Howdy all! I hope you have all had a fantastic Christmas! I just spent a bit of yesterday and today finishing this chapter. I'm determined to get it done before I head off on holidays for a week. This one's not as long as they have been in the past, but is still around the 5000 word mark. I really hope you all enjoy this one. Please let me know if you find any problems with some of it as I don't exactly have much experience in that area. And for those of you who are getting impatient, I'm hoping to take us to the Lost City in the next chapter. Though, considering the possible length, I may have to break it down into two parts. Enjoy!

Mail Bag:

To jasminesmommy, about the 5 years thing, I kinda meant the thing in Afghanistan, not his posting at McMurdo. I'll have to do some more research into all that anyway. I'm glad you like this and that you recognize the subtleties that I tried to add to make her more like John.

To EvilAngelsIceQueen, it's hard for me not to feel bad for her too. But I'm planning on making things a little easier for her in Atlantis.

To Rataniel, I think your English is very good. Thank you very much.

To BlueDragon007, thanks very much four your review. I'm really glad you are enjoying this story. I love getting reviews like yours – it keeps me writing.

To City of Atlantis, the wait is over! Things aren't all happy days for Sierra just yet, kinda opening old wounds in this chapter. But I won't give too much away!

To EvaFlack001, thanks heaps for your review. Sending Mitchell to Atlantis would solve a lot of things for Sierra, but would also cause quite a few problems, I think; one being her over-protective brother, the other, the time line. I am trying to keep to the timeline set out by the creators of the franchise. I will be trying to weave my way around the current plotlines. Don't worry, I won't change heaps, in fact I hope to not change anything at all. Think of Sierra as an extension, another character that just sits in the background; another set of eyes, so to speak. Anyway, I'm really glad you like this. Please keep reading.

To baileylak, I hope I can keep up the standard for you! I'd like to think that Sierra is very much like her brother in that way, that she won't accept leaving a man behind enemy lines. Of course, this is a little different to what happened with John, what with Sierra and Mitchell's history and all. Still, makes for good readying, I hope.

To Asugar, this is the chapter where all your questions are answered! Sierra faces her punishment for her desertion, we find out what happens between her and Mitchell, and you get to see how she reacts to it all. I hope you like this chapter.

To Emagen Laile, allow me to welcome you to the gang! Thanks heaps for your review. I'm trying to keep it as real as I can. Thanks again.

Thanks so very much to all who reviewed! I'm glad that so many of you are enjoying this story. Please keep reading.

-----Chapter 6 – New Order-----
Sierra gazed stoically across the poker table at Walsh as he nervously rearranged his cards again. She glanced at Argenzalino, who sat on her right, and raised an eyebrow at her. The Latino woman, also the SF who had been following Sierra around for the last five weeks, had folded a little while back and returned it with a half smile. Walsh, who had watched them, quickly glanced around at the other two at the table, who had also folded. They gazed back at him and said nothing. Walsh gulped.

His eyes darted around the table before he said, "Alright; call." He dropped three blue chips onto the rather large pile in the centre of the table, followed by three twenty dollar bills.

At least he's smart enough not to raise it, Sierra thought. Walsh, being the new kid on the block, was still pretty green and this was the first time he'd joined their twice-weekly Poker night. He had started off well, surprised and cocky about his luck. But as his luck would have it, he started getting bad cards. Now it was just down to Sierra and Walsh and, as Harper had said earlier, it was a classic example of 'open mouth; insert foot'.

Sierra chuckled lightly and showed her hand – straight: King high. Her eyes remained on Walsh's face as she watched him pale and his shoulders slumped. He dropped his cards in front of him; a pair of threes. Sierra couldn't help it; she smiled, wide and smug.

Harper, the major sitting next to Walsh clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Ha, ha! Guess that'll teach ya when playin' with the Big Boys."

"Ah hem," Argenzalino coughed pointedly at Harper.

"And girls," he added before he scooped his rather small pile of chips and bills into his cap. "Same time Monday?" he asked around the table.

