Well, here I am again. With an extra long chapter, I might add. (No autographs, please.) Since I got so many people rooting for a Sam/Jack cameo, it's in here, as promised. It's subtle, but there will be more of it continued into next chapter, because I decided I liked it.
I also included a tidbit about what happened at '237, because so many of you were curious. A little taste. To tease you with. Because I am evil that way. (Muahaha!)
Again, I must shamelessly beg for reviews. Feedback makes writing a whole lot easier. Really. I swear it on my little brother's life! (You know, when he's being kind of less annoying so that I feel like his life isn't going to end by my hands.) So please, leave me a little note. Especially if you want to tell me I suck!

Compromising Positions: Chapter 12
New Ways of Speaking

As it turned out, Sam was Elizabeth's saving grace. After originally regaining consciousness in the Atlantis infirmary, she spent the remainder of the day drifting in and out of sleep. But the day after that, after having shamelessly begged Carson to allow her to go back to her quarters, which he agreed to under the conditions that she stay in bed, avoid working, wear her oxygen mask, and receive checkups from either Dr. Keller or himself every six hours, she was unbelievably bored. With Sam taking over as temporary custodian of Atlantis, there was a frustrating lack of paperwork to be done: not that she didn't try to hijack any bit of paperwork she could get her hands on through her laptop. She couldn't do anything physical, either, restricted as she was to quick, shallow breaths that barely provided enough fuel for her body to function, even with the oxygen mask. (Her lungs were stiff, sore, and still somewhat rattling with fluid, and it was very a very painful experience to take a full breath. At first, Elizabeth found this very concerning, but Carson had assured her that this was to be expected as the delicate inner tissue of her lungs recovered after the damage inflicted by the harsh particulates of the smoke given off by the burning of the crystal technology. She decided to trust him at his word, and not worry too much about it.) Much to Elizabeth's relief, the short trek from her bed to the bathroom, or the bed to the chair by the window, was not out of her reach. Yet they always left her lightheaded and dizzy, and still just as bored.

A day of mandatory medical rest, and she was already prepared to do some serious begging or rule-breaking just to escape the monotony.

This was where Sam came in, inadvertently (or, perhaps, entirely intentionally) saving Elizabeth from herself. It was the beginning of the second long, agonizing day, and Dr. Keller had just left the room after checking her over and leading her in trying a few experimental deeper breaths. Her chest had protested firmly, searing like liquid fire, but Elizabeth had felt better after the fact, and Jennifer promised her that they would work on it after all of their checkups. Leaning back, she closed her eyes, resigning herself to her miserable fate of death by immobility, but started right back up when her door chimes sounded.

Still unable to gather up enough breath to speak with any volume or for any length of time, Elizabeth sat there, unsure of what to do. Normally, she would get up and answer the door, or just yell at them to come in, but at this point, neither option really appealed to her. With a sigh, Elizabeth decided that she should just suck it up and got to her feet, pulling the annoying mask from her face as she did so.

It took a little longer than she would have liked, but Elizabeth managed to reach the door in a respectable amount of time. It opened to reveal an uncomfortable Sam, who was shifting from foot to foot and fiddling with the zipper on her uniform and a pocket on the side of a black messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Seeing her, Elizabeth fitted a pleasant smile to her face, unsure what she needed. Still, she wasn't about to be rude to her first visitor that wasn't a part of the medical team. She stood to one side and signed for the other woman to come in, although, she thought belatedly, she had no idea if she understood sign language or not.

Still, Sam seemed to get the idea, and she stepped inside calmly. "It's good to see you up and about, Dr. Weir," she said as the door hissed closed behind her.

"I think you can call me Elizabeth, Colonel Carter," Elizabeth signed, carefully making her way back to the bed. She lowered herself, sitting on its edge and pulling the oxygen mask back over her head. The oxygen feed was immediately relieving, and Elizabeth closed her eyes for a few moments while she took a few quick breaths to recover. "What was it you needed? I'll be glad to help," she told the Colonel, who was standing and still managing to look like she felt uncomfortable.

"I heard that you wouldn't be doing much talking, and I never learned sign language, so, I brought this with me, if you don't mind too terribly, Dr. Weir," she said, producing a small notepad and a ballpoint pen.

