Several hours later, and finally alone, John Sheppard stood before the full-length mirror hanging from his closet door and studied his reflection. The uniform he had just put on was a disaster. The sleeves were about an inch and a half too short, just enough to be ridiculous. The fabric was just a little too tight across the shoulders so that he could barely lift his arms above his head. Whoever had guessed at his measurements had been nearly right and the effect had John Sheppard feeling a bit like some old warhorse. The kind they only brought out for military parades and special occasions. An uncomfortable relic from a past everyone wanted to honor, but also to forget.

John turned sideways to inspect his profile. He'd expected to put the uniform on and feel a bit like his old self. Maybe even shake off a bit of the jitteriness still hanging around him after that rather unfortunate reunion in the hall with Woolsey. It had taken him nearly an hour to talk Rodney and Carson into leaving him alone. And even though they'd assured him over and over again that everything was fine and people would understand, he was still half-expecting Landry to show up and tell him the SGC had changed its mind. Some MP to come pounding at his door to explain that no one thought this was a very good idea anymore and could he please vacate the premises. How could they let him take command of Atlantis now, after that horrid display in the corridor before?

John shuddered and tugged at the hem of the uniform's jacket. Like his sleeves, it was just half an inch or so too short to sit naturally on his hips. Eventually, John would get uniforms tailor-made to his frame, but for now, he was stuck with this old thing. He wasn't sure what his "re-enlistment ceremony" was supposed to entail, or who would be there, but he bet none of them were going to be stuffed into an old uniform, feeling more and more like an idiot as they paraded him around the Gateroom.

For one conflicted moment, John contemplated leaving again. It would be so easy to just strip out of this damn thing, pack his bags, and get the hell out of dodge. Leave it all behind and find another town like Blue River to hide in for the rest of his life.

But he'd made a promise to Rodney, and John was determined to keep that promise, no matter how ridiculous he felt in the moment.

Picking up his new service cap from the bed behind him, John brushed a thumb over the embroidered silver insignia pinned just above the brim. It was the symbol of an organization he felt no loyalty towards. He imagined that would come later, after he went through the program that was supposed to catch him up on 18 years worth of military changes in just under a few weeks. But that was something to worry about another day, and John settled the service cap onto his head. It fit perfectly and he found himself feeling just the slightest bit better. But only just. The ill-fitting uniform still left him feeling off-kilter and uncomfortable, as if it were trying to remind him that he no longer belonged here.

Ignoring the feeling and eying himself critically in the mirror one final time, John let out an exaggerated sigh. "Here goes nothing, I guess."

Leaving his quarters, John was not at all surprised to find Rodney waiting for him in the hall.

"Wow, Sheppard," the scientist said, pushing away from the wall. "You look…"

But John just stalked past him angrily. "Save it, Rodney." His voice sounded hoarse. Probably from screaming at Woolsey earlier.

"No, I'm serious!" Rodney said, following after.

"I'm serious too, McKay. Not another word."

Undeterred by John's bluster, Rodney caught up with him and blocked the way. "Just hold on for a second!"

"What?"

"Let me look at you!" the scientist snapped back, starting to circle John like some overzealous parent whose kid was about to leave for prom. John adjusted his jacket again, feeling more uncomfortable than ever.

Rodney completed his circuit and stood before John with a strange expression on his face.

"What?" John asked again.

"It's just," the scientist paused as if trying to find the right words. "You look like you again."

Rodney was staring at his face. It took John a few seconds to realize that it was because he'd shaved his beard off earlier that morning. He must look like a completely different person.

"You look really good," Rodney said, reaching out a hand to brush something off John's shoulder. He grabbed Rodney's wrist before the scientist could pull away.

Their eyes locked a millisecond as a million unspoken things passed between them in an instant. Whispers of something they'd once had. But even back then it had been so new. And 18 years was such a long time…

"Well I feel like an oversized penguin," John eventually said, letting go of Rodney's wrist and starting back off down the hall. It took Rodney a few seconds to follow.

