"We received word from the marshals," O'Neill announced from the head of the picnic table, a half-eaten hotdog left abandoned in front of him. He was no less imposing. "Apparently, our target is still in the area. Fifteen minutes ago a federal safe house was compromised. The witness being held there was shot and killed, along with two officers."

Elizabeth spoke up. "Who was the witness?"

"Joseph Markham. One of three key witnesses in Kenmore's upcoming trial."

"How did they know where to find him?"

Standing in the middle of the lawn with his arms crossed, John's eyes darkened. "They've got someone on the inside."

"Ford?" Cameron guessed.

"We don't know, but we're going to find out. The remaining two witnesses are being relocated. Any information Agent Ford may have known is now considered compromised."

"And those are all the precautions we're taking? We're just banking on it being Aiden?"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at John's use of Ford's first name.

"No," O'Neill assured him, "those are not all the precautions we're taking. We're also assigning teams to both witnesses until this issue is resolved. Agents will be posted at all entrances, on all sides. We're surrounding these guys and we're not going to let anyone reach them." O'Neill picked up his plate and threw it in the trash. "That's an order."

--

Cameron was opening his car door when he heard his name being called from behind him. He looked up to see Elizabeth walking briskly toward him.

"Hey Cam, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." He nodded. "What's up?"

"Agent Ford," she began, almost hesitantly, "what's his story?"

"Story?"

"I mean," she looked down at her hands, toying with her keys, "with John. He seems –"

"Protective?"

"I was going to say defensive, but yeah."

Cameron leaned forward, resting his elbows on the top of his car. "The kid was his partner for a while."

She looked up at that. "Why didn't it last?"

He shrugged one shoulder and tried to find the right words. "John's – he's a hard guy to partner."

She smiled. "This much I know."

"Ford was too young," he continued, "too wild."

"Too wild for John? Mr. Reckless himself?"

Cameron shook his head. "John's not reckless because he's wild – he's reckless because he won't let anything stop him from protecting people, from making sure that no harm comes to anyone."

"Except himself."

"Yeah, well, that's an acceptable trade off for him. He'll take the hit as long as no one else gets hurt."

She looked away, letting her eyes drift to the street, unfocused.

Cameron watched her for a moment. "Did I answer your question?"

Elizabeth turned back at the sound of his voice. "Yeah, you did." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Thanks Cam."

He watched her walk away. "Anytime."

--

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat of the car. Beside her, John was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Is that really necessary?" she asked without turning from the window.

His fingers stilled. "I'm sorry, was the noise interrupting the deafening silence?"

She sighed and reached for her radio. "Status?"

Clear. No sign of activity, responded the agent posted at the back of the house.

"Same for the front," she informed him. "Street's quiet. How's our witness?"

Upset that the Seahawks aren't winning, answered a voice from inside.

"People still get upset when they lose? Isn't that like hoping for clear skies and sunshine in the weather forecast?"

John took the radio from her as the agent squawked a response. "Don't dis the Seahawks, Elizabeth," he warned, switching it off. "Especially when you're a Cubs fan."

She huffed but let the jab slide.

John rubbed a hand over his face. "I should have brought snacks."

Elizabeth leaned forward and opened the glove compartment, rifling through its contents. "You don't keep any in here? No survival kit?"

"Usually, but I blew through it on the last stakeout. And I know they say Twinkies never expire, but those were questionable."

She slammed the compartment shut. "Gross."

"You never could stomach moldy food."

She wrinkled her nose. "There are people who can?"

"You won't even eat something with an expiration date three days from now."

"You don't know how accurate that date is," she argued, "it could be completely arbitrary."

"You really think that food companies would let customers consume spoiled food?"

"Have you ever read the ingredients on your Twinkies? Food companies don't care what you consume."

John shook his head and smiled. "You really haven't changed."

Elizabeth quieted and turned back to the window. She wrapped her arms around herself and watched the rain come down in sheets, drops illuminated by the streetlight in front of them.

"I didn't want to come when they gave me this assignment," she admitted after a long stretch of silence.

