Sorry for the long wait! It seems my life is a bit chaotic these days. ;) Hope you like the chapter:)

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Peace eluded her.

Teyla pulled in one deep breath through her nose before letting it quietly escape through her lips. She repeated the process, willing her body to relax, her mind to clear… her spirit to find peace. But, even as she tried, she knew peace was beyond her reach. It had been since the day John Sheppard nearly died…

… saving her.

Teyla's head dropped and she folded her hands on her lap. She stared at her crossed legs, barely visible in the amber candlelight as a loud sigh escaped her. Unbidden, the memories came back to her, memories she couldn't chase away.

Her grip tightened on the P-90 as all humor faded from John's face.

"Two life signs?" John glanced at Rodney before turning a wary eye to the thick woods. "Where?"

Teyla turned, scanning the surrounding landscape. "I see nothing…"

"Teyla! Look out!"

She whirled around as John's warning reached her ears, only to find herself sprawling to the ground under the force of his weight just as a loud explosion deafened her.

She hit the ground hard, but rolled away, her fast recovery spurred by gunfire. Coming up in a crouch she fired, her shots following Ronon's. It was over quickly as the two T'eshii were dead before they hit the ground. It was at that moment she realized that only she and Ronon had been shooting. Turning, her breath caught in her throat as she stared at John's crumpled and limp form. "Colonel!"

Teyla opened her eyes, her vision blurred by tears. If she'd only seen the grenade, if she'd only turned back sooner… if she'd never turned away in the first place.

The rest was a blur to her. Blood; on her hands, flowing freely from his head, smeared across the rock that had injured him… soaking the ground under him.

Ronon, running for the gate.

Rodney strangely silent.

The feel of John's mouth on hers as she forced life back into him; his ribs cracking under her hands as she refused to let him die without a fight…

The desperate break in her voice as she shouted for Carson…

The vacant and confused look in John's eyes the first time he awoke in the infirmary.

The peace she found from meditation had never been close to her tonight, but at this moment, all hopes of its healing powers fled from her.

Teyla wept silently.

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Elizabeth's stride was hesitant as she slowly walked down the long corridors of Atlantis. Tucked neatly under her arm and cradled in her hand two soft covered books brushed absently against her hip with each step she took.

She leaned forward in her char and stared at Carson from across her desk. "I want to help him, Carson." Elizabeth slightly arched her brow at the doctor.

After a moment, an understanding smile faintly lit Carson's face. "Aye, I suspected you would. That's why I stopped by and talked to Dr. Anella." He tapped two books he'd set on the edge of her desk. "She gave me these."

Elizabeth looked down. "Primary writers?"

"Aye," Carson nodded. "Some of the Athosian children are learning in classes on the mainland instead of only apprenticing out to other craftsmen in the settlement. A trial project. Teyla's idea. We had these shipped from Earth."

"Oh yes," Elizabeth nodded, remembering the requisition. She sighed. "He's not going to like this."

"Aye," Carson agreed, "but the truth is, he needs to relearn to write from the beginning. Relearning in cases like this goes much faster than initial learning, but he still has to start from scratch. The damaged part of his brain has to be retrained."

Elizabeth's other hand tightened around two pencils she carried. Amnesia or not, John Sheppard could be stubborn and a bit prideful if he put his mind to it, but, she suspected, this time it would be more embarrassment and shame than anything else. That's why she had to do this and no one else. Not because she was a diplomat, but because as the leaders of Atlantis, her and John had been through a great deal together. And, while he didn't remember any of it, that bond was still there. Of that, she was sure.

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"Shit! That's cold!"

In spite of the layers of thick clothes John winced, as the Antarctic air seemed to pierce any protection he had. Behind the mask that covered his face, he bit his lip and nodded, silently agreeing with Edward's exclamation. The swirling snow was blinding, even with thick goggles protecting his eyes. John squinted as he barely made out the snow-covered form of the wrecked chopper. Pushing through the drifts of snow that surrounded him, John tugged at Edward's coat sleeve. "Come on."

Holding tightly to the side of the chopper and fighting the wind that battered them, John and Edwards made their way around the back of the chopper to the large, side door, still firmly shut. John firmly tugged on the handle. "Frozen. Give me a hand here."

"You expected this to be easy?" Edwards quipped darkly as he added his strength to John's.

"Sure, but I'm the optimistic type," John answered absently. Again, he threw his weight into the door and this time, with Edwards' added strength the door slowly creaked open, yielding them just enough room to squeeze in.

