John's dreams were dark at first. Fevered nightmares beaten out of him by some kid with a stick. But they were different dreams from the ones he was used to, as if the godawful time loop he'd been stuck in for the past several days had finally begun to falter. Sunlight was making its way back in through the cracks. If John could have, he would've stayed in the drowsy haze of his drugs for days while he tried to make sense of those new dreams, but his body had other plans. The pull of pain was too insistent, tugging him relentlessly out of the blackness and back towards that light.

The first time he opened his eyes, it was to find Carson Beckett standing guard beside his bed. John recalled snippets of the brief conversation they'd had before he slipped back under again, but that was it. The second time was to find Rodney dozing in the chair Carson had been occupying, his tablet balancing precariously on one knee. His hand was the only thing keeping it from crashing to the floor.

Rather than wake his friend, John took a few quiet minutes to just reorientate himself. He knew he was in the SGC infirmary and, judging by the pain he was experiencing, that was probably a good idea. Every inch of him seemed to ache - even with the drugs - the heat of his injuries jumping from one limb to another like the sparks of a fire searching for more fuel.

John realized he had no idea what time it was. Someone had removed his watch and the infirmary always seemed to be in a constant state of twilight. With no windows or clocks anywhere to be seen, it was impossible to keep track of the time. John's body suggested it had been many hours, but the contents of those hours were nothing but a grainy, jumbled mess of sensations and images swirling around his brain. He knew he'd had that conversation with Carson before being drawn back under, but his tired mind was having trouble making sense of the memories that danced around the edges of his remembrance. Like Fitzgerald had danced around that mat...

"You're scared shitless. And what makes it even worse is that you have no idea how to make it stop, do you?"

But John had made it stop. Or at least he had for the few blissful hours he'd been asleep.

John felt different somehow. As if Fitzpatrick's words had rearranged something inside of him. Put the pieces back in their proper order with a few carefully placed fists… John drew in a tentative breath and found that he could breathe again. Something he hadn't been able to do for nearly 18 years. Who would have thought getting his ass handed to him could prove so fruitful.

"You're awake," Rodney said, shifting so suddenly in his chair that his tablet clattered to the floor. He bent over to retrieve it and then spent a few seconds rubbing the sleep from his eyes before looking over at John. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a bus," he answered honestly.

Rodney sniggered, "Scuttlebut around the base is… you did."

"Scuttlebutt, huh? Does that mean you weren't there to see it for yourself?"

"Of course I wasn't there," Rodney said immediately. Judging by the face he was making, John believed him.

"Did Carson tell you what happened then?" If John was going to be known as the guy who freaked out in the training room on his first real day back, then he needed to prepare himself. Do some damage control.

But Rodney was shaking his head. "Your face pretty much says it all."

John lifted a hand to gently touch the edges of the bandage holding the cut on his temple closed. His ribs immediately reminded him that moving was probably not a good idea. He let his hand fall back to his side with a sigh. "So what's the damage?"

"Two broken ribs, a couple of stitches to your forehead, a rather impressive black eye… Oh, and they said you were pretty dehydrated when they brought you in, too."

John could only imagine, considering the voracity of his fight with Fitzpatrick. It had been a regular knock-down-drag-out. "You should see the other guy."

"Oh, I have," Rodney said with a satisfied smirk.

John just ignored him. "So how long was I out? You know… this time."

"Well," Rodney replied, considering, "I've been here since Carson left and that was about 4 hours ago. So half a day or so. Give or take."

"No thanks to you," John mumbled, shifting his weight and hissing a bit when the small movement jarred his ribs again. He'd forgotten how much he hated broken ribs. They hurt like a bitch and there really wasn't anything anyone could do to help him with them. Besides drugs, of course.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rodney was asking him, apparently hearing what he'd mumbled under his breath.

Maybe it was just the drugs talking, but John found himself explaining it to his friend. "I mean… I took your advice, McKay."

Rodney just blinked at him. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific."