"I might have tried to get reassigned when I found out it was you," John confessed in return. Then he added, "Several times."

She turned to find him with his head down and his eyes closed. She took the opportunity to study him. He was older now, more mature, but still boyishly handsome at the same time. He still had the same face that years ago had made her heart beat faster, and, if she were truthful with herself, still had the same effect on her today.

He opened his eyes and she turned away quickly.

"I don't really know how we got like this, Elizabeth," he said softly. "How it ended as badly as it did."

She chuckled. "With your history of relationships?"

He didn't smile at her teasing, and his eyes bore into hers when he said, "I thought it was different with you."

She paused, taken aback. "John," she started, feeling uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking, "I don't blame you."

"Blame me? Blame me for what?"

"For what happened." She shrugged. "You were young – we were young. It probably wouldn't have lasted any longer anyway."

He shifted in his seat, twisting to face her. "What do you mean 'for what happened'? What exactly happened?"

"With Chaya," she said with exaggerated patience.

John almost choked. "Chaya?"

"That's why I never said anything," she continued. "I figured there was nothing to say. I just assumed we were something we weren't and –"

"Chaya?" he repeated, sounding confused.

"Yes, Chaya. I saw you." She wanted to wince when she heard how bitter she sounded, but she forced herself to keep her expression neutral.

"Saw me?"

"What is this, repeat after me? Yes, I saw you with Chaya." She hissed the name through her teeth.

"Well you couldn't have seen much – there wasn't much to see. She kissed me," he rolled his shoulders, pinched the bridge of his nose, "I didn't know you were there."

"Yeah, well, I was."

He clenched his jaw. "I pushed her away, Elizabeth. I was with you, I had you –"

She waved him off. "It doesn't matter."

"Why doesn't it matter? You left because of a mistaken assumption on your part. You left because you thought I was with someone else when I wasn't. That matters."

"Intentional or not, the kiss was just a symptom. We worked against each other more than we worked with each other – we're too different. Besides, we were practically kids, John. It wasn't serious."

"It wasn't?" His fingers clenched closed and then opened. "I was."

"No, John. If you were…"

"If I was, what?" he pressed.

She shook her head. "If you were, you would have tried. You would have come after me, called me. Something - anything."

"I thought you left me."

"And it didn't warrant an email?"

"How was I supposed to know?" he demanded. "And even if I did, would it have made it any better? Would you have believed me?"

She flinched, but didn't turn from him. "I guess we'll never know, will we?"

John sighed. "Just answer this – in all these years, have you ever thought about what things could have been like between us?"

She started to wipe her palms on her jeans, but he grabbed her hands and forced her to meet his eyes.

"Just answer me, Elizabeth," he pleaded.

"John, it doesn't…" she started and then stopped. The moment stretched, and she listened to the rain fall against the windshield. "Yes," she said finally, letting the word fall between them.

He took a deep breath. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "But what's in the past is in the –"

His hands pulled her toward him. She shivered lightly when she felt his thumbs run over the insides of her wrists. Her lips parted slightly and she leaned in…

And then he was kissing her, pressing his lips to hers with a feather-light touch, then another, and then another. When her chin lifted in response and she pressed her body into his, John responded with a hunger she had never felt before. His hands skimmed up her arms, fisted in her hair; and his teeth drug at her lower lip until her mouth opened and –

The radio crackled. Sheppard! Weir! Do you copy?

"Shit," John cursed. Elizabeth could barely hear him over the pounding of her own pulse. "This is Sheppard, we copy."

Status of your witness?

"All's clear," John shot a look to Elizabeth before keying the mic again. "What's going on?"

We've been hit. The second witness is dead.

"Shit," John said again.

You're not safe. Get your witness and bring him in.

--

O'Neill slammed his file onto the table. "I don't know who Kenmore has recruited to do his dirty work, but they took out a team of agents as well as our witness before we even knew they were there!"

"Sir—"

"Ronon Dex is the only key witness in Michael Kenmore's trial that is still alive. We're going to keep him that way."

