"He is not ready!" The whispered words stopped Evan in his tracks.

"Maeryn, I have no choice." Andren also whispered, but he was calmer than his wife. "I agree that he's not ready, but I have been given an order from the Prime Minister."

"Can't you stall? You're his doctor, and you know his condition!" Maeryn moved in the kitchen, but she continued speaking. "You know as well as I how fragile the mind can be. If they push him for answers, he may never remember."

"You underestimate him." Andren's voice had risen to a normal speaking tone. "He is a soldier. I can see it in the way he carries himself and the pictures he draws. And he is remembering things. It's just taking time. Time that we don't have."

"Because of one man." Maeryn changed locations again, her shoes clipping on the floor. "Andren, he is a guest in our home. He is your patient, a man you swore to protect until he is better. I don't see how this could ever help him. If anything, it will put a strain on him and keep him from remembering further."

Rather than listen to the argument, Evan headed upstairs. He deliberately hit the fourth step from the top, letting the squeak silence the voices in the kitchen. He heard them resume their conversation once he reached his room, but he was too far away to understand what they said.

Someone wanted to speak with him. That much was obvious. Who? The military? It made sense. If he was a soldier-and he very much believed so-then his company commander would want him to return to duty as quickly as possible. But how could he return to duty if he could not remember? Had he done any kind of basic training, or was he a conscript? He'd heard enough from Kaela and Andren to understand that Orenth was in a civil war, but he had yet to learn exactly why they were in a civil war.

After bathing and dressing for the day, Evan made his way downstairs. He'd left his jacket in his room, choosing to roll the long sleeves away from his wrists and leave the suspenders over his shirt. It vaguely reminded him of something, but he couldn't recall what. Either way, he'd seen Andren dressed similarly while out for a stroll and knew it was acceptable.

Kaela set the breakfast table, her green eyes seeking his when he walked into the room. She smiled. "Good day, Evan."

He returned the smile and turned to Maeryn. "Good morning."

Maeryn grinned at him and patted his shoulder as she carried food to the table. She'd adopted Evan in spite of Kaela's attraction to him, and he wondered if getting involved with the doctor's daughter would be such a wise idea after all. Like always, when he thought about Kaela, his dream lady appeared. If he could only remember her name. . . .

As they ate, Andren shifted in his chair. "Evan, the Minister of War and the Prime Minister wish to speak to you."

Evan froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Surely you've told them everything I've told you."

"I have." Andren gave Maeryn a warning glance before continuing, "But they wish to hear it from you. As I said at the hospital, you're quite the hero, and they likely want to award you for your heroism."

Evan shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with that idea. "I'm not so sure that's a great idea, Sir." He shrugged. "I merely did what any good soldier would do."

"That's just it." Andren, who knew of Evan's dreams, leaned forward. "You and I haven't spoken about your experiences, but Josus has. And he tells us that a lot of good soldiers couldn't get out of that camp. But you managed to bring five of our finest home."

Evan glanced down at his plate. And to lose seven of your finest, he thought. Rather than voicing those thoughts, he set aside his fork, his appetite gone. "I see."

Andren gave him a sympathetic look. "We'll leave in an hour."

Evan excused himself from the table, not even glancing at the two women as he left the room. He hated the dread coiling in his stomach, but he was unable to stop the knot from growing. The officials he was about to go see would want answers. They'd want him to explain why he was here. He knew from his dream last night that he wasn't from this planet. But his home planet remained elusive. He wished he'd seen the symbols on the big stone ring, but he'd been unable to discern them even in his early morning time. He'd only seen faces. People. And he'd drawn them.

His eyes fell on his sketch pad, and he impulsively snatched it up. If the Prime Minister and the Minister of War wanted to see them, then he'd have to show them. The pages fell open to the sketch of his dream lady, and he smiled. Just the sight of her face calmed him, and he often wondered if he'd ever see her in the flesh again.

Rather than staring at the picture, he set the sketch pad aside and gathered his hat and coat. When he'd left the hospital, he hadn't worn the hat, preferring to go bare-headed. But, as they'd traveled to Andren's home, he'd noticed that almost every man on the street wore a hat. As did the women. In deference to custom, he made sure it was firmly in place when they left for the train.

