"…This isn’t a game, Elizabeth…"

I just gazed back at him, would have considered snapping in anger, had I the mental energy, "…I know…" I hung my head, "…I know…" I said softly. He remained silent as I slowly tried to piece myself back together in those short moments. I managed to raise my head again to look him in the eye, expecting shock to be shortly reflected back at me, "…I’ve killed people…" I whispered, voice hoarse.

John didn’t even flinch, "…So have I…" he answered, just as quietly.

"How…" I couldn’t find the words, "…How do you…deal…with it…?" I knew there would be no miracle cure, no wonderful secret that would make it all go away.

"…You don’t…" he shook his head slightly, "…You learn to live with it."

"How?" I almost howled the demand, determined not to break down.

"You live it. You live it again and again, analyse everything, every second, everything you remember," he paused at my stare of disbelief, "Everyone does it. Its involuntary. Just when you think you’re over it, you remember something else. Something else to question. Could it have been different? Could you have done anything else?" he reached out to brush away the strands of hair that hid my eyes, "…And eventually, you learn to live with it. You accept that that was the way it happened and there might be a million different ways for it to have ended, but it didn’t. It happened and there’s nothing you can do about it. You might hate yourself, and the guilt…" his voice dropped to below a whisper as his eyes touched out of focus, "…the guilt will be there for a long, long time…and that’s something else you have to learn to live with…sometimes it even goes away…for short moments…"

I closed my eyes tight shut, trying to deny everything, reaching for him with one hand to steady myself at the same instant, "…Why are you doing this to me…?"

John sighed softly, "…I’m not doing this to you, Elizabeth. You did this to yourself. I’m just trying to let you see that its not okay to be this way. This isn’t who you are. There are some damned heartless people out there and even they couldn’t go on the way you’re trying to. You have a soul that everyone can see…not many people are blessed with that. People like me who spend their lives hiding away behind barriers and self defence mechanisms, we’re trapped. Don’t be like me. You have a heart that people should see…don’t hide away just because it hurts."

"…I want it to stop…"

"So do I. I want you to come back."

"…Stop trying to make me something I’m not!" I snapped my head back up, glaring fiercely at him.

He smiled. He damn well smiled, "Then say it."

"Say what?"

"You know what. Say it and I’ll stop. No more training, no more fighting."

Did this mean he’d won? That I’d cracked? What was this? Who won? Did somebody lose? What…so…confusing…

"…I’m not…a soldier…" I said softly.

"No," John smiled gently, "…No, you’re not."
So I just let him hold me.

-

It was later in the evening, when I was silently walking the halls of the sleeping city, when I saw Teyla and Ford wandering along the same corridor as me, hands twined together. I ducked into the shadows where they wouldn’t notice me, out of habit.

"I have not seen Doctor Weir laugh like that in many months," Teyla smiled, pacing steadily along beside Ford, "Perhaps she is on the road to recovery…"

"Yeah…" her companion frowned, "I wondered if it was actually her for a moment when I saw you guys in the mess."

"You were present? Why did you not sit with us?"

Ford smiled, "Seemed like girl talk. Thought I’d leave you to it."
"You have very strange notions at times…"

"Well, what were you guys talking about then?"

Teyla paused in thought for a moment, "…I do not remember…I was too busy laughing…"

"And you say I have strange notions?" he grinned.

"…It may have had something to do with the experiment that turned you that unusual shade…completely…" she said, slyly.

Ford coughed, "I don’t need to know what you were talking about. Really, I can live without it."

"I thought you might…"

I smiled despite myself and wandered from the shadows to reclaim my path. At least now I thought it was nice to know that they cared, rather than hated them for being concerned. Even soldiers had feelings; they just knew when to switch them off. That was my biggest mistake; I didn’t know when, or how, to switch them back on. I was quite happy in the darkness, because it meant that I didn’t have to experience anything that made me feel alive.

There were times when I had wished I was dead. Its not so shocking and its really not such an extreme, I’m certain that at several points in their lives, everyone in the galaxy must wish they were dead for some reason or another. It didn’t take the news of his disappearance and his subsequent status of missing in action for me to long that it had been me instead. The first time I lost people I ordered into combat, I would have done anything to switch places with them. The guilt was there, the utterly sick feeling, but it wasn’t guilt that did it. It was the thought that maybe they could have done so much more for the world than I ever would…and we would never find out. I was here and they weren’t. Do they call it survivor guilt? I remember I spent the evening we found out just staring at a wall, blankly staring into space, numb.

I can’t decide whether the pain is worse knowing you sent them to their deaths, or knowing that you fired the shots that killed somebody. They both ache like something is trying to devour your soul. …Something that won’t let go…for a long while.

But John is right. You have a choice. You can let it eat away at you, day after day, even if you suppress it, and eventually it will destroy you. Or you can make attempts to move on. Even if they’re just small ones, like laughing with a friend for half an hour, even if it hurts knowing you ‘shouldn’t’ be.

I can do this. Playing soldier may not have been the best of ideas, but it seemed like the only one at the time. It was the only thing I could think of to just push everything away. Turn myself into somebody who was strong enough to cope, prove that I could deflect anything thrown at me. He’d always seemed so strong. Even then I suppose I must have known he was constantly flicking from solider mode to just another soul. Everyone is strong when they have to be, even if its just standing up and whispering ‘no’ to something they can’t bear. He’s not strong. And neither am I. We’re human beings. We’re fallible, sometimes we make mistakes that can’t be corrected and sometimes we fall to pieces. Others, we stand up and fight. You have to choose your battles.

Well, this is one I finally choose to fight.

I’m going to get the old Elizabeth Weir back.

Even if I have to drag her, kicking and screaming.