"What you said to me in the hallway the other day," John said, stringing his friend along a little bit, just for the fun of it.

"I said a lot of things, Sheppard."

"Outside the Gateroom after the re-enlisting Ceremony," John went on. "You told me I needed to find someone to talk to about what happened. So I did." John recalled those last few minutes with Fitz on the mat. How it felt to finally speak the horrible truth about what happened that day. To admit what he'd done…

"I told him everything."

"Oh..." Rodney said though John was fairly certain the scientist probably knew all about it already. HIPPA had never been Carson's strong suit, not even back on Atlantis.

"I guess you were right," John said.

"I was?"

"Yes, Rodney… I've got a lot of shit I need to work through."

"Woah, woah, woah! Now just hold on a minute," Rodney stammered, sitting forward in his chair, and wagging a finger at John. "Did I just hear that right? Did the unflappable John Sheppard just admit that he needs help ?"

John rolled his eyes, which was a mistake considering one of them was still nearly swollen shut. "Don't be an ass, Rodney. I'm trying to be serious here."

"So am I!"

"All that shit that happened back then," John continued, "I think it's all been slowly driving me crazy these past few days and Fitzpatrick just kinda beat it all out of me."

"And put you in the infirmary," Rodney pointed out with a glower.

"Maybe so, but I still managed to get a few good punches in."

"Oh, I saw," Rodney said. "You gave that guy two black eyes."

John laughed. "Good. He deserved it."

John expected Rodney to join in on his satisfaction, but when he looked back over at his friend, Rodney was staring down at the hands he had clasped in his lap. He appeared to have something on his mind but was having trouble deciding on how to say it.

"What's up?" John asked him quietly.

Rodney hesitated for a moment before answering. "I know I keep asking you this, but are you sure you're going to be ok?"

A yes formed on John's tongue almost instantly, though he held it back just as quickly. A lot had happened over the course of a few short days. He'd been forced into a confrontation with Woolsey, nearly had a panic attack on three separate occasions, been confronted by the past over and over again, gotten the shit kicked out of him by a giant Irishman, and had landed himself in the infirmary. Not the best start to his tenure with the SGC. And then there was the sabotage investigation everyone expected him to help with. There were repercussions for the things that had happened, as well as the decisions John would make now. And not just for himself.

John found himself at another point of no return, Rodney right there with him for the second time in as many days. It felt like the moment fate had been pushing him towards for eighteen years. The one moment where he got to decide if he would let all the pain and grief and anger simmer inside of him for eternity, or if he would step up again and be what Carson and the rest of the SGC wanted him to be, a survivor.

"I think so," John answered back honestly and Rodney seemed satisfied.

John was allowed to leave the SGC infirmary a little later that morning under strict orders from Carson that he take it easy for the next few days. Upon his release, he found himself on his way back to his quarters for some much-needed R&R. The infirmary was no place to try and rest. It was too full of perpetual motion. Nurses took his vitals every few hours, despite his protestations that he was perfectly fine. New emergencies cropped up that sent the medical staff into a frenzy. Hell, by the time John had been released, he was probably more exhausted than he'd been when they first carried him in. He was looking forward to a few hours alone to get some shut-eye and regroup.

John found his bunk in much the same condition as he left it. He bolted the door behind him as soon as he was inside and went to retrieve the duffle he had stowed away beneath the bed. He threw it on the top of his comforter and went in search of the secret compartment near the bottom where his photos were still stored. Feeling nostalgic, he pulled them out one by one, inspecting them carefully to check for creases as much as to revisit the memories each one represented.

The first was a group shot filled with the smiling faces of his off-world team. They were all standing in a line in front of the gate, a much younger Rodney McKay (with all of his hair and none of the wrinkles) smiling stupidly from underneath one of Ronon's massive arms. John could remember the moment it had been taken perfectly. It had been just after Ronon's first official mission with the team and they had all arrived back safely after a successful trading expedition with some new allies.