Andren remained quiet on the train ride, letting Evan have his thoughts. Evan was grateful, but he wished he'd been informed about this trip a bit sooner. He would have been able to prepare, to put something together from the images he'd drawn. Instead, he would have to make it up as he went along. Improvise, as it were. And he couldn't help but think that he was quite good at improvisation.

When they left the train, Andren turned to him. "There is nothing to be nervous about. This is not a hearing of any kind. Merely a meeting in a private chamber, designed to gather intelligence."

Evan licked his lips before responding. "Yeah. Somehow, I think I've heard that before."

Andren raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Not that I remember." Evan shrugged, unable to explain the feeling. "I just feel like I've experienced this before, and it never ended well."

Andren narrowed his eyes. "I'll be right there the whole time."

That's what I'm concerned about, Evan thought. He'd been in Andren's home long enough to realize that the man wasn't going to crucify him, but he remained suspicious nonetheless. Not to mention Kaela's infatuation, which grew with each passing day. Evan didn't think she meant anything by it, and he was somewhat flattered. But he refused to start anything beyond a friendship with her.

At the Ministry Headquarters, Andren led Evan up the wide steps and through a massive set of double doors. Evan looked around, seeing the pillars and statues that people could hide behind. They walked through a vestibule with twenty-foot ceilings, arches, and various works of art. Part of him wanted to examine the art, to see if anything was familiar, but he kept walking. His footsteps echoed on the large tile but didn't draw any extra attention. Men and women rushed here and there, and the vestibule opened into a three-way intersection. Andren turned left, leading Evan down a hall that was equally as large and ornate. Three-quarters of the way down the hall, he stopped and opened a door, revealing another hallway, this one mundane compared to the splendor outside. Down that corridor, through another door, Evan found himself in a large conference area lined with numerous books. He couldn't read the language, but he clearly recognized the large wooden table. It looked just like. . . .

Letting out a frustrated sigh, he moved to the window at the other end of the room. It looked out over a park with children running and playing while mothers and fathers kept watch. He heard the squeals and laughter through the window and allowed it to soothe him. Something about watching the children seemed familiar, but, like anything else, it remained buried in the recesses of his mind.

The thick door to the room opened again, and he turned to see two men, Andren's contemporaries, stride into the room. The younger of the two still had color in his hair, and he sported a bushy beard with a wide mustache that curled up at the ends. Handlebar mustache, Evan's mind supplied helpfully. The other man seemed somewhat grizzled and brusque by way of comparison.

Evan unconsciously straightened, his arms going to his sides, and his chin lifting as his eyes fixated on a spot on the wall. He couldn't explain the reaction. It was instinctive, almost as if it had been drilled into him at a young age. The grizzled man glared, but the younger one actually smiled.

Andren motioned to the younger man first. "Evan, meet Prime Minister Culver. He's the one to call this meeting." His hand moved to the other man. "And this is Grian, Minister of War."

Evan nodded. "It's an honor, Sirs."

Culver raised an eyebrow and glanced at Andren. "From what I hear, you're a soldier."

"Yes, Sir." Evan blinked and let a bit of his emotions show. "At least, I think so."

Grian snorted, but Culver smiled. "Then, soldier, relax. Or whatever it is they say."

"At ease," Grian growled.

Culver waved a hand, indicating that he already knew that and had likely feigned ignorance to irritate Grian. Evan simply nodded and removed the stiffness from his spine. He waited until the men had chosen their seats and then settled across from Grian and Culver and next to Andren. Setting his sketch pad on the table, he waited while they prepared their own notebooks and pens.

Culver met his eyes. "Andren tells me you have no memory of who you are, where you're from, or what you've done."

"Ah. . .no, Sir." Evan laced his fingers together above his sketch pad. "I've been told things, and I dream. But nothing explains who I am. I've remembered the escape. At least, I think I have. But Josus was very open with what happened. . . ."

". . .and you think your mind simply supplied the images," Culver finished his thought.

"Yes, Sir."

Grian glared. "Well, what do you remember?"

"Ah. . . ." Evan ordered his thoughts, pulling his memories of the dreams to the surface. "I was trying to get through a large stone ring with my team. I couldn't tell you where, only that it was not on this planet. I'm certain of that, no matter how crazy it sounds." He paused while the two men exchanged glances. "In the process, I was separated from my team and rendered unconscious. When I woke, I was in custody, bound, and being interrogated. Then, I was put in the camp."

