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Going Home - Chapter 6

John leaned against the sink, his right hand on the counter, his breaths coming in hitching gasps. Thoughts and emotions swirled randomly through his mind in a torrent, leaving him disoriented. Closing his eyes, he thought of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz for some reason and wondered if he could click his heels together. But where would he go?

He felt more than heard his father behind him. Opening his eyes, he stared at the wall in front of him.

"John, what was that about? Where did that come from?" His voice sounded part worried, part angry.

John chuckled, but without humor as he let his head dip forward. "Weren't you listening? I said what I wanted to say. I screw up everything I touch and it usually ends in people dying. I'm a worthless failure, a disgrace, remember? The only thing I could teach any of those kids is how to disappoint people."

Joe stepped back, the familiar words slapping him in the face. His stomach coiled at hearing what he'd so carelessly hurled at his son when he'd come home from Afghanistan. The realization that John had taken his harsh judgment to heart and carried it with him all these years tore at him. "John . . . you're not…I should never… never have said that to you."

"Oh no . . . you were right; more right than you ever thought. Do you know how many people I've killed over the years? I single handedly killed over 60 Genii soldiers in one night, actually, in about one minute, one single body at a time… they hit the shield, one – by – one… until they were all gone; just one minute, one second for each life, each family I destroyed… I did that. Hell, I killed my commanding officer within the first couple of days of the expedition. I started in junior high school with that wreck and the bodies just keep piling up."

Joe planted his hand firmly on John's good arm and turned him around. "Look at me. None of that was your fault, John, none of it – and don't go throwing the "you weren't there" thing at me. I've been military for a long time son and from what you've told me of the Wraith, I have no doubt that Sumner was grateful for your intervention. As to the Genii, you said it yourself, you were defending your city. None of this makes you a failure or worthless."

John ran a trembling hand through his hair, shaking his head. "It doesn't change the fact that everywhere I go, people die, either through my action or lack of it. I jumped in that car and it crashed, three people died. I couldn't save Dex and Mitch and I couldn't save Holland. Even managed to almost get myself court-martialed. Did you know I actually liked it in Antarctica? I thought maybe I wouldn't get anyone killed there. I could just hide and stay out of trouble. And then I took General O'Neill for a ride and sat in that stupid chair."

"John, don't do this to yourself. This . . . this is my fault."

John had started to pull away from his father, but stopped cold. "No, it's no one's fault but mine. It's who I am Dad, and as much as I've tried to change it, people are still dying. Here, and in my dreams."

Joe sighed and closed his eyes a moment. "No, John, it's me. I've planted this idea in your head. I've been such a fool. It's just now sinking in to my thick skull. I've told you over and over since you were twelve that you were a disappointment. Nothing you ever did was good enough. I never focused on the good in what you did, only on whatever I could find that was lacking. I've slowly convinced you that you really can't do anything right, that everything bad is your fault. I'm so sorry son. I just . . . I had no idea that's what I was doing at the time, and now . . . it seems so obvious. No wonder you couldn't wait to move out after you graduated."

John stared at the floor, his emotions and thoughts still in turmoil, muddled and disoriented, in body and in mind. Thoughts and memories from his younger years flooded in, confusing him even more. "Part of me has always loved you . . . but for a while . . . " He shuddered, swaying slightly and felt his father put out a hand to steady him. "For a while . . . I . . . I thought I . . . hated you." He couldn't believe he'd said it out loud. In that instant, he knew he'd destroyed the relationship he and his father had been working to build the last two days.

An arm came around his waist, pulling him in close to support his faltering stance. "I don't blame you." Joe said quietly. "I would have hated me too. I've been hating myself more than you ever could. All I can do, is hope that you don't hate me now. And that with time, I can convince you that you aren't the screw up you seem to think you are. Your friends obviously don't think so, they think you're worth knowing…"

"You don't understand," John said almost frantically. "Because of me, thousands have died, maybe millions. I woke up the Wraith and attracted them to Athos. Because of me, they captured Sumner and found out about Earth. I killed the caretaker and woke up her hive. Every time we come across a world decimated by the Wraith, I face the fact that they are all dead because of me"

Joe's mouth hung open in disbelief. He weakly shook his head. "John . . . oh, son, you can't believe that. I can't even begin to imagine carrying around that much guilt. You didn't know . . . no one did."

