Author's Note: So I'm a LOT later in the day than I like to be, and I apologize for the late post. But I got wrapped up with housework and finally had a chance to sit down. :D I have not responded to reviews yet, but know that I appreciate each and every one of them. :) Also, there's a kid's joke mentioned at the end of this chapter. If you'd like to know the full ditty, just PM me or mention it in your review, and I'll gladly send it along. (Oh, the things you learn when you have a tomboy for a daughter!) Enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Although Jennifer had decided to wait for Evan's return or news of his demise, she wavered in her commitment. She spent the next three days torn between her decision and Rodney's declaration. Of course, that man didn't make it easy to forget. He showed up daily, bringing her lunch and offering to help her any way he could. He passed it off as gratitude for Jennifer saving his life, but she knew better. He'd declared himself, and she'd done nothing to discourage him.

Sitting in her office at the end of three days, Jennifer rubbed her face and finally made a firm decision. She would wait. It would likely kill her, and she knew Rodney wouldn't understand. But, with Evan's painting hovering over her desk, she couldn't give up. "Good job," she muttered. "You decided this three days ago. Why didn't you do something about it?"

Because you like the attention. Her mind filled in the blanks.

"Yeah, but it's not Evan's attention." Jennifer scowled. That one kiss had changed how she saw so many things. She'd never felt such restrained passion in anyone, and she'd never imagine that Evan had such depth to him.

But Rodney offered an immediate fix to her problem. Even then, she doubted she'd feel the same level of excitement in Rodney that she felt with Evan. The two men were totally different. Rodney was emotion buried in science and totally unrestrained when it escaped. Evan was restrained emotion that knew how and when to reveal itself. Of course, that also meant Evan likely had depths that no one had seen as yet.

Tired of her thoughts, Jennifer pushed out of her chair and left the infirmary for the day. She intended to take a long shower, relax with a good book, and maybe get a good night's sleep. Right, she thought. I don't think that's going to happen any time soon.

"Hey, Jennifer." Rodney came around the corner and reversed direction, his smile lighting his face. She admitted that it was a pleasant smile, and she did like the change in him. He glanced at her. "Would you like to get some dinner?"

Jennifer stopped in her tracks. This was her opportunity to put things into perspective for both of them. Her stomach knotted up, and she doubted that she'd be able to eat. But she knew what she needed to do. "Yeah." She nodded quickly. "I'd like that."

"Whoa, what happened?" Rodney's eyes shadowed with concern, and he reached out to touch her arm. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You went pale for a moment."

"I'm. . . .I'm fine." She touched his arm. "I'll meet you in the mess hall after I clean up a bit." Rather than waiting for him to agree, she left him standing in the hall. It unnerved her that Rodney McKay could read her that well, and she wondered how everyone else saw her. She'd tried to be strong during this entire ordeal, but she'd struggled at moments. Sort of like now. She didn't want to crush the hope in Rodney's eyes, but. . . . "What am I going to say?"

Her empty quarters gave her nothing, and she quickly showered and changed into a clean uniform. No need to foster the impression that she saw this as a date. After pinning her hair into a messy bun, she left her quarters and made her way to the mess hall.

Rodney already sat at a table on the balcony, two trays in front of him. Jennifer smiled as she made her way over to him. He'd been thoughtful like this for three days. Tonight, he'd even snagged an extra fruit cup just for her. The little things he did made her feel even worse for dashing his hopes, but she couldn't give up on Evan. Not yet.

Slipping into the chair across from him, Jennifer saw that he merely pushed his food around. Instead of eating, he watched her closely. She picked up her fork but didn't start eating.

"What?" Rodney set aside his fork and stared at her. "Something's wrong. I knew it!"

Jennifer sighed deeply. "Rodney."

"What? I did something, didn't I?"

"No!" She spoke more forcefully than she'd intended and took a deep breath to quiet her voice. "No, you didn't. I did."

"What? No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did." She shook her head. "Rodney, you're. . . .I mean, I. . . .This isn't right. Us, I mean. I can't just. . . ."