"The wartime prisoners' camp?" Grian flipped through his own notes. "We have the testimonies of the five people you helped escape. They say you were there for a week."

"Yes, Sir."

"And you did in a week what others couldn't do in months?"

"I can't explain that, Sir." Evan shrugged. "I have this suspicion that my memories hold the clue as to why that might be. But. . . ."

Culver held up a hand to stop Grian's retort. "Just tell us what you do remember."

Rather than speaking, Evan opened his sketch pad. In the hours he had on his hands while recovering, he'd drawn every scene from his dreams in little squares so that his sketch pad read like a graphic story in places. He slid it across the table. "That, in essence, is what I remember." He pointed to the first picture and watched Culver's face as he skimmed through the pictures. "I have dreams and, when I wake up, draw them out so I don't forget again."

Culver turned the page and saw the women as they fell. "This is. . . ."

"Yes, Sir." Evan nodded, understanding how gruesome his drawings really were.

Culver closed the book. "From what Josus and the others tell us, you kept them moving. When that grenade went off near you, it threw you quite a distance and flung you into a tree. They brought you to Andren, who saw to your health care."

Evan nodded. "I'm grateful."

Grian narrowed his eyes. "From what you and your. . .uh. . .drawings have indicated, you're definitely remembering things."

"I believe so, Sir."

The two men exchanged glances. Culver then leaned forward. "Have you drawn the stone ring you remember?"

Rather than speaking, Evan flipped through the sketch pad and found the page-sized picture he'd done just yesterday. He turned it toward Culver, who exchanged another meaningful glance with Grian. "Sirs, if I may, what is that thing?"

"That," Culver said, "is the Ring of the Ancestors. We use it to travel to other worlds in search of trading partners. And that," he continued, tapping the picture, "is the entire reason you were captured in the first place."

Evan blinked and then raised his eyebrows in confusion. "Sorry?"

Grian shook his head. "How much have you been told of how our government works?"

"Not much," Evan admitted.

Grian accepted that with a nod. "We are led by a Prime Minister, a man chosen by popular vote. That vote can—and often does—cause quite a bit of conflict. Which is what happened with this last vote. Culver, here, won the popular vote over Derron, who believed Culver had used his considerable wealth to win the vote. There has been an investigation, and we learned that Culver did not use his wealth other than to cover necessary costs of the campaign. But Derron is firm in his belief that Culver is corrupt, that he bribed his way into office."

"He broke off and formed his own nation." Culver shook his head. "Seceded from our nation and set up his own small country in some barren territory on the other side of the Ring. Fighting has been intense, and he has gained support both from within Talgrom and its governing body and without. We believe he may have sympathizers right within our Ministry. But that's beside the point. Two weeks before your arrival, we had lost control of the Ring. Without control of the Ring, our trade agreements cannot help support our people. We rely on help from other worlds and have for many years. With Derron controlling the Ring, we could not make contact with our allies to inform them that they were unable to come. Our own spies within Derron's troops tell us that your team was the only one to come through. They were also discovered about the time you were captured, and we were unable to obtain your home address."

Evan ducked his head. He'd hoped these men would have answers for him, but he suppressed the reaction. "I see."

Culver met his eyes. "We were hoping you would be able to help us, Evan."

"Me?"

"Yes." Grian smiled, the first one he'd cracked since he walked into the room. "Evan, how would you like to work directly for us?"

oOo

Jennifer stormed out of John's office, through the control room, and toward the infirmary. Halfway there, she changed direction and headed for crew quarters. How could they do this to her? To Evan? She blinked rapidly to keep from crying and yelling at the poor Marine that jumped into the transporter with her. He glanced at her and then jumped out when they arrived at crew quarters.

Once in her room, she grabbed the first thing that she could find and threw it. A pillow. It bounced harmlessly off the wall and landed on the floor, intact. Jennifer, in her rage, wanted to see something broken. Looking around, she grabbed a lamp that held no meaning whatsoever and yanked it off the bedside table. It shattered against the wall in time with her yell. That felt good!

Her anger spent in that sudden burst, she dropped onto the side of her bed and cried.

Evan was officially Missing In Action. The meaning of those words swept over her, and she drew her knees to her chest and rocked as she cried. John had asked her to come to his office, had tried to soften the blow she'd been expecting since he returned with Elizabeth's Replicator double. But hearing confirmation of it really stung. Just when John would have been the older brother she'd needed right then, Rodney had walked into the room, learned what had happened, and proceeded to tell Jennifer that she and Evan should have just gotten a room when they were able. That comment had fueled the anger that sent her to her quarters in a rage.