John laughed bitterly, swiping his hand across his face. "Doesn't matter. Sometimes . . . sometimes I think it would have been better if I'd died in that wreck. A lot of people would still be alive."

The sharp intake of his father's breath made John look around. His father had squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw and for a moment the only sound was of hitched breathing. He continued slowly, almost whispering. "Don't you ever say that! I can't ever make you understand the pain I felt believing you were dead. Even if you hadn't activated that necklace, someone else might have. And the Wraith would have woken up eventually anyway. Your actions may have inadvertently caused some deaths, but I happen to know that your actions have saved many lives as well. If I talk to your friends in Atlantis, what will they tell me? Will they tell me you're a liability or an asset? What about this Elizabeth you've spoken so highly of? It seems that she's quite anxious to have you remain the military commander of the city. Would she do that if she thought you were dangerous?"

John didn't say anything, his mind almost unable to process the discussion they'd just had. What the heck was wrong with him? Joe wrapped his arms around his son, hugging him as tightly as he dared, wincing at the thin frame beneath his grasp.

John just stood still, comforted by the warmth and strength of his father's arms and yet still feeling like he didn't deserve any of it. He couldn't get the images of the dead, both real and dreamed, out of his head. He couldn't seem to push the guilt down as he normally did. Maybe it was the drugs he was taking, maybe it was the emotional roller coaster he was on since coming home, maybe he'd just finally lost it. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to get his act together before returning to Atlantis.

"I have to get back to Atlantis. I have to do what I can to protect them. I owe them that much." John wasn't sure if he was talking to his father or himself. Part of him wanted so badly to return, to try to make up for his shortcomings and the devastation they had caused.

"You will, you just have to give yourself some time to heal, and not just physically. You can't fight the Wraith if you don't take care of yourself." Joe released his grip and let John lean back against the counter.

John looked at his father as he took a deep breath and wiped his face once more with a trembling hand. "Please tell me they aren't still out there."

Joe shook his head. "No, they left."

John nodded, still looking at the floor. "Guess I was rude."

"Don't worry about it. They know you've been through a lot, especially with what happened today. Mr. Wilson said they'd give you some space and they'll check back later."

"Okay. I think I need to sit down now." John could feel the muscles in his legs trembling slightly and he really didn't want to do a face plant in his father's kitchen.

Joe kept hold of John's good arm and guided him to a chair at the kitchen table. He walked away and returned a few seconds later, setting a can of Sprite on the table in front of John. "Here, thought you might be thirsty."

John frowned at the drink. "Since when do you drink Sprite?"

Joe sat down across from him and opened a Coke. "I usually don't. I remembered you said your stomach's been on the fritz with all the drugs they've got you on. Sprite is supposed to be a little easier on the stomach than other sodas, so I picked some up when I went to the store earlier."

John stared at the can, mesmerized at how much like the dad of his childhood this man had become. Part of him wanted to smile, but he was too numb and empty at the moment, waiting for the other shoe to fall. He wanted to believe this was real but every part of him told him he didn't deserve any of it. He opened the Sprite and took a sip, the coolness of the bubbles feeling good on his throat as it washed away the remnant taste of vomit. He could feel his father's eyes on him. "Sorry . . . I don't know what happened. I'm not usually so . . . emotional. Must be the drugs." He had no idea what had led to the meltdown, but he wasn't admitting that to his father.

Joe sat down across from his son. "Have you ever talked to anyone about all of this?"

"It won't change anything." John had heard this stuff before, from Elizabeth and Carson at times, and he didn't want to listen to it now.

"I know, but sometimes it can help to get another point of view, make you think of things you hadn't before. Sometimes just hearing yourself talk about it out loud makes it make more sense."

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes, until Joe finally sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. John noticed and realized for the first time where he'd picked up the habitual movement from. Thinking back, he had no idea when he'd started doing it, but he could remember seeing his father do it almost his whole life. He looked at the weary face of the man across the table, a man he barely knew any more, and yet a man he loved deeply.

"I'll . . . I'll think about it," John said softly and without much conviction, but it was the best he could do at the moment. His father seemed to understand.

