Chapter 9

His arrival had been expected so once General Landry had officially welcomed him back to Earth, a senior airman took his bag and whisked him and Dr. Weisbach to a waiting car. While the SGC had top medical facilities, the staff was occupied with treating its own wounded. Weisbach had medical privileges at the USAF Academy Hospital since much of his research was used to heal injured soldiers. When they arrived at the small military hospital, John was immediately escorted to a private room.

A very polite-sounding nurse described the room to him, asked if he needed anything, and bid him a good afternoon when he declined. He unzipped his bag, pulling out his cd case and player, his favorite pair of sweats, a toiletry bag, and his dog-eared copy of War and Peace. He stowed the rest of his belongings in the wardrobe the nurse had identified. Sheppard carried his sweats and toiletry bag to the bathroom and quickly changed. He neatly folded his black t-shirt and BDUs, placing them inside the wardrobe as well. Climbing onto the bed, he arranged his cds and player on the rolling table and propped his book on the nightstand as a statement of his intentions.

The breathlessness that resulted from the exertion reminded him of how much further he had to go to get back to normal. The melrodin poisoning had really done a number on him. He knew he had at least six weeks before he could return to Atlantis, and he intended to make the most of it, eyesight or not. He was still planning his exercise regimen when he fell asleep.

Sheppard woke to the quiet murmuring of Dr. Weisbach and at least one assistant. John laughed at himself when he realized that the wristband Rodney had given him wouldn't work on Earth.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Colonel Sheppard, you're awake. That's good. We needed to draw some blood for our preliminary testing," said Dr. Weisbach.

Sheppard stuck out an arm and heard the assistant move to begin.

"Ray is going to extract several ampoules." The doctor's tone had changed from quietly conversational to briskly professional. "As I explained, we will inject donor limbal cells. While this is not a transplant, meaning you won't run the risk of rejection or need to take anti-rejection medication, we still must find compatible tissue. We'll run the standard tests: blood type, HLA, crossmatch and antibody screens. My colleague at the Rocky Mountain Lions Eye Bank will review her records to find a match. Once a match is located, we'll begin the procedure. Do you have any questions?"

John had felt the needle slide into a vein as the ophthalmologist had been speaking. The technician removed one vial and attached another as the pilot considered Weisbach's question. Sheppard had lots of questions, but he didn't think any of them would be answerable. Instead, he went with the safest, and most immediate, one.

"How long will it take?"

"The tests will take several hours and finding the right donor several more. You'll be here at least two days before we begin. Once we inject the limbal cells, your body will take over. The amount of time it takes for results to be apparent varies by individual, but we typically know within seventy-two hours if the procedure is successful. If it is, you should fully regain your sight by the end of next week."

"Is there a chance that the recovery will only be partial?"

"There's always a chance, Colonel, but that has been the exception rather than the rule. Out of those that see positive results, ninety percent recover fully."

Ninety percent of sixty percent. He had a better than fifty-fifty chance of seeing again.

"OK, Doc. I'll be right here whenever you're ready."

"I know. Try to rest as much as you can in the next couple of days. The healthier you are the faster the recovery. And, Colonel, I'm a big fan of War and Peace. How far into it are you?"

"Around page one twenty I think. I'm planning on reading it during the three week return trip on the Daedalus."

"That sounds like a fine plan, Colonel. I will talk to you tomorrow."

Weisbach and associate exited, leaving Sheppard alone for the first time in a long time. He put on his headphones and let Johnny Cash sing him to sleep.

OoOoOoOoO

John was bored out of his mind. He had walked the halls of the hospital until he thought his legs would fall off. He'd met every other patient there including one that was in a coma. He had thought the guy was just a poor conversationalist until an orderly set him straight. His ears hurt from his headphones, and daytime television was a waste of brain cells. Either he had driven the nursing staff stark, staring mad or one of them had pity on him because there was a knock on his door shortly after lunch.

"Anyone home?"

The voice was familiar, but it took Sheppard a minute to place it.

"Mitchell?"

"Yeah, how are you doing?"

"I'm climbing the walls. How are you?"

Cameron chuckled. "I know exactly what you mean, my friend. I spent a year laid up in here."

"A year! I'm not sure I'm going to last another day."

"You'll make it. I've read some of your mission reports."

The two pilots spent the next few hours swapping stories about flying and leading SG teams. John had met Mitchell when SG-1 had visited earlier that year but hadn't had the time to get to know the man. He found they had quite a bit in common and compared notes on the daily stresses of their jobs. With the SG-1 leader helping as a guide, Sheppard took a walk outside in the fresh air and sunshine.

The smell of dinner greeted him when they returned to his room, a tray already on his table. He felt Cameron grasp his hand, and he returned the handshake warmly.