"Definitely," replied Walter, "My wife's got her pottery class at two-zero hours."

"Pottery classes?" Harper said, wrinkling his nose. Walter nodded with a similar expression. "What about you two," he said nodding at Argenzalino and Walsh. They shrugged, indicating that they'll be there. "Sheppard?"

Sierra, who was the only one still sitting, shook her head. "No. They finally managed to settle on a date for my court appearance." Finally, after nearly a month of procrastinating, the J.A.G. had finally decided that her case was worth looking at. The atmosphere in the room stilled and became quite somber. "I'll be back guys; it's cool."

"Maybe," Walsh said in a hush voice. "But you, kinda, you know... deserted." The last word was barely a whisper. "They used to give you a 21-gun salute!"

"I'll be fine, lieutenant," she said firmly, the forcefulness of her voice masking the doubt in it. She picked up the bag she had brought her chips in and loaded her winnings into it. The others looked away and out of the corner of her eye she saw Argenzalino indicate to Walsh to drop it.

She and Argenzalino walked back to their quarters talking in soft voices so as not to disturb the other inhabitants of the base. Though it was late, there were still lights on everywhere. As they walked past Teal'c's door they could smell rosemary-scented candles burning. Someone was typing rather enthusiastically on a laptop. Argenzalino's quarters were around the corner and two doors up from Sierra's. They nodded to the guard, Sergeant Lane, who stood there and Sierra said goodnight.

"Ma'am," Argenzalino said as she opened the door. "I'm sure everything will be OK on Monday."

Sierra gave her a grateful smile. "Thanks, Lisa."

"Anytime, ma'am."

Sierra turned toward her door. "Don't you ever get bored, Lane?" she said to the SF standing by the door.

He gave her a quick smile. "No, ma'am." He pulled an iPod out of his pocket. She laughed.

"Well that explains the terrible singing I hear some nights. 'Night, Lane."

"Goodnight, ma'am."

-----XXX-----

With three days left until her trial, Sierra was finding it hard to think of anything else but. That was until Dr. Jackson asked her to join him at breakfast Friday morning, saying he had news about Mitchell. Her previous CO had had three separate operations already, in only a month, and was scheduled for another four in the coming weeks. He had nearly died from a blood clot last week and was hooked up to more machines than Jackson had ever seen. The archaeologist offered to take Mitchell a message next time he went to visit, but Sierra declined. There was no point. If she ever managed not to go to prison the second they convicted her, then she would go see him herself.

And even if she wanted to give him a message, she didn't know what to say. That and the fact that he was still unconscious. Jackson said that he had woken up for a few seconds during his visit, but that was it. Sierra left the Mess feeling deflated.

The rest of Friday and the weekend went by in a nauseating haze, and then it was Sunday afternoon. She snuck into the briefing room while Argenzalino dashed off to the bathroom, and watched the Gate Room through the window. Here, she thought about Mitchell.

She remembered the day they had first met. It was right here in the SGC, only three floors above her head. She had tried to go to that briefing room, but the elevator wouldn't even open the door for her. The briefing room was so much easier to sneak into.

The first time she and Mitchell met he had shaken her hand, not requested a salute. He had called her by her first name, something he did as often as call her by her surname. He had included her in discussions, not pushed her into the background. He asked her opinion for a lot of the situations they found themselves in. He was everything a good CO and teammate should be. And unbelievably, so much more.

Sierra remembered with great clarity everything that happened that night in Chicago. She remembered the way he made her feel, the way he held her possessively, but gently. She remembered how it had felt breaking every anti-frat regulation in the book. It had felt… fantastic.

Someone coughed behind her. Sierra spun to find Dr. Weir standing at her office door. She opened her mouth to try and explain herself but closed it again when she realized there was no point.

The diplomat raised an eyebrow at her. Sierra sighed.

"I had to get one last look at it," she said. Weir nodded, tucking a chocolate-brown curl behind her ear.