"Yes, sir."

"We're going to pack that safe house so full of agents and marshals that there won't be enough room to scratch your ass." He picked up the stack of mission briefings and began to distribute them, tossing them across the table one by one. "All streets within a ten block radius will be lined with agency vehicles. Kenmore is not getting in this time. If he does, he'll be facing a firing squad."

Cameron flipped open his packet and scanned his orders. He and Sam would be with the team of agents inside the house.

"At least that's what Kenmore will think." At the startled looks around him, he continued, "Only a few agents will know that this is not where we're putting him. Dex will actually be relocated to a hotel on the other side of the city." He looked to John and Elizabeth. "Sheppard and Weir, you'll be with him and you will be absolutely under the radar. The rest of us will be sitting pretty in the midst of the biggest team of agents I can find, just hoping Kenmore is over-confident enough to come right to us.

"McKay, you're on the intelligence team. Figure out who the hell the leak is and plug it." Without another word, he spun on his heel and strode out of the room.

--

1John glanced at his watch. He never had been good at waiting. And this witness wasn't making him any more comfortable. The big guy was in the attached room, sprawled out on the bed with his fingers laced behind his head, like he was on some sort of mini vacation. It wasn't as if John couldn't handle a six and a half foot tall, two hundred pound guy that he'd pulled seven knives off; he just didn't want to do it for fun.

1He looked around the room again. Elizabeth stood across from him, checking her gear and periodically pulling back the shade to scan the parking lot. John sighed. They hadn't really had a chance to talk since their time in the car, but it wasn't as if he knew what he wanted to say.

Okay, well, he wouldn't let that stop him.

He pushed away from the table and stood. "Listen, about earlier –"

She waved him off. "Forget about it."

"Right. Forget about it."

"It's good we cleared things up," she added, still looking out the window.

"Yeah. Okay." He ran a hand through his hair. "It's good things are clearer now."

Elizabeth dropped her hand from the shade and turned to him. "And that," she cleared her throat, "the kiss – it, uh…"

"It didn't mean anything," John finished for her. He took a couple of steps toward the middle of the room.

"Right." She nodded. "Just old feelings."

"It's in the past."

"Exactly. The past."

"And you're leaving soon anyway, so it's not like anything could –"

"It wouldn't work out," she agreed, stepping away from the window. "Long-distance and everything."

"Sure, I mean – I don't even have scented stationary or anything."

Elizabeth smiled. "Which is a mandatory element of a cross-country romance."

"If the paper didn't smell you wouldn't grasp the full meaning. It's hard to convey emotion with words alone."

"True." She moved toward him, eyes down as she twisted her fingers together. "How do you put into words how much you want to kiss someone?"

"You couldn't," John agreed.

She stopped and looked up. "No, you couldn't," she echoed.

He took another step. "So they'd never know."

"Right." She paused. "That would be a shame."

"We haven't even seen each other in years."

"We're practically strangers."

"This is silly."

"Ridiculous." She took another step.

He was close enough now to feel the heat from her body. "It's not like we could –"

"We couldn't."

"Right." He licked his lips. "Elizabeth, I –"

His radio squawked.

Sheppard. Do you copy?

He reluctantly turned from Elizabeth, keying his radio and speaking into the shoulder mic. "I hear you Rodney, what's happening?"

We've got a problem. They attacked the safe house just like we planned, he answered, words tumbling out in a rush. Both Queens were involved in the assault. We've got them in custody and no one was seriously injured.

"Well, that's great. What about Kenmore?"

That's the problem. We found the leak, Sheppard. Ford was working with his old partner – they'd both turned on us. They were feeding the Wraith information in exchange for drugs and status. It was a –

"Ford? Was he there?"

No, he wasn't and neither was Kenmore. We think they're coming after you. Kenmore had to have known all along. He knew it was a ruse. He sent the Queens into a trap and saved the target for himself. We're sending people over but you've got to get the witness and move now.

