John wasn't sure what he expected to find when he walked into the SGC's "officer's club" later that evening. Rodney had given him directions after they separated an hour or so ago, and he'd found it easily enough, but he had not been expecting this.

Someone had retrofitted an old science lab into a rather impressive bar. Diffused light shone from behind recessed panels, bathing everything in a cool, bluish light. Coming in from the hallway outside, it was like stepping into some underwater cavern cut off from the sea by glass. An old lab table was being used as the bar and a line of stools stood sentry before it. Tables dotted the rest of the noisy room and nearly every single one of them was full. John tried to slip into the room relatively unnoticed, but had a sneaky suspicion everyone in the place was probably there to see him.

"Well if it isn't Colonel John Sheppard," Carson Beckett announced several seconds later, his speech slightly slurred. "The man a'the hour, himself."

The room erupted into a chorus of happy greetings, everyone raising their glasses in John's general direction. Thank god for the low light, otherwise they all would have seen his face light up like a Christmas tree. And he hadn't even had anything to drink yet.

John made his way over to the table where Carson and Rodney sat nursing drinks and talking with someone John couldn't quite see through the crowd. He'd only made it halfway when a voice bellowing from near the bar stopped him in his tracks.

"John Sheppard!"

The crowds seemed to part as a very muscular and very grey-haired Evan Lorne barreled towards him. Like with Carson before, John's extended hand was knocked away as his old friend pulled him into another bone-crushing hug. Unlike Carson, however, Lorne actually lifted John off his feet slightly while he did it.

"Woah there, buddy," John laughed and Lorne set him down.

"I can't believe you're here," the Major said, smiling brightly. The guy had to be at least a few beers in already. "They told us you were dead!"

Whatever pause in conversation their little reunion caused had passed and John was suddenly thankful for the loud music thumping away above their heads. He figured he was going to be having this conversation with a lot of people over the next few days. He just didn't want to do it with an audience every damn time.

"Major Lorne," he said, clapping his old friend on the shoulder. "How the hell are you?"

"Uh uh, it's Colonel Lorne now," the man said, pointing to his shoulder where his insignia would be, were he still in uniform. John didn't see the point in reminding him that he wasn't.

"That's fantastic. Congrats, buddy."

Lorne waved him off. "Are you kidding? If congratulations are in order, they're for you, Brigadier General Sheppard! " Lorne yelled into the crowd, earning John another round of rowdy cheers.

"Almost," John corrected him, ducking his head in embarrassment. "They haven't promoted me yet."

"Alrighty then, Almost Brigadier General Sheppard," newly minted Colonel Lorne quipped with a drunken grin, "free drinks on the Almost Brigadier General!" The cheers erupted again as everyone in the room lifted their glasses once again. "And all the grape Nehis Dr. Rodney McKay can drink for bringing him back to us!"

Everyone in the bar began to laugh before breaking out into applause. John saw Rodney stop talking to Carson over at their table and color dramatically. These were the parts of the past John missed the most. The camaraderie he had shared with these people for so long. His friends.

Someone shoved a beer into his hands and Lorne steered them over towards Carson and Rodney's table. The man seemed to be in the best shape of his life and looked pretty much the same, save for his now salt and pepper hair and the deep wrinkles around his eyes. But all of John's old friends seemed to have those these days.

As they wound their way around the tables, John and Lorne were stopped several more times. Everyone seemed to want to shake John's hand. He knew word of his arrival would travel fast so he wasn't surprised. Just like he wasn't surprised the officer's club was packed tonight. Everyone wanted to see for themselves that the rumors were true. John Sheppard really was back. Some of the faces that stopped him he recognized, the rest were completely new.

It took some time, but eventually, John was able to plop down into an empty chair at Carson and Rodney's table.

"Sheppard, you remember Dr. Jackson," Rodney said, introducing the other person at their table John hadn't been able to see.

"Welcome back Colonel Sheppard," the doctor said, extending his hand. If John was a celebrity around base, Dr. Daniel Jackson was a living legend. He was one of the founding fathers of SG-1 and the reason John had been able to go to Atlantis in the first place. Shaking his hand was like shaking hands with a movie star. John felt lightheaded just thinking about it.

"Call me John," he said, noting how cold the doctor's slender hands were.

"Well you certainly have the entire base in an uproar," Dr. Jackson said, his eyes alight with amusement. John would have replied, but someone tapped him on the shoulder and he found himself shaking hands with yet another person he didn't know.