"I know how you feel," the other woman said. Sierra glanced at her sideways as she came to stand beside her at the window. "It's my last day today," she said.

Sierra saw through the open office door, that there were a number of boxes piled around the room. "Where're you off to, Doctor?"

"Antarctica, I'm told. By special request from the President."

"The President?" Sierra said, impressed.

"Yes. I've been invited to dinner at the White House and I'm not sure what to wear." Sierra laughed softly, in a way much similar to the way Mitchell would laugh at her jokes. She sighed.

"Are you worried about your trial?" Weir asked.

"Yeah, to be honest. And I'll be the first to admit that my chances don't look great."

"I've been told that you're usually more optimistic than this."

Sierra laughed dismissively. "Maybe. But it's hard to be upbeat when you're facing desertion charges. There's no greater sin in the Armed Forces." Sierra paused, feeling her heart beating uncomfortably fast. "I'll be lucky to make it out of there alive."

Dr. Weir lowered her eyes, clearly not knowing what to say. Sierra understood. They stood side by side, watching as Siler ran diagnostics on the Stargate. It promptly sparked, nearly knocking Siler off his ladder. Dr. Weir made to go to the Control Room to check on him, but Sierra stopped her as the technician managed to regain his balance.

"He's OK; happens to him all the time." Weir cast a worried glance at her as Sierra shrugging her shoulders. "So," Sierra said. "You gonna miss this place?"

Weir shrugged again. "I don't know. I'm sure not going to miss trying to out-negotiate a gang of Goa'uld system lords."

Sierra had heard about that. Of course she hadn't been allowed anywhere near the… narcissistic aliens, even if she wanted to. However, she had caught a glimpse of Camulus as the SFs had taken him to a holding cell; he was… hot. There weren't many other words to describe him. Sierra felt oddly sick with herself for even thinking that an evil system lord could be so fine. Dr. Weir was looking at her strangely.

"What?" Sierra said defensively.

"Oh, nothing," the other woman replied. "You just had an interesting look on your face. Kind of like a sly smile."

"I did not!" Sierra said with a laugh. "With all due respect, ma'am."

"Call me Elizabeth, captain."

"Sierra." They nodded once at each other before returning their gazes to the window.

"So," Elizabeth started. "What were you thinking about?" Sierra laughed again and opened her mouth to tell her it was nothing important, when there was a knock on the door. They turned to see Walter.

"Colonel O'Neill's here to see you, ma'am," he informed them.

"Thank you, Sergeant." She turned back to Sierra. "You'll be fine tomorrow. I'm sure of it."

Sierra watched as she headed back to her office.

-----XXX-----

Sierra felt incredibly uncomfortable in her Dress Blues. She had never been a fan of them, right from the day she joined the Air Force. But Sierra had been in the Force long enough to know what was expected of her. She had asked an SF to pick her uniform up from the dry-cleaners the Sunday before she flew to Washington DC, polished her heels and gotten a haircut. While appearances were everything, Sierra had never really bothered to wear much make-up for this kind of thing.

She currently sat in the very uncomfortable, straight-backed chair in front of the J.A.G. panel. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breathing barely controlled. Her stomach was churning, her hands were shaking. She had her hands clasped tightly in her lap to try and stop them, but as always, it translated to her feet and she was bouncing her heel up and down.

She had known that this was coming, from the second that she ordered Tander to take off without her. She had risked her entire career, possibly even her life, just trying to save Mitchell.

Sierra had seen the results that disobeying orders caused and how court-marshals ruined lives. She had vowed after the war that she would never put herself in a position where that was possible. What a waste of time that had been! She had thought that being a teacher was the best way to not be caught up in that. It worked for ten years, and then she ended up being reassigned; right into the place where it would happen. Sierra knew she was way too much like her brother and that given the chance she would follow her heart, not her head. And so, here she was.