Smiling a little at Carter's practical mind, Elizabeth nodded and accepted the writing utensils. Seeing that the woman was still standing, she patted the mattress beside her, not removing her gaze from her face until she obeyed and sat. Satisfied, Elizabeth clicked her pen and started scribbling onto the first page of the little notepad. "You may call me Elizabeth, and I'm glad to see you Colonel Carter," she wrote. "I hadn't had the chance to thank you for what you're doing. How can I help you?"

"Well, Elizabeth, you can start by calling me Sam," the woman replied, upon reading what Elizbeth had written. "And I just had a few questions, nothing major. I actually thought you might be going a little stir-crazy cooped up in here. I would be. I had a little time off before my meetings; so, I guess a better question would be how can I help you? Perhaps a little Solitaire?" A mischievous expression crossing her face, Sam reached into her bag and withdrew a data pad, which Elizabeth immediately recognized as her own. Carson had confiscated it, suspicious that she would try and use it to try and work. Sam, holding it in her hands, had unlocked the screen, revealing her unfinished game of Solitaire, which was her infamous favorite distraction.

Elizabeth grinned, probably looking a bit like a kid on Christmas. "I guess my guilty pleasure really is as infamous as John says it is!" she wrote quickly, before taking the data pad, still smiling. "How did you get it?" she then added, setting the data pad to one side. "Carson seems hell-bent on killing me with boredom."

"Playing Solitaire is the first thing Rodney accused me of doing when I started messing with my data pad during one of his rants, even though it was via video conference," Sam admitted. "As for how I got it… the CMO at the SGC was my best friend for years. She taught me her ways. If you know what you're doing, you can become the queen of the infirmary."

Elizabeth nodded in understanding and regarded the woman sitting next to her with slight awe, making a mental note to have her tell her about these 'ways' at some point. It seemed like a useful skill set. Instead, she settled for moving the conversation along. "Thank you, Sam. You've just made my life somewhat bearable," she jotted in her neat, chiseled print. "The only visitor I've had is Dr. Keller, and she won't keep me in the loop. How are the operations at the shipyard planet proceeding? Is Atlantis running on three ZPMs now? What staff is Earth sending to crew the new ships?"

Smiling softly, blue eyes sparking a bit, Sam took the opportunity to launch right in to all of the details of how the ships were similar, and dissimilar, to the Aurora and the Orion. She updated Elizabeth on how the integration with the human tech was going (which was slowly: apparently Rodney was having fits) and the projections for their ability to complete the incomplete ships. What's more, Sam actually pulled out her own data pad and opened the list of personnel that had been requested as a preliminary estimate by both the science teams and military members for both manning their new beta site and the eight completed ships, as well as the power consummation readings now that Atlantis had once again been supplied with a full complement ZPMs.

Thinking about work was unbelievably comforting, and Elizabeth found herself forgetting, just for a moment, that she was trapped in her own quarters by her own body. It was glorious.

But all too soon, Sam glanced at her watch and jumped. "Holy Hannah, I'm late!" she exclaimed, scrambling for her data pad and stuffing it into her messenger bag as she stood. "I'm so sorry I couldn't stay longer Dr. We—Elizabeth. I just…" She gestured helplessly, and Elizabeth dragged up a happy smile.

Snatching up the notepad, she wrote quickly, "It's all right. I'm just glad you came. Thank you," and held it up.

"Next time I have a free moment," Sam promised in return, giving her a bright, dimpled smile before she turned and burst out the door in a borderline undignified jog towards the transporter at the end of the hall.

Elizabeth watched her go, and then immediately resumed her game of Solitaire.

Apparently, Elizabeth had been pathetic enough to warrant Sam sending down more visitors. Not that she was complaining.

Her next one showed up just about four hours later. This time, the ring of the chimes woke Elizabeth from a cat-nap (she was sleeping quite a bit during this recovery) and she answered the door while still scrubbing her eyes blearily. Major Lorne was on the other side, left arm in a sling. He appeared a bit sheepish, and his discomfort made Elizabeth suddenly glad that she had insisted that she dress in her normal attire, despite the fact that she wasn't allowed to leave the room.

"I uh… I got shot, ma'am," Major Lorne blurted, seeing her expectant expression.

Elizabeth blinked, mildly alarmed.

"Dr. Beckett took care of it right away, honest," the man explained hastily. "Just ran into a few Genii offworld today. But I've been taken off active duty for the next couple days and Colonel Carter mentioned that you seemed bored, so…" he trailed off, still looking uncertain as Elizabeth just stared at him. "If you're busy, I understand. But if you'd like, I can teach you to paint."

