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

Author's note: Apologies to Anjirika, to whom the credit goes for reminding me of the possibility that John could possess people's bodies, which I used in the last chapter. I forgot to thank Anjirika for the great idea, sorry :-(

I know I've been a little harsh on Rodney, but I hope I also got the idea across that he really does care about Elizabeth; he just doesn't like seeing her this way. But never fear, in the end everything will be okay. :-)

But first, we're back to the whole horribly dramatic, depressing bit, which if done correctly should sort of mirror the original chapter that instigated this entire fic. Perhaps, this will create some unity in the piece, countering my tendency to roam through various genres?

"Elizabeth, it's not real," Dr. Beckett pleaded with struggling distraught woman. She pulled at the restraints holding her wrists firmly to the side of the medical bed. "Please calm down."

"Carson, you need to listen to me," she argued, far beyond the point where she could conjure up any sweetness in her voice. She sounded pathetic, she knew it, but she hoped it would convey her sense of urgency, not evidence what they all thought, that she was out of her mind. "We have to help him."

"John Sheppard is dead, Dr. Weir," Beckett replied. He regretted it every time he had to tell her. It seemed like she had forgotten about his death at first, like the stress had been too much for her. Each time the truth had to be reiterated to her, her eyes turned dead and distant, she seemed so sad…so, so sad. It was heart-wrenching to watch this. Even worse was when she began to refuse to remember the truth, and then she became violent. This wasn't normal Elizabeth. It all had to be linked to that inexplicable coma, which he hadn't gotten any further in understanding.

"NO!" she shouted, frustration now completely overwhelming her. Then realizing that violent outbursts wouldn't help her convince the others of her sanity, she tried to compose herself.

"You all have respected my decisions in the past," she addressed the concerned audience gathered around her bedside, which included Teyla, Lt. Ford, Rodney, and of course, Dr. Beckett and a member of the nursing staff. Elizabeth, however, focused on another figure, his presence unbeknownst to the others. Satisfied of his confidence in her she continued her last ditch attempt at using diplomacy. "Is it a stretch for me to assume that you all have trusted in my capabilities as a leader, my way of perceiving and evaluating situations?"

They all shamefully nodded their heads. They did care about her, she could tell by their pained expressions. This was hurting them as much as it was frustrating her. The potency of the anger she had been feeling towards them the past few days, since she had resisted them and they sedated her and strapped her to an infirmary bed, dissipated slightly.

"Good," she continued, unwilling to let them stray from the path she was guiding them down. "Then, please, I am asking you, based on the trust you have placed in me, trust I would like to believe that I have earned, please listen to me very carefully."

It was working. They were all entranced by her, eyes locked upon her, eager to hear what she said next. She tried to deny the thought that it was really only because this was the sanest she had sounded in over a week.

"This is very important," she was leading them. She had to be sure that they were willing to follow, that they wouldn't shut her out as soon as they saw where this was headed. They appeared to be intrigued enough to continue with her. How many of them would ignore what she said next completely? Should she even try? Maybe she should change her strategy. If they thought she was better, maybe they'd let her go and she could help John herself. No, she couldn't do that. John had been right. She deserved at least to preserve her own self-respect. She had to stick to her story. If they witnessed her conviction, maybe they'd consider it as a possibility, even a slight possibility of being the truth. And if she even got one of them to contemplate it for second, it'd be worth it all. She had to press forward, be strong, fortify herself against the looks of pity and disbelief, but never stop trying.

"John Sheppard is not dead."

She scanned her audience's faces as quickly as possible, trying to catch each individual reaction. Dr. Beckett sighed, looking as sad as ever. She couldn't blame him. He had heard the most of her 'rantings,' seen her at her most desperate crying herself to sleep, and born the worst of her temper since she'd been confined to the infirmary. Lt. Ford simply looked away, most likely unable to cope with seeing a grown woman, someone he had come to respect, completely lose her sense of self. She couldn't blame him either. Teyla looked at her sympathetically, but no belief could be found in her face no matter how hard she tried. At least, there was no pity there either. The Athosian respected her, not that the others didn't, but she understood the need a leader had for confidence in a compromising situation such as Elizabeth's. Disbelief was okay, but pity was unnerving, insulting.

Rodney, however, she allowed herself to hate. It was so easy. He was arrogant all of the time, and thus lent a propensity in others to despise him. He also had been the one to tattle on Elizabeth, multiple times in fact. She had gone to him for help, because he was the only one that could. She'd thought that maybe he would be able for once to just listen to her, do something for somebody else without over-thinking it. But all that wasn't why she seethed at him now, why he had become the focus of all her frustrations and rage. He was the only one who could really help John. She needed him to believe her, and he was the farthest one from it. She wanted to jump him and strangle his prideful snooty neck until he conceded that she was right!