John all but ripped a flashlight from one of his parka's pockets. Holding it beside his head, he scanned the interior of the copter. "Stiles? Any of you guys hear me? It's Sheppard." John wormed his way into the chopper and panned his light across several bodies. He hastily pulled his goggles down around his neck and pulled the protective mask off over his head. "Come on, guys, talk to me," he urged as he made his way towards the nearest body. He stopped mid-crouch as frozen, lifeless eyes stared back at him. "Damn." He panned his light slowly in a circle around him. It vaguely reminded him of some nightmarish haunted house as his light encountered one frozen and lifeless body after another. He paused as Edwards turned away from the cockpit. "Stiles and Harris?"

Edwards just stared back.

Even though John could only see his friend's eyes, he still knew exactly what the lieutenant was saying to him and the dog tags that reflected the light from John's flashlight only confirmed it.

John turned towards the rear of the chopper, a quiet moan catching his attention.

"They're dead," Edwards said quietly.

"Shh!" John waved at the lieutenant, "I heard something." John stepped over one of the dead crewmen and made his way to the rear of the chopper. He wasn't sure if it was the wind or… "Talk to me, airman!" He put as much authority in his voice as he could.

"Shep, it's the wind…"

"Shut up!" John snapped as he knelt next to a lone body, huddled against the wall and haphazardly covered in extra blankets. His jaw dropped as two glossy, but alive eyes looked back at him. "Wind hell!" John knelt and put his hand on the airman's shoulder. "Edwards! Martinez is alive, get your ass back here!"

John's eyes burned and his memories faded as he forced one blink then another to wet his eyes. He pulled in a deep breath and turned away from the daydream and back to the present. The cold chill of the Antarctic air and the even colder chill of lifeless eyes, faded from his memory. It was so clear to him, so clear in his memory. He looked around, his gaze passing over alien architecture, intermixed with the familiar equipment of any military infirmary. Why couldn't he remember this?

John looked up, movement catching his attention, and watched Elizabeth walk towards him. The small, hesitant smile that found him matched his feelings perfectly. No matter how much she, or any one else tried to hide it, there was still a level of familiarity; more so in some than others, that he didn't… couldn't share and every time he saw any of them, it only reminded him of what he'd lost. She must've seen his hesitation, because the impartial mask on her face strengthened.

John's eyes fell to her hands, which carried two soft backed books, a thick tablet and a couple pencils. His eyes narrowed slightly as she stopped next to his bed. He looked up and again met her gaze. "Hi."

She smiled. "Hi. How are you feeling?"

John sighed quietly. "I'd be lying if I said fine, but… better."

Her smiled warmed slightly as understanding radiated in her eyes. Without words, John knew she knew that he spoke of more than just his physical wellness.

She slowly sat in the chair next to his bed and set the books beside him. "I brought you these."

He looked down, his brow wrinkling as he stared at the primary school writers. The last time he'd seen anything like this, he'd been a kid, just learning how to write. He clenched his jaw as he felt the redness of embarrassment creeping up his neck and tingeing his ears. His unfocused stare centered on the books and he couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"Hey," Elizabeth's voice was soft and reassuring, "there's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Like hell," John muttered. "It's a first grade writer." A touch of confusion found him as he pulled on his now limited knowledge of Atlantis. "Where…"

"We're assisting with the schooling of some of the Athosian children," she answered. "Not much, as they seem to do well on their own, but Teyla wanted them to learn some of our ways."

John looked sideways as a pencil appeared in his peripheral vision. He finally found the courage to once again look up at her, and took strength from the warm and understanding look she gave him. Slowly, he took the pencil from her and opened the book. He stared at the first page and the large, bold "A" and "a" that dominated it. Pressing the pencil into the page, his concentrated gaze bore a hole through it as he slowly scribbled across the page, but what he knew how to do ended up being far from what his hand actually did. "Damn it," he cussed quietly, but emphatically as he stared at the messy twist of lines that only vaguely resembled an A.

"John…"

"No," he interrupted hotly, "I know how to do this. I.. I know, but I… can't." A heavy stillness hung between them for a moment before Elizabeth broke it.

"Here," she said quietly, "let me help."

John sucked in a deep breath as her warm, gentle hand closed over his. Slowly, she guided his hand across the paper.

"You didn't expect to master this first try, did you?" She admonished lightly. "Carson says you'll learn a lot faster, but not that fast."

John moved his hand to the next line, keenly aware that her hand followed his, and started the exercise again. "You can't tell me you don't have more important things to be doing than this," he muttered.

"As a matter of fact," she answered as she loosened her grip slightly, giving him more control, "I can't think of anything more worth my time than this."

He paused at the end of the line and looked up at her. "You don't have to…"

She tightened her grip and moved his hand to the next line. "I know."

John fell silent as he concentrated on his exercises, but he couldn't stop the faint smile that tugged at his mouth. Somehow, he felt that of all the people that could be doing this, she was the right one; the one that he'd be the most comfortable with. After a page and a half of her guiding him, she silently let go and watched as he slowly formed letters of his own. They were rough and uneven around the edges, but, he had to admit, they looked better than his first try.