Paint? Elizabeth blinked again. She didn't know that Lorne could paint. Nor did she understand why he had suddenly offered to teach her. He was far closer to John than he was to her, even though she did consider him a friend.

Elizabeth guessed that this was Sam's doing.

However, why look a gift horse in the mouth? If Lorne was here, kindly offering to relieve her boredom, why not say yes? It's not like a better offer would come any time soon.

Elizabeth finally nodded, allowing an uncertain smile to cross her face, and stood aside so that Lorne could come in. Padding across the room to her bedside table, she fitted her mask back to her face (No need to give Lorne an excuse to tattle to Beckett.) and hauled the little oxygen tank over to her window. Her padded chair was already situated there, and this she left for her guest as she rolled her less comfortable desk chair into the cool glow of the window as well, so that they could sit next to each other. Elizabeth gestured for Lorne to take his seat as she grabbed the notepad that Sam had left for her and returned, plopping herself down into the rolling chair and taking a moment to recover.

She watched with curiosity as the man situated a little easel in front of her, complete with a small canvas and a palette of paints and brushes that he sat in her lap. "That should do it," he muttered to himself approvingly before quickly setting his own station up as well, although with a greater (and, Elizabeth suspected, more expensive) variety of paints and brushes and a larger canvas upon which to paint.

With surprising patience, the Major showed her how to hold a brush and to apply the paint. He spoke at great length about the different uses for the different shapes and sizes of the brushes, and about how the play of light and shadows in her painting would be almost as important as the object or objects she chose to portray. It was fascinating to listen to, and Elizabeth paid rapt attention to every detail. Throughout her life, she had never been much inclined towards the arts, the only exception being that she had been a talented dancer when she was very young. A knee injury had shattered that dream, though, and she had never participated in a similar creative activity again.

Sitting in silence now, making her first fumbling attempts at a painting while Major Lorne began to illustrate what appeared to be Atlantis, seen from afar and through a screen of rain, at her side, Elizabeth wondered if perhaps this had been a mistake. She wasn't even close to being as good as Lorne, but she was enjoying herself immensely, catching herself grinning at her paint-smeared hands. She'd had no idea that Lorne could paint, but she was very glad that he had decided to share his talent with her, even if it was under duress from Sam.

For the next two days, Elizabeth almost always had someone visiting her. Amelia Banks showed up once, bearing pilfered doughnuts and all of the latest gossip from the control room, as did Radek Zelenka, although he wasn't as entertaining because he was usually behind on the latest news, being down in the labs most of the time. Still, the game of chess was welcome. Teyla and Ronon had joined another offworld team for the time being, and could only stop by briefly due to their busy schedules, but they did make a definite effort. Lorne came back too, armed with watercolor paints this time, and Sam—Sam showed up both days, although not for very long.

However, it was during her evening visit on the second day that the Daedalus returned.

She and Sam were discussing the possibilities of how many of the replicator ships they had commandeered that Earth would allow to stay in the Pegasus galaxy, over twin cups of Athosian tea: a quiet evening. Elizabeth had forsaken the uniform that she had worn all day for a more comfortable set of yoga pants and a red tank top, and she was able to gather enough breath to talk a bit now, although she still relied heavily on the notepad. Dr. Keller had brought her a ration of chocolate during her last check-up, so the two women were now sharing it, occasionally breaking off a piece mid-conversation and gulping it down happily. (Sam was far more at ease around her now, and she admitted that Elizabeth's changed appearance had thrown her off at first, but she had gotten used to it fairly quickly.)

"Hey, do you mind if I use your restroom?" Sam asked, after a healthy few minutes of squirming in her seat and making a couple of very interesting faces.

"Yes," Elizabeth replied, deadpanned, but couldn't keep a straight face for more than a few moments and ended up smirking instead.

Sam just rolled her big blue eyes and marched off into the bathroom.

Elizabeth sat back into her pillows, enjoying the quiet. She loved Sam, but she was very tired, and the momentary reprieve was nice. No matter how much she slept, she woke feeling just as exhausted as she had when she had gone to sleep, and she could never seem to catch her breath. It was irritating.

It was at this point that the door to the hallway opened without warning, revealing a rather shaggy-looking John who was carrying a tray of what appeared to be lemon chicken.