"You'd've thought General O'Neill was back from the dead," Rodney joked easily enough, though John thought he caught the quickest flash of jealousy cross his old friend's face. When John finally got a quiet moment alone to think, he was going to have to figure out a way to talk to Rodney and hash all this out. Find out what was going through the astrophysicist's mind, because the last thing John wanted to do was come back and stir the pot. Disturb whatever delicate balance was in place between Rodney and the SGC.

"Hardly," John deflected. "Nice place you guys got here."

"You like it?" Lorne asked him and John nodded.

Dr. Jackson leaned in close to John and pointed to a plaque on the wall. It contained the bronze silhouette of a familiar face. "The Cameron Miller Memorial Lounge," the doctor said heavily.

John looked around the room again, finding the name entirely fitting, and himself more than a little sad. This place reminded him of another bar, far away in Blue River, Wisconsin. And of Eddie, its owner, who looked like Ronon and was always ready with a free beer and a friendly ear. Not that John ever took him up on that. The ear, not the beer.

Seeing as how most of the men at that table hadn't spoken to one another in nearly 18 years, John found himself drawn into a bittersweet conversation about the past. No one pushed him for details of where he had gone after the war, and John suspected there might be a good reason for that. Rodney, or maybe even General Landry had said something to them, and John wasn't sure if he should be grateful or pissed. He settled on grateful. He wasn't ready for questions about what he had done during those dark years after the war, when he was so very alone, cut off from everyone and everything he had ever known. John imagined he would have to relive some of it if he ever expected to see Atlantis again. But for now, he was content to just sit and listen.

Hours later, the crowds finally thinned and theirs was the only table left occupied in the joint. Dr. Jackson had long since retired and Lorne looked like he might be next. The former Major was sitting with his feet propped up on one edge of the table and his arms folded across his chest with eyes closed. Rodney had an arm draped over Carson, who was singing along tunelessly to the music.

John took in the empty beer bottles strewn about the table and shook his head. "I leave you guys alone for 18 years and now look at you. A bunch of heathens."

Lorne snorted, apparently still very much awake. "You should see these two when it's not a school night."

"Hey!" Rodney said, sitting up.

"You know who could knock 'em back better than anyone?" Lorne asked.

"Ronon," they all said at once. John was keenly aware of how quiet it was as the atmosphere in the room suddenly changed. The music was gone and their bartender had long since locked up the liquor and left.

"Remember that time we taught him how to drive a car?"

"I remember that!" Rodney exclaimed, startling Carson.

"The motor pool wouldn't sign a Jeep out to us so we hotwired one of the cars in the base parking lot," John reminisced, remembering the moment perfectly.

"And then we got back to base and found out it was part of some visiting dignitary's fleet," Lorne continued.

"I thought for sure Hammond was going to court-martial us right there on the spot. He was so pissed," John said.

"But didn't you guys almost get away with it though?" Rodney asked.

"Yeah, we did!" Lorne said, taking his feet off the table and sitting up. "Who was it that ratted us out?"

"Cavanaugh," Carson said.

Everyone stopped talking for a moment to share a look of disgust at the mere mention of the man.

"I never liked that guy," John shuddered, thinking back on the scientist who had once suggested to Elizabeth that she just let John die rather than come back to Atlantis after a rather unfortunate accident with a puddle jumper.

"Never mention Cavanaugh in front of McKay," Lorne warned, slurring his words a bit. "It's a touchy subject."

Rodney looked down at the beer in his hands and blew out an angry breath. "Did you know they gave that imbecile a Nobel peace prize?"

"See what I mean?" Lorne said quietly to John, laughing. "Touchy subject." Lorne grabbed his own lukewarm beer from the table and propped his feet back up.

"You know what we should do?" Carson said, looking bleary-eyed and altogether ready to call it a night.

"What should we do?"

"We should all take a special trip out to the memorial tomorrow if Colonel Sheppard is still around," he suggested.

"Memorial?" John asked.

"It's just something they set up after the war," Rodney explained. Of the three, he seemed to be the most sober. "They engraved the names of everyone we lost and a few people are buried there, too."

Rodney stopped his explanation there, but John knew he was leaving a lot unsaid. The Stargate Program, even though the people of Earth knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that aliens existed now, was still top-secret and shrouded in mystery. A memorial to the dead was not something that could be made public. How would they explain it? He also imagined there were some people who had no family left to bury them after they died. Or were galaxies away from any that might still be left. It was both incredibly sad and uncharacteristically compassionate of his government.