"Everyone feels like an oversized penguin at these things, Sheppard," he said when he eventually fell into step beside John.

"Easy for you to say," John muttered, pulling at his jacket again in another useless attempt to get it to sit more naturally on his broad shoulders.

"You're not nervous about this thing, are you?" Rodney asked him.

"Whatever gave you that impression?"

"You don't have to be. I asked Lorne and he said there's nothing to it but a short ceremony in the Gateroom with Landry. Maybe a few handshakes after. Easy as pie."

"You hate pie."

"Only if there's citrus in it."

John chuckled at that, hoping that would be the end to this particular line of questioning. Apparently, it wasn't because Rodney was looking over at him expectantly.

"I'm fine," John practically growled. What did Rodney expect him to do? Just admit to his oldest friend that he was terrified? That he half expected there to be MPs waiting around the next corner ready to escort him off the base? He had just threatened to kill another man in the hallway this morning, and right in front of his new commanding officer, no less.

Or how about the fact John was now fairly certain he was making a monumental mistake. They all were, for ever thinking he could just come back to this life. Pull the broken pieces of himself back together enough to lead an entire expedition to another galaxy. He didn't deserve any of this.

Had everyone in the mountain gone mad? Was there some kind of collective amnesia epidemic going around that had wiped everyone's minds? How in the hell was he supposed to pull this off?

"You're doing it again," Rodney said.

"Doing what?"

"That thing where you think so loud I can hear from all the way over here."

"I guess that Woolsey thing earlier just still has me a little on edge," John admitted, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants before adjusting his jacket yet again.

Rodney let out a breath. "I can't believe you went after him like that."

"Not helping Rodney…"

"No, don't misunderstand me. I know why you did it. I've just been having an awful lot of fun remembering the look on that man's face when he realized it was you standing there."

John allowed himself half a smile. "I think it's fairly safe to say I scared the shit out of him."

"I don't think I've ever seen Landry that mad before," Rodney mused. " Get the hell off my base Mr. Woolsey, before I order these men to let Colonel Sheppard go . That was priceless!"

John barely remembered any of that exchange, but would take Rodney's word for it. A sudden thought came to him then, and John came to a dead stop in the middle of the hall. It took Rodney a few paces to realize John had stopped.

"What is it?" the scientist asked him. "What's wrong?"

"Do you trust him?" John asked. Rodney furrowed his brow in confusion so John elaborated. "Landry… Can I trust him, Rodney?"

His question was a big one, and Rodney seemed to recognize that instantly.

Eighteen years ago John had put his trust in men who had betrayed him on an unimaginable level. Now he was asking his oldest friend if it was finally safe to tear down those fortified walls he'd built up around himself. If it was safe to start letting people in again.

Rodney would be the first. John was extending him an olive branch. There would be no second-guessing from now on. No prerequisite years of quarantine for Rodney. He was in. He just had to answer the question.

Rodney had been there, too, all those years ago. He'd witnessed the destruction Woolsey and those other members of the IOA had wrought in giving John that unspeakable order. So now it was Rodney who had a decision to make. Was he coming with John on another adventure just to relegate himself to the sidelines? Or was he all in; ready to gear up and join John on the front lines one last time?

It was a big ask.

Rodney was quiet for a very long time. So long, in fact, John began to wonder if his friend would answer at all. Eventually, Rodney lifted his head and met John's eyes again. "You can trust Landry," he said. "He's a good man."

"Okay," John said simply and started walking down the hall again.

Rodney didn't say much more to him after that and the two made their way over to the Gateroom in relative silence.

John wasn't worried about Rodney anymore. His friend was now firmly back on Team John. It felt good knowing he had someone else in his court now. Someone he knew would be there for him no matter what, willing to go to bat for him, should he ever need it. And John had a funny feeling he was going to need it. Especially when they neared the Gateroom and he could hear the murmur of a thousand voices even through the heavy blast doors.

"Rodney?" he asked, knowing how panicked his hoarse voice sounded.

"Wait here a second," the scientist ordered. "I'm going to go check it out."