He looked questioningly at her as she gently took the pencil from his hand.

"That's enough for today. Carson's orders. Only an hour at a time." She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs before folding her hands on her lap. Her smile was faint as she looked at him. "You do look better every time I see you," she said quietly.

John looked away. "Don't look like the living dead anymore?" he quipped lightly.

Elizabeth chortled quietly. "No."

Her deep sigh recaptured his attention and he watched all humor fade from her expression.

"You gave us a… a scare," her voice trailed off as if the words she uttered, were inadequate.

John bit his lip, unsure what to say. "Sorry," he muttered.

A slightly flustered smile flashed across her face. "No, don't be. I just…," she sighed again, "no matter what may be wrong or might happen, I'm incredibly relieved to just see you alive and… there." Her brows furrowed slightly.

John swallowed hard and thought about her words. He'd spent so much time cursing his injury and what he couldn't do or remember, that he'd never really considered how lucky he was not only to be alive, but also to not be a human vegetable. The silence between them stretched and lingered, before he shifted slightly in his bed. "Well," he attempted some light humor, "not really all there…" His slight smile to her was cynical

A look of determination replaced the vulnerable one on her face. "That will come," she said, her quiet voice strong and unwavering.

"Yeah." John couldn't quiet keep the hesitation from her voice. He pursed his lips. "We… we've worked pretty closely for a while, haven't we?"

Elizabeth's smile was bittersweet. "Yes," she answered softly. "We've been through a lot in the last couple years." Her gaze narrowed slightly. "Why do you ask?"

John sighed. "I don't know," he admitted, "it just… it feels that way."

"Dr. Weir, to the control room."

John looked up as the hail came over the Ancient citywide system.

Elizabeth sighed. "Duty calls." She tapped her headset. "This is Weir, I'm on my way." She stood and smiled down at him. "I'll be back later. We can talk more then. Get some rest."

John smiled slightly and settled his head back in the pillow. "Yes, ma'am," he answered. He held his smile as she took a moment to chuckle quietly before she turned and left the infirmary.

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Elizabeth stopped next to one of the main Ancient control panels and nodded at the technician minding them. "What is it, Chuck?"

Chuck's smile was grim. "Daedalus. Colonel Caldwell calling for you."

Elizabeth frowned in confusion. "They left for Earth three days ago." How could they still be in radio contact, unless…

"Yes, ma'am," Chuck confirmed.

"They turned back," Elizabeth muttered.

"Looks that way, ma'am," Chuck answered.

Elizabeth sighed. Deep inside she knew her report to the IOA, in which she was obliged to include a status on Colonel Sheppard, would make it's way into the hands of the military, she had just hoped for more time. "Thank you, Chuck. I'll take the call in my office." She barely caught Chuck's nod as she turned away and crossed the short bridge to her office. Sitting down behind her desk she tapped her radio call button and folded her hands on the smooth surface. "Colonel Caldwell, this is Weir. I'm surprised to hear from you so soon."

"Dr. Weir," Caldwell's voice responded immediately, "given Colonel Sheppard's… condition, my superiors felt it best that I return to Atlantis immediately. We're in orbit, I'd like to beam down."

Orbit? Elizabeth's eyes widened slightly. "Yes of course," she answered. She looked up as the bright transporter beam appeared in her office and quickly faded, leaving the straight form of Colonel Steven Caldwell in its wake. Elizabeth stared at him for a moment, trying to read anything in his impassive mask. There was a lot of water under the bridge between them, since he'd made his bid to take command of Atlantis over a year ago, but she nonetheless felt wary. "Colonel, welcome back to Atlantis."

Caldwell nodded slightly. "Thank you Doctor. I was sorry to hear what happened to Colonel Sheppard. Given the circumstances, I'm sure you can understand why I returned so quickly."

Elizabeth sighed. With John injured and Caldwell gone, Major Lorne had been running the military presence in Atlantis, and doing a fine job. But, Elizabeth knew how the brass felt about majors acting as military CO's of such an important, strategic outpost. "I'll have Major Lorne brief you as soon as you're ready."

"Thank you." Caldwell turned towards the door, only to stop and look back at her. "Dr. Weir, you should know that given Colonel Sheppard's particular injuries, my superiors feel he's no longer fit for command and are pushing to have him relieved. They want to place me in command of Atlantis' military contingent."

Elizabeth couldn't keep the anger from her eyes. "It's too early to be jumping to that conclusion, Colonel."

Caldwell's gaze narrowed. "The IOA doesn't think so. They're concerned with a compromising gap in the chain of command and military security of this base."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed, her voice turning cynical. "And you're the perfect person to step in."

Caldwell looked away for a moment before bowing his head. "Dr. Weir…"

Elizabeth was slightly taken aback at the sincere expression on his face when he finally looked up.