MIA. Jennifer shook her head as the implications came home to her. It didn't mean that Evan was dead, but it assumed the worst. That he wasn't coming back. And that hurt more than anything else.

Suddenly unable to handle being alone, Jennifer wiped her face and left her quarters. She walked aimlessly, not surprised when her footsteps took her to Evan's quarters. Using her medical override code, she walked into his room and looked around.

It seemed as if he'd just left for a mission. A blue pullover was still draped over the back of his couch where he'd obviously left it as he dressed for the day. A pair of tennis shoes next to it, with a few stray socks still in the laundry basket next to the couch. His bed was perfectly made and could have bounced a quarter if she'd had one. His dresser held a bottle of cologne and his comb, the mirror small and unassuming. An easel stood in the corner, empty save for the paintbrushes left in the water bucket. A tackle box she assumed held the rest of his painting supplies rested at the base of it, and a blue button-down shirt speckled with paint hung over the top of the easel. Several completed paintings leaned against the wall, obviously earmarked for transport back to Earth when the Daedalus next arrived. It had come and gone in the time that Evan had been missing.

Surrounded by this area so uniquely Evan's, Jennifer slowly walked toward the bed and sat down. Her tears flowed freely, and she allowed herself to experience the pain she'd held at bay for weeks. He really wasn't coming back. Not any time soon. Sheppard had been ordered to focus on new exploration, and Woolsey would insist that he not keep up the search. The pressure in her chest built, and Jennifer buried her face in Evan's pillow to muffle the scream. This couldn't be happening!

His scent filled her nose, and she breathed deeply, trying to stem the tide that she'd let loose. Evan wouldn't want her doing this. If he was here, he'd tell her to stop crying. That Sheppard didn't leave men behind. That he'd be back as soon as was humanly possible. The self-talk helped calm her tears, but it didn't dull the pain in her chest. She stared at his easel, at the reminders of his life on Atlantis, and finally admitted the truth.

She was in love with Evan Lorne. And, in hiding that love, she might have lost him forever.

Jennifer Keller fell asleep sometime later, surrounded by the scent of the man she had pushed away.

oOo

Sheppard walked the halls of the city, anger and concern warring for one another. When he'd broken the news to Jennifer, he'd made sure that Cole was around to cover the infirmary. He couldn't know how Jennifer would respond to the MIA paperwork, and he wanted to give her as much time as she needed. Of course, Rodney walked in and spoiled any kind of calm conclusion to the conversation. You two should have gotten a room when you had the chance. Even now, Sheppard wanted to throttle the physicist. Instead, he'd given Rodney what-for and sent him packing to his lab. He'd recognized a spark of jealousy in Rodney, but he'd been unable to do anything about it. A sparring session with Ronon helped him get rid of the anger coiled in his muscles, and he now searched for Jennifer.

She hadn't returned to the infirmary like he thought she might. For the last several weeks, she'd put on a brave face, not showing much emotion. Seeing her ball up her fist and nearly hit Rodney had been both majestic and heartbreaking. She would never have been in that state had Woolsey not given up the search.

A quick stop at her quarters produced no results. Sheppard frowned. She'd either sought solitude elsewhere or had locked herself inside in such a bubble that she refused to answer the door. Rather than intruding, he moved down the hall to Lorne's quarters.

The major had been a good friend, Sheppard realized as he entered his own override code. He wasn't planning to pack up Lorne's things to ship home. That would do no good until they had firm proof of death. But his family would likely appreciate some of his personal items when he gated home to tell them the awful news.

Jennifer slept on Lorne's bed, cuddling his pillow to her chest.

Sheppard blinked and crept across the room. She'd clearly cried herself to sleep, as evidenced by her unruly hair and the tear stains still on her face. But she slept soundly, having totally exhausted her emotions. He didn't have the heart to move her and turned from the bed, intent on leaving her be until morning.