"Wouldn't that just be a barrel of laughs," Lorne snorted.

"You're drunk, Ev," Rodney said.

"Probably. But I'm not as think as you drunk I am," the former Major slurred. "But you remember who never could hold his liquor? Woolsey. That guy was a…"

John nearly dropped the beer bottle in his hands, but Rodney was already up out of his seat and hauling the extremely drunk Colonel to his feet. "And we're done. Say goodnight to the nice people, Evan."

"Goodnight to the nice people, Evan," Lorne laughed, waving goodbye as he let Rodney pull him from the room. John watched them go, not entirely sure how he was feeling at the moment.

Carson folded his arms on the tabletop and laid his head down. "You must excuse the lad, Sheppard. He just doesn't think sometimes when he's got a few beers in him."

"I get it," John said absently, still staring at the door Rodney and Lorne had just disappeared through. Hearing Woolsey's name around this place was apparently just another thing he was going to have to get used to.

"It sometimes makes me wonder if this place is a good idea," Carson continued. John assumed the inebriated doctor was referring to the officer's club. "With what these young lads and lassies go through off-world."

"You don't?" John asked, not entirely sure he was ready to get into a philosophical debate over the merits of recreational lubricants in the military workplace with Carson Beckett at the moment.

"Oh, I don't know. We're old men now John," the doctor replied back with a sigh, never lifting his head. "What do we know about young men these days?"

John had to admit, the good doctor had a point there. What did he know of this life anymore, after nearly 18 years out of uniform? He'd been the military leader of Atlantis before, but there had always been a civilian buffer between him and that glass ceiling. Now John was about to enter the upper echelons of Stargate Command, and as a General no less. If he took Atlantis back and stayed on as leader of the expedition, would he be able to handle it? The John Sheppard from 20 years ago would have jumped at that opportunity in a heartbeat, but John was no longer the young, eager airman he'd once been. He was older now, wiser.

Rodney returned then, pulling John back out of the darkness of his self-deprecating thoughts.

"He alright?" John asked after Rodney sat back down.

"Oh yeah. He'll have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, but he's ok."

"I have a feeling we're all gonna be feelin' this in the mornin'," Carson spoke up from the tabletop. "I havenae drank like this since the '60s."

"You were born in the '60s, Carson," Rodney pointed out.

"Aye, lad, I was. But we start 'em young over in Scotland," the doctor said, making both Rodney and John chuckle.

"I suppose we should all think about hitting the sack. I've got my re-enlistment ceremony in the morning."

"Does that mean you're staying?" Rodney asked.

John flinched. "I still haven't decided."

"Oh," was all Rodney said as he started gathering up some of their empties.

"I'm still not even sure what I have to do tomorrow."

"Kill a chicken," Carson deadpanned, pulling himself up from the table.

"Sacrifice a virgin," Rodney added, both men collapsing back into a fit of laughter.

"Very funny. Now I remember why I never took you two with me to the bars. You're assholes."

"Rodney might be, but I'm sure not," Carson said, swaying slightly in his seat.

"Hey!"

Carson reached out a hand and drunkenly patted Rodney on the cheek. "Of course you're not, laddie. I didn't mean it."

"I think that's our cue," John said, eager to get away before alcohol loosened their tongues any further. "Is someone going to show me the way to my quarters?"

John's "quarters" turned out to be a suite of rooms in the base's VIP section. Something he immediately took offense to.

"I'm not staying here," he informed Rodney as soon as they'd left Carson and John realized where Rodney was leading him.

"You don't have much of a choice. It's the middle of the night and Landry had this room made up especially for you."

"I should be down in the barracks with the other men," he protested, still a bit drunk.

Rodney shrugged. "Talk to Landry about it in the morning. I'm too tired to argue with you about it."

John mumbled an insult under his breath but Rodney ignored him.

"The guard station is down the hall and this wing gets regular patrols if that's what you're worried about."

Hardly, but John could tell Rodney was just trying to pick a fight. When the scientist seemed to realize John wasn't going to take the bait they said their goodnights and Rodney started off down the hall. He paused after a few yards and turned back around.

"You're still going to be here in the morning, right?"