Rodney disappeared from his side and John felt a sudden urge to call him back.

This was a mistake. How could he have ever been so stupid? Of course this wasn't going to be some small ceremony in the Gateroom with Landry and a handful of other new-old recruits. The entire base probably knew he was here now, and every single one of those soldiers and scientists were on the other side of those doors waiting for him.

But he wasn't ready for this. He'd tried to tell himself over and over again that he was, but he was just kidding himself.

What he had done... it was unforgivable, and he was waltzing into a re-enlistment ceremony without giving credence to that one huge black mark on his soul. The one that desperate acts of redemption were never going to scrub clean.

He was an idiot to think that he could ever just pick back up right where he had left off and be free of the past.

John was starting to sweat, the collar of his shirt too tight and close around his neck.

Rodney came back a few seconds later. "Ok, small problem…"

John fumbled with the top button of his collar. "Define small."

"There are a lot of people in there."

"I gathered that, Rodney," John said, finally getting the button to pop free.

"But it's ok. Lorne is waiting for us right inside. He'll take you right up to the stage."

"I don't think I can do this, Rodney." He hadn't meant to say it. The words had just kind of spilled out of his mouth. But they were true. The truest words he had spoken in years. He was about to fall apart at the seams.

"Oh no you don't," Rodney said, rounding on John and grabbing him by the arms. "You've got this. Look at me!"

John paused in his hyperventilating to obey.

"Do you remember what I said to you in Landry's office the other day?"

John shook his head. He couldn't remember the last five minutes, let alone yesterday.

"I told you that there isn't a single person on this base who doesn't want you here. All those people? They're here to see you. Not because of what happened 18 years ago, but because you're Colonel John Sheppard. They respect you. Hell, half the kids in there right now joined up because of you. They don't blame you, not for any of it. So it's time to pull on your big boy pants and get your ass in there!"

John clenched his jaw, wanting nothing more than to believe the words that were coming out of his friend's mouth. He still wasn't sure what to make of this new version of Rodney. The one who knew just what to say and apparently had all the right answers. Part of John kind of missed the acerbic, bumbling scientist he'd known from before.

"Aright, Rodney."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Rodney turned on his heel as though he feared John might change his mind suddenly. A quick few raps on the Embarkation Room door with his knuckles sent it sliding open. It had always been a small room, but that hadn't stopped hundreds of people from cramming themselves inside. They were everywhere, packed in like sardines. Another door on the other side of the room was thrown open and people were even standing out in the hall. Even the control room above was completely packed with gapers.

A stunned silence fell over the crowd as John and Rodney stepped into the room. John forgot how to walk for a moment and had to stop. He nearly bolted right then and there, but then someone at the back of the crowd started to clap, and soon the entire room was vibrating with the concussive force of thunderous applause.

All the air left John's lungs as the crowd surged forward and smiles broke out across the faces of the men and women all clamoring to shake his hand. John tried to find Rodney, but the scientist had apparently gotten swallowed up by the crowd.

John knew they all meant well. There wasn't a single face that wasn't beaming up at him as the crush of bodies surged forward. Even so, John could still taste the familiar bitterness of panic at the back of his throat. He tried desperately to plaster a look of calm gratitude for the unexpected welcome on his face, but there was no denying that he was on the verge of another panic attack. Sweat beaded up on his forward and his stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch.

Just when John thought he had reached his breaking point, a familiar voice was in his ear. "Sorry I'm late."

Evan Lorne swooped in like his goddamn guardian angel, putting himself between John and the crowd, sweeping them back easily enough with arms outstretched. They went willingly, charmed by the jovial Colonel and his easy laugh.

"Let's get this party started, shall we?" Lorne hollered, putting an arm around John's shoulders as the crowd erupted into cheers again.

