Jennifer woke slowly, her head pounding in time with her heartbeat. She blinked, feeling the swelling around her eyes, and her memory returned. She'd cried herself to sleep.

Sitting up, she looked around. Evan's quarters were the same, though shadowed by the late night. She ran a hand over the sensor next to the bed, bringing the lights to half of their normal brightness in order to blink at her watch. Two in the morning. No wonder her eyes felt like she'd poured sand in them.

Her hair fell around her shoulders, but she ignored it in favor of rolling her neck to release the kinks. She'd become accustomed to the strange, memory foam-like beds on Atlantis, but Evan's pillow was firmer than hers. She ran a hand over it, seeing the stains of her tears just before she'd fallen asleep. And she knew there was no going back. He may not have been there, but she'd just spent the night in his bed. To a girl like Jennifer, it meant something.

Rather than bouncing right up and rushing out of the room, she loosened the top blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Yesterday, she'd been wrong to rush out of John's office. Of course, it had a lot to do with McKay's idiotic comment, but she should have been able to control her emotions better than that. Her father would just tell her that she was being a woman, but Jennifer refused to accept that. She'd been selected as the Chief Medical Officer on a classified military base in another galaxy. She should be able to handle anything life threw at her.

Of course, she'd not expected to fall in love with the base second-in-command. As she sat there, Jennifer remembered the first time she'd ever met Evan Lorne. He'd escorted a Marine into the infirmary, the result of a too-vigorous training accident. It had become mundane and almost cliché for the Marines to challenge Ronon. But Evan? He was deadly in his own right, but no one really saw that. This one young Marine had taken it upon himself to one-up his CO. And Evan had put him in his place and promptly saw him to the infirmary to get stitched up. Even then, he'd been careful about it, protecting the Marine's fragile reputation by saying that he'd goofed.

The original Carson Beckett had still been alive at that time, and he'd asked Jennifer to see to the Marine's wounds. That put her in close proximity to Evan, and they'd struck up a friendly conversation as she worked. In those few moments, he learned that she was from a tiny town in Wisconsin and was still getting accustomed to working in another galaxy. And he'd let slip that he was from San Francisco. It began the friendship that steadily deepened over the course of the next year.

What was she to do now that he was gone? Jennifer let out a deep sigh and looked around. "Missing In Action" could mean so many things. He could have been captured, killed, culled, fed on by the Wraith, or so severely injured that he couldn't make it back. None of those appealed, the permanent ones least of all.

"No, he's coming back," she said to the empty room. He had to. She had too many things to say to him when he did come back.

Reality crowded in on her when the sun began to rise. She was on duty today, and she'd need a very good reason why she was late. A glance at the shower made her flush even though Evan was nowhere around. She still could not, in good conscious, use the man's shower without her thoughts straying into more intimate areas. Areas she'd rather leave untouched until his return.

Knowing she'd never do as good a job as Evan had, she straightened the bed. She hesitated, however, when she picked up the pillow. Holding it to her nose, she took a deep breath and smiled. It smelled like him. That unique blend of cologne, soap, and outdoors, with hints of chlorine from the pool recently set up in the lower levels of the city, made her smile. He must have begun swimming on a regular basis. She took another breath and blinked back her tears. She missed him. More than she'd ever thought possible.

After straightening his bed, she glanced around the room. His shirt, still draped over the back of the couch, drew her, and she picked it up. It wasn't very long when held against her body, but it was wide. Evan was quite muscular, though he kept it well hidden. The long sleeves were stretched out at the cuffs, evidence of his habit of pulling his sleeves up to his elbows. And it also smelled like him. Jennifer tucked it into the pillow case to smuggle out of the room and left before she dissolved into tears once again.

oOo

The midday sun beat down on Evan's back as he added touches of blue to his painting. He'd set up on the back patio of Andren's home, choosing to use the ocean as the backdrop. His dream lady had appeared on the canvas, her golden hair shining as the light hit it. He'd painted her in a flowing pink gown, the wind catching her hair and tossing it over her shoulders as she walked up the stone steps toward him. But her smile, the same one he dreamed of seeing every night, reached inside and touched something deep within him.