John looked over at his friend. Rodney looked tired and worn under the base's harsh, overhead lights. The last time they had said goodbye like this, John had disappeared off the face of the Earth and been presumed dead. He could see that Rodney really didn't care one lick in that moment if Sheppard was going to stick around and help with Atlantis. He just wanted to know if John would still be there in the morning.

"I will be," John replied. He might not be able to promise his old friend much, but he could promise that. "I'm not going anywhere."

Rodney seemed satisfied. "I'll pick you up for breakfast around 8 then."

"It's a date."

"Pleasant dreams, Sheppard." Rodney smiled at him in that sad way of his and then headed off again. John didn't move until the scientist had disappeared around a corner down at the end of the hall. Even then he just stood there on the threshold of his room for a long moment, hand on the doorknob as he weighed the gravity of everything that was happening. He'd only been here for one afternoon and already he was tired. How was he going to feel once the real work began? And not just the physical stuff they were going to make him do. He was worried about the emotional stuff as well. What were the chances they had someone like Kate Heightmeyer stashed away somewhere on base?

Nil , he imagined.

Sighing, John opened the door to his suite and stepped into a well-lit apartment. It had all the modern amenities any visiting bigwig would expect. Too bad they were all lost on John who wasn't interested in anything other than the hot shower jets that called to him from the marble-covered bathroom nearby. Locating his duffel, which had been delivered to his room as promised, John riffled through its contents and pulled out a fresh change of clothes and the plastic bag he'd dumped all his toiletries into. Ignoring everything else in the rooms, John made a beeline for the bathroom.

Hot showers were not something he was used to, having no water heater back at the cabin. Normally he would have just warmed a bucket of water on the stove when a frigid trip to the exterior spigot on the side of his house was out of the question. That outdoor shower had always been a point of contention with Carrie. She was forever bugging him to just get over it already and plug the cabin back into the power grid. But John had always said no. Maybe that was just his stubbornness talking, but he got along just fine without electricity.

Tonight John afforded himself the luxury of a hot shower and stayed under the warm spray for a very long time. The grime of the day slid off his skin easily enough, but it was his thoughts he couldn't get rid of, no matter how hard he scrubbed.

The first thing John was going to do when he got up in the morning was have a conversation with Landry about the sleeping arrangements. There was no way in hell he was spending his next however many weeks bunking in these rooms. He'd rather die. Not only were they too much, they set the wrong example. John wasn't some bigwig to be wined and dined. He was a soldier, pure and simple. And if John couldn't take out his own trash or clean his own bathroom, then what was the point of coming back to the Stargate program and leading the expedition

John's thoughts were still racing when he eventually shut off the water and started to dry off. His hair he left alone, knowing full well nothing he did to it tonight would keep it from becoming a complete mess in the morning. He slipped into clean boxers and an old, faded t-shirt and headed back into the bedroom.

Someone had hung a uniform on the back of his closet door and John walked over to it before heading to bed. He touched the lapel through the plastic the laundry room had encased it in. They had gotten his service medals right, he noted. At least those hadn't changed much since the USSF had been formed.

John tore the drycleaning bag away so he could get a better look. The label on the collar suggested it might fit him, but John suspected it would be too short on him. They would eventually give him uniforms tailored made for his frame, but for now, this was going to have to do.

The uniform looked pretty similar to what he remembered, but there were some subtle changes. The color was a dark, charcoal grey, black almost, with gold buttons and an overly starched undershirt with a red, white, and blue striped tie that had no business looking as dignified as it did.

John ran his fingers over the rough fabric, recalling how it felt to pull on his own uniform back in the day. He'd never felt particularly comfortable in the thing, but putting on another felt strange. Like a betrayal to the Air Force, or something. He'd been fiercely proud to be a part of that branch of the military, even when they were no longer proud of him and had exiled him to McMurdo.

John let his hand fall away and started turning out all the lights in his room. Crawling into bed, he knew he was in for a rough night. His thoughts were restless, though his body practically ached with exhaustion. But that exhaustion wouldn't help. There would be no peace for John tonight. If his thoughts didn't keep him up all hours, then his nightmares certainly would.

It was the dead who usually visited John in his dreams. Teyla and Ronon especially, calling out to John to save them from that blood-soaked place. Always that same corridor, always the same Wraith he mowed down with his P90 again and again. The cold, dead bodies of his friends laid out at his feet.

Sometimes in the dreams their eyes were open. It was Teyla who reached for John tonight, her arm lifting from the blood-covered floor even as the Wraith surged forward and forced John back and out of the room she had fallen in. He spent the long hours of the night just trying to get back to her and pull her body from the wreckage.