John let Lorne lead him up to a small stage that had been erected in front of the Stargate. He tried to turn around and thank his friend, but he'd already disappeared back into the crowd. Squaring his shoulders, John trudged up a short metal ramp to join the six or so other re-enlistees who were standing there waiting for the ceremony to start. A few of them shook his hand as he passed. The rest just shot him looks of mild annoyance at the spectacle he was causing. John couldn't really blame them. If he'd been in these men's shoes, he would have been pissed too. He never asked for any of this.

When General Landry arrived in the Gateroom a few minutes later, John watched as the man worked his way through the crowds with diplomatic ease. Landry certainly knew how to work a crowd. It was a quality John had never fully mastered himself, as was evidenced by the nervous breakdown he'd nearly had a moment ago. Elizabeth, Carter… hell, even Woolsey had all known a thing or two about the subtle art of ceremony. John had always been content to just sit back and let them do their own thing. Though he always made it a point to attend ceremonies like this. Every single medal or accommodation given out to his men, he was there to see it. No matter how busy he was or what next great catastrophe he was trying to fend off. John had always been there for his men.

But that wasn't entirely true, was it? John had missed several ceremonies right after the war. Important ones, like the funeral of his friends.

And just like that, without warning or preamble, John Sheppard was no longer standing in the Gateroom with his fellow re-enlistees. He was being hurtled back in time. The crowds melted away until he was standing by himself in front of an activated Stargate, waiting for the red and white wreaths to make their way up the platform because there wasn't anything left of his friends to bury or send back home.

The vision, or hallucination, or whatever you wanted to call it set John's stomach to churning. His hands had begun to shake so badly, he was amazed the man standing next to him didn't turn around and ask him if everything was okay. Mercifully, Landry chose that exact same moment to arrive up on the platform. All eyes were drawn away from John and up to the General as he began his speech. It was perfect timing and gave John a few seconds to try and rein in his errant heart. To try and control the outward signs of his current mental state. He emptied his face of all expression and tried to fight back against the panic that was doing its best to unhinge him from within.

John wanted to bolt again, make one last mad dash for freedom. Only there wasn't anywhere for him to go. He carried his demons with him now and there was no escaping them. They would follow behind him like little lost dogs. Like the ghosts of his friends he could now see with his naked eye standing behind Landry and looking to him for rescue. Only he never had been able to rescue them. He'd been trying for eighteen years and yet the outcome had always remained the same: they were dead and John was the one responsible.

It was all beginning to overwhelm him again as thoughts from before invaded his mind.

John was too old... too lost to come back now. And more importantly, he didn't deserve it. Didn't deserve this ceremony or the crowds of people who had come to welcome him back. The SGC needed the John Sheppard from before the War. The one they could send out into battles and who would come back the same man he left as when he left. John couldn't even shoot a deer in the woods anymore for christ sake, let alone another person. So how was he supposed to run an expedition in another galaxy? How was he supposed to protect them all? He wasn't the man for the job anymore. They needed to find someone else.

Desperate to find anything that might break through his panic, John pulled at the first thing to come into mind and pushed that to the forefront of his thoughts.

He thought about his little dock on that too fast river back in Blue River. About the cabin he'd built himself with his own two hands and the desperately floundering catfish glaring up at him from water-darkened dock boards.

He thought about the sound of the dead leaves as they skittered across the forest floor like rats, the pitch-black gaze of the buck he'd had dead to rights yet just couldn't make himself shoot. John put all that and more into the enormous task of keeping his shoulders steady as he pulled breath after breath down into his starving lungs. After several tense moments when he was all but ready to bend over and lose his meager breakfast all over the shoes of the guy standing next to him, it actually started to work. John even managed to get through his part of the ceremony with no one the wiser and Landry finished a few minutes later with the announcement of his promotion.

And just like that, it was over. Short and sweet, just as Rodney had promised.

Now he just had to figure out how to get out of the Gateroom as quickly as possible.

