Rodney said, "Listen, Major, just come take a look at it, all right?" and Elizabeth could literally see John inch that much closer to losing his temper. The flushed color of his cheeks deepened, further highlighting the paleness of his face, his eyes sparked, and (if it was even possible) his hair seemed to be standing even more on end. She watched as he parted his lips, ready to speak—more like break apart, she thought—and she wanted to protect him from that if she could so she interrupted, saying, "Rodney, now is not a good time, alright?"

Rodney glanced over at her, surprised, maybe, that she was taking John’s side, but she continued: "I’m sure, though, that the Major will be happy to come find you later. I’m sure that he’ll be happy to look at this new device of yours later."

And now John was glaring at her too—more on principle than fueled by actual anger, she hoped—but he was nodding. "Later," he said, his voice cracking on the second syllable, and Rodney finally seemed to realize that something might actually be wrong, that maybe John and Elizabeth weren’t just gossiping away the hours in her office at eleven o’clock in the morning. As if they ever did that.

His frown of annoyed urgency morphed quickly into one of concern. "Is everything okay?" He sounded hesitant, suddenly unsure, and Elizabeth looked at John, turning the question over to him, because it was his place to answer, not hers.

He said, "Everything’s fine, Rodney." He sounded tired, though, and maybe a little resigned, too, and Rodney certainly didn’t look convinced. If anything, he looked even more worried. There was a crease forming between his eyebrows, twitching and growing deeper with every breath that he took.

"But no one’s died, right? There aren’t any new evils lurking out there on the horizon? Aside from the usual? Nothing I should know about?"

"Rodney," John growled.

Rodney held up his hands, waving them back and forth in front of his body and he said, "Jeez, okay. I’ll just find you later then, shall I?" He was looking at Elizabeth as he said that last part, and she knew—even though Rodney had to know that she wouldn’t be telling him anything—that he’d be by to question her after John had left.

Rodney turned and exited her office and for several moments after the door slid shut behind him, she and John just stared at each other. Well, Elizabeth found herself staring at him. He was staring out the glass wall behind her, his hands folded in his lap, his thumbs tapping together in a steady rhythm. His cheeks were still red, his breathing a little uneven, and beneath his shirt she could see the tense, hard lines of his shoulders. He was starting to remind her of a skittish animal, and given half a chance, she thought suddenly, he was going to bolt.

"John," she said in an attempt to ground him. His eyes flickered back to her face and as he watched her, she leaned forward, clasping her hands together on the desk between them. "Talk, John. Off the record. Please, just talk."

In the ensuing silence, his gaze seemed to unshutter just a bit and she began to be able to see everything that he’d just started putting into words when Rodney had burst in, demanding his services. Pain, anger, hurt.

Jealousy.

Defeat.

"I never wanted command," he said finally. "You know as well as anyone that I don’t do so well following orders sometimes." He laughed bitterly, but sobered again almost immediately. "I mean sure, yeah, I wanted it in that way everyone wants it, because when those recruiters talk about the opportunities the armed forces provide? They talk about promotion and everyone thinks yeah, I want that. Yeah, I can do that. I wanted it like that, like a dream. But really I just wanted to fly."

She nodded. She’d experienced some of the same feelings in her early career—she’d certainly never spent her life working towards being put in charge of Atlantis, after all. She’d just started doing what she’d loved doing, advancement had happened, and then, only then, had she started to realize what she could be, if she worked hard enough for it.

"Then Afghanistan," John said, "and anything I might have subconsciously wanted went right out the window. One choice, one split second, and it was all gone. But it was okay, you know? Because I knew that I’d made the right choice."

He paused, shifting his gaze beyond Elizabeth again and she didn’t know whether he just couldn’t look at her as he told her, or whether he was living back in the past now, seeing things that weren’t there.

"But then here, command came. You gave me command. I didn’t want it, I didn’t earn it, and for the last months, since we got here, I’ve been spending half my energy cursing Sumner, wishing that he was the one who had to deal with all the shit that we’ve been going through."

He paused again, swallowing this time, and his face was tight in that concentrated way that people got when they were trying to figure out what to say. He didn’t speak, though. He just stared out the window.

"And the other half?" she asked finally. "What about the rest of the time?"

John closed his eyes for a breath, two, long enough so that Elizabeth was starting to think that he’d changed his mind, that he wasn’t going to share this with her after all. Maybe he’d go to Heightmeyer, like she’d originally suggested. Maybe he’d just keep trying to drown his problems in bottles of Athosian liquor, as he’d tried to do two nights ago. Then his eyes were open and he was meeting her gaze again, intent, heavy, holding her there.

"I never expected I’d end up liking it," he said softly. "I never expected that I’d end up wanting it."

He blinked, releasing her, and it was her turn to look behind him, out the glass door. She could see people, hers, old and new, going about their business, doing their jobs. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John lower his head so that he was looking at his hands again, at fingers that were now trying to twist themselves into knots.

"Now I don’t want to give it up," he said softly. "And I don’t have a choice." A beat. "You wanted to know what’s wrong. That’s what’s wrong."