"Thanks, Mitchell. I appreciate you taking the time today. I know you had plenty of other stuff you could be doing."

"Not a problem, Sheppard. Hang in there. We have a mission in the morning so I won't see you for a few days. But I'll try to catch you at the SGC before you head back."

As the door closed, John kicked off his shoes and dug into dinner. His heavy eyelids convinced him to turn in early so once he was finished, he pushed the tray away and lay down. He was asleep in minutes.

OoOoOoOoO

He awoke with a gasp. He had been dreaming about his father. Strange, really, since he hadn't spoken to the man in over three years, and their last words had not been pleasant. In fact, he hadn't been so much dreaming as he had been reliving the memory of their last conversation.

He and The Colonel had always had a rocky relationship. The Colonel was a retired Marine sniper that was never satisfied with anything less than perfection. His mom had tempered the harshness, but John had learned early on that he could never live up to his father's expectations. He had never wanted anything as much as he'd wanted The Colonel's approval. Knowing he wouldn't get it, he settled for getting his father's attention by becoming the screw-up the older man expected. The relationship seriously degraded after his mother's death.

John had joined the Air Force because he loved flying more than life itself and because he knew it would piss off The Colonel. His father hadn't bothered to attend John's wedding and had stared at him knowingly when the younger man told him of the divorce. For some reason, they continued to get together at Christmas and birthdays, but the tension was thick, and John was always relieved when he escaped.

After Afghanistan, Sheppard had been given two weeks of leave before he had to report to Antarctica. He had been amazed that his actions had only really earned him a slap on the wrist. The black mark of disobeying a direct order had been entered in his file, but he hadn't been tossed into Leavenworth or even demoted. John had requested a transfer to the one continent he hadn't seen yet. He wanted to be as far from people and death as he could get, not to mention the heat and sand that never went away. The position at McMurdo seemed ideal.

He was essentially homeless for two weeks. Having nowhere else to go, he flew to his father's home in northern California. He didn't have a key to the house but wouldn't have used it if he did. He knocked on the door, biting his lip as he waited. He knew The Colonel would have heard about his antics in the desert; Cold War heroes tended to have contacts everywhere. John could see the truth on the man's face as soon as the door opened.

His father stared coldly at him. "What do you want?"

"I'm on leave for two weeks. I came to see you."

The older man's jaw tightened as anger reddened his neck. "Came to see me, did you? You have the nerve to show your face here after what you did?"

The tirade began as The Colonel gave him the dressing down of his life, invading his personal space until their noses touched. John did what he had done since childhood: he stood at attention, eyes straight ahead but unfocused so he couldn't see the disappointment and rage. There was nothing the man could say that could hurt worse than carrying Holland's body the last few miles across the desert to camp.

"….are no longer my son!"

Except that. John flinched at the words and focused on his father's face. He could read the betrayal there as clearly as if it were written on the man's forehead. His actions in Afghanistan had disgraced the family name, an unforgivable sin to The Colonel. They stared at each other for a long minute before John saluted, picked up his bag, turned on his heel and left, the scent of cigars and peppermint following him.

He hadn't seen or spoken to his father since that day. He had considered it, had even traveled back to California before the Atlantis expedition left. He sat in the park across from The Colonel's house and flipped a coin. He knew he should at least say goodbye, but he couldn't make himself do it. He was leaving this galaxy and didn't want to take any reminders with him. The irony, of course, was that he found a very similar man in Marshall Sumner.

The memory of that day lingered in his mind, including the mint and cigar smell. John tried to shake it away and reached hesitantly for his water cup. He took a long drink and closed his eyes, breathing deeply to calm his heart. His eyes flew open as the faint cigar odor remained. It just couldn't be. Please, no, not him, not now.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, reaching out with his senses. The creak of the chair confirmed his worst fears. Since it was too late to pretend to be asleep, he opened his eyes and turned to where the chair had last been.

"Good evening, Sir."

The grunt of surprise elicited a tiny grin from John as he heard his father stand and approach his bed.

"I got a call yesterday from some wet-behind-the-ears Airman informing me that Colonel Sheppard had been blinded and was receiving treatment here. Since I wasn't blind and would never be at an USAF hospital, I had to see whom they meant. What happened to you, Boy?"

The Colonel's tone was neutral, impersonal. John wondered what the man really wanted. He knew he certainly wasn't there out of concern for his health. The Air Force pilot hadn't removed his father's name as next of kin, assuming the man might want to know if he died. John was beginning to question that.

"Nothing important. My doctor says I'll be as good as new in a few days."

"That's not what I meant. How the hell did you make Lieutenant Colonel?"