Shaking his head, he cleaned his paintbrush and eyed the painting with a critical eye. He normally didn't allow such sappy thoughts to escape even if he did have them. He'd heard somewhere that artists were mercurial. Moody. He thought that might be him, but he clamped down on those thoughts quickly. He was, first and foremost, a soldier.

The thoughts had a practiced ring to them, and he wondered how many times a day he rehearsed the same lines to himself. How many times had he struggled to balance his emotions with his duty? The not knowing got on his nerves more and more as the hours progressed, and he knew he should have remembered more than this by now. What had been done to him in that POW camp? What experiments had they conducted that his fractured mind no longer remembered? Or had they conducted any experiments at all?

"Oh, now, she is striking." Andren's voice pulled him from his thoughts. The doctor stepped to Evan's side. "You are truly talented."

"Thank you." Deciding that the painting was complete, Evan dipped a small knife into some white paint and added a quick little mark on the lower right-hand corner.

Andren raised an eyebrow at him. "Evan?"

"I don't know." Evan stared at the mark. "I just. . . ."

"Habit?"

"I think so." He frowned. "I wish I knew."

Rather than commenting on that, Andren put a hand on his shoulder. "I came out to tell you that we've been invited to the Prime Minister's home for the evening meal."

Evan turned. "And I assume it's a formal affair?"

"Yes." Andren patted him on the shoulder. "I have no doubt you'll do just fine."

"Thank you, Sir." Evan looked back at his painting. It was truly finished. "I'll take this upstairs to finish drying and be ready at the appropriate time."

Andren left him alone, then, and Evan tried to relax. He spent the afternoon alternately staring at the painting he'd completed and trying to draw something else. Every picture came back to his memories or to his dream lady. Rather than fighting it, he let his pencil draw while he mentally prepared for the evening.

Maeryn delivered a suit just as the sun began to set. Knowing that this dinner party would be late at night, Evan had bathed and waited patiently. He wanted to pace, but he refused to let that much anxiety escape. Once Maeryn left, he moved to the mirror on the wall and began to dress.

A blue shirt buttoned easily, but the top button choked him slightly.

Evan blinked and frowned. The high-necked white shirt was a bit loose, but he made it work with the cravat that had been provided. The slick red fabric rustled as he struggled to tie it and eventually just made it work.

Silver pins went into the lapels of the dark blue jacket, each one specific in its placement.

Evan shook his head and frowned at his reflection. Flashbacks? Brought on by dressing for a dinner party?

Black shoes, so shiny he could see his face, completed the look. But it wasn't a happy look. He was. . .sad.

Evan sat down on the edge of the chair, trying to remember why he'd been sad. His eyes went to his painting. Had she died? Was that why he'd dressed in such a formal way? Or was it just something he'd misconstrued?

A knock on the door brought his head up, and he hurried to answer. Andren frowned. "Evan? Something wrong?"

"I was. . .uh. . . .No." For some reason, he didn't want the doctor knowing about the flashback. It might ruin the evening, and Evan knew he needed to be at his best for the dinner with Culver.

Andren narrowed his eyes momentarily and then nodded. "Very well. I had a favor to ask. Would you escort Kaela?"

Evan smiled to cover the internal reaction he'd had. "Of course." But, inside, he knew the truth. He didn't want to escort her any more than he wanted to spend the rest of his life here.

oOo

The dinner part of the party passed uneventfully. Evan watched everyone around the table carefully, looking for cues as to what was socially acceptable and what wasn't. He needn't have worried as he became an instant celebrity. And Kaela became one with him.

The number of women at the dinner party did not surprise him. The number of young girls did. Kaela instantly turned into the most worshipped woman there and the most hated. At least, for the night. He realized that he was the reason as mothers dressed up their daughters to be presented to him. Evan barely refrained from shaking his head in disgust as women pushed their teenaged daughters toward him while the girls batted their eyes, flirted, and laughed at every word that came out of his mouth. A quick glance at Kaela showed her own disapproval. He never would have thought that he'd appreciate her relative maturity.