"Sheppard we have to go."

He was always running out of time. The bomb in his hand was ticking away, counting down the seconds before Teyla was erased from existence. He tried to reach her but someone was pulling him away.

"John, don't leave me!"

"TEYLA!" he screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed and struggling against the invisible hands pulling him away. It took a few moments of desperate thrashing before John realized he was just tangled up in his sweaty sheets. He worked his way free in the dark with shaky hands and eventually managed it. It was perfect timing too, because the quick lunch he had in the airport with Rodney and all the beers they'd kicked back in the officer's club were about to make a reappearance.

John made a mad dash to the bathroom, knocking over a table in the process. He bent over the toilet without even turning on the lights and heaved until there was nothing left.

"Colonel Sheppard, are you alright?" someone was asking him from the corridor, a heavy fist pounding on the door a moment later. When he couldn't answer, a guard barged into the room, flipping on lights as he searched for John. When he got to the bathroom, he mercifully left the bathroom light off.

John was instantly mortified, but there was nothing he could do. His stomach was determined to expel everything he had ingested over the past 24 hours.

"Sir, are you alright."

"M'fine," he mumbled pathetically.

"Can I get you anything?" the MP asked.

John just shook his head. Mercifully, the soldier seemed to realize there really was nothing he could do and left a few seconds later. John could only hope the guy would be discreet and not blab the fact that John Sheppard had been puking his guts up half the night. Most would assume it was just nerves and the fact he shut down the officer's club the night before. The people who knew him best would probably have other theories.

When it was all over, John peeled himself up from the frigid bathroom floor and made his way back to the bed. The mattress and sheets were soaked, so he pulled the bedspread off the top and curled up in a comfortable-looking leather recliner in one corner of the room. He slept fitfully there until the alarm on his watch happily announced it was 6:30 am.

Even though he felt like shit, John made himself get up. He found his running shoes at the bottom of his duffel and decided to go in search of the base's gym. His legs were begging him for a good stretch and a nice long run, especially after the events of the past few days. He was in no mood to speak to anyone, but he soon realized he was not going to have any choice. He couldn't remember where the gym was located and stopped by the guard station around the corner from his room. The guard on duty told him where to go, never indicating if he had been the one in John's room last night. Based on what John could remember from his days scheduling duty rosters, he guessed it was the same guy.

Armed with his directions, John headed deeper into the mountain. He would have preferred to do this outside and thought wistfully about the little path he'd cut through the dense scrub in the woods beside his cabin. Trail running had become a passion of his for a while there, and Carrie had even gone with him a time or two. It was sad to think he might never see that place again. Or her.

The gym, when he finally found it, was pretty standard, if not larger than John remembered. With a base full of highly trained soldiers, he imagined it needed to be. Suspended above the gym was an elevated track John could see was accessed from a set of metal stairs bolted to a far wall. He made his way towards them, fishing an ancient iPod from his pocket and slipping the earbuds into his ears.

This early in the morning, the gym was surprisingly full. John passed a handful of people on various machines, but no one paid any attention to him. The elevated track was completely deserted, and John sent up a word of thanks. If there had been people up here, he didn't think anyone would bother him, but still, it was nice to be alone.

John worked through his warm-up routine first and then took off at a sprint down the track when a particularly upbeat ACDC song started thumping away in his ears. He set a pace he knew he wouldn't be able to maintain for long, and just tried to focus on the feel of the track beneath his feet and the blood pumping through his veins. The effort it took to keep up the sprint was exhilarating and he rode its high for as long as he possibly could. Eventually though, and after a warning twinge from his knee, John was forced to slow himself down and settle into a more manageable speed. One he knew he could keep all day if he tried.

Ignoring the wails of Whitesnake in his ear, he finally acknowledged the thoughts that were nudging their way into his subconscious and around the music. John let them come as he rounded a bend in the track and headed down the straightaway.

The SGC was giving him a second chance at life. To salvage the broken bits of his existence and do something productive with the remaining years of his life. But there was still one, huge glaring question that he hadn't really asked himself yet. Could he really, in all honesty, just forget what Woolsey and the previous IOA had done to him and come back? He liked to think he had the answer. But the truth was, John was just as conflicted as he had been the day Rodney sat at his table and asked him over catfish to come back. What those men had done... it was unforgivable. Yet that was what everyone was asking him to do. To forgive.

