She couldn’t say that the night had calmed her at all. If anything, it had made her more worried. Was she to behave in one manner to him and another to everyone else she knew? Should she expect him to treat her any differently? Elizabeth stared down into the ocean from the balcony, thankfully alone with her thoughts. She had started to worry that people could even hear her think recently. Especially him. Something made her want to take everything she had said back. She might have called herself weak, but was more concerned by the honesty she had shown. She couldn’t call what had happened that night just sex. The previous time, yes, violent, passionate sex with no time for a trace of a thought to cross her mind. But still, her honesty yesterday evening worried her. And she couldn’t deny it had been love.

She had done her duty and seen several teams off-world, welcomed some safely home. Decided she could manage to be human and have a civilised lunch with Teyla, even spent most of it laughing, realising it was more from relief that she could still laugh. Elizabeth had even made plans to sit in on what she knew was going to be a very long and very boring lecture by Rodney the next day, but had decided that she at least owed him her attention for a couple of hours for all the absent responses and escapism she had been pulling for months.

"Training continues, ten minutes," John’s voice at the door dragged her from her musings, "Shooting range. No excuses."

Elizabeth nearly smiled. He was in full ‘instructor’ mode. What could have been a smile rapidly faded into a blanched haunting expression. Learning she could use excessive emotion again had brought other…memories rushing straight back. She suddenly felt very sick.

-

She raised the weapon to hit the first target, nervously aware that he was watching her every move, from how long it took her to take aim to how the muscles in her arms tensed, if only out of stress. Elizabeth knew she could hit the point she had to, weeks of training had seen to that, but everything faded into the background as she finally, honestly wondered for the life of her what she was doing. And not just that.

She had killed people. She was by no means a mass murdered, but it certainly felt like it. She had managed to suppress the guilt for as long as she had hidden the pain of being left oh so alone in a crowded city. Two people. Only two? One was bad enough. One was the step she had always sworn she would never take. As a child she had never understood the reason to take a life, and, in her protected innocence, had found it easy to believe she would never be capable of it.

Elizabeth took another shot, unseeing. It was an automatic reflex. So she could say now.

Two. Just two. Didn’t even know them. Names, dates of birth, favourite colours. Nothing. Just people firing in the other direction. Trying, she supposed, to protect their own, just like she had been. Maybe she could make it nice and even and say there had only been two shots too. Somehow that was less shameful. Less to feel guilty about. One shot each, quick, painless deaths, merciful. Mercy. She used to know the absolute meaning of the word and knew she was capable of it. Two shots. Two people. No. Two lives taken by her. Not two shots. Rage. Blinding rage that had left her completely numb and dazed by the time she had stepped through the ‘Gate. One had been so close his blood had stained her hands and dripped from the weapon she held. He had been the second. She had been too stunned after the first to move, almost to slow to react. The first had taken many bullets. Enough to make sure he would never get up to dare threaten her or those she fought to protect again.

Elizabeth didn’t know what was worse, the guilt, or knowing she was capable of taking lives. She’d spent her life trying to save lives, not end them. The guilt was crushing, the truth shook her to her very core. So she ignored it. She had spent over a week constantly telling herself not to throw up. She seemed no different to anyone else, just as cool, calm and collected as she had been since he’d vanished. They’d seen little that could pass for emotion, let alone extreme. She could at least take comfort in that. Extremes of any kind could have tipped her over the edge. But she was stronger than that, and had to prove it to herself, for him.

She lowered the P-90, fingers tingling. Had it all been a game? Had it honestly been the only thing she could think of to keep her sane? Playing soldier and hoping he’d be proud that she could finally see past her heart. Perhaps she could have gone back. But then she fired that cart and ended two lives and knew that there was no return. She was vaguely aware of John moving almost silently around the room, rearranging the targets, blinking back to reality when she realised she was nearly boxed in by said targets.

"What now?" Elizabeth asked, the question escaping as a sigh.

"Hit them," John leant against one of the targets, "In a sequence. Get the exact point each time, even if it takes you forever to aim," he pointed at each target in turn, assigning a number.

She was almost insulted by that, but nodded an answer and waited until he stepped back and behind the area of the room shielded with bullet-proof plasglass. She wondered for a moment if there was a chance of it shattering if she hit it, but dismissed it and took aim for the first target of the sequence he had stated.

What did it matter if she could hit the target point perfectly or not? A bullet in the leg, arm, chest, anything could give her the second of shock and pain to run or fire again. Or she could be sadistic and shoot them so she knew they wouldn’t get back up. More guilt. More pain. More suffering caused by her. She finished the sequence and looked back at him, expectantly.

"Faster."

Elizabeth didn’t hesitate. She fired again, quicker, only stopping when she realised she was out of blanks. She retrieved another cart from the small pile at her feet, exclaiming in the back of her mind at the waste it must have been, and loaded it, completing the round. She looked back again.

"Faster," John repeated, arms folded.

She gave a loud sigh and hit all the targets again, barely twitching to look back when he pre-empted her.

"Faster."

Elizabeth glared at him over her shoulder, about to complain.

"Sequence. Faster. Now," he ordered.

She was swearing steadily at him in her mind with each shot, firing through his insistence that she fire quicker, ignoring him. She nearly tripped up, getting faster with each round, only pausing to re-load. Everything was a blur after that. Turn, aim, fire, step, aim, fire… Blood on her hands, no screams, just the awful silence of her own mind, how many shots again? Turn, aim, fire, step, aim, fire… Just the two? Or maybe more? Was she sure it was only two? Had she sentenced others to death with those shots too? Turn, aim, fire, step, aim, fire… Used to be a diplomat. Never take a life. Protect others when they couldn’t protect themselves. Turn, aim, fire, step, aim, fire… How confident and superior she had sounded before. But she’d never held a gun, never fired a bullet. Had no idea…of what it was like…to… Turn…aim…fire…step…aim…fire…

Elizabeth dropped the weapon, bringing cold hands up to her face as she knelt. She was a killer. God, she was a killer. How could he live with the knowledge of what he had done? She had defended herself, she had reasoned, so it must be the same for him. Right? Right? He had killed more than her, did that make his pain worse than hers? But he had saved lives…was there a balance she didn’t know about? She looked up to find him kneeling beside her, frowning, concerned. There was no line between them now. She could never think her opinions or morals were higher than his. …There were as bad as each other… Except he hid his scars well…

She looked up, features pale, "…I don’t want to play this game anymore."