John had one hip resting on the edge of a wooden crate in front of the deactivated Stargate. Teyla was beside him, her elbow resting on his shoulder. Ronon was next in line, his arm reaching out as if he were about to pull Teyla in under his arm. Rodney was captured under the other with an amused look on his face like he didn't quite understand what all the fuss was about but was willing to go along for the ride. It was a good memory and John set it on the corner of his nightstand where he knew it would catch his eye every morning.

The next photo was a more formal one of him and Elizabeth Weir shaking hands right after he'd been given his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel. A promotion, John knew, was entirely her doing. She'd made a special trip to the SGC that day when no one else had been able to get away, to attend the ceremony with him. It was a day John often wished he would have just slowed down a bit and taken the time to tell her how much it had meant to him that she had come. But he hadn't, and John set that particular memory and its regrets aside on the nightstand, Elizabeth's sparkling smile still beaming up at him as he turned away.

There were two other pictures left and John noticed with a flare of irritation that the next one he pulled from the bag had a slight crease at one corner. He bent it back into place carefully before letting himself really look at it. It was an old, faded photo of his mother and father on their wedding day. The only thing John had taken from the house after his father died. David had been so pissed at him when he'd asked for it, but considering it was the only thing John wanted, he figured his big brother could get over it.

John knew that David had survived the Wraith and was living somewhere in New York. Or at least that's where he had been the one and only time John allowed himself to check in on the people he'd left behind. He wondered if he would ever see David again, now that he was back. Probably not. His brother likely thought John was dead, and he was perfectly fine staying that way for his estranged older sibling.

The final photo he retrieved was one he'd taken himself and was still in an actual frame. It was a candid shot of McKay, Ronon, Teyla and Carson all gathered around a green, felt lined table playing poker with mini Oreos as currency. What made the photo so memorable was the fact that Rodney had talked them all into smoking cigars and wearing red and green casino visors. Rodney had a royal flush laid out on the table in front of him and the camera had caught the smug smirk plastered on his face as he began to reach for his winnings. Carson was sitting back in his chair, staring over at Rodney with a cigar caught between his teeth and a bemused expression on his face. Ronon was all action. His mouth was agape, blurry cards flying out of his hands as the camera froze the exact moment he started leaping across the table and directly at McKay. Teyla was the only one with her back to the camera and John could never quite recall what her reaction to McKay's big win had been. He let his finger run over her figure in the photo, trying to imagine what she might be doing right then. If he ever got a chance to see her again, in whatever afterlife might be waiting for him, he was going to have to remember to ask her.

John set this last photo reverently on his desk beside his green table lamp. The duffel he finally folded up and stuffed away for good back under the bed. Once that was done, John stood in the middle of the room, surveying his work. He was as put away as he'd ever be, he figured. And for the first time since arriving back at the SGC, John Sheppard finally felt like he was where he was supposed to be.

It was an odd feeling, and one he hadn't felt in a very long time. As if reliving all of that crap from the past with Fitzpatrick had cleaned out some of the space inside of him again. Pieces of that baggage were gone and John realized he didn't feel quite so heavy anymore.

Who should he thank for that, John wondered? Carson for calling him out on the fact that he blamed himself for things that were beyond his control? Or Rodney for unapologetically bringing him back to this place so he could finally face his past?

Sighing, John grabbed for the linens still folded in a pile on his desk and started in on the painful task of making his bed. His ribs were not very happy with him for it, and John did his best to ignore the throbbing pain as he bent over the mattress. He'd gotten the fitted sheet over three of the four corners when an odd sort of ringing started issuing from the wall behind him.

Confused as hell, John started searching for the source of the noise. He found it emanating from behind a small door in the wall he'd just assumed was an access panel for electrical. He swung it open to find an ancient, hardwired phone sitting in the hollow niche beyond. John lifted the dusty receiver, more than a little amused that the SGC still had such archaic equipment lying around.

"Uh, Sheppard here, " he answered.