John rounded the next bend and noticed that a young woman had joined him up on the track. They gave each other a quick nod of hello when John passed. His solitude had been broken, but John found he didn't really care. Not with endorphins flooding his system and the feel of his muscles working hard for the first time in days. It reminded him suddenly of why he was actually here.

John found himself smiling as thoughts of Atlantis came back to him, as sharp and as clear as the day he'd first made them. The tall, grey city at the edge of the universe, her spires reaching for the sky. How it felt for her systems to call out to his ATA gene, his blood singing in his veins as sparks of energy rippled beneath his skin. That indescribable feeling when the connection finally came and John realized he was a part of something much bigger than himself. A small part, yes, but still significant.

It was these thoughts that had John suddenly realizing he had come to a decision. Even with the sabotage, he was going to go through that re-enlistment ceremony, get Atlantis back to Pegasus, and then seriously consider staying on as an expedition leader. He would wade through whatever bureaucracy, lies and bullshit they threw at him if it meant getting back to his city.

Anger pulsed in his veins at the thought and John sped up, despite the warning twinge in his bad knee. He was going to have to stop soon, but he was still just too riled up to quit now.

Landry and McKay might be promising him a reformed IOA, but John wasn't stupid. He knew how these things worked. He'd gotten a taste of it himself a time or two on Atlantis. The deceit and the power plays... that bullshit didn't just disappear overnight, no matter what Landry tried to tell him. John would be knee-deep in all of that again and wondered if he was up for the challenge.

People like General O'Neill and Colonel Carter, they had been born for roles like that. John tended to just kind of skate by by the skin of his teeth. If he did this, he would need to surround himself with people who could navigate the murky waters of International Cooperation and give him advice.

But didn't he have that in Beckett, Lorne and McKay?

Feeling something pop uncomfortably in his knee, John cursed and slowed down. He half walked, half limped over to the stairs and tried to stretch out the offended joint as best he could. He was dumb for pushing it so far, but John was not regretting his decision to run. The exercise had done exactly what it was supposed to. It had provided John clarity. He had made his decision. There would be no more waffling.

Finished with his cooldown, John made his way back downstairs and rinsed himself off in the showers quickly. He hadn't been gone a long time, but he was anxious to get back to his room and meet up with Rodney and Carson for breakfast. All of a sudden, he was feeling more excited about this and there was almost a bounce to his step as he exited the elevators on his level and started heading towards his room.

He was surprised to find Rodney hovering near his door.

"Where the hell have you been?" the scientist demanded angrily. But before John could even respond, Rodney was looking away and talking to someone on comms. "I found him, Carson. He's back in his room."

"Well good morning to you, too, Rodney."

"Where were you?" Rodney demanded again, practically tugging on John's arm to move him faster down the corridor.

"Relax, buddy," John said, twisting his arm out of Rodney's iron grip. His knee was still bothering him and being yanked off his feet by an irate McKay was not helping matters much. "I just went for a run."

"I thought maybe…" Rodney started, then apparently thought better of it. "We've been looking for you for 30 minutes."

"I gathered that. But I thought we said 8." John glanced down at his watch. It wasn't quite 7:30. "And why didn't you just go down to the guard station. They knew where I was."

"I was headed there next. Look, can we just go inside already?" Rodney asked, glancing over his shoulder nervously like he half expected someone to come walking around the corner at any moment.

"Why are you being so weird?" John asked, fishing for the badge he would need to wave in front of the sensors to be let in.

"No reason, I just thought you'd want to know that I talked to Landry this morning and he agreed to let you bunk down with us in the lower levels."

John was beyond relieved to hear that.

"In fact," Rodney went on, "why don't I take you down there right now and give you a tour! A lot has changed since you were here last."

Rodney was tugging at his arm again. "A little early in the morning for a sightseeing tour, isn't it McKay?"

"I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in over 18 years," the scientist deadpanned, still pulling. "How about you?"

"Alright, Rodney. Just give me a second, would ya?"

Rodney glanced down the corridor again. "Sure, fine. Take as long as you need."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, John waited for the electronic click that would let him know the door had been unlocked. He was just about to push it open when the sound of raised voices around the corner and down the hall caught his attention.

"What are you doing?" Rodney asked him, practically pushing him forward. John all but ignored him and stayed rooted in place. Something about one of those voices sounded so familiar... John dropped his hand from the doorknob and strained his ears.