Elizabeth sat up immediately, a delighted smile splitting her face. She hadn't known that either the Deadalus or Apollo was due to return to Atlantis, but the surprise was most definitely a welcome one. She had missed John desperately, although she had done her best to ignore that fact when he was gone. However, now that he was here…

"John," she gasped aloud, trying to tug off her mask (which she was still forced to wear by her tyrant CMO, except when she was sleeping) while simultaneously trying to disentangle herself from her sheets so she could go to him. The last time they had seen each other was when they had fought about her participation on the replicator mission, and she had yelled at him. After her near-death experience, during which she had realized that he had been right, she deeply regretted not listening to him, and wanted to make sure he knew that.

Her efforts nearly made her topple from the bed. Thankfully, John was at her side in what seemed like an instant, placing the tray on her bedside table, seating himself on the edge of the bed, and using his freed hands to steady her and firmly press her mask back in place. "You have no idea how beautiful it is to see you alive, 'Lizabeth. We thought we might lose you, for a while there," he breathed, allowing his hands to fall to her shoulders.

Deciding that it would be next to impossible to force out 'I'm glad I'm alive too,' Elizabeth settled for the alternative, leaned forward, and embraced her friend. "I'm sorry," she confessed in a small voice, reveling in the warmth of his body.

Her words melted away John's startled stiffness in an instant, and he hugged her fiercely. His grip was almost uncomfortably tight, but Elizabeth knew that she wouldn't have it any other way. This, she decided, was where she belonged. She had always been a great believer in the power of words: they could serve as an instrument of destruction or of creation, love or hatred, knowledge or ignorance… anything. But it was John Sheppard who had proved to her that some things, words could not adequately express. Not in the way that action could. She couldn't say to him, or even write down, everything that she was feeling right now. Some of it, she couldn't, or wouldn't, even identify if she tried. The only thing she felt could express her joy at seeing him again was to hold him tighter. He would understand, and she wouldn't have to say a thing.

"Never do that to me again, all right? I was a wreck until we got word back you'd live," John murmured into her hair.

Elizabeth just nodded mutely, burying her head into his shoulder as she felt a hot tear slip down her cheek. It wouldn't do for Sam to see her cry.

Sam!

With a jolt, Elizabeth remembered that she and John weren't alone in her quarters. But when she raised her eyes to look for her, Elizabeth realized that she had already gone. The door to her bathroom had been left open, and the messenger bag had disappeared off of the back of Sam's chair. Clever girl. Elizabeth wasn't sure if she was grateful or mortified.

After a few more heartbeats, John released her and folded his hands in his lap, watching quietly Elizabeth reached for the ever-useful notepad, knowing that she wanted to say a lot more than she could trust her aching lungs with. (As much as it would kill Rodney for her to admit it, Elizabeth had to hand it to Sam: she was a genius.) "What are you doing back so soon?" she wrote, finding it hard to take her eyes off of John, as if he might evaporate if she turned away. "I thought that you were still on the planet, with Rodney and the science teams?"

"Landry's sending over a whole new crop of specialists. You know, to tide us over until we formally request new personnel," he sighed, flopping backwards across her feet. "The Daedalus needed to come back to pick them up, when they arrive, so I came along for the ride. I need to take care of a few things here, and I also kind of wanted to shower in a stall that's wider than two feet."

"I take it's—going well, then," Elizabeth commented, not bothering with the notepad this time. Her voice was weak and her phrase punctuated by a pause to catch her breath, but it could be heard.

"Fairly, yes," John agreed, sitting back up again and turning to face her. "Once you're well again, you should come and see the shipyard." The same wondrous grin that had lit his face when he had first seen the puddlejumpers was making a reappearance. "It's amazing. Kind of seems like it goes on forever: the only thing you can see around you are these massive ships. We can only hope that Rodney can get a few of them up and running before the Wraith figure out we've got them and blow the shipyard off the face of the planet," he finished wryly.

Elizabeth gazed at him soberly. They both knew it was a possibility. That was why the Apollo or Daedalus or both were always in orbit around the planet: ready to beam their people to safety at a moment's notice or, alternately, defend their position against any attackers.

Obviously trying to lighten the mood, John poked her in the arm. "Did I tell you what I named the eight ships that Rodney says he can hotwire?"