"Damn it." John cut the connection and exchanged a short glance with Elizabeth. "Ronon," he called to the next room as he reached for his tactical bag, "we're going to have to move."

By the time he got to the connecting door, the big man was already standing near the window. He was dangerously calm as he turned back to John and jerked his thumb toward the window. "Too late, we've got company." Then he smiled and it chilled John to his toes. "How about you let me carry a gun?"

When John didn't answer, Ronon continued, "The guy is gunning for me. Shouldn't I be allowed to defend myself?"

John hesitated, and it was Elizabeth who broke the stalemate. "We're going to need all the help we can get." She reached into her waistband and tossed Ronon her backup pistol.

He nodded his thanks. Grabbing the gun, he checked the clip and then stared pointedly at Elizabeth.

She sighed and tossed him a few clips of ammo. "You certainly are the demanding one." She nodded toward the front of the building. "How many did you see?"

"Counted six, dressed in black," he paused, and John thought for a moment that he might actually be flirting with Elizabeth, "just like you. Might be hard for me to tell you all apart."

John had suddenly lost his patience with the man. "Well, we'll try to make that easy for you. You stay in this room. We picked it because it has the most exits, but that's also going to mean they could be coming from any direction. The safest course for you is to stay put and not let anyone through that door until the cavalry arrives.1" He tossed a small earpiece to Ronon. "Put that in and hopefully you'll take the time to listen when we tell you it's us at the door."

John looked over at Elizabeth. "You want to come with me and see if we can even the odds?"

She smiled. "Love to."

They made their way to the front door of the main room and opened it cautiously, peering into the darkened hallway. "One negative of the seedy hotel witness hiding plan," he whispered to Elizabeth, "poor lighting." Scanning the area, John raised a hand to indicate movement near the end of the corridor.

He flattened against the wall and took careful aim, waiting to see who would appear. When a man dressed in black crept out, John squeezed off a quick shot. The satisfaction of seeing him hit the ground was short-lived when return fire came his way. John threw himself onto the floor, landing with a thump and rolling back into the room before rising to his feet.

Elizabeth looked him over. "You okay?" After John's affirming nod, she indicated she would go high and that he should go low. John agreed silently and watched as she counted to three. They spun into the hall and…

1John hit the floor again as at least half a dozen rounds smashed into the doorframe. Answering fire came from above him, providing a bit of cover. He looked up to see Elizabeth braced against the doorway, gesturing for him to make it across the hall. John grimaced. He was going to look like one of those ducks at a shooting range.

With a grunt, he lunged across the hall and dipped his shoulder into the closest door, cracking the hinges and allowing him access. Scrambling back to his feet, John flattened himself against the wall and then slipped back to the door as a burst of gunfire sounded in the hall. He cautiously peered out into the darkness. "Elizabeth?"

She was squatting in the hallway, up against a wall. "I got one but I only clipped the other. He's in the far room on the right."

"Well, that's two down, one injured, and we haven't seen the other three."

"Hopefully, they're the get-away drivers and don't know the first thing about weapons."

In spite of the situation, John laughed lightly. "We should be so lucky."

"I'd say we're due. Ready?"

He nodded and followed Elizabeth as she quietly made her way down the hall. She gestured with her weapon to the door she believed the man had entered. John put his finger to his lips and then held up three fingers. Elizabeth nodded silently.

On the count of three, John burst through the door, keeping low to the ground. The man inside launched himself over the bed, scrambling for cover. John took one long stride and dove after him, landing heavily on the man and pinning him to the ground with a forearm across his throat.

When John saw the man's face his eyes snapped open in shock. "Ford! What the hell are you doing here?"

Ford grunted, eyes red and wild. "My job!"

John hung on as Ford struggled to free himself. "You shot at me."

"Like I said," he ground out through clenched teeth, "my job."

"I don't understand."

He continued to fight John's grip. "You wouldn't."

John shoved the muzzle of his gun into his ribs. "Where's Kenmore?"

