For the second time in so many nights, Elizabeth found herself unable to sleep. She was still suppressing the urge to smash something, which wasn’t helping. Something about the whole situation told her she would have deserved a hit or two with the combat sticks if she had been unable to stop him. She was more enraged by the fact that her Major, yes, she loved him, so in her heart, he was hers, had been tortured nearly to death day after day. And she had had no idea. She had been suppressing the urge to mourn whilst he had been suppressing the urge to give up. If there had been any loose furnishings in her quarters, she would have had a good time slamming them around. How dare they! And how dare he! He was the one who needed to ‘talk’, not her. Her pouring out her heart to him was hardly going to help him at all. Elizabeth muttered a curse and left her bed, not caring that she was dressed in pyjama shorts and a strap top, leaving her quarters to stalk down the corridor to where his quarters were situated. She didn’t bother to knock; she knew the code by heart. She did, however, hesitate on the border of politeness and didn’t just barge into his private domain.

John sat up in bed, clearly as alert as she. He said nothing, just gazed across the room at her, almost expectantly.

She took a step into his quarters, just enough for the door to slide shut behind her. Elizabeth forced her hands to uncurl from the fists they had formed in her fury, "You want me to talk?" she questioned, evidently being rhetorical, voice deadly low, "You want me to talk?" she repeated, "Fine. I’ll talk." She kept her features strangely neutral, taking a great deal of effort, "I was devastated when you didn’t come back. I was numb and it hurt like hell at the same time," she pressed a hand to her head, "I had no idea what I was doing. But you always said there was a time and place for emotions and that I should learn that if only as a defence mechanism. Well I listened, maybe I listened too well, and here I am. Maybe I still don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m doing my best. And if that’s not good enough, then no, maybe I’m not the person you should be talking to, despite the fact that I might very well be in l-" Elizabeth suddenly clamped her mouth shut and whirled back round, making a deliberate escape through the door, managing to get nearly halfway back to her quarters before she heard him call out after her.

"Elizabeth!"

She reluctantly turned back to face him, barely masked despair in her eyes, "What!?" she shouted, still uncharacteristically enraged, mostly at herself.

"You call that talking?" John shouted.

"I call that honesty, and that’s about all you’ll get from me right now!" she shot back.

"Stop hiding!"

She was suddenly very aware that most likely their voices were echoing rather spectacularly down the corridor, allowing more people to hear them than she would have appreciated. Which was none. Elizabeth refused to answer, turning away.

"I can shout a hell of a lot louder!" he threatened, as if reading her mind.

She simply gazed down the corridor at him, torn.

"Talk to me. Don’t shout, don’t run away and don’t hide."

She remained in the one spot, immobile.

"You believe you don’t need anybody and you walk away now. Just don’t expect me to keep trying to get through to you."

"But…" Elizabeth began, "…You’re the one that needs-"

"Help," he finished for her, "Not you. I got that."

She took a step forward, still hesitant. In a matter of seconds, she determinedly threw all her fears aside and walked to stand beside him, still feeling the need to glare defiantly across at him. Therefore she was somewhat shocked as he swiftly folded his arms around her and brought her to rest against him. Frozen once again, she couldn’t move to even lightly place her arms around him, no matter how much she willed herself to move. Elizabeth stayed in the same position, head against his chest, trying to slow her heart rate, determined that he shouldn’t find out just how wound up she was.

"…Calm down…" John said softly.

Damn him. They might as well have made him telepathic.

-

Half an hour later found them lying on his bed, facing each other, not touching. She was as close to the edge of the bed as she could manage without falling to the floor.

"…Why didn’t you tell me what they did to you?" Elizabeth asked, voice quiet, "And don’t tell me it was just because you were afraid of how I’d react."

He was at least honest in his answer, "…I didn’t want to go there again," he admitted, not making eye contact, "If I didn’t have to talk about it, maybe I could forget it ever happened."

"You scared me," she whispered.

John flinched, "I had no idea what I was doing, it was like I was in a trance. I’m sorry," he repeated, earnestly, "I’d never hurt you if I had any idea…"

"Physically," she interrupted, "You didn’t scare me physically," though if she admitted it, she had worried, in the back of her mind, about what she would have done if he hadn’t stopped.

"I didn’t?"
"No," Elizabeth insisted.

"I could’ve hit you round the head, floored you-"

"I was afraid I was going to lose you," she said, all in a rush, so she couldn’t take the words back.

"…I thought I’d already lost you when I saw you staring out at me behind a P-90," he answered.

She bit down on her lip, "…Maybe you have," she felt short of breath, trapped. She felt more uncomfortable by the minute, back at the ‘scene of the crime’ of their encounter several nights ago. He was so close…if she just reached out…maybe she could love him as she should have done the first time…

"Maybe," John nodded, "But only you can prove that, either way."

"Tell me-" she paused, getting a sudden flashback. Hadn’t he said that they healed the wounds they made? Kept him on the brink of death? "John, sit up," she said softly.

"Why?" he frowned.

"Please."

He complied, startled as she reached across and lifted his shirt, revealing a white scar running from the edge of his ribcage to the middle of his stomach.

She might not have wanted his mind the other night, but she certainly remembered his body. Elizabeth let go and looked up at him, "They did this, didn’t they?"

"I didn’t expect anyone to notice. I’m a solider, scars go with the territory."

"Not ones like this."

"What does it matter?"
"Listen to me," she began, "You say you want to forget it ever happened. But you can’t, its not that simple. At least I admit that. Every time you see this scar, you’ll remember. You can’t just shut it out. I know you want to block it out, and I wish to every god I know of that you could. Its like this scar; painful, but permanent. You try and ignore it and its going to get worse."

It was John’s turn to abruptly change the topic, yawning, "…I’m a little tired…"

"John…"

"I know, I know. Believe me. But you might want to think about yourself more with those words you just came out with."

"Stop making out everything is about me. You said this was two sided. Not just when it suits you to be commanding and in a superior state of mind," Elizabeth made as if to move from the bed, "I’ll leave you to sleep-"

He caught her wrist, "Stay."

"…And…?" she questioned, voice soft, unsure how to interpret his request.

"Sleep," John reached to throw the cover over them both.

Elizabeth sighed inaudibly, displaying every sign of reluctance before she relaxed ever so slightly. She remained on the edge of the bed until he hauled her closer, not making any contact after that. She glanced across at him, his eyes already closed.

"…And in the morning you can tell me how you got those scars on your wrist."