"John," she said, because it seemed appropriate, but then she didn’t have anything else to say. Just his name, that was it. He didn’t seem to mind, though, because now that he’d started talking, he didn’t seem to want to stop. Maybe he couldn’t.

"I hate this, Elizabeth," he said. "But I hate it even more because my brain knows that I should be relieved, because all these things we’ve been fighting? Not my problem to solve anymore. The Wraith, the Genii? He can have them. But Everett’s new. He doesn’t know the way things work around here. He hasn’t put in the time, hasn’t paid for this command with his own blood, and I—"

He stopped sharply, biting off whatever it was that he’d been planning on saying.

"You have. You know what to do."

He nodded, looking grateful that she’d completed his thought, that she’d been the one to say it. Already his shoulders were slumping, not relaxed yet, but getting there.

"I know," she said, and then all of a sudden she had words, things that she wanted to say to him, but although she’d encouraged John to speak off the record, she didn’t have the liberty of doing the same thing. Not with him. Not with any of her subordinates. Because she worked for the United States Military and no matter what she believed might be best for Atlantis, she had to work with who they sent her. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t be explicitly sympathetic.

She couldn’t say that she hadn’t chosen for Colonel Everett to head up the military half of the expedition either.

She couldn’t remind him (anyone) that she had chosen John.

"He needs you though, John," she said softly. "He may not want it and you may not think it, but he does. Because you are the one who knows. You’re the one who’s made sure that we’ve lasted as long as we have, and no matter what he may think of you, he’s a good commander. He knows that he needs to use what resources he has."

John moved suddenly, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, and to a casual observer, Elizabeth thought, it probably looked as if they were having a minor argument over mission prep. The usual. He was mulling her words over, though. She could tell by the way that his cheek twitched, by the way that he was staring directly at her, unblinking, evaluating.

After a few moments, he sighed. "He is a good commander." He tried to smile at her then, even while glancing off to the side of the room, but it was brittle around the edges, flaking away with every word he spoke. Still, he made an effort to sound amused. "See, now, you’re supposed to agree with me here. You’re supposed to tell me that I have a right to be angry. To be upset."

"I can’t, John," she said, as soothingly as possible, but she knew that it would do a fat lot of good. This is why she’d wanted John to talk to Dr. Heightmeyer—she should have insisted, she now realized. The other woman was trained to deal with these sorts of things and Elizabeth, while she was trained for a lot, she wasn’t in the position to be what John needed. She couldn’t be his friend, issuing words of comfort and support. She couldn’t even be an effective sympathetic ear.

But it was too late now. It had been too late the moment John stepped into her office.

"Not even off the record?" he asked, and he was looking for those reassurances that he just seemed to know were lurking underneath her surface. The ones she wanted to give him.

"I’m sorry, John," she said.

He nodded after a moment, maybe even understanding her reasons why she couldn’t, but his expression, which had been bordering on open before, was quickly closing again. He was sitting up straighter, his shoulders stiffening…

"I can’t tell you not to be jealous, though," she said quickly, because that was something she could say. She didn’t want him to retreat, not yet. "God only knows I’d be livid if I was in your position—"

"Except it was never supposed to be my command," John interrupted, and he was continuing to bury his feelings; she could practically see his walls rising. She knew that he had to do this for himself, but it still hurt to watch, as open as he’d been trying to be with her.

"You’re wrong about that. It was your position, John, and you filled it well. I can tell you that. I can also reiterate this: Everett needs you. We all still need you."

And that was as close as she could come to telling him everything else she wanted to say, she thought.

He stared at her for a moment, as if searching out the truth of her words in her eyes, and she meant all of it so she knew that he’d find what he was seeking there. Finally, he nodded. He blinked, took another breath, then blinked again, and suddenly the soldier who shouldn’t question authority was back again. Not looking quite as tense as when he’d walked into her office though, and for that, at least, she was grateful.

"I’m sorry," she said again.

"It’s alright." He raised one hand as if to bat the whole conversation away. "I was just having a moment of…something. I just need to remember to keep reminding myself that I need to look on the bright side. Because, hey. I’m not in charge anymore. The fate of the galaxy isn’t resting on my shoulders and maybe, just maybe, that’ll stop me from going prematurely gray."

He gave her a genuine smile then, and while she could still see a flicker of regret in his eyes, it was genuine, it really was. As much as it hurt to do, she smiled back at him and, trying to match his forced levity, said, "Well, thank goodness for small favors."

He chuckled, jagged and cracked, and then he stood up from his chair and turned to the door. Just before he reached it, though, just before it opened, he said, "Thanks, Elizabeth. For listening."

She said, "Anytime," and then he was gone, the door sliding shut behind him.

She watched him until he was out of sight, until he’d disappeared down the corridor, and then she turned so that she was facing in the direction of Colonel Everett’s office; she couldn’t see him, of course, given that he was a few solid walls away, but that didn’t matter. It was the thought that counted.

"I chose you, John," she said. She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and said it again: "You."

But it didn't matter what she'd chosen, she reminded herself. It wasn’t his position anymore and now they both had to live with it.