"You'll never—"

"John!" Elizabeth called a warning and John rolled, spinning Ford with him just as gunfire erupted. Ford's body jerked as the slugs from his own man's gun hit. John returned fire in short bursts and heard Elizabeth firing as well; then, just as suddenly as it began, it ended. Cautiously, he pushed Ford off him and climbed to his feet. Elizabeth was standing over another body, her weapon gripped tightly in her hand.

Straightening, John crossed to her. He looked between the man on the floor and Elizabeth and said simply, "Thanks."

She looked over to where Ford lay. "Is that—"

John didn't follow her gaze. "He's dead."

"John—"

"It's done, Elizabeth."

She nodded. "Two more."

Just then there was an explosion of gunfire. The two froze for an instant before John sprinted to the door. "Ronon!"

They made it back to the room in record time and stopped just outside of it. From inside they heard the sound of breaking glass. Unsure of what they would find, they entered slowly, guns drawn.

In the middle of the room, the table and chairs were upturned as if a storm had passed through. There was no one in sight.

"He put up a fight."

Elizabeth was scanning the room. "I don't see any blood."

1Suddenly, John's scalp prickled. Without a second thought, he threw himself to one side, rolling and coming up with pistol high. He didn't have to search long to find the threat; behind the door stood a heavily armed Michael Kenmore.

1John and Elizabeth stood perfectly still and watched as the barrel of his rifle swung back and forth between them. They were both too far away to make a try for it. John swore under his breath.

"Well, well," Kenmore said. "What a scrappy little pair."

"I think John prefers 'scrawny.'" Elizabeth smiled. "Is this the part where you say something about the two of us being a thorn in your side?"

"Maybe," Kenmore acknowledged, "if I knew or cared who the hell you were."

"That's disappointing," John said, finger tensing on the trigger but still in no position to fire. "Foil a bad guy's plan and I at least expect a stern lecture."

"What plan exactly did you foil?"

"Okay," John conceded, "point to you."

"My plan has thus far been flawless. And, unfortunately for Mr. Dex, it's looking as though it will continue on that path. Now you can drop your weapons before one of you actually gets hurt."

When Kenmore shifted the gun to Elizabeth, John slowly bent down and placed his gun on the floor, kicking it to the far corner of the room and indicating for Elizabeth to do the same. When he straightened, he smirked at Kenmore. "So is now the part where you tell us your endgame and then kill us?"

Kenmore raised an eyebrow. "I watch movies too, Mr. FBI. If I tell you the plan, then you may actually do some damage. We wouldn't want that."

"No, we wouldn't want that."

"Are we done with the banter now? I have places to be."

"Yeah, I'm done." John turned to Elizabeth. "Anything you wanted to add?"

"Yeah, there was one thing."

"Oh?" Kenmore asked. "And what was that?"

She glanced at John and then turned back to Kenmore. "Bogota."

A split second later Elizabeth dove straight into Kenmore. He swung his weapon toward her, but it was too late; she wrapped both hands on the barrel and twisted, jerking it in Kenmore's hands even as she smashed to the ground and the gun fired into her body.

The sound of the gunshot spurred John into action. With a roar he launched himself at Kenmore, caught him around the legs and brought him crashing to the ground.

Elizabeth was on the floor next to him, but John didn't have time to go to her. Instead he rolled and scrambled to his feet in time to see a fist swinging toward his head. He threw out his left to block the punch but was only able to redirect it enough so the blow glanced off his cheek instead of breaking his nose.

1With a surprising amount of speed, Kenmore was on top of him, whipping a left upward toward John's chin and connecting with the side of his jaw. His head snapped back and he shook into focus again just in time to see the blur of Kenmore's hand as it swung in an arc toward John's face. John saw a brief flash of metal as he once again threw up his left to block and stumbled backward, trying to keep his footing. For a split second, John thought Kenmore had missed, but the fire lancing across his forearm told him otherwise as he took another step back, pain radiating from the slash. Kenmore was on him an instant later, trying to press his advantage. John managed to block the next two slashes, but an attempt at evading the third earned him another cut, this time across his midsection.

