Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis or its characters…

Author's note: Umm…yeah. Had this kind of written for awhile. Actually, I have a lot of different random bits of this story written. It's just filling in the gaps so that it works that is the difficult part. Anyway, I promise that other characters will pop up soon. I know so far the story seems a little redundant and repetitive…apologies for that. Things should be mixed up next section…I hope you enjoy this one though!

Elizabeth leaned her elbows on the desk and put her face in her hands. It wasn't the ache throbbing away in her head that bothered her. It was the pain deep down inside that made her feel like giving up. Well, it wasn't so much a pain as it was an absence of emotion. She couldn't call it hollow because it felt heavy, like a weight was pressing down upon her chest all the time, like she was deep below the ocean with all the water pressing in around her, or high up in the mountains where the air was thin and she was struggling to breath. And it was a struggle.

The whole day had been a struggle. She had resisted the urge to stand up in the briefings and shout "What's the point?" She had found herself zoning out more so than usual while the scientists consulted her on various matters. She had wanted to strangle almost every person she had run into during the day. And she didn't know where the violence and frustration came from, just that it was there deep down inside her, accompanying the weight that plagued her soul. She could only hope no one had recognized that something wasn't right with her.

All day, Elizabeth had fought to stave off tears she had felt threatening, and now she found that they would not come. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. She let her body slouch and her muscles go slack until her head and arms were resting directly on the desk. It felt cold and hard, but at least it felt like something. She focused on the cold hard surface and her breathing, trying to clear her head, trying to purge the leaden feelings from within her. Instead, her eyelids grew heavy and she soon was fast asleep at her desk.

----------------------------------------------------

She laughed. It was an amazing sound. He had so rarely heard it when he had been 'alive.'

"No, really. That one looks like Rodney after I touch something lying around in his lab," John reiterated, still pointing up at the cloud slowly making its way across the unnaturally blue sky. Elizabeth continued to laugh, and finding herself unable to speak, slapped John Sheppard on the arm.

Finally, the laughing fit died down and they both just lay there silently, pondering the cartoonish clouds while immersed in the field full of vibrant flowers. This was fun. This was what pure joy felt like. Elizabeth reached up, marveling at the awkward feeling of her fingers as the blood flowed out of them into her arm. She moved her hand gently back and forth, enjoying the strange perspective like she was a child new to the world.

A warm gentle breeze blew through the field, stirring the tall grass and flowers. The movement caught her eye, and she mindlessly ran her fingers through the blades of grass. They were as soft as rabbit fur. Her fingers caught upon something thicker; a stem. She picked the flower, and laughing turned to tickle John's nose with it.

As she held it threateningly over his face, something made her hesitate. She studied its shape. It was familiar. It sparked a memory in her, a memory of a drawing she had seen before. She had been touring a refugee camp on Earth, and as the entourage was passing through the makeshift village, a single flare of color had caught her eye. Stopping, she had found its source to be a flower, well, a drawing of a flower, a representation made from some pigment unknown to her, its four bright red petals standing in stark contrast to the muddied cardboard that served as a wall. And amongst all that despair and misery, she had found her spirit lifted and renewed. Children were children everywhere, full of hope and potential, and joy.

Dr. Elizabeth Weir returned her attention to the flower, but it was gone from her fingers that had so playfully and ignorantly plucked it. The flower was gone, the feeling of pure joy vanished with the memory, but it had left her with something far greater, her self identity. She remembered who she was, but why was she here? Where was here?

"What's wrong?" John asked, studying her inquisitively from where he lay beside her in the tall grass.

"I remember," she replied. She had almost forgotten he was there with her. But how could she have? She now remembered who he was, and that charming smile meant so much more when he was John Sheppard, military commander of Atlantis and flyboy than when he was John, guy who was cloud watching with her in a field full of wild flowers.

"Really?" he seemed surprised, excited even. "You've never realized on your own before!"

"Realized what?" she asked, slightly confused. The light of excitement faded from his features a little as he opened his mouth to explain. Elizabeth cut him off, her memories of the dreams returning and settling amongst her recently rediscovered self-identity. "…realized that this is all a dream…"

"Yes, Elizabeth!" He jumped to his feet pulling her up with him in his excitement.

She frowned. "You're dead."

"Yes!" She was taken aback by his enthusiasm over the revelation of his own demise, but somehow it encouraged her recollections.

"No, not dead… 'unphased.' "

"That's right. Keep going!" He was looking at her with such anticipation that she couldn't make eye contact for fear of disappointing him with her not-so-certain ability to recall the past in a dream state.

"And you wanted me to remember and tell Rodney when I woke up…but…" She trailed off as the memory of her failure came flooding back. "I just brushed it off as a silly dream. I'm sorry, John."

She let herself plop down in the tall grass. It felt colder and sharper than earlier. She felt that she deserved the stings she received as the blades of grass lashed at her bare cheek under the force of the once warm, now frigid wind. She had failed him. It was one of her biggest fears, failing the people who depended upon her.

"What for?" John asked as he sat down beside her. "You finally remembered on your own. I've always had to remind you before."

"Thanks for the sentiment, but it's not the remembering while I'm asleep that's going to help you," she replied still beating herself up while simultaneously straining to think of a way to take it all seriously when she woke up. A different sort of thought occurred to her. "Why didn't you try to remind me?"

He shrugged his shoulders and fiddled with a blade of grass.

"John?"

"I get tired. I try and try and try to contact someone, to get them to believe me. And then when they don't, I try some more." His sad demeanor turned towards his lighter, more typical amused disposition, the one she always knew he used to cover and divert others from his real feelings. Perhaps, he used it as a safety mechanism; dwelling on things out of one's control was never good for one's psyche. "A guy needs a break every once in a while."

"So you use my subconscious as a playground?" It was meant to be a jibe, a joke, but she suddenly realized how violated it made her feel and how embarrassed John looked about it. Sympathetic to the frustration he felt by being trapped in a situation so out of his control, she decided to change the subject. "You've tried to contact others."

He nodded his head, still sobered by his guilt. He had never thought about the effects his popping in and out of Elizabeth's dreams would have on her. He had just wanted someone to help him. He just wanted things to be normal again.

"Who, exactly, have you tried to contact?"

"Rodney, Ford, Teyla, Beckett, Zelenka…you name it," he answered. "I think I've tried to contact everyone in the city at least once." He smiled at her, a sad sort of gesture. "I've only ever been able to convince you that I'm alive. So I've been trying to get you to remember for a very long time."

Elizabeth didn't respond. Anything she could say, she was sure that she had probably said to him before. How many times had she promised him that she'd get help only to forget with the rising of the sun or the sounding of her alarm? How many times could she offer condolences, sympathy for his horrid situation?

"Should I try to wake up now?" Elizabeth questioned. She wasn't exactly sure of her memories, but she vaguely recalled that she had tried to wake and remember before but had failed to actually provide any assistance to John. "Will I remember?"

"I don't know," John replied quietly. She could see the doubt in his eyes. But there was something else. She could tell that he didn't want her to try to wake up yet. He didn't want to be alone again. Even for how changed he seemed from before he 'died,' he still seemed incapable of voicing such an emotion he deemed superfluous. How could she spare him from having to ask?

"Maybe I could remember better if I knew everything," she suggested. "Could you tell me exactly what happened, from your perspective?"

A look of grateful relief lighted John's face. He began to tell Elizabeth the story of how he died...

A/N: How is the flow? Does it seem too much like the other chapters as to be boring? Would you like more?