But John was out of luck in that regard. Even though it was taking everything he had just to hold himself together, he had to stay. Ceremony demanded it. Hand after hand reached out to him, demanding his attention even as he stood there shaking. Whatever unspoken rule there was about asking him about his past seemed to have gone out the window and people peppered with questions. He had enough of his wits about him to come up with some clever lies and stick to them, but it was getting harder and harder to concentrate. Sweat was trickling down his neck, soaking his collar. He knew his palms were sweating, but the handshakes just kept on coming. He no longer felt on the verge of a full-on panic attack, but his nerves were still fried. He felt jittery and on edge and was surprised he was even capable of having coherent conversations with people. But somehow he did it. He drew on some hidden, yet undiscovered well of energy and charm to keep going. Every once in a while he would catch Rodney's gaze from across the room. He knew his friend was worried about him. And he should be. John needed to be done .

Excusing himself from a group of computer techs who had fallen into a conversation about Wraith technology, John finally got his chance to slip away. He was fairly certain no one had seen him leave, but that hope was quickly dashed when Rodney exited the Gateroom right after him.

"Don't you dare ask me if I'm ok, Rodney," John said as the scientist approached him.

"I wasn't going to."

John snorted.

"Okay, so maybe I was going to," Rodney admitted. "So sue me."

"I just need a minute, ok?" John said, collapsing back against a wall. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, sure you are, Sheppard," Rodney said dryly. "Because it's perfectly normal to freak out the way you just did in there."

"I didn't freak out."

"The hell you didn't! I thought for sure I was going to have to jump up on that platform and catch you before you passed out! There's something going on with you, Sheppard, and I want to know what it is."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Rodney."

"Don't play that game with me, Sheppard. I know a panic attack when I see one. That's the second one you've had since you got here."

"It's nothing, Rodney. Okay? Nothing's wrong with me."

But John could tell his friend wasn't buying it. Not for a second. "Look, it was hot in there, okay? And I wasn't expecting all those people. It just... took me by surprise, is all." John glanced down at the floor. "This isn't easy for me."

"I get that," Rodney said, coming in closer. "I really do. But you can't keep telling people that you're fine. You don't have to talk to me or Carson about it if you don't want to. But please, for the love of god, do us all a favor, Sheppard, and find someone to talk to before all of this turns into something you can't handle anymore."

Rodney lowered his voice, "Or else next time, Carson and I might not be there to hold you back."

It was like an arrow straight through the chest, though John did his best not to let Rodney see that.

"Anyway," the astrophysicist continued, "Landry wanted me to come and remind you that you're expected down in the lower levels to start training this afternoon. There'll be a Corporal waiting to take you when you're ready."

"You're not coming?" John asked, hating how vulnerable it sounded.

"Contrary to popular belief, some of us do have jobs around here. I have some things to take care of in the lab."

"Then I guess I'll see you around, Rodney," John said dryly.

"I guess you will."

John watched Rodney walk away, resisting the urge to run after his friend and tell him everything.

John knew there was something wrong with him. The panic attacks were getting worse, and more frequent. And yet the thought of sitting down with someone like Rodney had suggested felt like the worst idea in the world. What good would it do to talk to someone unfamiliar with his history? Not to mention the fact John would rather be tortured than have to go to therapy. How could Rodney expect him to just sit down with a complete stranger and trudge through the nuclear waste dump that was his past?

For as long as he could remember John had been a private, guarded man, and 18 years on the lam had only helped to reinforce that aspect of his personality. Talking to someone about the fact that he might be cracking up was kind of out of the question. And besides, he didn't have time to crack up. He was a Brigadier General now, and it was high time he started acting like one.

Running a hand down the side of his face, John pushed away from the wall and headed back towards his room, alone.

After a shower and a quick lunch with Lorne, John was finally on his way down to the lower levels to begin his training. Apparently, Landry had put together a team of people whose sole purpose was to whip John back into shape. And after nearly 2 decades out of uniform, he certainly needed it. Dressed in BDU's so familiar it was like he'd stepped out of his shower and back into 2007, John had almost fully recovered from the re-enlistment ceremony, the tension in his shoulders melting away the further down into the mountain he traveled.