John knew that time was quickly slipping away from him and that each passing second provided Kenmore with an increased advantage. If he didn't find a way to end this quickly, Kenmore would find a lethal opening.

The thought had barely formed in John's mind when Kenmore again leapt forward, arm swinging downward, and John instinctively shot out a hand to catch Kenmore's wrist and stop the blade momentarily, then balled his right hand into a fist and used his body's momentum to slam into Kenmore's gut with a satisfying thud. Still holding Kenmore's wrist, John immediately pivoted against Kenmore, throwing a hip into his pelvis and at the same time wrenching down on the man's arm and causing him to flip neatly through the air.

Kenmore landed with a crash on top of an upturned table. John moved in to press his first advantage, but was again surprised at Kenmore's speed when the other man nimbly jumped to his feet and turned to face John, a murderous look on his face. Impossibly, Kenmore had managed to retain his hold on the knife despite the heavy impact.

"You don't want to do this up close and personal, that's fine," Kenmore growled as he straightened his large frame to his full height. "As for me, I prefer to be close enough to taste a bit of the blood as it drains; but I'm just as happy to kill you from a distance."

Without unlocking his eyes from John's, Kenmore spun the knife in his hand, now holding it by the blade. His lips spread into a grin as he drew his arm back to make the throw, and John braced himself.

CRACK

The impact of the bullet spun Kenmore and he landed facedown on the floor. He made one attempt to rise, but was unable lift his body and fell back to the ground. A moment later the room was still.

John bent over and braced his hands on his knees to give himself time to catch his breath. He stayed where he was as Ronon walked over and retrieved Kenmore's gun, then jabbed a toe at the fallen man, rolling him over before bending down to check the pulse in his neck.

Ronon looked up. "He's alive."

"Is he going to be able to escape?"

"He's not going to be able to do much of anything."

"Where the hell did you come from?"

Ronon shrugged. "Window." He nodded toward the outside. "Had to take care of the sixth guy first." John wasn't sure, but he thought the big man was smiling again. "Figured you could handle yourself for a few minutes."

"Well," John said between breaths, "I guess it's a good thing we gave you a gun."

He heard a low groan from the far side of the room and hurried to Elizabeth. When he reached her he radioed Rodney for an ambulance.

He knelt beside her. "Elizabeth?" Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him. "Are you all right?"

She winced. "Just a small bullet hole. Damn rifle fire from two feet hurts like hell, though."

She went to brace her arm on the floor, but grimaced the moment her hand touched the ground.

"Easy. We'll get the medic here ASAP." He reached down and carefully moved her shirt away from the wound, trying to determine the extent of the injury. When he pulled his hand back it was covered in blood. "Why the hell did you dive toward the crazy man with the gun?" he asked softly. "Did you forget the part where 'Bogota' means that you're going to tap dance to distract him?"

"No taps," she grunted, nodding toward her feet.

"Looks like you broke your arm too."

She shook her head, trying to maintain focus. "Couldn't let him shoot my backup."

"Your backup," John tried to keep his tone light as he continued to look her over. "I thought you were mine."

"You were mistaken." She frowned as she looked at him. "You don't look like you're much better. You're bleeding." She paused, catching her breath. "You okay?"

"Me?" He shook his head. "I'm fine. I'm just worried about you."

Her eyes were starting to droop. "I think my arm's broken."

"Yeah, I know. I think you've also got a bullet in your shoulder."

"You could be right about that. Maybe both."

Sirens wailed in the distance and John gently rested his hand on her forehead. "Elizabeth?"

"Hmm?"

He stroked her skin lightly. "You shouldn't have taken that bullet for me."

She smiled and closed her eyes. "That's okay, John. You can take the next one."

--

Three days later, John was winding his way toward his workstation when he saw Elizabeth sitting at her temporary desk. Well, not sitting exactly. She was bent over in her chair, right arm in a sling strapped to her chest, straining with her left hand to reach a pen that had fallen to the floor.