Glancing behind her, she saw the newly promoted General O'Neill sitting in the last row. He had knocked on her door that afternoon, an hour before her trial, to escort her. He also said he was also going with her as moral support and would not hear a word against it. For some reason he kept giving her encouraging gestures and smiling. Sierra couldn't understand how he could get her hopes up when she they were about to be crushed to dust! Didn't he realize that her head was on the chopping block? She swallowed and looked back toward the panel.

The highest ranking officer, the general in the middle, began reading off the charges against her. Sierra barely heard any of it. She heard her name mentioned a couple of times, and Mitchell's. But she didn't absorb anything. She heard something about the President and some recommendation (probably some other form of punishment, Sierra thought) and then there was the sound of a hammer on the desk. Sierra blinked. What was that? Why was the panel collecting their papers and standing to leave? Had she been convicted already?

She raked her brain to think of what had just happened. The middle general, Dobbs she thought it was, had said something like, "And in accordance with the President's recommendation, you, Captain Sheppard, shall not be incarcerated. Instead you will be reassigned to the –" Sierra lost focus there. Not be incarcerated? What kind of sick joke was this?

Sierra sat in her chair staring at the retreating backs of the panel of judges. This wasn't possible, she thought. This shouldn't be happening. She should be being carted off to rot in prison for the rest of her natural life!

She cast a quick glance at the MPs standing at the edges of the room. They stood at attention until the generals had left the room, and then turned on their heels and forwarded out themselves. She remained rooted to the chair.

Someone touched her shoulder and she jumped a foot in the air. "Easy, Sheppard," said General O'Neill, who had come to stand behind her.

She looked up at him. "What the hell just happened, Sir?" she asked, her voice quaking.

He smiled. "You were cleared, Captain. Congratulations."

Sierra surged to her feet and turned to face him. "But I don't understand it, sir. I'm guilty."

"Yes, but the J.A.G. took into account the fact that you did it to save your commanding officer, and co-pilot. You were also the one with the most kills out on that battle field, Sheppard."

Sierra blinked. "I didn't know that. I take it I won't be getting that promotion, then?" The general shook his head. "What was that thing about the President?"

"Ah," O'Neill said as he guided her towards the exit. The room was now empty except for the two of them. "Well, when Dr. Weir and I were at dinner, we talked to the President and he wanted to help you out. Hope you don't mind." He seemed quite pleased with himself.

Sierra couldn't say anything. She was stunned that THE President, of the United States, had a hand in the result of her trial. That he was the one who said she shouldn't go to prison and be reassigned instead.

"Um, Sir?" she asked as he guided her to a taxi that was waiting outside. "Where am I being reassigned to?" It didn't please her at all that she wasn't going to be flying 302s anymore.

"Antarctica," he replied with a shudder. "Gah, I hate that place." Once they were in the taxi, he told the driver to go to a bar nearby. "Dr. Weir'll be your new boss. You'll be Head of Security for the new complex bein' built there. Best thing is you get to keep your security clearance."

Soon the cab pulled up in front of an officers club. Sierra cautiously looked at O'Neill. "What are we doing here, sir?"

"Celebratin' o'course." The general guided her in with a hand on her back. Celebrating? Celebrating what? The fact that she wasn't being punished? Or the fact that she was going to be posted on the other side of the world? She thought being posted on a space ship was bad enough. Well, that she could handle, because her job made up for the distance from home. But this? Now she was being posted on the most remote continent on Earth, at a desk and no where near a plane or a classroom. This was going to be her own personal Hell. God, at this rate, she won't hear from her brother ever again.

Sierra followed General O'Neill into the Officers Club with a sour face and looked about. This being Washington D.C. she doubted that there would be anyone here that she knew. Or anyone that knew her. Sitting at the bar, the general ordered them some drinks.

"Why are we really here, Sir?" Sierra asked taking the stool next to him. She glanced around the dim, gloomy bar. She saw a general sitting in the corner with a young, blonde lieutenant getting a little too cozy for regulations.

"Here," O'Neill said as he passed her a glass of Jack Daniels, forcing her attention back to him. Sierra raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged, his brand-new general's stars gleaming in the light of the dimly lit bar. "C'mon, Sheppard, you could use a stiff drink. And we're celebrating – enjoy yourself."