In addition to his training sessions, John learned from the Corporal escorting him that he would attend classes with the rest of the recently re-enlisted to get a crash course on the newly restructured US military. He was also no longer certified on any of the new weapons, so there would be daily lessons at the shooting range as well. Even if he was only returning to Atlantis in a leadership capacity, John still needed to be proficient with all the SGC's weaponry. And that was fine with him. His trigger finger was already itching, despite his worry over how he'd reacted the last time he'd tried to shoot a gun.

Even though it was like starting at the bottom all over again, John was really excited. He hadn't had to prove himself to anyone in a very long time. In fact, the mere idea of having to actually earn back his reputation as a marksman was exhilarating. His only apprehension was the ever-present panic attacks that seemed to trigger any time he was reminded of the past.

What would big old Eddie Nostrand think of him now? What would any of the people back in Blue River think? John suddenly wanted to share all of this with them. But how could he? This life and the one he'd led back in Blue River weren't exactly compatible. Back in Wisconsin, John had been his own man. He was pretty sure the team waiting for him in the bowels of the mountain was ready to beat that right out of him. They would be right to. It was like basic all over again, where they beat you down just to build you back up. Right before they formed you into the soldier you would need to be in order to survive the vastness of space and hostile alien races. John wondered what his team would think of the reinforced walls of sheer stubbornness he'd managed to build up around himself over the years. John would try, of course, but 18 years of brushing your teeth when and where you wanted was a lot different from the rigorous structure of the US Military. The SGC was slightly more lax than say an Air Force base or a SEAL Team training facility, but it was still going to be a shock resetting his internal clocks to military time.

John also kind of liked the fact that, even though the patches on his shoulders proclaimed him a Brigadier General, the people he was going to meet weren't going to care. To them, he was just a new recruit, and they would show him no mercy. At least, that's what he was hoping for. He didn't want any special treatment. He wanted a challenge, because no one had bothered to push him to the edge of physical endurance in a good long while. He was still worried that his trainers would take one look at his 55-year-old body and go easy on him. Everyone had been handling him with kid gloves since arriving at the base. He was ready for someone to throw down those gloves, get in his face, and spit out the orders he knew he would follow regardless of rank.

As it turned out, John pretty much had nothing to worry about on that front. Ten minutes later he was ushered into a training room and introduced by his escort to Sean Fitzpatrick, former Navy SEAL and quite possibly the largest man John had ever encountered.

Former Petty Officer First Class Sean Fitzpatrick was built like a tanker truck and looked John over with the casual disinterest of a mountain lion eyeing sickly prey. Broad in the shoulders with biceps as big as the punching bags that hung from the wall behind him, Fitz had to tip the scales at 270 pounds of pure muscle. For several seconds after meeting him, John was fairly certain he'd made the wrong decision in wishing for no mercy. The Irishman had a shock of red hair like something out of the movies and he had the slightest lilt to his voice that reminded John of Carson's Scottish brogue at times. The whole effect was rounded out by a piercing green-eyed stare that seemed to pick up on every subtle movement both on the outside of those Sean Fitzpatrick observed, and on the inside as well. Though John instantly took a liking to the former Navy SEAL, his guard still went up as they shook hands. Fitz was an intelligent but fierce Irish kid with a sharpness to him John would have to be careful not to cut himself on.

"It's nice to meet you Brigadier General, but you don't work with me today," the big man informed him with a deep, rumbling voice. "Dr. Beckett gets you next. He's waiting for you in there."

Fitz pointed a beefy finger in the direction of a closed door on the other side of the room. John thanked him before heading over. He could feel the young SEAL's eyes follow him but did not glance back.

John found Carson inside a little offshoot of the base's own medical wing, used mostly for sports-related injuries. The room was full of pastel beach scenes and outdated magazines. The only thing missing was one of those little wooden toys John had seen in every other doctor's office he'd ever visited. Carson was scribbling something down onto a clipboard as John approached.

"Hop on up, Col- Brigadier General Sheppard," Carson corrected himself, patting the top of the exam table he was standing by. "I'll be right with you."