So that's what this was about. His old man's contacts hadn't been able to track him once he entered the Stargate program. That had to eating the retired sniper alive. John felt satisfaction twist in his chest and bit back the smile that was trying to emerge.

"My work is classified, Sir. I'm sure you understand that I can't talk about it. How are you?"

"Is that all you have to say after all this time? No explanation? No apology? No remorse for what you did? You dragged the Sheppard name through the dirt! Don't think one little promotion is going to rectify that."

John swallowed thickly as he formulated a response. He had learned a few things about himself in the past couple of years, things his father would never know and never believe if he found out. The Colonel was the one man from whom John had always backed down, trying to give him the respect he thought a father was due. That ended now.

"I have nothing to apologize for. I'm proud of what I did in Afghanistan; Holland's life was worth the risk to my career. If I had it to do all over again, I would do exactly the same thing."

"That doesn't surprise me in the least," his father ground out in a hard tone. "You have always been a screw-up and always will be. I just can't figure out how you got promoted."

"You have no idea who I am or what I'm capable of," John hissed. "Now, I would like to get some sleep. I'm sure you can find your way out."

"Gladly." The Colonel yanked the door open and stomped from the room.

John shook with the effort of controlling his fury and hurt, amazed that The Colonel still had enough influence over him to injure him. He made a mental note to have his father removed as next of kin in his file. He wasn't sure he could get back to sleep so he slid another cd into the player and tried to clear his mind.

He pushed away the memories of his past and focused on Atlantis and the family he had found there. He wondered what they were up to, imagining Teyla and Ronon sparring and McKay bickering with Zelenka over some unidentifiable piece of equipment in a research lab. Lorne would be sitting impatiently in Weir's office as Elizabeth reviewed the day's schedule while Beckett would be clucking over some unfortunate scientist that had twisted an ankle.

They were an odd group, his family, but he wouldn't trade any of them. He drifted off to the thoughts of home and the strains of Andres Segovia.

OoOoOoOoO

A hand on his arm pulled him from slumber the next morning. He could hear more than one person in the room, and blinked groggily as he attempted to make sense of the noise.

"It's time, Colonel. Are you ready?" Dr. Weisbach asked gently.

"Hell, yes. Can I have a minute first?"

"Of course. My people are setting up the room so take care."

Sheppard eased from the bed and allowed Dr. Weisbach to guide him to the bathroom. Once he finished his morning rituals, he returned, feeling clean and remarkably calm.

"Are you doing this in here?" John hadn't considered that.

"Yes. We will put some drops in your eyes to deaden the pain receptors and then we will clamp them open in order to inject the tissue. We'll be done in no more than thirty minutes."

The pilot reached for the bed and climbed up, suddenly anxious.

"This won't hurt a bit, Colonel."

"I've heard that before."

John could hear the smile in the doctor's voice. "I'm sure you have. Is everything in place?"

Several voices gave confirmation that all was in order.

"Then let's begin. Colonel, I am placing drops in your eyes now. It's fine to blink once they're in."

Sheppard felt the cold liquid as it dropped in each eye. To his amazement, it really didn't hurt. After a few minutes, he felt the clamps attach, and then nothing. He could hear voices and sense movement, but he didn't feel any pain. The gratitude he felt for that was almost overwhelming. The efficiency of the doctor and his staff impressed the lieutenant colonel. True to his word, Weisbach was finished in just over twenty minutes.

"That's all there is to it, Colonel. I'm going to bandage your eyes to protect them. Please, do not touch or rub them for any reason. I am placing some protective eyewear on your face to prevent you from inadvertently doing so in your sleep. I'll be back tomorrow to check your progress. Do you have any questions?"

"Not right now. Thanks, Doc and thank your staff for me."

The ophthalmologist patted John's arm. "I will, son. And you're welcome."

The room quieted as the medical personnel left. The sounds of breakfast being delivered reached his ears, and he sat up eagerly as he waited. He could only imagine what he must look like with his scratchy beard, more-messy-than-usual hair, eyewear that felt big and boxy, and a grin that stretched from ear to ear. No matter how often he had told himself not to get his hopes up, he could feel his heart pounding in anticipation. He didn't know how he was going to make it through the remainder of the day.

By evening, he was back to being stir-crazy. He'd listened to all of his cds at least once and found that prime time television wasn't much better than daytime. A tentative knock at his door interrupted his boredom.

"Come in."

The squeak of highly polished shoes reached his ears.

"What can I do for you, Airman?"

"How did you- Oh, sorry Sir." The young recruit oozed military spit and polish. John could almost hear the boy's spine crack as he drew stiffly to attention.

"At ease. Did you need something?" He heard the young man relax and approach.

"Package for you, Sir. General Landry asked that I bring it right away."