"This is about Lorne, isn't it?" Rodney's face went blank, and he pushed away from the table. "I should have known."

Moving faster than she thought possible, she grabbed his wrist to keep him from leaving. "You couldn't have known." She shook her head. "Rodney, Evan and I. . . .We're not seeing each other or anything."

"But you love him." His sharp words, said without much emotion, made Jennifer blink.

"Yes," she whispered, admitting what she already knew. "And I can't get involved with you while he might still be out there. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Rodney pulled away and left the table.

Jennifer stared after him, her stomach turning as she realized she'd alienated a good friend. Rodney was a good man, but he wasn't Evan. And that made all the difference when she considered a long-term, hopefully intimate, relationship. She stood and gathered their trays, saving the fruit cups but planning to throw the rest of it away. As she did so, Rodney brushed right past Ronon as the Satedan appeared for dinner. Ronon glared at Rodney and then turned in time to catch Jennifer's regretful gaze. He moved to her side.

"Hey." His deep voice was soft, gentler than normal, as he took one of the trays she was juggling. "That about Lorne?"

Jennifer blinked at him, surprised. "Yeah. How did you. . .?"

"Sheppard told me." Ronon shrugged. "I get it."

She shook her head. "Well, I'm not sure how much Sheppard should have told you."

"Just that you had a thing for Lorne." He leaned down to whisper, "Wasn't much of a secret."

Jennifer flushed at that even though she knew it was the truth. The entire base knew of her little crush on Lorne, especially after his disappearance. She'd become something of a celebrity, though not in a good way. She was the poor woman left behind, and the sympathy had already become unbearable. But she determined to soldier on until she had news of Evan's fate. She turned to Ronon. "I know it doesn't make much sense. But I think he's still alive."

Ronon narrowed his eyes slightly. His skepticism showed faintly, but he shrugged. "Like I said, I get it." He put a large hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about Rodney. He'll get over it."

"If you say so." Jennifer left the mess hall, not really wanting to talk to anyone right now. She'd managed to alienate one person on the base. Better that she get back to her quarters, where she couldn't do any further damage.

In her quarters, she settled onto her bed and pulled Evan's pillow close. Breathing in his scent, she smiled. When he returned, she'd be waiting. She refused to consider the idea that he may not return. It simply wasn't an option.

oOo

It had been three days since Acton's ultimatum, and Andren was no closer to an answer than he'd been back then. In that time, he'd watched Evan closely, hoping for the transformation that would come when the man regained his memories. He prayed that Evan would have a miraculous recovery and leave Orenth before he was forced to give an answer to Acton. It wasn't to be, apparently. In those three days, Evan had painted one more portrait—this one titled Teyla—and had become even more frustrated with his memory loss.

Thankfully, there had been no further sleepwalking incidents. Andren felt that the names of the paintings were clues to Evan's past, and he intended to putting the word out for news about the names "Carson" and "Teyla." Someone, somewhere, had to have heard of those two individuals. Particularly Teyla. The painting Evan had done was of a beautiful woman, strong and powerful, with warm, tan skin and auburn hair. She stood before windows that admitted orange-gold light, one arm held above her and the other in front of her in some sort of fighting stance. The perspective of the woman was that of a man on the ground, and Evan said he remembered fighting with her. But, whether that fight was training or otherwise, he could not say. At this exact moment, Evan stood on the beach, painting yet another portrait. Andren hadn't been down to see the subject of this new one.

What did Evan intend to do with these paintings? Andren preferred thinking about his house guest over thinking about Acton's ultimatum. He'd eventually come back to Acton, but, for now, he wanted to help Evan. To protect Evan from the animosity and ruthlessness that Acton possessed. If Acton suspected for one moment that Evan worked for Culver, he'd kill Evan before he ever got back to his home.

Perhaps the art gallery in Talgrom would take some of Evan's work. It would be a way for the younger man to have an income, and several of Talgrom's well-to-do residents enjoyed unique art. And Evan's techniques were rather unique. Satisfied with that idea, Andren pushed to his feet and ambled down to the beach.