Knowing better than to argue, John did as he was told. Carson left him and walked back over to the only other person in the room with them. A grumpy-looking Lieutenant, if he had to hazard a guess, leaning against a set of crutches.

"I want you to elevate that and get plenty of rest. If the swelling doesn't go down with the ice, come back and see me, alright?" The woman glared at Carson but nodded. She snatched the piece of paper the doc held out to her and then made her cumbersome way to the door.

"You'll get used to them," Carson called out after her, but the Lieutenant just ignored him.

"Nice kid," John joked once they were alone again.

"Aye, sprained her ankle rock climbing and she's none too happy about it. That woman could have given Teyla a run for her money, let me tell you."

"So, Fitz tells me you gotta run some tests?" John asked, entirely uninterested in discussing Teyla at the moment.

"Ah, so you've met Fitz then, have ya?" Carson asked as he pulled the curtains around John's exam room closed.

"Where did you guys find him? The WWFE?"

Carson laughed. "He's a big lad, I'll give you that."

"Big?" John stammered as Carson wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm and stuck the prongs of a stethoscope into his ears. "That dude's enormous!"

"He's a good enough lad," Carson said, inflating the cuff and listening to John's heart. "Comes highly recommended…" Carson trailed off for a moment. "Are you feeling ok, General?"

General , it was going to take John a while to get used to that.

"Yeah, why?"

"Your blood pressure is awfully high, my friend."

John fought very hard to keep the expression on his face neutral. "Guess I'm still just a little jittery from the ceremony this morning."

"Oh aye," Carson said, apparently appeased. "That was quite the spectacle."

"Dog and pony show is more like it," John muttered as he absently scratched at his arm once Carson removed the cuff.

The doctor took his pulse, which had mercifully gone back to normal. "They're just all excited to have you back."

John snorted as Carson wrote his vitals down onto his clipboard. He was looking forward to the day when his novelty finally wore off and people around here started treating him like just another soldier. Having the rank of Brigadier General might throw a bit of a wrench in that dream, but John could still hope.

"Any medical conditions I should know about?" Carson asked him as he continued his exam.

"Just my knee."

Carson nodded as he pressed the bell of his stethoscope to John's back, listening to his lungs. "I'll take a good look at it when we do your scan."

"Scan?" John asked nervously. That didn't sound fun. "What scan?"

"Didn't Rodney tell ya? He was able to reverse engineer the infirmary scanner on Atlantis. We have one here at the SGC now."

John swallowed. "Well, that was nice of him."

"Our Rodney can be quite compassionate when he wants to be," Carson mused. "Although you must never tell him I said so. We wouldn't want his head getting any bigger than it already is."

"My lips are sealed," John promised.

"Good, now let's go get you that scan."

John jumped down from the table and followed Carson into a separate room that held the scanner and a few other pieces of medical equipment. That was how John spent his first few hours as a Brigadier General with the USSF, being poked and prodded. Every inch of him scanned and cataloged. All just so Carson Beckett could wave a piece of paper under his nose hours later that declared him perfectly fit, if not a little on the thin side. John was assured that nothing former Navy SEAL Fitzpatrick threw at him in the coming days would, in fact, kill him, and he was sent back to his quarters with a food diary to track his caloric intake. Even his knee had passed muster, though Carson did give him a brace to wear while training.

John took his new brace and his paperwork and then made his way back to his room. He hadn't even done anything physical, and yet he was still exhausted beyond measure. It had been a very long, and very trying day and it wasn't even over yet.

John figured there were many more days like this in his future, but he found he no longer cared. He was healthy, with the heart of a 35-year-old if Carson's paperwork could be believed. He'd tackle the coming days like every other obstacle he'd encountered in his life. Only this time he would have his friends at his side. Every step of the way.

Whether or not John thought he deserved this was irrelevant now. He was going to stick it out. If not for his friends, then for all those people who had shown up in the Gateroom this morning. With any luck, he could begin the process of making up for all the lives he'd destroyed so many years ago by blindly following a simple order.

A successful expedition… that was all that mattered now.