Scooting over a bit so that there was enough room for John to join her sitting against the headboard, Elizabeth shook her head, traces of amusement already showing around the corners of her mouth and eyes.

Accepting the offer and fitting himself into the space she had made, their arms brushing, John grinned his little boy grin in anticipation. "I think you'll like them," he promised. "We don't have paint yet, so I just had the new kid, Lt. Philabaum, write the names on the sides with chalk," he confessed, "but it works just the same. We kind of stuck with the Greek theme. The Calliope, the Clio, the Erato, the Euterpe, the Polyhymnia, the Terpsichore, the Thalia, and the Urania."

Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully, recognizing the names of eight of the nine muses: goddesses of the arts. "Melpomene?" she inquired, wondering why this last muse had been selected for exclusion.

"The goddess of tragedies," John laughed. "That's the ship that's the next closest to being finished. It's far more complete than the other unnamed ones, but not entirely, like the other eight. It's kind of our red-headed stepchild," he explained, affection coloring his voice. "The one we named Calliope is Rodney's baby. She'll be taking off first, I think."

At this, Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh gently. Calliope was the leader of the nine muses. She wasn't surprised that the name had conveniently befallen Rodney's favorite ship, although it set her to wondering which ship was John's favorite. The question was posed in the form of an arched eyebrow.

"The Thalia," John answered, understanding perfectly. "Goddess of comedy!" His tone suggested that this was the only logical answer, and that he was surprised that she hadn't figured it out on her own.

Yeah. She'd missed him.

For a few contented minutes, they didn't say anything else. Instead, they sat quietly, and Elizabeth, at least, was enjoying the company. She'd never run out of things to talk about, when she was with him, but again, he'd also shown her that talking wasn't always necessary. This was another one of those moments. Mesmerized by the quiet, Elizabeth was startled when she felt John take her cool hand in his warm, rough one. To her credit, she didn't jump, but merely let him do so, tightening her grip ever so slightly. It was wonderful –simple, easy, and heartwarming—and they stayed that way for a long, long while, occasionally breaking the silence with happy chatter or munching on the food that John had brought with him into her room. John had more than a few hilarious stories about Rodney's hissy-fits over the ships. The replicators had built in several extraneous systems, for some reason, like life support and plumbing and such, but had left out others, like kitchens or showers, and it apparently drove her head scientist mad. John said that they still couldn't figure out what had happened when, one time, they found Rodney where he had gotten himself trapped in a storage cabinet, covered in a strange pink fluid. The man hadn't wanted to talk about it, and had avoided the main weapons locker and the tava bean rations for days.

Well. That was her Rodney, without a doubt.

Elizabeth loved the new stories. She would have stayed up all night with John, listening to him speak and talking back when she could. But eventually, he had to leave.

"I promised Carson that I'd leave you to sleep at 9:30, 'Lizabeth," he stated, releasing her hand and chuckling a little as she gave him a poor imitation of his own puppy eyes.

"'M not a child…" Elizabeth muttered, but she slipped obediently between her sheets either way, pulling the irritating mask from her face, closing off the valve on the portable tank, and tossing the offensive bit of clear rubber away.

"No, you're far more stubborn," John ceded, deftly avoiding her halfhearted swat at his arm as he stood. "I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early," he promised with a cocky grin.

Elizabeth shot him a skeptical look. "'M not—a morning—person," she pointed out softly, coughing into a fist but not breaking her glare.

"I've cowered through more than one of your early morning meetings to know that very well," John assured her, evil grin still in place. Quickly, he leaned down and brushed his lips against her temple, letting them linger for a heartbeat before pulling away. "Sleep well," he instructed her, voice losing its gruff edge as he straightened slowly. "Beckett can smell it if you lie."

With that, he strode from the room, shutting off the lights with his mind and leaving Elizabeth lying in the dark, gazing after him and wishing, insanely, that she'd turned her head at the last moment to capture his lips with hers. The urge to call him back was surprisingly powerful.

This disturbed her.