Evan stood with his back to the house, looking out to sea as he thought. His brush hovered above the canvas, and Andren spied a partially finished bridge spanning a different ocean. The red color of the bridge, not to mention the suspension cables and the city in the distance, was foreign to Andren. People could build bridges over such extreme distances? He'd never seen anything like it and immediately wanted to urge Evan to remember. He wanted to visit Evan's home and see the wonders of a more advanced society.

"Evan." His voice broke the silence.

Evan turned slightly, hiding the startled widening of his eyes behind a quick smile. "Hey, Doc."

Andren stopped next to him. "That is quite impressive."

Evan shrugged. "It just. . .popped into my mind. I feel like I've seen it before, but. . . ."

Andren put his hand on Evan's shoulder. "I wished to speak with you about your art."

Evan dropped his brush in the water he'd used to clean other brushes and turned, surprised. "Oh?"

"There is an art gallery in Talgrom." Andren raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps they'd be willing to display some of your work."

Evan turned and stared back out to sea. "I don't know." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "If these are memories, then they're personal. If they're not. . . ."

"Just think about it."

Evan nodded, and Andren left him to his thoughts. Returning to his home, his mind came back to Acton's ultimatum. Kaela hummed as she worked with Maeryn to prepare the evening meal, and Andren caught sight of her as he passed the kitchen. She shouldn't be alone. She should be married, a mother, a homemaker. She didn't deserve to remain like this her entire life because her father refused a reasonable request.

With a sigh, Andren climbed the stairs back to his office. He really had no choice. Not if he wanted to protect his own family. And that realization stung.

oOo

Evan listened to Andren climb the stone path back to the house and thought about his proposal. Selling his work was an attractive idea, and he knew he'd soon have more paintings than he had space on his walls. Perhaps, by selling them, someone would recognize what he'd painted.

Returning to work on the bridge, he went over the scenes he'd drawn in his book. These last three days had not been without nightmares. He'd awakened in the chair across the room every morning, but the lock on the door seemed to be holding. For now. Part of him wanted to complete the mission for Culver, and yet he knew that it wouldn't be an easy fix. Rooting out traitors was long-term, and Culver clearly intended to make use of Evan's amnesia for as long as possible.

He finished the painting and carefully carried it back to his room. He was tired, and he tried to keep his spirits up. But the length of time without a breakthrough in his memories weighed him down, and he retired early.

The next day, Andren came to him with news that Acton and Maitland wanted to speak with them. He quickly dressed and followed the doctor into town, knowing this could be an important meeting. He'd slept well the night before, seeing the bridge in his dreams. Vehicles moved across it, and he felt close to a breakthrough in his memories. But, right now, he needed to focus.

Acton and Maitland met them in a hotel restaurant. Evan slid into the booth, somewhat uncomfortable with how secluded the table really was. If they decided to slip a knife between his ribs, no one would be any wiser. A waiter came and delivered steaming cups of tea, and the men made small talk as they added cream and sugar to suit their personal preferences.

Once the waiter left them alone, Acton turned to Andren. "Have you considered my offer?"

"I have." Andren heaved a sigh. "And I accept."

Rather than smiling, Acton's eyes flickered to Evan and back to Andren. The doctor nodded once, and Evan realized he'd just been accepted. And that Andren had just betrayed Culver. It wasn't rocket science, and the direction of the conversation shifted, confirming his suspicions.

"Good." Acton sat back, relaxing only marginally. "I just received word that a large group of people came through the Ring yesterday. Culver's people swooped in and brought them to Talgrom."

Andren shook his head. "I've heard nothing about it."

"I didn't think you had." Acton glanced around the table. "I'm sending Maitland to infiltrate them. He'll pose as one of them and gain their trust. Hopefully, we can learn where they come from and how to use that against Culver."

Evan finally stirred. "And you're telling us why?"

Acton's sharp eyes landed on him, and he refused to back down from the challenge. Acton finally nodded. "You're members of the group. I felt you should know."