He felt something stir in his chest. Something buried so down deep inside that he'd nearly forgotten it was there. His heart began to pound away in his chest, galloping off into the sunset like a stallion that had just bucked its rider.

It wasn't possible.

There was no fucking way.

John turned away from his door just as General Landry rounded the corner. He was with another man and the two were having a rather heated conversation as they marched down the corridor. The general did not look at all pleased. In fact, he was practically yelling at the elderly man struggling to keep up beside him.

Ice water began filling his veins as John's brain finally started putting two and two together. His hands formed themselves into fists so tight he could feel his fingernails break the skin.

"Sheppard," Rodney warned, tugging at his arm. "Come away. Please. Just leave it be."

But something indescribable had taken John over. All he saw was red. The corridor, the walls, they were all bathed in it as John Sheppard realized he was about to come face to face with a man he hadn't seen in nearly 18 years. A man he had stood with before the Atlantis gate and vowed to kill if he ever saw him again. The man who had haunted his dreams for nearly two decades and was responsible for all of it. Every single bit of the nightmare he lived in.

John's heart sputtered to a stop in his chest and it felt like time itself had realized the gravity of the situation and had somehow paused. The man beside Landry looked up, and John Sheppard found himself looking into the eyes of Richard Woolsey.

Rodney seemed to sense it the moment something shifted in John's chest again.

"Oh shit ."

Several things happened at once. John started to take off down the hall and Rodney grabbed one of his arms to try and stop him. Landry took a step forward to put himself between Woolsey and John just as the old man realized what was happening and took a few stumbling steps backward. Carson also chose that exact same moment to step out of the elevator and into the middle of all of it.

"Bloody hell!" the Scotsman exclaimed, rushing over to help Rodney. The scientist had his arms wrapped around John's shoulders now, though he barely registered them.

"You bastard!" John screamed, startling them all as the words tore from his throat and he started trying to throw Rodney and Carson off. "You fucking coward!"

He was so close. If he could only get his hands around that skinny little neck, squeeze until all the light left those tiny, beady eyes. John had been trying so hard to keep it all in for days and now someone had finally done it. Someone had finally gone and broken John Sheppard.

"You fucking murderer !"

"Get him the hell out of here!" Landry bellowed. John's guard from last night had finally arrived and drove a shoulder into his stomach, knocking all the air out of John's lungs. He was stunned enough for the three men to haul him back a few feet. John nearly let them drag him away entirely until...

"Colonel Sheppard, I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry."

"Mr. Woolsey!" Landry admonished the man, putting actual hands on Woolsey as he tried to side step the General and start walking down the corridor.

It was probably the stupidest thing he could have done.

John redoubled his efforts at trying to get free, tearing at the arms holding him back and spitting and cursing like a madman.

"Sheppard, please," Rodney begged him in his ear. "Just stop."

But John hardly heard it.

"You don't get to fucking say sorry to me, you asshole! You murdered them! I'm going to kill you! You hear me, you bastard? I'm going to kill you for what you did!"

John struggled viciously against the arms holding him back, but his strength was waning fast. If he hadn't just run four miles, then maybe he'd be able to throw them off. But the Marine around his waist was just too strong.

Landry turned on Woolsey, "If you don't get the hell off my base in the next ten minutes, Mr. Woolsey, I swear to god I will order these men to release Colonel Sheppard."

Woolsey turned paler, if that was even possible, and hightailed it in the other direction. John, still lost in his rage, tried to follow.

"Oh no you don't," Rodney muttered in his ear. The three men were finally able to manhandle John off his feet and he felt himself being dragged back towards the VIP room.

"He's getting away, Rodney!" John cried. "Let me go!"

"Not on your life!" Rodney yelled back as the three men pushed John roughly into a far wall. A camoed arm came up to press against his windpipe as John continued to struggle.

The move wasn't to incapacitate, just to get his attention. Break through the red haze that was still tingeing the edges of everything John looked at.

And it worked.

Clarity came back to John almost instantly, and he tapped the young soldier's arm in that universal sign of, I yield . The pressure left his throat in an instant. With nothing left holding John up, he began to slide down the wall as his knee finally gave up the fight and buckled beneath him.

Carson and Rodney were right there to catch him and ease him down onto the floor. Wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball and disappear, John did the next best thing, and drew his knees up to his chest (the bum one and all) and buried his face in his hands.