John felt a small box being thrust into his hands. "What's your name?"

"Airman Michael Chu, Sir."

"Thank you, Airman Michael Chu, for bringing this by. Please thank General Landry for me as well."

"Yes, Sir! Thank you, Sir!"

John could hear the airman's heels click as he snapped to attention. John threw a salute his direction and dismissed him. Once the door closed and the footsteps faded, Sheppard ran his hands over the box until he found an unsealed corner. Tugging firmly, he broke the tape and pulled the flaps open. Reaching inside, he drew out two wooden objects, two metal objects, and something that remarkably resembled his Glock.

He concentrated as his fingers tried to identify each item. He smiled as he realized one of the wooden articles was a chess piece, a queen if he wasn't mistaken. He couldn't quite decipher the other wooden one yet. He touched the metal objects and discovered one of them was an Ancient device. After a minute, he grinned like a fool when he recognized Elizabeth's voice recorder. His team had sent him a care package. Carefully fingering the buttons, he hoped his memory was accurate and pressed the play button. He was rewarded with Weir's voice filling the room.

"Hello, John, it's Elizabeth. I hope this finds you well. Everyone on Atlantis sends their best wishes for a speedy recovery and a quick trip back. We decided you might be a bit bored so we thought we'd send some items to keep you out of trouble.

"Rodney has sent the chess piece. He said to tell you it was the white one so if you forget it, you'll have to play without it when you get back. Ronon has carved a replica of one of the jumpers. Did you know he could do that? It has incredibly intricate detail. Lorne wanted to send his resignation, but I told him he'd have to do that in person when you returned. So he sent you a gun made of licorice. I can't imagine where he got that. The Ancient device is from Zelenka and Teyla. All you have to do is activate it. Radek promises it won't explode or catch fire….."

Her recording continued as she updated him on affairs in Atlantis, keeping him in the loop which was the best gift she could give him. He picked up Ronon's carving as his fingers traced it. He hadn't known the Satedan could carve, and he couldn't wait to be able to see the detail that his touch told him was there.

He laughed at the candy gun. He knew exactly where Lorne had gotten it. Sheppard had given it to him as a secret Santa gift last Christmas. It had taken two Daedalus pilots a month to find it. He gripped the device from Zelenka, wondering what the Czech and Teyla had collaborated on.

"…know that you are missed. I'll see you in a few weeks."

After a minute, a McKay rant began. "Hurry up and get your ass back here. Lorne won't let me go off-world; Zelenka is driving me crazy; and Ronon has already threatened to shoot me twice…."

John laughed as the rant continued. Pure McKay. The Canadian had his own way for keeping Sheppard in the loop, and trust him to be able to get his hands on Weir's recorder.

"…anyway, if you need anything, our next transmission to Earth will be in three days. Oh, and when you come back, could you bring some Hershey bars? See you then."

The message ended with a click. John sat quietly for a moment, relishing the often unfamiliar feelings of love and acceptance from his friends. He placed the precious items back in the box which he placed on the nightstand next to his book. He kept the Ancient device, turning it over in his hands. Unable to determine what it was, he activated it and caught his breath as Teyla's voice filled the room with song.

He knew she could sing. Beckett had told him about the ring ceremony for Charin that he had missed. He had heard her hum occasionally on a mission, but he had never actually heard her sing. She was fantastic. He could hear unknown musical instruments in the background and decided she must have recruited a couple of Athosians to help. The melody was haunting, unfamiliar, and the best thing he'd ever heard.

Focusing on the device, he mentally adjusted it to repeat and sat the metal object on the nightstand as well. He lay back, wriggling a bit until he was comfortable, and listened. After it played through several times, he replayed the recording from Weir and McKay. Then he activated the device again in repeat mode and let it play. As the sounds of home washed over him, he felt the vise on his heart that had appeared with his father melt away.

OoOoOoOoO

Dr. Weisbach returned the next morning as John was finishing breakfast.

"Good morning, Colonel. I'm here to remove the bandages. Do you have a minute?"

"Are you kidding?"

Emil laughed. "I'll take that as a yes. I'll just turn down the lights."

After a moment, John felt the doctor's hands on his face. Weisbach removed the protective eyewear and snipped the bandages, carefully unwrapping them.

"Keep your eyes closed, Colonel, just in case. I will have you open them once I take away the gauze. You may not see anything yet, so don't be alarmed. Ready?"

"Yes," John whispered.

He felt the gauze pull away and a damp cloth brush over his eyes.

"OK, Colonel, open your eyes."

John held his breath as he slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. He felt like crying as the fuzzy visage of Dr. Emil Weisbach appeared before him.

"Hey, Doc. Good to see you."

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tbc