"I know we've had our differences, and I'll admit at first I wasn't convinced of Sheppard's ability to be the CO here. Now?" He shrugged and a dark, challenging smile pulled at one side of his mouth, "maybe." Caldwell took a step closer to her desk. "But off the record, I agree with you." He sighed deeply. "Right now, this job is temporary and I'll work to keep it that way until the day I believe Sheppard is no longer able to effectively command this base."

Elizabeth was silent for a moment as Caldwell's unexpected words sank in. She softened her gaze. "I appreciate that, Steven," she said quietly, "but neither you nor I may have any say in it." She met his direct gaze with a serious one of her own.

Caldwell nodded slightly. "I know." He stared at her for a moment longer, before he turned and quietly left.

Elizabeth watched him go. She slowly leaned back in her chair, her mood turning dark and brooding. This was just going from bad to worse.

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"Easy now, son. Nice and slow."

John could feel his knees shaking as he eased off the bed and onto his feet. Carson's gentle voice accompanied his firm grip as he faced John, helping him to stand. Part of John was surprised he was so weak, but guessed it made sense. A wave of dizziness swept over him and his fingers tightened on Carson's forearm.

"You all right, lad?" Carson reinforced his support and his grip tightened.

"Yeah," John whispered, "gotta do this."

"Aye," Carson sighed, "your muscles could use it, but we're not pushing our luck, Colonel, just a short walk then back to bed with ye."

John's gaze fixed on the floor as he straightened, standing, albeit wobbly, on his own two feet. He took one shaky step, then another. A sudden, second grip on his other arm grabbed his attention and he looked up.

"Hey." Ronon smiled slightly.

In the last week since he'd woke, John had gained some comfort around those he knew were supposed to be his friends. Ronon was no different. In fact, John found himself more relaxed around the big man than most other people. Ronon was content to sit with him, silent, and just be there. Not expect anything from him, nor be uncomfortable when he couldn't give it. It was that way with most of "his team"; the ones he knew had been the closest to him in the last three years of his life that he'd lost. McKay was the worst, fidgeting and rambling, but the more John had watched him, the more he'd realized that most of what he saw on the surface with Rodney was a front. But, with Ronon, John found a renewed friendship, one he could sow from scratch. There was slight warmth to Ronon's otherwise neutral expression as he gripped John's elbow.

John took another step and looked ahead, ready to cross the room. His gaze fell on the crash cart, sitting off to his left and John froze, his mind reeling.

Pain… his neck… his own voice shouting an order to a wide-eyed and hesitant young man under his command. "Do it!"

Pain.

Darkness…

"Colonel?"

John took a deep breath, composing himself in the face of Carson's worried tone. "I'm okay, I'm…" He squinted while, as quick as the scrap of memory had returned to him, it faded, leaving him confused and flooded with adrenaline, the reason for which, he had no idea. "I was… defibbed?" The look of sheer surprise on Carson's face affirmed his statement more than anything the doctor could've said.

"Aye! You remember?"

John swallowed. He chewed on his lower lip tentatively as the memory faded behind the heavy shroud of his memory loss. "It was something… I was awake." Puzzled, John's brows knitted. He shook his head slightly. "It's gone now."

"'Tis okay, lad," Carson immediately reassured, "don't push it. I know you're pretty frustrated, but believe me, that is a good sign."

John looked away from the crash cart and nodded slightly, trying to push away his irritation. "I think we were… walking?" he ventured.

"Aye," Carson answered, "easy now."

John took a step, before arching an eyebrow at Ronon. "Don't have anything better to be doing?"

Ronon's expression turned bemused. "Nope."

John couldn't help the smile that tugged at his face. "Right." He took another step, encouraged, as he felt slightly stronger. It felt good to be walking again, using the muscles that had been cramping over the last week. He took another step, then another.

"Slowly, Colonel," Carson pulled back a bit on his arm, "You're not running a bloody marathon."

John turned and started the trek back to his bed. "It feels good Carson," he complained and tried to speed up once again.

"Aye! I'm sure it does," Carson resisted John's impatient pull, "but you're not overdoing it. Doctor's orders!"

"I'm just walking," John protested, "how the hell can I over do it?"

"Very easily!" Carson sounded slightly exasperated, "my god, man, you suffered serious injury."

John felt Ronon's grip tighten and he glanced at the big man. "You too?"

"Don't want to carry you back to bed," Ronon answered.

John grimaced in annoyance and slowed his pace.

"'Tis good to see some fire in your belly again, son," Carson steadied John as he slowly sat down on his bed. "No matter how exasperating it is."

Fatigue washed over John but he managed to send an annoyed look Carson's direction as he eased his head down on the pillow. "Funny," he muttered as his eyelids fell shut and he succumbed to exhaustion.