Sierra bit back an offhand comment she wanted to say, and took a sip of the hard liquor. Sighing, she set the glass back on the bar top.

O'Neill raised his eyebrow at her. "What?"

Sierra shook her head. "It's just that this isn't an outcome I was expecting today. I'm still trying to come to grips with the fact that I'm not going to prison. I had letters written and everything." O'Neill gave a knowing smile.

"Takes almost gettin' sent to prison to really appreciate what you got, doesn't it?"

Sierra raised an eyebrow. "What was it for you?"

"Gettin' an alien library crammed into my head – twice."

"That why you took the promotion, sir?"

He shrugged. "Not really. I'm definitely gonna miss goin' on missions with my team. Hey, maybe I'll have more time to go fishin'."

Sierra smiled. "Yes, sir." On their second round, the general got a call on his cell. It was General Hammond. Apparently the President wanted to talk to him about something, so he paid his bill, and for her next drink, and left, saying that he'd meet her at the hotel tomorrow. Sierra nodded and then returned to her drink to think about her day.

Antarctica: the most remote and dangerous place on the planet; a place that she never wanted to go back to. Not in a million years. An image of Mitchell, lying in a hospital bed, shattered and broken, rose in her mind threatening to smother her. Shaking her head she managed to clear the image and took an extra large gulp of her rum, draining the last of it. Wincing as the drink slid down her throat, she ordered another from the bar tender. Someone came to stand next to her and ordered the same.

She glanced up at the officer, feeling his eyes on her. He was young-ish, no older than herself, with brown hair and green eyes. His face was one that Sierra probably would remember. But she was cursing humanity's limited gene pool when she noticed that he shared features with both Mitchell and her brother.

She raised an eyebrow at him, a silent question of Who the hell are you?. Taking his glass from the bar-tender, he introduced himself as Major Evan Lorne. She turned in the stool to face him, hand on her hip, asking another silent question, And what do you want?.

"Just thought you might like some company," he said in a purely innocent tone and taking General O'Neill's previous seat. Sierra rolled her eyes and focused on her drink after noticing the general in the corner escort the lieutenant outside to the taxi rank. It was dark outside. She ordered another one after that one and soon realized that the alcohol might be going to her head, because she let Lorne buy her the next two rounds. Before she knew it he was helping her into a taxi and climbing in beside her.

She wasn't entirely sure how they both ended up at the door to her hotel room, or why he was pulling at her dress jacket. Then she was on the bed and he was inside her, kissing her neck and nipping at her skin. She wasn't sure how she let that happen, but she liked it. Memories soon came to her foggy mind, disorienting her.

"Cam!" she cried out with renewed desire.

"What?" Lorne breathed, pulling back to look at her.

Shit, she thought, cursing the alcohol she had drunk. "Nothing," she breathed and drew him in again. Twenty minutes later, they collapsed in a heap, the fire burning out. Sierra let her breathing return to normal before heading to the bathroom to splash water on her face. The water was soothing on her flushed skin as she tried to come to grips with what had just happened. She had just had sex with some major she had just met, and called out the name of her ex-CO right in the heat of it. This was so not like her.

Sighing she went back into the main room and slid under the covers next to Lorne. In the semi-darkness she could almost believe that he was Mitchell. She turned her back on him as a headache burst into existence. Lying down on the pillow, she tried not to flinch as he shuffled closer to her, draping his arm over her. As strange as this was, she would have preferred a different major holding her in that moment.

Closing her eyes, Sierra again had to banish the image of Mitchell in a hospital bed before sleep would come.

-----XXX-----

The second the sun came up, Sierra was wide awake. Managing to slide out of the bed without waking the major, she gathered her clothes and took a fistful of aspirin and a shower. The cool water soothed her headache a little, but not enough. It pounded persistently behind her eyes, creeping down her neck and settling in her shoulders. She gave up trying to shrug it off and turned off the water. She dressed in civvies for the plane trip back to Colorado and began to pack up her things in the bathroom.