"Good enough. I'll get dinner."

oOo

John struggled against the bindings holding his arms, surprised when they wrenched free rather quickly. He lay quietly for a few moments, his heart racing in his chest as he tried to see through the darkness. The softness underneath confused him further, along with the normal smell. The floor should be cold and hard, the odor that of mildew and sweat and urine. His eyes adjusted enough to reveal the bedroom about the time his brain caught up with his present location. He let out a deep, shuddering breath. He was on Earth, at his father's house, not waking up in the camp of the Natayans.

He stared at curtains, now able to see the moonlight peeking around the edge and slightly illuminating a small section of the room. He hadn't been able to see anything when he'd first woken in the Natayan cell. It had taken him a few minutes to realize fully his situation. His hands had been tied tightly behind him, his feet bound at the ankles. They had removed everything but his BDU pants and light t-shirt, leaving him shivering in the damp prison. He was blindfolded and gagged, unable to see, talk, or move. They had left him like that for hours, possibly as long as a day. Time had been hard to judge, but it had seemed like forever.

When two men finally came to retrieve him, they had untied him and jerked him to his feet. The pain in his arms and legs as circulation was restored had been debilitating, forcing the guards to drag him to the interrogation room. There, they had tied him to a chair, still blindfolded and gagged, leaving him sitting in silence for several more hours. He'd been so thirsty that his dry mouth had been more miserable than his bruised and restrained limbs. At some point, he dozed off or passed out, only to be awakened by a sharp blow to his face.

They hadn't talked at first, just walked around and around him, occasionally striking him or kicking him. After an hour or two of periodic hits, they left him alone again. The next time he woke up, it was to a bucket of cold water being dumped on his head. The worst part was the frustration at having all that water around when you were dying of thirst, but being unable to drink any. He had to settle for sucking some moisture out of the dirty cloth of the gag. He could hear several men laughing at his desperation.

Finally, the blindfold and gag were removed. He couldn't see anything but blurry, bulky shapes for several minutes. When the men stopped laughing, one of them brought a ladle of water over and let him drink a few sips before purposely spilling the rest down the front of his shirt. He didn't care. The water was heavenly, even if it wasn't nearly enough. And then the real beatings has started, along with the questions he had no intention of answering.

John let his eyes drift over to the red display of the digital clock on the nightstand. It was 4:42 a.m. The night had been restless and exhausting, leaving John almost relieved at the fact that it was almost over. He let his head roll back on the pillow and stared at the window again, at the light around the edges that enabled him to see where he was and that it wasn't a cold, damp cell, waiting on the next torture session.

oOo

Joe sat at the table, reading the newspaper and drinking his morning coffee. It was only six in the morning, but he was used to getting up early. Supper the night before had been quiet and strained, leading to an evening of watching movies that had been just as uncomfortable. He was beginning to grasp how seriously overstressed his son was and he was becoming more and more worried. He'd only heard a fraction of what had happened to John in the last few years and it was already more than the average person could handle.

He knew John hadn't slept well and he was pretty sure he heard him puking in the middle of the night. Joe had resisted the urge to run to his son's side and had settled on lurking in the doorway of his room to make sure John got back to bed okay. He'd checked on his son twice more by listening at the bedroom door, only to hear John tossing and moaning in his sleep. But John had made it plain that he didn't want his father fussing over him, so Joe had bit his tongue and left him alone.

The sound of shuffling feet drew his attention and he looked up as John limped into the room. He managed to stifle the wince at his son's haggard appearance. "There's coffee," he said simply, resisting the urge to jump up and pour the kid a cup. Joe was military. He could be tough.

John nodded and crept over to the pot to pour coffee into the cup sitting on the counter. He then slowly made his way over to the table to sit down. Joe didn't ask about the missing sling this time. He watched John sip the coffee from his peripheral vision. John was pale and somehow looked thinner than yesterday, although he was pretty sure that was paranoid parent worry and not real. The boy looked sick, pure and simple. Don't ask, don't ask, he told himself. But it was out of his mouth before he knew what had happened.

"You feel okay?" Dang!

"Fine."

Well, at least he didn't get a fireworks display. "Hungry?"

"Not really."

I'm going to regret this, but here goes anyway. "John, I really think you need to eat." John just grunted. "I know a place that makes great waffles. They bring them to the table still hot, with the butter melting as they put it on the table."

John looked up at him and it seemed to take entirely too much effort. Maybe he shouldn't drag the kid out to eat. He looked so tired.