Now, however, he felt like he'd been rescued. And he never thought he'd appreciate politics as a rescuer. But, standing in Culver's study with a snifter of some sort of liquor in his hand, he breathed a sigh of relief. The cigar smoke was thick, but he ignored it.

The Prime Minister made his way to Evan's side. "How are you today?"

"Good." Evan nodded, trying to mask the uncertainty stirring in his mind. But he'd suddenly noticed how the room seemed divided.

Culver caught on quickly. "You see the disunity in my own cabinet." He smirked. "Now you know why I asked for your help. I'm under no illusions that you're only with us for a short time."

"Sir, why me?"

Culver considered that question. "You're unknown. You're not a familiar face, and you're someone that can be trusted and influenced. Or, so it seems."

"Well, I'm not so sure about all that." Evan shrugged. "But I'll do the best I can."

"Good." Culver smiled at him. "We received word that there's a group of men calling themselves 'patriots' meeting tomorrow afternoon. I've already given Andren the location, and I'm hoping you'll attend. Our sources tell us that many of Derron's men have started out at these particular meetings."

"You want me to get in there, learn what they're teaching, and tell you."

"And, if possible, learn the identities of the agents operating in our city." Culver shook his head. "I'm not fool enough to think this war can be stopped by merely giving in to their demands. Nor am I fool enough to think that my utter annihilation of their camp would solve the problem. No, for this to work, Derron must be discredited. Only then can we hope to help our country recover."

Evan nodded, already shifting his focus. When he left the Prime Minister's home a short time later, he did so with his mind already working out the logistics of living with Andren and performing his duty to Talgrom. . .if he had one.

oOo

Sheppard watched Coughlin's face as the younger man entered his office. It had only been a day since Lorne was declared MIA, and things had already changed. Teldy had moved into Lorne's office, rearranging things to her liking. Lorne kept very few personal effects in his office, but Teldy had discovered something that surprised Sheppard. A small snapshot of Jennifer and Lorne, taken during one of their dinners together, had been tucked into the major's center drawer. John knew Evan hadn't obsessed about the doctor, but having her photo so close at hand meant Lorne wanted something more.

Now, however, he let Coughlin react to the changes in his own office. His desk had been moved so that it faced the door, the wall behind him covered with the large sunset painting Lorne had left in his quarters. John had given the sunrise one to Jennifer, a symbol of hope for Lorne's safe return. But he'd put one up in his office, his way of remembering his missing second-in-command for as long as was necessary. And he'd already requisitioned the supplies to properly frame the two paintings. They would arrive with the Daedalus's next shipment.

Coughlin settled into the chair across from Sheppard, his eyes still on the painting. "Sir, is that. . .?"

"Yes." Sheppard met his eyes. "Lieutenant, I know it seems that everyone has moved on, but I don't leave men behind. We'll find him."

"Yes, Sir." Coughlin nodded. "I told the doc that just this morning."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "You saw Dr. Keller today?"

"Yes, Sir." Coughlin frowned. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"This sucks."

John had to agree. "Lieutenant, while we're in this office, you're free to speak your mind on anything."

"In that case, this doesn't just suck. It's. . . .He could still be alive back there, still waiting for us to come and get him."

"I know. And I've said those things to Mr. Woolsey. But, as he is the leader of this city, I have to abide by his wishes." John mentally added, Sometimes.

Coughlin accepted that with another nod, though he clearly wasn't happy about it. "You needed to speak with me?"

"Yeah." Sheppard sat back in his chair. "I know Woolsey and I went over this with you before, but I'd like you to tell me one more time what happened out there."

Coughlin was a smart man. He didn't need to be told that Sheppard was searching for another excuse to get back to the search. "Well, Sir, we went through the gate as scheduled. It was early evening on that planet, and we set out on foot for the nearest settlement. Major Lorne had a life signs detector, and he chose the direction.

"As soon as we walked into that other camp, chaos broke loose." Coughlin shook his head. "They took one look at us and went ballistic. Weapons came out, and we wound up hightailing it back toward the gate. Major Lorne initially tried to calm everyone down, saying we were peaceful explorers, but they wouldn't listen. They just. . ."