"Oh." Evan nodded, the corners of his mouth turning down in an expressive shrug. "Okay." He sipped his tea, hiding the worry developing in the pit of his stomach.

Acton shook his head. "I expect you to act as if nothing is wrong. Keep on with your plans for life, and I will contact you when I need information from Culver. Maitland?" He turned to face the other man in the booth. "You'll leave this evening."

Maitland nodded, and the two of them rose and left the booth. Evan stayed put, trapped in the seat by Andren. As soon as Acton left the restaurant, Andren leaned toward him. "You cannot tell Culver."

Evan nodded again. "Yeah, I got that."

"It's a test." Andren shook his head. "If Culver discovers Maitland too soon, it will give away your true intentions. You must let this pass. If you do not. . . ."

"I got it." Evan set aside his tea, his stomach already turning.

Andren pushed out of the booth. "Acton has not told any other members of the group. Do not mention this the next time we meet with the others."

Evan nodded a third time, wishing he knew exactly how to get the doctor to settle down. He'd sensed something pass between Acton and Andren at the beginning of the meeting, and he felt the dismay pouring off of Andren. But he was powerless to do anything about it.

Walking back to the train station, Evan shook his head. He needed to return to his own people. But the desire to protect Andren from himself was too strong to ignore.

oOo

John Sheppard was on his way to drag Rodney to dinner when the physicist nearly bowled him over trying to escape his lab. Rather than commenting on the speed bump named John, Rodney kept right on walking and muttering to his computer.

"Rodney?" John reversed direction and followed his fast-moving friend.

Rodney kept walking.

"Rodney!" John raised his voice slightly.

Rodney flipped him off.

"MEREDITH!"

"WHAT?" Rodney whirled and yelled at him. "Oh, it's you."

"It's me." John frowned and pointed over his shoulder. "What's with you today?"

"Nothing's with me." Rodney went back to his computer, walking slower than before so John could fall into step with him. "I've got way too many things to do to worry about what a silly, southern woman wants to discuss at the most inopportune times!"

"Silly, southern woman?" John hated feeling left out of the loop, but he needed a bit more information. Ronon had come to him that afternoon after Rodney skipped both breakfast and lunch in favor of working. The big guy said something about Rodney burying himself or some such nonsense, but John hadn't given much credence to it until now. Normally, when Rodney buried himself in work, he paused for food. If he skipped meals, something was wrong. He grabbed Rodney's arm. "Stop walking!"

Rodney glared but stopped in his tracks. "Yeah, Dr. Bureaugard or Beau or some silly southern name." He waved a hand in front of his face. "Always talking in that distracting accent and saying the stupidest things to me."

"Like what?" John rocked back on his heels, recognizing that they'd stopped not too far from the door to Rodney's lab.

"We fight. All the time." Rodney continued punching buttons on his tablet. "And over stuff that I've been doing for years. I mean, seriously? What does a new recruit think she knows over me? I've been here since the beginning. I know what I'm talking about when it's time for power upgrades and software upgrades. But, when I try to correct her, she just smiles at me and says, 'Why, bless your heart!' It's getting irritating!"

John grinned, already seeing the humor in the situation. He knew Rodney wouldn't like what he had to say and quickly tried to wipe the grin away.

Rodney caught the grin. "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, it's not 'nothing' when you grin like that." Rodney folded his arms. "Spill. Now."

"Well. . . ." John shrugged. "She's from the deep south, right?"

"Yeah, South Carolina, I think." Rodney frowned. "Or is it North Carolina? Or somewhere else?"

"Either way, when you're south of the Mason-Dixon line, that phrase means something totally different."

"Like what?"

"Well, it means 'You stupid. . .'" His voice trailed off as he heard a door open. Turning, he saw a pretty brown-haired woman with hazel eyes walking toward them.

Rodney groaned. "That's her," he muttered.

John, unable to avoid picking on his friend, turned on the famous Sheppard charm. "Doctor. How are you today?"