Instead she lay back on her bed, letting a sigh lose that seemed to use up every ounce of breath in her body. She looked up at the ceiling in an attempt to fight back the tears, tears of rage and despair.

"Elizabeth."

She turned to her right to face the person who pulled her from her hell. The only one who believed her amongst all those she counted friends. He was fast becoming the only one who mattered to her as well. "John, I tried. Oh God, how I've tried. I'm sorry. I just can't make them believe me. I've fail-"

"Shh!" he silenced her. "You've done the best you can. Thank you. I should have never put this on you, Elizabeth."

He looked sad, something she had rarely seen before his "death" but something that she had recently become quite familiar with. It was still something that made her feel uncomfortable, and it definitely wasn't anything she wanted to see in him.

"If I'd've known it would lead to this…" he continued with his thoughts. He seemed to come to a decision at the same time, a determined look joining the sad one upon his face. "You don't deserve this, Elizabeth. Maybe I do, though. Maybe I did die…and this is the afterlife, my afterlife. God knows I've done things I'm not proud of, things that I probably deserve punishment for…and this is it."

"No, John," Elizabeth said gently. She no longer fought the tears that freely rolled down her cheeks red with exhaustion. "You can't think that's true. No. You know it's not true. You've saved countless lives, the lives of everyone living here in Atlantis and many others. And despite how many times you've endangered yourself by doing something foolish, like disobeying me…" He chuckled, but she could tell his heart wasn't in it. "…you're a good man, John. And you don't deserve this."

The others watched in shocked awe as Dr. Weir conversed with apparently thin air, pouring her heart out, emotion flashing in her eyes. Only Dr. Beckett succeeded in looking away from the tragic scene. He felt that he at least owed it to the woman, their once strong and respected leader, to explain to the others, to try and protect her from their stares, and to protect them from seeing such a woman breakdown.

"She gets like this sometimes," Dr. Beckett explained to the others. "She sees him, talks with him. She doesn't realize he's not real. She doesn't listen to anyone else. It's best to leave her alone in this sta-"

"Shut up, Carson!" Elizabeth shouted. It was the most uncontrolled and frightening sound any of them had ever heard her utter. They had witnessed her scold others harshly, if not themselves before. She could be quite formidable. But this was beyond a leader chewing someone out for doing something stupid and/or dangerous. This was a woman at the end of her rope. This was a cry of rage. And it succeeded in its goal. The entire infirmary turned silent, silent with fear. But Elizabeth wasn't done yet. "Just SHUTUP!! I can't BELIEVE THIS! I CAN"T BELIEVE YOU!! You are horrible, selfish people! I thought I had earned your trust, your respect, but apparently all I've done for you, given up for you and you couldn't even pretend to believe me, humor me for a second?"

The group that had originally been surrounding her bedside, those she had previously considered friends, stared at the floor and each other in shame and guilt. Even Teyla, always attentive to who was speaking, had to look away. But Weir still wasn't done.

"And what about John? He was your friend, YOUR FRIEND! Not to mention that you all owe him your lives, several times over! And you couldn't even listen to me, try to help him in the off chance that maybe, just maybe, I was telling the truth. And now he's giving up! John Sheppard, giving up! Look what you've forced him into!"

"Goodbye, Elizabeth."

It was soft, and deeply sad, and would've been barely audible amongst her shouting, if it hadn't been whispered directly into her ear by that voice, his voice. She looked around, but there was no sign of him. She strained to see every corner of the infirmary, but her restraints limited her movement. She twisted around desperately, but she knew the truth, even without being able to tear the infirmary apart searching for him. He was gone.

"NO!!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her vocal chords burned and her lungs ached, but it felt good in a horrible way; the release it allowed her, the vaguest hint of relief resultant from the outburst. Unfortunately, the utter despair, hopelessness, frustration and anger accompanied it. She cried tears that she should no longer be able to cry, and they burned her skin raw. And the scream echoed through Atlantis, and there was not a soul there who hadn't heard it.

And everyone stopped in their tracks when it reached their ears, forgetting their current tasks. Almost everyone, that is. The one she had cried for, for so long, the one she had screamed for, fought for, he, he continued to walk determinedly away from the infirmary, away from her…for what he knew had to be forever.

A/N: And on that note…one more chapter left…at least it should only be one more…