Elizabeth felt like she was traveling through a nightmare. Wearing only her boots, trousers, t-shirt and a black tac vest, Elizabeth was way beyond being cold. She didn't even think she was shivering any more, which was probably a very bad sign. She rubbed her freezing arms with her hands, but the friction seemed to do little good. She knew that the only reason she was probably still alive was because she hadn't stopped moving.
Or run into any Wraith. That was certainly another reason she was alive.
Stumbling through the forest, her curly dark hair clinging to her face and forehead, Weir strained to see the dark silhouette of Sheppard somewhere ahead of her. She could just hear him moving through the underbrush, but he was always just one step ahead of her. He stayed close enough to make sure she could hear him, but never so close that she could actually talk to him without calling out. She knew it was to make sure she didn't ask to stop because stopping now would certainly mean her death, but she suspected another reason as well. She thought that Sheppard had finally been pushed past his limit.
Fleeing from Atlantis had been traumatic enough. Only a handful of men and women had made it into the puddle jumpers before the Wraith had started bombing the city. Of that handful, Weir hadn't been able to keep track of how many had landed, but she suspected John had. She suspected that he knew exactly how many men and women had been killed in the city, and how many had died on the way to the mainland. And she suspected he knew how many people were currently wondering lost and cold and frightened through the wilderness, being picked off one by one by the Wraith. And because of that, Sheppard had disappeared into himself. Oh, he was still there on the outside, but he was a different man now. Over the course of only a few days, Weir had seen a dramatic and terrifying change in the once laid-back, charismatic Colonel. He had become quiet, withdrawn, watchful. After the first few days he had spoken only when absolutely necessary and now he didn't talk at all. He only stalked through the forest at a pace that Elizabeth could hardly keep up with, and one she couldn't understand how he was managing. Elizabeth had managed only a few hours of restless sleep in the past several days and she knew that Sheppard had slept even less—if at all. He had hardly eaten anything, so far as she could tell, and the only water he had probably had was what was dripping into his mouth as the rain trickled down his face.
Elizabeth knew Sheppard was pushing himself in an attempt to undo what he considered to be a mistake. A good dozen or so people—including Sheppard and herself—had escaped Atlantis in their puddle jumper. Shortly after they had landed, however, they had heard the Wraith moving through the forest and Sheppard decided that it would be best if they split up. Originally it had been into three groups, each with four members, who would then meet up later. But something had gone wrong and the three groups had splintered and had lost each other in the rainy forest. Immediately afterward Elizabeth and Sheppard had heard them dying, distant screams echoing through the trees. The night the screams had started, Sheppard had stopped talking.
Half-blind in the wet darkness, cold and miserable and frightened, Elizabeth had never felt so alone in her life. She was a fugitive, a hunted animal hiding in wet holes and stumbling through a frigid night. She had lost all sense of time, loosing track of how many sunsets and sunrises had passed since they had fled the city. She had forgotten a lot of things, too, in that time. She couldn't remember her old address on Earth, or Simon's middle name. She couldn't remember the name of her first high school crush, or the names of the moon's orbiting Saturn. She couldn't remember where she had graduated college, or what languages she could speak. All she could remember was how to walk. She remembered how to put one foot in front of the other, stumbling through the darkness after a shadow that never spoke and never stopped.
Elizabeth's foot hit a root and before she could catch her balance, she felt herself tumbling forward. She didn't even have time to cry out before she had fallen, face first in mud. She lay there for a moment, her nose filling with the calming scent of wet earth, before she raised her head and spluttered, coughing and gagging on the slim that had clogged her mouth and throat. She took a ragged gasp to regain the breath that had been knocked out of her, but she made no move to get to her feet. She was so tired now that she had even forgotten how to get up. She just wanted to lie down and quit. She was tired, cold, wet, muddy and miserable. Her friends were dead. Her family was dead or a billion light years away. She was alone on a planet that had once been her home.
Elizabeth looked down and saw her hands splayed out in the mud before her. Her gaze settled upon the pathetic loop of string knotted around her finger. A pathetic loop of string exactly like the one worn by a certain astrophysicist, lost somewhere in the woods around her. A certain arrogant scientist who was probably as cold and wet and muddy as she was, and just as lonely and frightened. A man who she feared she would never see again, or worse she would see lying lifeless on the ground, aged beyond recognition with a ragged hole bleeding on what had once been his chest…
A ragged sob escaped Elizabeth and she scrabbled uselessly at the mud in a vain attempt to get to her knees—or perhaps to dig deeper into the cold ground beneath her. She didn't know. All she knew was that she was tired and terrified and so lonely she thought her heart would shatter into a thousand pieces and stab her from the inside out.
Elizabeth heard footsteps squelch in the mud and she looked up slowly, not even caring if it was a hungry Wraith ready to descend down upon her. But it wasn't a Wraith—it was John Sheppard. He stood before her and looked down at her, his hazel eyes lost in shadow. He didn't move for a long time and for several minutes they simply stared at each other, Sheppard standing in the mud and Elizabeth lying covered in it at his feet. Then, slowly, Sheppard knelt to one knee in front of her and held out his hand.
"Come on," he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, "let's get out of here."
Elizabeth stared at Sheppard's hand, then slowly raised her eyes. For the first time in days she was looking directly into Sheppard's face and what she was frightened her. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes, and his face looked pale and hallow. But his eyes were bright and she saw a faint spark in there, an echo of who he had once been and who he once again could become, should time allow. She saw the friend she had thought she had lost, the brother she feared had abandoned her in his shattered madness.
But here he was, kneeling in the mud before her, reaching out for her.
Slowly, Elizabeth reached out and took his hand. He gently pulled her to her feet and held her hand tightly while she steadied herself. Gripping his fingers tightly, Elizabeth looked down at herself. The front of her pants and her tac vest were covered in mud. She could feel the stuff caked in her hair and she knew her face was probably lost beneath it. She looked up at Sheppard and for a moment they stood silent, simply staring at each other.
And then Sheppard smiled… and then he laughed.
"If only McKay could see you know." He chuckled, still holding her hand. "You look awful."
Elizabeth almost fell down again, so powerful was the relief that flooded her. She felt as if she were suddenly weightless and she had been lifted up by a great, warm wind and was swirling through the sky. She wanted to laugh and cry, but she settled for a wry grin.
"Why thank you, John." She said dryly. "But I've heard mud is very good for the skin."
John snorted and brushed at her face, showing her his mud-slick fingers.
"Uh-huh. Well, if that's true then you'll be Helen of Troy in no time."
Weir stuck out her tongue and slapped Sheppard's shoulder with her free hand. Sheppard laughed and then, growing slightly more subdued, tugged at Elizabeth's fingers.
"Come on," he repeated. "Let's go."
Elizabeth smiled and didn't mind at all when he finally released her hand. She didn't care that she was still following him, or that for the most part the only noises she heard were the squishes and squelches made by their boots. All she cared about was that, for now, she had her friend back and suddenly she wasn't feeling nearly so lonely.