"Ah'm fine," she said, her accent drawing out her vowels. Rather than staring at him, like most women did, her gaze moved to Rodney immediately. "Docta McKay, have a pleasant evenin'." She sauntered off after giving McKay a coquettish smile.

John blinked and nearly fell over. The girl had the hots for McKay? And he was totally blind to it! Of course, it could have something to do with Keller and the fact that Rodney had been carrying a torch for the doctor for months now. Still, John's eyes narrowed as he began to plot a way to pull McKay from the doldrums. If this worked out. . . .

John left Rodney muttering at his computer in the hallway as he headed for the mess hall. McKay figured out he was leaving soon enough and jogged to catch up. Nothing else was mentioned about the southern girl, Keller, Lorne, or the way Rodney snapped at everyone in earshot. But, late that night, John sat in his room and really considered his options for helping his friend and teammate get over the heartache unwittingly caused by Jennifer Keller. That woman had enough heartache of her own, and John refused to even mention it to her.

When they found Lorne, he planned on having a long talk with Woolsey about relationships on Atlantis. When the bureaucrat arrived, he came down on a few couples, setting the example that romantic relationships were discouraged. Of course, he didn't know what previous leaders knew: romantic relationships, as long as they didn't interfere with work, kept everyone sane. John didn't want to watch another couple wither away because military regulations had tightened so drastically that couples were afraid to even take the first steps. Hopefully, Woolsey would have his head screwed on straight by then.

oOo

The ocean breeze ruffled his hair as he settled onto the sand. In front of him, two small boys scampered into the waves, and he smiled. He loved it here, at home. To his right, that huge red bridge he'd been painting—the Golden Gate bridge, his mind told him—hovered above the water while he watched the boys splash and play. He wanted to join them, but the cast on his leg prevented that. When they finally made their way back to him, he blinked.

He saw those same blue eyes in the mirror every morning. And the blond hair. . . .Had he seen it before? His mind filled in the details, and he narrowed his eyes as the boys returned to their play. Life lately had been difficult, but seeing them put it all into perspective. Just like seeing her did for him.

Evan blinked at the window, not surprised that he'd fallen asleep in his chair. He clearly remembered moving over here late last night when he'd been unable to sleep. He'd sat up and given himself a headache as he mulled over his options concerning Maitland and the treason about to be committed. Andren was right. His hands were tied. If he went to Culver now, he would be discovered. Acton knew what he was doing, and Evan could do nothing to change that.

Somewhere in his musings, he fell asleep. Now, he rose and stared at the painting he'd hung near his bed.

He was a father? He frowned and went over the dream in his mind. His feelings for the two boys was definitely fatherly, and he saw the resemblance to himself. Could he have left more than just a wife behind? Could his children be waiting for him?

Desperation to get back home filled him, and Evan worked for several long minutes to quell the panicked impulse to run from the house. He would swim. . .eventually. But, for now, he needed to absorb the implications and the possibilities. He could actually be a father. Shaking his head, he stared at his dream lady, finding it hard to believe that he could not remember her name. Or the names of his own sons. If they were his sons. He had no proof to show for it outside of his dream, and he knew from first-hand experience that dreams could magnify the emotions.

Turning from the painting, he reached for his sketch book and began sketching the boys' features. He'd paint them, he knew, and he'd keep them close. If they were his sons, he wouldn't sell the portraits.

What if they weren't his sons? Evan shook his head as he worked. He cared about those two boys, and they would always mean the world to him. Around six and eight years old respectively, they had stolen his heart with their rough play and childish laughter. He remembered jokes from school, things he'd learned from them. Whatcha doin'? Eatin' chocolate. . . .He shuddered as the rest of that little joke floated through his head. It was so perfect for how he imagined himself at that age, and he knew he was related to those small boys.

His eyes went back to the painting. One day, he vowed silently. I will get back to you one day. And we'll talk about all those things we never said.

Evan left his sketch pad open to a drawing of the boys playing in the surf and gathered his clothes for his early-morning swim.

~TBC