"I like waffles," John said quietly, almost to himself. "We get them on Atlantis . . . but they're always cold and tough."

"If you feel up to it, we'll go get some." He had known John liked waffles when he made the suggestion and he really wanted the boy to eat. Joe didn't even have a waffle maker any more. He got rid of it because he never could make any worth eating and it seemed like a big waste of space.

"Okay," John said simply.

Joe nodded and smiled. "Take your time though, finish your coffee if you want. One thing about being retired is you don't have to rush."

They quietly finished their coffee before John limped slowly back to his room to get dressed. He'd just finished and was reaching for his cell phone when it went off. Picking it up from the side table, he smiled tiredly at the name that appeared.

"Hey, Rodney," he said as he sat on the edge of the made bed trying to make his voice lighter than he felt. "How's the visit with Jeannie going?"

"Just lovely. I got to help wash dishes last night. I can hardly stand the excitement." Sarcasm was always at its finest when it was being delivered by Rodney.

"They made you wash dishes in a cast?"

"Okay, I didn't wash, I helped dry and put away. Technicality. And for some reason, her little rugrat has attached herself to my leg. I barely got a minute free to call without having to drag the leg-leech with me."

John closed his eyes as he listened, imagining for a moment that they were both back in Atlantis talking over the comms. It hit him just how much he missed Rodney, how much he'd become family. He pulled himself back to the conversation. "Face it, McKay, kids like you for some reason that defies all logic and understanding."

"It doesn't defy logic. They specialize in annoying the heck out of people and they know their presence annoys me. They're a lot smarter than they let on."

John rolled his eyes and deadpanned, "Yes, Rodney, they're all evil geniuses determined to get on your last nerve."

"Funny. You know what I had for breakfast . . . again? Fruit loops. The breakfast choice around here is Fruit Loops or Captain Crunch. I never thought I'd say this, but I miss the mess hall."

John's mouth curved up in a smile as he felt some of his bundled muscles unwind a bit. "Dad is about to take me to some place that makes great waffles."

"Rub it in, Colonel. Can I come eat with you?"

"Sure, but we might be done by the time you get here. Look, you just have to know how to work this to your advantage. Offer to help out by doing some of the shopping. That will get you out of the house for a while by yourself and while you're at the store, pick up some stuff you like to eat. You get some Rodney time and your sister thinks you're all wonderful and helpful. Win, win solution."

"That's brilliant… on second thought, why didn't I think of that? Oh God I'm really losing it aren't I?" said Rodney incredulously

"I'm going to remember you said that," John quipped. "You just have to know how to work people."

"Whatever. Wait. So, do you manipulate us back on Atlantis like this? And by us, I mean me."

"I'm shocked you would even ask such a question." John had to grin at the mental image of Rodney, pouting and insulted. He wondered if the scientist had any idea of how much he'd needed this.

"I repeat . . . whatever. So . . . how's it going with your dad? Are you staying with him or are you homeless?"

John took in a deep breath. "Good, actually. Much better than I expected. I know I haven't said much about my father, but . . . we haven't really been close in a long time. Rodney . . . he apologized to me before I could get out two sentences. He's been trying to find me for the last year and when no one would tell him anything . . . "

"He thought you were dead," Rodney said quietly.

"Yeah. Anyway . . . we're talking and . . . I'm glad I came."

The other end of the phone was silent for a few moments before Rodney replied. "Yeah, I am too. Guess maybe Elizabeth knew what she was doing."

"I guess so. Should we tell her?"

"Heck, no! We tell her how miserable we were and hope that gets us a sympathy credit for the next time we blow up most of a solar system."

"What's this we stuff? I've screwed up plenty, but I haven't blown up any solar systems yet." His voice sobered as the images of death and blood began to once again play in his mind.

"You okay? You sound tired."

"Just healing, McKay. You know how it is. Look, Dad's waiting for me, so I need to go."

"I know, just . . . take care of yourself, okay? You don't have me and Ronon and Teyla to keep an eye on you and make sure you're eating and stuff. And stay out of trouble."

John winced at the comment about staying out of trouble. "You fret like an old woman, McKay. I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon that Dr. Lam made for me and Dad's doing a pretty good job of doting, so I'm good. Almost like being back in Atlantis." But he appreciated the fact that Rodney was concerned and the mention of the way his team kept watch over him when he was healing made him smile again. He mentally kicked himself. Where had the positive person harassed for being too optimistic gone? Another reminder of how he needed to pull himself together.

