I realized that I needed help. So I found someone to talk to.

It was a long and bumpy road, but I'm okay now. I called Dad up, and we started working on repairing things. We tried to find you, but we couldn't. You've always been smarter than you let on, and you didn't want to be found. We learned as much as we could, but whatever you were doing, the Air Force didn't really want to talk about it either.

Dad used to make up stories about you, you know. "My son, the pilot – he's rescued people on every continent." Or "My son, John, can fly any machine they make."

We used to wonder if you had a family, if you'd told them about us.

I've been putting this off as long as I can, but I have to tell you this.

Dad died, just a few days after we got your letter, which is why it took me so long to reply. He was sick – he'd caught pneumonia – and he was already kind of frail. He spent a lot of time drunk in the years after Mom died, and it wore down his body.

But he hung on long enough for us to get your letter. And while it didn't tell us a whole lot about what you're doing, it was enough for us to know you're alive and well.

He wanted me to say he missed you, and he was proud of you. I am, too.

I hope you'll be able to come visit sometime. I don' know where you are – I feel like it must be far away – but if you're back in the States sometime, I would love to see you. And I want to introduce you to my family (yes, I'm married with kids!) – I think you'll like being Uncle John!

I love you.

Love,

Kathy

P.S. Now that I have an address for you, I'm going to send you a letter every week. We have a lot of catching up to do!

John was surprised when a drop of water hit the page in front of him, and he brought a hand to his eyes. They were brimming with tears, something that hadn't happened to him for a long time.

He blinked the tears away and leaned back in his chair. His thoughts were jumbled, and he couldn't make any sense of them. He stared at the ceiling, losing himself in the memories of his sister and father. And his mother. Thinking back to times of joy, focusing on those rather than the bad memories – the trip to the playground when Kathy had fallen off the swing; the trip to the zoo when John had tried to climb into the monkey cage; going to an ice cream shop as a teenager, secretly having fun even though he felt like he had to act too cool to enjoy going out with his parents.

A tentative knock on his doorframe brought him back to reality, and John looked up to see Elizabeth standing outside his office.

"I just came by to see if you were okay," she said.

He dropped his feet to the floor and tilted his head to one side, considering the question. "I'm okay," he said finally.

She nodded, coming into the room and perching on the edge of his desk, as he often did in her office.

John gestured with the papers he was still holding. "It's from my sister."

"Did she... was it..." Elizabeth trailed off, not really sure what she wanted to ask.

"It's a good letter," he assured her. And it was, mostly. His father's death was there, looming at the back of his mind, bringing with it the additional sorrow that he hadn't been able to talk to the man before his death. But he didn't want to talk about it right now.

He would talk to Elizabeth, eventually. He had to tell her – it was as if now that he'd shared part of his life with her, he wanted to share the rest of it.

The realization scared him, but not as much as he thought it would. Somewhere along the way his friendship with Elizabeth had started crossing a line into something more, and he was okay with that.

She was smiling at him, eyes bright with relief, and she looked so beautiful in that moment, and he was so wrapped up in his thoughts and his own relief at Kathy's response and holding his grief for his father at bay a little longer that he had stood up and reached out for her before he even realized it.

And then he was kissing Elizabeth, and he couldn't think about anything else for a while.

When he drew back, he could see the confusion on her face, the uncertainty in her eyes. Uncertainty, but to his relief no rejection. "John..."

"I'm..." He couldn't say he was sorry, because he wasn't, not really. Sorry maybe that he hadn't picked a better time, but not sorry that he'd kissed her.

He shook the letter, still clenched in one fist. "I was celebrating?" he said, hating the questioning tone in his voice.

Elizabeth watched him for a minute, and then nodded, a smile playing across her lips. She would accept that for the moment, although he could tell from her eyes that they both knew it was more than that. And that she was as okay with it as he was.

It took Elizabeth several tries to find John. He wasn't in his quarters, even though he was off duty – not that she'd really expected him to be. She'd stopped by the gym, but the only occupants were Ronon and Teyla, engaging in such an intense sparring match that Elizabeth worried either that both of them would end up in the infirmary, or that she'd have to deal with an alien wedding before the year was out.

John wasn't in his office and he wasn't playing guinea pig for Rodney. She walked down a corridor, thinking that she would have to resort to calling him on the radio – something she didn't want to do because it was more fun to come upon him unannounced, when she heard a noise to her left, from the armory.

Once in the room she heard John before she saw him. "Damn paper work, all these stupid forms. If I'd realized all the boring work that came with this promotion..." he trailed off, grumbling to himself.

"Tired of being Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard already?" she asked, startling him.

"Don't do that to me!" he said.

"Sorry," she replied, although she couldn't stop her lips from curving up into a smile. "What are you doing?"

"I'm finishing the inventory. I never did, and I forgot to set someone else to do it, and now it's a couple of weeks overdue so I have to do it."

"I see."

"I was actually just about to come looking for you," he said. "Was going to see if you wanted to have coffee on the balcony."

Elizabeth had to smile at that. They'd been doing this quite a lot recently – if they'd been on Earth she would have said they were dating. Coffee on the balcony, dinner in the mess, taking walks in other parts of the city. And talking – about anything and everything, even sometimes about his past.

And he'd smuggled back a pretty flower from one of his offworld trips, just because she'd commented about how she'd missed having fresh flowers in her office. He'd even mentioned, casually, taking her up in a puddle jumper and doing a flight tour.

But they weren't on Earth, and she wasn't really sure how to define their relationship. Someday soon they'd probably have to talk about it, but in the meantime she was just going to enjoy herself.

"I'd like that," she said.

"Great!" he turned back to the inventory. "Just give me another fifteen minutes here."

Suddenly he seemed to remember that she was the one who'd come hunting for him. "So... why were you looking for me?"

Elizabeth clasped her hands together. "Caldwell's making preparations to leave tomorrow. He wanted me to ask all the senior personnel if they had anything else they needed to send to Earth."

John shot her a look. They both knew that she could have easily asked him this via radio, instead of coming to find him herself. Elizabeth blushed slightly.

He smiled, then thought about her question.

"Actually, Elizabeth, can we make that coffee in thirty minutes? I want to write a letter to my sister."