Squirming in a futile and rather unnecessary effort to get comfortable, Elizabeth snagged at her lip with her teeth and stared, glassy-eyed, at the ceiling. A wave of shame and guilt washed over her and her chin trembled in its wake. John was her friend. He was very good to her, and Elizabeth didn't honestly know what she'd do if that were to come to an end. There was a danger, sometimes a very significant one, of him dying every day, and the fact that she had wanted to kiss him and jeopardize their relationship despite the risk of its potential brevity made her want to kick herself. Elizabeth was only human. It had taken her all of two seconds after meeting John Sheppard to decide that he was a very attractive man: the messy hair just about killed her. However, she also knew that they needed to work together, and that now, they needed to maintain their friendship, which was far more valuable to her than almost anything. What was worse, the frat regs (along with her best excuse) were gone now, and she was painfully aware of that. But she shied away from taking the plunge and opening a door she couldn't close. Something like that… well, it could end their friendship very quickly, if it didn't work out. There was no guarantee that John even saw her that way, and Elizabeth didn't know if she could cope if he rejected her, much less became just another ex-boyfriend.

And yet… the selfish part of her that was so often repressed was taking her 'John-is-back-I'm-so-happy'-induced momentary weakness and screaming to be heard. If Elizabeth was being honest with herself, she did want more than friendship with him. It was a selfish, impossible, and childish thought, but it was true.

Admitting that to herself really didn't make Elizabeth feel better, especially after taking the mental equivalent of a cold shower and telling herself to pull it together and give up the entire foolhardy thought. She knew full well that she would never put her friendship with John on the line –not when it was one of the best things that had ever happened to her, aside from Atlantis—but it still hurt. It also hurt that Elizabeth felt like she was turning in circles, experiencing the same emotional problems over and over again in an infinite loop of frustration and sadness.

"God damn it, John," she swore to the emptiness of her room. No one answered. Fitfully, she rolled onto her side and tried to sleep.

Tongue peeking out from between her pursed lips as she focused, Elizabeth lowered her brush to the thick paper and made a few stokes, frowning critically at the results. She still wasn't very good, but the watercolors were turning out better than the acrylics had, at least. This was the first time that she had tried to paint without Major Lorne there to help her, and so far, she hadn't managed to seriously mutilate the poor painting, so she thought she must be doing all right.

The door chimes went off, and Elizabeth looked up, puzzled. She knew that her visitor wasn't John. After he had walked her down to the cafeteria to get some real food that morning, minus her oxygen mask, which she had refused to wear outside of her room, he had taken her to the infirmary and placed her in Carson's care, because he had to be present for the dial-in from Earth. Elizabeth had argued bitterly that she should be allowed to greet the new arrivals, but John wouldn't hear of it after she had to stop talking and focus on breathing a few times. The loss of the argument had left her in a stormy mood, so Carson had graciously agreed to let her lose the aggravating oxygen mask, given her one of the lollipops he saved for the children (lime-flavored: her favorite), and sent her back to her quarters to cool off.

However, seeing as most of her staff was busy, as John was, with settling the newbies after their night at the Midway Station (now fully operational), Elizabeth didn't know who would be at her door.

Wiping her multicolored hands dry on her pants, Elizabeth scrambled to her feet, directing a rattling cough into her elbow, and went to the door. "Sam," she exclaimed breathlessly as she saw who her visitor was. "Thought you'd be with…" Elizabeth trailed off breathlessly, knowing that Sam would know that she meant the new Earth recruits.

Curiously, the blonde Colonel once again appeared supremely uncomfortable, and was once again fiddling with the zipper on her uniform jacket, which was emblazoned with twin streaks of command red, just as Elizabeth's was. But she dutifully picked up on Elizabeth's loose thought. "I haven't been here much longer than they have," she pointed out. "Pretty much introduced myself, told them to expect you in a few days, and cleared out. Listen, can I… can I talk to you?"

"Certainly," Elizabeth responded, a little worried now. Turning back inside, she headed straight for the chairs by the window, scooting the rolling one away from the easel that Lorne had been kind enough to lend her and moving it closer to the armchair so she and Sam could talk. "You look upset," she commented as she sat down, Sam mimicking her movements.

"Uh… yes," the other woman replied, tucking a few errant strands of blonde hair behind her ears. Her bright blue eyes were wandering around and focusing everywhere but on Elizabeth's face. "These are pretty. Did you do them?" she asked suddenly, picking up two of Elizabeth's small canvases, which she had placed on the floor.

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to feel uncomfortable. "Uh… yes," she echoed, reaching to take them back. "I'm afraid they're—not very good," she confessed, pausing in the middle of the phrase for a short, gasping breath, and looking at them self-consciously once they were in her hands.