Evan was a painter. That truth hit Sheppard as he saw the painting next to the door. Squatting down and using the moonlight to look over the artwork, he shook his head. He'd known Evan was an artist from his file, but he'd never seen the major's work. Now, faced with beautiful images of a New Lantean sunset, he shook his head. These paintings belonged where they could be enjoyed, not hidden away. Lorne hadn't mentioned anything about it in their many conversations, but Sheppard made a decision. He picked up the two large paintings, one a sunset and the other a sunrise. Both of them had the spires of Atlantis in the foreground, and both had his distinctive "EL" marking in the lower right-hand corner. One would go in his office, a reminder of his missing friend. And the other would go in Jennifer's office. They would remain there until they brought Lorne home.

Decision made, Sheppard left Jennifer to her rest and returned to his office for the rest of the night.

oOo

The creak of the fourth step brought Andren's head up from his books. He'd been researching, trying to find an answer for Evan's amnesia. After their visit with the Prime Minister that day, Evan had wandered the vestibule of the Ministry, looking at the paintings featured there. Words like "Impressionism" and "Baroque" and "Renaissance" dropped from his mouth, and he'd been able to explain the difference. But, when asked how he knew it, he couldn't tell. Andren wanted to help the poor man, to reunite him with his family.

Now, however, he stood in the door of his office and watched Evan meander through the living room. The man looked around as if he'd lost something and very purposefully headed for the door. Andren followed. Once outside, Evan stared at the table, ran a hand over it, and settled into the chair.

"Evan?" Andren slowly sat in front of the other man.

Evan turned, confusion and concern warring for dominance. "Colonel Sheppard, is that you?"

oOo

He was lost. He floated through blackness, seeing the pinpricks of distant stars as he steered himself toward four small dots of white. He spoke, but he couldn't understand what was said. Instead, he felt the loneliness, the crushing cold of space. He'd lost something, and he needed desperately to find it.

Except he could not remember what "it" was.

Evan blinked as he woke, staring at the ocean as the sky began to brighten. The cool morning breeze, laden with the salty scent of the water, ruffled his hair. He blinked slowly, realizing that he must have come out here in his sleep. It was the only explanation.

Movement to his left drew his attention, and he frowned at Andren. For some reason, he'd done everything in his power to keep Andren from discovering that he moved about the house in his sleep. And, now, here was the doctor, watching him closely.

"Hey, Doc." Evan ran a hand over his face. "Sorry to wake you."

"It is no problem." Andren narrowed his eyes. "Do you remember anything?"

"No." Evan shook his head. His dreams often revealed things, but he only remembered the loss tonight. The feeling that he hadn't found something in time to save something else. "Why?"

"Because you spoke to me."

"What did I say?"

"You asked, 'Colonel Sheppard, is that you?'"

Evan frowned. "Sheppard? A friend, perhaps?"

"Or a commanding officer." Andren let out a deep breath. "You were walking in your sleep, something I've seen only once in my life. And it was a small boy last time. I have never seen a grown man do such a thing."

"Yeah, sorry about that, Doc."

"Do not apologize." Andren pushed to his feet. "Your dreams reveal more than you realize. And, if we must be vigilant while you sleepwalk, so be it."

Evan didn't say anything as the doctor walked away. He couldn't. He'd just embarrassed himself, though his rational mind told him that he could not have known he was a sleepwalker. Still, it rankled.

Rather than reaching for his sketch pad, Evan stared at the ocean. He would go down there and swim in a bit, when the day had brightened some. But, for now, he wanted to absorb his feelings.

He'd never felt so alone. Oh, not while he was awake though he knew he wasn't from Talgrom or Orenth. He knew he was from another planet, and that kept him separate from the people here. But the lonely feeling came from the black void he'd flown through. Yes, it was space. Yes, he'd piloted some sort of vessel. Was that all he was? A pilot?

And who was Colonel Sheppard? The name seemed familiar, but his mind could not produce a face. Not even an image. Instead, he wound up picturing his dream lady in an effort to calm his emotions.

Rising from his chair, he went back upstairs and gathered his clothing for the day. Yesterday, after his meeting with Culver and Grian, he'd given Andren a lecture on differences in art. That prompted Andren to purchase him some canvases and paints. It seemed to be such an important part of his life, and he looked forward to putting his favorite lady's image into color. Doing so made her seem like less than a dream.

Back outside, he waded into the cold ocean and let the water carry him for a few minutes. Not enough to take him too far from land. But enough to soothe the tension still in his muscles.

One of these days, he would remember. He was sure of it. And he refused to let go of that belief.

~TBC