"Went ballistic?" John asked, using Coughlin's words. He'd seen similar reactions before, though it wasn't as common now that their position in Pegasus had been established.

"Yeah." Coughlin scowled. "We got to the gate, and Reed dialed Atlantis. I entered my IDC. Lorne was behind us, covering our six, and he told us to head through the gate. The last time I saw him, he'd been thrown by a grenade or explosive of some kind and was down next to the DHD. I started to go help him, but he got to his knees. I figured he would be fine and came through."

Sheppard nodded. He knew the rest. Just after Coughlin had come through the gate, a blast of dirt, smoke, and debris from another explosion had followed him. And the gate shut down. No one had seen Lorne since. And, when Sheppard went back to Orenth, he'd spoken with a man named Derron, who claimed Lorne had gone through the gate with the rest of his team. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Sir." Coughlin recognized the dismissal and rose, leaving the office after a brief nod.

Sheppard rubbed his face and sat back in his chair. Lorne hadn't left that planet. He was certain of it. Unfortunately, he had no proof for Woolsey, and that man wouldn't authorize a rescue mission on Orenth without proof that Lorne was still alive and being held against his will.

Turning to stare at the sunset, Sheppard vowed to himself that he would bring Lorne home.

oOo

He wore the blue uniform, brightly colored ribbons on his chest, as he stood at attention with the rest of his men. He saw faces, but none of them so clearly as the one he would never see again. A rectangular box lay on a stand, covered in blue fabric with a white X on it. A flag of some sort. A woman spoke, her words haunting in the silence. But it was the instrument above that made such an impact on him. A strange instrument with a bag, pipes, and odd whine that accompanied him as he stepped forward. Hefting the box off of its stand, he walked toward the Ring of the Ancestors, stepping through the blue puddle.

He didn't know what would happen next, but he knew one thing. He'd just carried a fallen soldier home.

Evan woke in his bed this time. He'd taken to locking his door, trying to keep himself from wandering at night. After keeping Andren up all night recently, he wanted to ensure his own safety and the safety of his hosts.

The man he'd dreamed of had died in an explosion. Evan pushed to his feet and reached for the sketch pad. Working quickly, he drew the images he'd seen and the one he remembered. The man had been a doctor, one who healed. He'd put his life on the line to save another human being and had paid the ultimate price. The dream stirred a sadness in Evan that little else had. Even looking at the portrait of his dream lady didn't take it away.

Seeing the sun about to rise, he gathered his clothing and slipped out of the house. On the beach, he stood and allowed the ocean's surf to roll over his bare feet. He loved it here, honestly, but he was out of place. Out of time. Had he been born here, he likely would never want to leave. If she were here, you wouldn't want to leave, he told himself.

It was true. He wished for a name, wished for something to reveal his identity. But, when that failed, he returned to his artwork. And the ocean.

Wading into the waves, he felt them lift his body and carry him away from the beach. Evan worked against that pull, careful of the undertow and reveling in the way it stretched his muscles. Out here, he couldn't think too much. Just feel and let the water wash away the night's sorrows.

Or, in this case, anger. He'd dealt with it since the doctor's death, and he knew it wasn't the only thing he'd been angry about. It wasn't the only death he'd experienced recently. The grief was too great. His mind supplied the smiling image of the doctor, and he heard the rich brogue in his ears. But it wasn't enough.

He wanted to right the wrongs that had been done to him and his people, and he couldn't. He'd tried when he helped five soldiers escape that POW camp. But he had failed seven of the twelve. Just like the doctor. Somehow, he felt responsible, like he should have done something to prevent what had happened. But, life had a way of ending, no matter what people did.

And Evan hated that fact most of all.

~TBC

Author's Note: With summer comes various activities, one of those being church camps. I will be tied up this next week with church camp and have no time to write. I apologize for leaving the story in this place, but I will post as soon as camp ends. :) So, probably a week from today. Thank you for your patience, and I hope all of you have a fantastic week! ~lg