The first was painted with acrylics, and depicted a sad old willow tree that had been hunkered in the corner of her back yard as a child. It was knotted and ancient and somewhat creepy, but Elizabeth had loved to read beneath its shade, a usually absurdly large book balanced precariously on her knobby little knees. The painting didn't do the old tree justice—not really. Lorne had told her it was an excellent first start though, and Elizabeth was just pleased it was recognizable as a tree.

The second painting was watercolor, painted onto some stiff paper that reminded Elizabeth of cardboard. It had turned out far better than the painting of the willow, but Elizabeth wasn't sure if that was because she did better with watercolors or if this memory was more vivid. Probably both. She had illustrated the temple at M51-237: the moment when the glowing orb had appeared above the pedestal for the first time. Most of her effort had been spent upon the orb itself, streaking it with the delicate pinks and blues around the edges that had so enchanted her at first glance. The surrounding temple was a simple wash of dark brown, and the men that had died mere black shadows against the walls. In fact, the only other detail in the painting was the medallion on the back wall: the one which, when touched, had unleashed the orb. Elizabeth had done this in unimposing black as well, simply tracing the pattern that had been upon its surface, partially obscured by the shadowy hand of one of the doomed figures.

"That's M51-237, isn't it?" Sam guessed, gesturing to the watercolor painting.

Elizabeth just nodded mutely, staring at it. After painting the scene, she hadn't really been able to bring herself to look at it again until now, and something about it was nagging at her. Frowning she handed it back to Sam, who had been eyeing it curiously. "That's it. A—fairly accurate—representation of—what we saw," she whispered.

"Fascinating…" Sam breathed, examining it closely. "It looks almost like an ascended being, you know? But an ascended being wouldn't have been able to affect our plane of existence like it did. The others would have stopped it… Is that…" She hesitated, brushing a pale finger over the outline of the temple medallion and letting incredulity color her voice. "Is that the pattern we used to ARG the replicator planets? Dreamwave amplification theory?"

Elizabeth's eyes widened and her heartbeat quickened. "Yes. It is!" she exclaimed, finally realizing what had been bothering her. "The pattern I—dreamed about for days!"

"You saw it in the temple," the blonde murmured. "Wow."

"What does it mean?" Elizabeth asked, fear clawing at her. Not only had she returned from the mission on M51-237 four men shorter and fifteen years younger, but she had returned one creepy anti-replicator weapon stronger and hadn't even known it. Certainly she, and everyone else, had suspected that her and John's sudden inspiration had been directly linked to the '237 mission, but until now, it hadn't been confirmed. Elizabeth wondered how Anna and the other archeologists had missed it.

"I… I don't know what it means," Sam admitted, frowning and placing the painting back onto the floor. "But it doesn't change anything. You're no more or less potentially compromised as you were when you stepped back through the 'gate, and so far, you've done us nothing but good. Just think. If you hadn't gone to M51-237, none of this would have happened. You wouldn't have been able to stop the Apollo from nuking the shipyard planet. We wouldn't have gained anything but time for Earth from the mission, and who knows how the replicators would have retaliated against Atlantis!"

Fears somewhat eased, Elizabeth nodded slowly. Despite the deaths of the four marines, good things had come from that fiasco: their gains against the replicators, certainly, and also an increased closeness between her and John. She still felt that she was personally reprehensible for the fate of her men, but for the first time, Elizabeth allowed herself a little innocence too. It had been an accident, after all, even if she had failed her people. And maybe… maybe she was starting to make it up to them. "Thank you, Sam," she said softly, bowing her head. "Thank you."

"Hey, what are temporary replacements for?" Sam replied lightly. "Cheer up. I'll even email you pep talks from the SGC when I leave, if you need them. You can thank me then."

Elizabeth grinned at her. "Don't tempt me," she laughed. She was reduced to a mild coughing fit within moments, but Elizabeth's happiness and relief didn't fade. However, her outward expression was soon overshadowed by a light frown. "But… you came here to—talk to me and we—never even got—around to it," she gasped, faintly horrified. Sam had seemed pretty upset when she had opened the door. They hadn't even gotten around to discussing what was bothering her! Elizabeth, as a diplomat, knew a diversion tactic when she saw one, and felt a little ashamed that she had allowed Sam to change the subject so quickly after arriving, even though their resulting talk had been enormously beneficial.