"Well, listen to the doctor and to your dad, then." John heard a high pitched squeal in the background. "Ah, geez, the rugrat found me. Okay, go eat your waffles and think of me and my Fruit Loops."

The line went dead and John suddenly felt very alone. He closed the phone and continued to sit on the bed for several moments. His stomach rumbled, bringing him out of his fog. He stood and began limping out of the bedroom. "Okay, Dad, I'm ready and I'm hungry."

oOo

John looked up at the sign as they pulled into the parking lot. "Wong Wei Café? You're kidding, right?"

Joe chuckled, pulling into an open spot near the door. "No, it's no joke. Wong came to this country when he was a child and he's had this café for several years. They have the best breakfast you can get for a really good price."

"I'm guessing he gets called Wrong Way Café a lot."

Joe grimaced and nodded. "He's had to replace his sign twice. Darn kids."

They got out of the car and entered the restaurant, which was moderately full. A girl with bright red hair and a big smile greeted them as they entered. "Colonel Sheppard, will you be joining your friends today? And who is this?"

Joe smiled at the young girl, noting how she was sizing up John. "This is my son. Lt. Colonel Sheppard. Who else is here?"

"Colonels Shetfield, Brentwood, and Ziegler. They've been here about ten minutes."

Joe turned to John. "Some of us old retirees get together and eat breakfast every once in a while. What do you think?"

John smiled. "I say yes. Maybe I can get some good stories on you."

"Not a chance," said Joe lightly as he turned back to the girl. "Okay, Kelly, looks like we'll be joining the crew."

The young girl nodded and grabbed two menus from a pile. "Ok then, right this way."

They followed her to the back area of the restaurant where three older men sat around a table for six, sipping coffee. Kelly set the menus on the table. "I had a feeling you might be here, so I gave them a bigger table. Could I get the Sheppard men something to drink?"

"Coffee," thy said together.

Kelly grinned. "I don't know why I even ask anymore. Be right back."

John could feel the eyes of the three men on him as he carefully sat down. When Joe was seated, he motioned toward John.

"This is my son, John. He's a Lt. Colonel in the Air Force and he's also the military commander of a base doing classified research." No one at the table missed the pride in Joe's voice, including John. His heart felt like it was beating too loudly in his chest again. Shades of yesterday at the school rose in this throat and he swallowed, hoping he wasn't going to need to make yet another embarrassing exit.

The man sitting across from Joe was a large man, tall with a large frame. His brown hair was speckled with gray, as were his eyebrows and beard. He studied John for a few moments before smiling. "I think we just got a proud daddy moment out of Joe Sheppard." He leaned across the table to shake John's hand. "I'm Dave Brentwood, U.S. Air Force, retired."

The black man sitting next to him grinned. "Joe . . . is that really John?"

Joe nodded and turned to John, opening his mouth to speak, but stopping when John surged ahead.

"I know you . . . Morgan . . . Major . . . uh, Colonel Shetfield, right?"

The man nodded. "You remember me... The last time I saw you, you were like eleven or twelve. You're definitely taller now. Still like helicopters?"

John grinned. "You bet. Still one of my favorite things to fly." He'd never officially decided if he liked helicopters or puddle jumpers better. If they ever had some serious down time, he was planning on bribing Rodney and Radek into designing him a combo deal. He had no idea if that was possible, but it sounded sweet.

The third man, sitting on the other side of Joe, leaned forward so he could see John. "I'm Harry Ziegler, U.S. Marines, retired. Nice to finally see Old Sheppard's kid."

"Hey, who you calling old?" asked Joe, feigning indignation.

Kelly returned with their coffee and refilled the cups of the others. "So, does everyone want their regular or are you feeling like something different this morning?"

"Well, I think I want the Waffle Plate with bacon," said Joe and then looked over at John. "What about you, son?"

"Waffles sound good."

Kelly nodded, smiling down at him. "Would you like sausage or bacon with that?"

John's stomach lurched at the thought of either. Anything greasy was not going to sit well, he could tell. "Neither. Just the waffles please."