She walked back into the main room and tossed her toiletries loudly into her suitcase. The prone figure on the bed twitched and sat up. Sierra glanced at him quickly before continuing to pack.

"Ugh, wha's goin' on?" he murmured.

Sierra cleared her throat. "I have a plane to catch."

"Right. Uh, what time is it?"

"Oh-six-hundred. You can order room service if you like – the Air Force is paying for it."

"Um, OK." She heard him swing his legs over the side of the bed. "Look, I… wanna see you again."

Sierra gave a small laugh. "I don't think that's gonna be possible."

"Why not?" he asked.

Sierra turned toward him, looking for her dress shoes. "Because I've been reassigned to Antarctica."

"Oh," he said eyes downcast. "I'm… sorry to hear that."

"Yeah." They didn't say too much more as Sierra continued to throw her things together. She managed to separate her dress uniform from his and put it back in its bag. Just then, a wave of familiarity washed over her. Déjà vu from that time in Chicago. Suddenly her heart began to ache, intensifying her headache. She winced.

"You OK?" Lorne asked.

She nodded and stiffly zipped up the bag. She slammed her suitcase closed and dragged it to the door. She looked at Lorne again, sitting on the end of the bed. She said a quick goodbye before ducking out the door without another glance. The pain in her heart didn't go away.

O'Neill met her in the lobby. He cast a look over her harassed expression and raised an eyebrow. "Late night," she lied. He shrugged and helped her get her stuff into the waiting cab.

The plane trip back was uneventful. She got a quick nap, but almost as soon as she had closed her eyes, they landed at Peterson. This time, she checked her messages on the car ride back to base; nothing.

She sighed, guessing that wherever John was, he was still there and hadn't gotten back. Not that it mattered a great deal anymore.

O'Neill must have called ahead, because as soon as the elevator opened on the floor for the living quarters, Sierra was bombarded by applause and hugs. Harper, Argenzalino, Walsh and Walter had been waiting for her and as soon as she stepped off the elevator, they dragged her down to the V.I.P. room where they had organized a small party. Sierra tried to smile.

She stayed as long as she felt was polite and excused herself, claiming that she was tired from the trip. They let her go and continued their party by themselves. Sierra went back to her old room and lay down fully clothed. Unfortunately, she was far from tired. The pain in her heart had not abated since she left the hotel that morning. She couldn't really understand it. All she knew was that she had been thinking about Mitchell and Chicago when it had started.

Oh, God, Sierra thought. That's it. It had to be. She knew what this pain was – she felt like she had betrayed someone: Mitchell. She felt like her thing with Lorne last night had been some kind of an affair; like she was being unfaithful to Mitchell. But that was absurd! She was never dating Mitchell! Besides, it was against the regs!

It was also some kind of sick reminder that what she and Mitchell had done was wrong. A reminder that he was the reason she had gone to Washington. That he was currently lying, comatose, in a hospital bed. The ache increased.

She then remembered that she had been given her opportunity to see Mitchell. And do what? Sitting up, she reached for a pad and a pen and began to write.

-----XXX-----

Sierra cautiously poked her head through the doorway to Mitchell's room. It had taken her a lot to finally get out of the car and walk to the front desk of the hospital. A short, brown haired woman, with a heavy accent met her and showed her to his room. All the while she talked about his condition and his up and coming operations with a somber tone.

"Are you his partner?" she asked as they stopped outside his door.

Sierra stared for a moment, thrown by the question. "Ah, no. No I'm not." The doctor nodded once. "I was his co-pilot, though. I was there…"

A flash of recognition crossed her face. "You are Sierra? Sierra Sheppard?" Sierra nodded. "He mentioned your name once, when he woke up last time. It was just for a second, though. You saved his life." Sierra nodded again. "I'll leave you to it."