"It's okay," Sam said quickly. "I've never… talked to anyone about this."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

Sam just grimaced at her. "Look, I just had a question. About the gate tech, Chuck?"

Increasingly curious, Elizabeth nodded for Sam to continue.

Having now reverted back to being extremely uncomfortable with the situation, the other woman was once again finding it difficult to maintain eye contact. "Say that he saw something that could potentially look… very bad. Would you say that he could be trusted to be discreet about it?"

"That depends," Elizabeth ceded. "What kind of—bad would it be?"

Sam fidgeted in her chair, staring fiercely at her hands, which she had folded in her lap. "You were in charge of the SGC long enough to hear the rumors, I suspect," she began in a long-suffering tone of voice. "About how Colonel O'Neill and myself were supposedly in a secret illicit relationship?"

"Ye-es…" Elizabeth replied, making the word two syllables. She felt it prudent not to mention all of the unnecessary details that had embellished this rumor. It was a little awkward. "But you said—yourself that they weren't—true."

"They weren't," Sam assured her quickly. "We were in the same chain of command and we would never break regulation. But…"

"But now you aren't," Elizabeth pointed out, catching on. "A relationship—between the two of you—isn't prohibited. You—work at the SGC and—O'Neill is Homworld—Security."

"Exactly," Sam confirmed, smirking at her a bit. "We're together now, but we still haven't told anyone, because they'd make assumptions about our time on SG-1. Assumptions that would be detrimental to my career especially, but it would be very bad: for both of us," she explained. Elizabeth frowned a little more as she caught sight of the quickly masked flash of sadness in Sam's eyes. Obviously, having to hide the way they did was hard. But Elizabeth also saw a deep-seated contentment there, which took her a little by surprise. She wouldn't have thought that a relationship so fraught with secrecy would be worth it, but clearly, Sam thought that it was. "He came through the 'gate today, with the new personnel from the SGC," she told her. "When the others went with Colonel Sheppard and Teyla for their Pegasus 101, Jack and I went out onto the balcony; you know, the one behind your office?"

Elizabeth smirked and shot Sam a look, having an inkling as to where this was going.

"Hey, it was only a kiss!" Sam cried indignantly, a little scandalized, as her eyes met Elizabeth's suggestive face. She swatted Elizabeth's leg in a playful scold, but Elizabeth just giggled. "Well, long story short, Chuck was looking for me and walked in on us kissing. I think we might have scarred the poor boy," Sam admitted, appearing suitably embarrassed. "I asked him what he needed and went on working like nothing happened while Jack returned to the 101 group, but… I don't know how Chuck will react and if this gets back to the wrong people…" Sam trailed off, obviously distressed.

Elizabeth felt unexpectedly empathetic. She liked both Colonel Carter and General O'Neill a great deal, and wanted desperately for them to be happy. She also knew firsthand how hard it could be to make and maintain meaningful relationships in a position of authority. It heartened her that they were together, clearly leading a successful relationship even if it was in secrecy to spare them political fallout. "Chuck is smart—enough to keep this to—himself," she soothed, placing a hand on Sam's knee and biting back a crooping cough. "The rumor mill might—be more active than—usual, but he wouldn't—take it farther."

Sam let loose an audible sigh of relief. "Thanks, Elizabeth," she said, passing a hand wearily over her face.

"What are—temporary invalids—for?" Elizabeth teased.

Letting loose a full, bubbling laugh, Sam stood and offered Elizabeth her hand. "Come on," she offered. "I'm meeting Jack for lunch. Want to get out of here and eat with us?"

"Will it be too—much trouble?" Elizabeth asked, hesitating. She didn't want to interrupt, and she certainly wasn't feeling one-hundred percent.

"Not at all," Sam assured her, helping her to her feet. "Besides, Jack likes to mess with you. He came all the way from Earth: why not let him have some fun?"

Elizabeth grinned and got to her feet. She was lucky to have friends like Jack and Sam. Briefly touching the smooth, cool surface of the Lapis Lantea bead she still wore around her neck, Elizabeth took a moment to remember that she was also lucky to have a home as wonderful as Atlantis.

She was still smiling serenely as she followed Sam out the door.

Well? How'd I do? Any suggestions from you wonderful readers out there? I give imaginary peanut-butter cookies to reviewers! (If you have a peanut allergy, I guess you're SOL and stuck with imaginary oatmeal cookies. Yucky!) :O