John smothered a laugh as he bent down and grabbed it. He squatted on his heels and pointed the pen at her. "I'm fairly certain the doctor wouldn't recommend abdominal crunches – even from a chair – to one who has recently suffered a shoulder wound and a broken arm," he chided.

The force of her answering glare was weakened by the grimace that accompanied her attempt to sit up.

John rose to his feet and helped her ease herself upright.

"Okay, so that move was probably ill-advised," she admitted with a wince.

"Probably." He grinned. "Welcome back."

She smiled graciously. "Thank you."

He perched on the edge of her desk and waved the pen in front of her. "Want me to write something on your cast?"

She didn't hesitate. "No."

"If I just sign my name?"

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. "You wouldn't be able to resist the temptation."

"I'd try really hard," he promised.

She swatted him away with her good arm, but her grin grew wider. "No."

John affected a hurt expression and finally conceded, dropping the pen into her cup. He surveyed the array of flowers on her desk. "Sleeping with a florist?"

"Actually, no. They all came attached to sympathy cards."

"Oh?"

She nodded as she adjusted a vase full of daisies. "It seems a lot of people feel bad that I had to work with you."

He plucked the card from the nearest bouquet and read it. Sorry you got stuck with Shep. If you were my partner you wouldn't have been shot. ~Cameron "Comedians, all of them." He flipped the card back onto her desk. "You didn't get enough flowers at the hospital?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I didn't have that many."

John scoffed. "Tell that to my sinuses."

"You're not allergic to flowers, John."

"I wasn't before."

"No one tied you to a chair and made you spend the last 72 hours in my hospital room, you know." She used her most charming tone as she reminded him, "Especially if you're so sensitive to pollen."

"Yeah, well." He grinned. "You're less feisty when you're doped up. I had to take the opportunity to get in my verbal spars while your senses were dulled."

John slid off her desk when he saw O'Neill approaching.

"Agent Weir," O'Neill said, stopping when he reached her station, "nice work out there."

"Thank you, sir."

"Although, next time you think about throwing yourself in front of a bullet, just make sure the situation merits it." He inclined his head toward John. "Don't risk you life for just anyone. Have standards, Weir."

"Yes, sir." She nodded dutifully. "Rookie mistake."

O'Neill grinned. "I'm looking forward to having you around more."

John's head shot up in surprise. He looked to Elizabeth, and then back to O'Neill. "Around more?"

"Absolutely," O'Neill confirmed. "She did such a great job that we just couldn't let her go." He clapped John on the back. "Looks like you're stuck with her on your team, Sheppard. Unless you'd like me to ask Stecker or Cruz. Or maybe –"

"No, sir," John interrupted, unable to contain his enthusiasm. "That won't be necessary."

"Good. Now stop lollygagging and get back to work. One of you is going to have to write the report, and because her right hand is out of commission, I'm going to assign that task to you."

"Looking forward to it, sir."

As O'Neill disappeared around the corner, Elizabeth reminded John, "Plus, you lost at darts. Standard bet."

"Kind of you to bring that to my attention." He eyed her for a long moment. "What about your partner?"

She made a face. "Lorne is terrible at darts."

John rolled his eyes. "Not what I meant."

"Well, it turns out he's been considering a move to the west coast for a while." She shrugged her good shoulder, and frowned thoughtfully. "And there was something about an Agent Cadman who's going to teach him more about explosives."

John raised an eyebrow. "You've got him wrapped around your finger?"

She laughed as she collected the file in front of her. "I'm pretty sure it was the pay increase."

"So you're really staying?" John asked, trying to keep the tone of his voice level.

She met his eyes carefully. "Yep."

He let the moment drag out. "And may I ask why?"

She flashed him an indecipherable look as she stood up. "I'm doing it for the sunshine."

"Elizabeth," he said, folding his arms across his chest, "it rains here ninety-five percent of the time."

"Huh." She smiled as she brushed by him. "Then I guess I'm doing it for the rain."

"The rain, huh?" he called after her.

She didn't turn, but spoke over her shoulder, "Yep. Can't get enough of it."

A grin spread across his face as he watched her walk away.

--End--