The doctor had left then, and Sierra had opened the door with caution. She knew that he was still unconscious but there was a chance…

She perched on the edge of the bed, next to his limp hand. Jackson was right – it was pretty bad. He had tubes coming from him everywhere; IV, breathing tube, feeding tube, pulse monitor attached to his finger, catheter snaking under the sheet. It took all her strength to just touch him.

She gently took hold of his hand, biting her lip and expecting him to wake up. She relaxed a little when he didn't. She wasn't so sure why she was glad he was unconscious. Surely having him awake would be better, but she wasn't sure she could do this if he was awake.

Taking a deep breath, she started.

"You have no idea what it took for me to come here. I wasn't sure I could face you. Face this." She gestured at all the tubes. "Jackson warned me, but… I guess I didn't want to believe it. I got this thing in my head that you're indestructible. This… makes losing you all that more possible. So, I'm cutting myself loose." Taking a deep breath she pulled a letter out of her pocket. "It's all in here. I hope to God you get a chance to read it. It explains everything. Why I did what I did in Antarctica… and why I'm doing what I'm doing now." She paused, sighing. "I don't regret anything," she continued. "And I hope you don't either." She leant in closer to him, her voice lowering. "Please don't hate me for what I'm doing. It's probably better this way. I care too much… to do this to either of us."

She felt his hand tighten for a moment and her heart leapt with hope. "Cam, can you hear me?" Nothing. His eyes didn't open, his hand didn't move again and his vitals didn't change. "Cam?" Sierra's heart fell again to somewhere near her diaphragm. Closing her eyes she gently pressed her lips to the back of his hand and set it on the bed again. Getting up off the bed she placed the note on the bedside table. She leant over him, her hand on his shoulder and softly kissed his bruised cheek.

The heart monitor gave an extra beep and Sierra looked up at it. Frowning, she looked back down at him; straight into his ice-blue eyes. She couldn't help but smile.

"Sierra," he whispered. It wasn't a question but more of a statement, acknowledging her presence.

"Hi," she whispered back. "Good to see you up." She gave him a small smile.

"You're leaving." Sierra wondered how much he had heard her say. She just nodded. "Why?" She picked up the note and pressed it into his hand. It tightened around her fingers. "Stay."

It felt like her heart was being torn out of her chest. "I can't. I've got orders." He seemed to understand that. He nodded infinitesimally and closed his eyes again. She pressed her forehead to his. "I'll come back," she promised, but she knew he was unconscious again.

-----XXX-----

The kid next to her had to be younger than twenty-five. He had introduced himself as Lieutenant Aiden Ford when he had sat down next to her on the crowded light-weight plane. He was nice enough, excitable and enthusiastic, and a Marine. Currently, his head was rolled back and he was snoring slightly.

There were ten of them all up, including the pilot of the plane. In the seat behind her, Dr. Weir was looking over something in a file on her lap; next to her was a Scottish medical doctor, Carson Beckett. In the seat in front of her, two scientists were having a heated discussion with one across the isle from them; Grodan, McKay and something Chez, Zelenka? Sierra believed the one called McKay was the one whose volume was rising as the discussion grew more and more heated. Dr. Jackson was in the seat behind the pilot, with a set of earplugs in his ears. The other two were military personnel that hadn't introduced themselves on the tarmac in Hobart.

Sierra glanced back down at the page in front of her, reviewing the protocols that General O'Neill had impressed on her just before she left. But with the rising volume in the cabin, she couldn't concentrate. Marveling at how Ford could sleep with all that going on, she tried to imitate him. She leant her head against the window and gazed down at the frozen ocean below.

She was tired, not having been able to get much sleep since she visited Mitchell in the hospital. Now, as she felt slumber creep upon her, she replayed her visit to him in her head, knowing that dreams were on their way. She hoped that her dreams this time would be something other than torture. But no matter how many times she dreamt of happiness with Mitchell, she could find nothing in them but pain.

-----XXX-----

AN: Hey all, I hope you liked this chapter. Please, don't be shy – tell me what you think. And remember, your reviews keep my imagination alive.