"I think we've got it from here, Corporal," Rodney was saying over the blood rushing in John's ears.

"You sure, Dr. McKay?"

"Positive. But make sure no one disturbs us for a while ok. I don't care if it's Landry himself. We're going to need a minute here."

John listened as the guard left the room, never lifting his head. He knew he was shaking, but he didn't care. There was no hiding it now. Carson and Rodney had seen. So had Landry. The cat was out of the bag. John Sheppard was a mess.

"I'm so sorry," he said, head still buried.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Carson replied. The doctor was still on the floor beside John. One ' oh, christ' later and so was Rodney.

"Did I hurt you?" John asked, finally showing his face. He knew he'd been headed for a nuclear meltdown. That day back in the blind with Eddie, Bradshaw and Rodney, his fight with Carrie and then finally his panic attack back on the helicopter. All of it had been pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He'd tried so hard to keep it all hidden, but the meltdown had been inevitable.

John could see the evidence of his explosion blossoming across one side of Rodney's face. He nearly reached out to touch the scientist's reddened cheek.

"We're a lot tougher than we look," Rodney replied quietly.

And they were. Stronger than John could ever hope to be.

"What are the chances of Landry letting me stick around after that little display, do you think?" he chuckled, wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve.

Rodney handed him a box of tissues. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"Come on, Rodney," John said, pulling one out. "There's no way he lets me stay after that."

"What happened outside in that corridor is no one's fault but Richard Woolsey's," Carson said, discretely capturing John's wrist between two fingers so he could check his pulse.

"What was he even doing here?"

"That's my fault," Rodney admitted, "Landry called us up a while ago to make sure you didn't run into Woolsey on his way out. But you weren't in your room when I got here. That little reunion was never supposed to happen."

Rodney procured a bottle of water from somewhere and handed it over to John.

"I thought you said he was nothing more than some glorified pencil pusher now," John reminded him.

"No, he is. I wasn't kidding about that," Rodney promised. "Landry told me this morning that he's been trying to get on base ever since he heard you were back. I think he wanted to try and apologize."

"At least that's what we think he was tryin' to do out there in the corridor,'' Carson cut in. "But we couldn't really tell over your bellowing."

John deserved the doctor's little dig and chuckled wetly.

"Not that I'm saying you were wrong to do so," Carson added.

John looked back and forth between the faces of his friends, trying to gauge whether or not either of them were regretting their decision to bring him back. Both of them knew that the man in the corridor earlier had not been the real John. He didn't fly off the handle like that on a regular basis. Or any basis for that matter. In fact, the Air Force had gone to great lengths to safeguard against it and John had seen his fair share of rigorous training and psychological evaluation just to make sure.

And yet it had only taken one moment for all of it to come crashing down around him. One reunion with an asshat in a hallway for John Sheppard to start second-guessing everything. How could he ever expect the IOA to give him a command now?

Because they still need you, that little voice inside his head reminded him, just as a spike of pain shot up out of his knee and up into his thigh. John had to stretch his leg out slowly and with a little help from Carson.

"I see that knee is still giving you trouble."

John nodded, swallowing down a groan as the pain continued. It felt like someone was driving railroad spikes up into his kneecap. Carson started fussing over him like some kind of mother hen.

"I'm fine, Carson," he said, half-joking and half resisting the urge to bat the doc's hands away. "I promise. It just happens sometimes."

"You're lucky you didn't lose the entire damn leg in that explosion," Carson said, sitting back on his haunches. "Maybe a little trip to the infirmary…"

"Oh hell no," John protested. There was no way in hell he was visiting the SGC infirmary on his first full day back. He'd barely been able to get through his first morning without some catastrophe. Why tempt fate? Besides, he had a re-enlistment ceremony to get to. Assuming Landry still let him go through it and wasn't up in his office right now trying to come up with some way to kick John out.

"Look, you two, just promise me one thing," John started, "Give me your word that Woolsey will have nothing to do with the expedition. Promise me that and I'll do whatever I can to work through my issues and take Atlantis back home."

Rodney smiled and lifted his right hand. "I solemnly swear Richard Woolsey will never again set a foot in the hallowed halls of Atlantis."

"Aye!" Carson added with a determined nod.

John smiled at his friends, knowing he was in good hands, as hard as that was to admit for someone like him.

"So now that we've gotten that out of the way," Rodney said, dropping his arm, "anyone have any brilliant ideas on how we're all supposed to get up off this floor?"