Brentwood grinned up at Kelly. "You know, I haven't had waffles in ages, I'll have one with sausage."

The other two ordered their regular meal and Kelly nodded. "I'll get these turned in and have your food back in no time. Don't give the Lt. Colonel too hard a time." She leaned down close to John's ear. "They're harmless, but don't tell them that."

John grinned as she winked at the older men and took off with her coffee pot toward the kitchen. He looked around at his father. "You eat here often enough they know your name and you have a regular meal? Exactly how often is this?"

Joe shrugged his shoulders as the other men snickered. "It varies . . . you know . . . maybe two or three . . . or sometimes four days a week. Hey, I'm retired. What the heck else do I have to do?"

John let out a deep breath. He would never have guessed his father to be sitting around drinking coffee with a bunch of other retired soldiers in his later years. But his father had changed over the years, a lot. He smiled, momentarily imagining what it might be like if he and the rest of his team lived long enough to do this.

"Now don't go thinking I'm getting soft," said Joe a little defensively. "Despite what you've seen so far, I don't spend all my time sitting around watching TV and going out to eat. We're all part of a group that plots out military exercises and then field tests them . . . well, as much as we can. Some of our plans actually get used in training exercises."

John's eyes widened as he looked around the table. The men before him were all still fit and in excellent condition. That was probably one reason they stayed that way. They had found a way to keep their minds and bodies active and engaged. "Cool. Maybe you could share a few with me before I go back. I definitely need to keep my people on their toes."

"I think we can arrange that," said Joe proudly.

"John, I have a question for you, if you don't mind," said Brentwood. His eyes sparkled in a mischievous way. "There's this rumor going around that some hot shot helicopter pilot based in McMurdo was running a taxi service for a certain general and they got some kind of weapon fired at them. Word is that this pilot outmaneuvered the missile with just about the fanciest flying this general had ever seen."

John looked at his coffee, trying to hide the smile threatening to form. "Nice story. Any idea who this pilot is?"

"There's a lot of speculation and several names have been suggested. But my son, who is also in the Air Force, thinks the most likely pilot was John Sheppard. He claims to have seen him fly in Afghanistan and says he's the best chopper pilot he's ever seen. Care to comment on the validity of the story."

John looked up sheepishly to the men staring at him. He expected it to be uncomfortable, but somehow it wasn't. There was a genuine curiosity in their expression and maybe just a little bit of hope. They wanted it to be him. He mentally ran through the situation and decided it couldn't hurt to admit to the part they already knew. Someone had obviously leaked part of the story for them to know this much. John sighed and bobbed his head to the side once. "Okay, yeah, it was me."

The ensuing mass of talk and laughter and questions filled him with a sense of pride, washing away, at least for a while, the worthlessness that had overwhelmed him earlier. Joe was beaming and nodding and smiling at just about everything said.

"I knew that boy had a feel for choppers that very first time I took him up," said Shetfield, beaming as if he were his father.

Dave seemed especially proud of himself. "I knew it! From what Clay told me, this mysterious pilot dropped off the radar about the same time you just disappeared in a cloud of that's classified. And General O'Neill has been doing nothing but classified stuff for years. I don't suppose you could give us any hints, could you?"

John shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Are you going back to . . . wherever it is that you're stationed?" asked Ziegler.

"Absolutely," said John. "We still have a lot to do."

The food arrived a few moments later. When the three retired officers tired of asking John for hints between bites, they resorted to telling old war stories. Some were ridiculously funny, leading John to wonder if they had really occurred. Some tales were sad, tugging at the emotions. When the atmosphere began to falter, someone would pull out one of their humorous descriptions and get everyone laughing again.

John began to realize a few things as he listened to the men. They had all lost people. Sometimes it was a friend, sometimes a resident of the area, sometimes a fellow soldier they didn't particularly know well. But they all had people they regretted not saving and they all carried around a certain amount of guilt over it. And they had all learned to live with it.

The revelation didn't absolve John of his responsibility or relieve him of the magnitude of his blunders, but it did make him feel a little lighter to know that he wasn't the only one who felt the things that he did. As he swirled the last bite of waffle around in the syrup, he smiled to himself. He was glad he had come back to Earth and he was glad to be here with his father and his friends. He didn't have his act together yet, but he was working on it and he was beginning to feel once again like maybe he could do it.

TBC