"Sheppard, it's Rodney, I hope I'm not bothering you." John bit his tongue. So much for a few minutes to himself.

"I just got back to my bunk. What's up?"

The man on the other end of the line was silent for a moment, a quiet rustling of fabric the only sound that came through for a second or two. John sighed and massaged at his temples. He was already starting to get a headache and this phone call from Rodney wasn't helping matters much.

"Rodney!" he practically yelled.

"Just give me a second!" McKay snapped back and then put a hand over the mouthpiece. His next words came through muffled. "Honestly, it's like working with a bunch of howler monkeys! Just put it down and I'll be over there in a minute." Rodney's hand came away from the receiver. "I don't know where they get these idiots from," he said, loud and clear.

"Trouble in the lab today?" John asked, not even bothering to hide the amusement in his voice.

"Only if they keep sending me morons who don't know the difference between black holes and wormholes," Rodney muttered. "At this rate, we're never getting back to Pegasus."

"Is there something you needed, Rodney?" John interrupted, trying to get the scientist's attention again.

"What?"

"You called me! Remember?" Good god he was tired.

"Oh, right. I talked to Carson a few minutes ago," Rodney said shortly and then didn't go on.

"And?" But John's only answer was a loud clattering noise as Rodney dropped the phone.

"No! That doesn't even go there!" John pulled the receiver away from his ear as the scientist continued to yell. "My brother in law had a better handle on subspace particles than you, and he was an English teacher! Now put that down!

"Sheppard? Sheppard? Are you still there?"

"I'm still here, Rodney," John said, putting the phone back up to his ear.

"I'm sorry, but it's like World War three around here right now. Anyway, I called you to tell you that Carson wants you to take it easy for the next few days."

"I know that already, McKay! What's your point?" The scientist was beginning to annoy him.

"My point," Rodney fired back, "is that, since you're not supposed to train for a few days, I was wondering if you'd maybe like to take a trip with me over to Atlantis. Landry already gave us the go-ahead if you think that's something you'd be up for."

Rodney seemed almost nervous as he asked the question, but John was already nodding his head before the scientist was even done speaking.

"Hell yeah, I'm up for it!" he exclaimed as Rodney started berating his assistants again.

Atlantis had been on his mind in a big way ever since he'd woken up in the infirmary. A trip to the city felt like exactly what he needed; the next step to try and put all of this behind him so he could start to move on. Be the leader the expedition needed, as Carson had so brazenly demanded of him only a few short hours ago. John needed to walk down those familiar halls, stand beneath his Stargate, and reestablish the connections he'd assumed had been lost to him forever. For the first time in a long time, John was no longer completely terrified of the memories he knew were hidden there.

"Perfect!" Rodney said in his ear. "Carson and I will meet you up on the helipad tomorrow morning at 8. Sound good?"

"Sounds good." But John's words were lost in the chaos that once again broke out at the other end of the line.

"God damn it! I gotta go, Sheppard. The children are trying to blow up my lab again." And with that, the line went dead.

John just stared at the receiver until the dial tone began to squawk back at him. He started to place it back into its cradle when a sudden thought popped into his head. He punched "0" and waited to see if it would actually work. It took a few seconds, but eventually an irritated female voice came over the line.

"SGC Switchboard, how may I direct your call?"

"This is Col - Brigadier General John Sheppard," he said.

"And how may I assist you, Brigadier General?" she asked, sounding more than a little annoyed.

John explained to the woman what he wanted to do. He'd intended to only ask for the number, but before John could even tell the irritated operator this, she had already connected the call. John stood there stupidly clutching the phone, nearly hanging up several times, and praying to the Ancients that he got the answering machine. But luck, it would seem, was no longer on his side, if it ever was before. Someone picked up, and a moment later, a voice John never expected to hear again filled his ear.

"Grumpy Girl, this is Carrie. How may I help you?"

She sounded happy, even though John could hear the sounds of a very busy bar filtering in over the connection. Carrie had probably picked up a shift and was helping Eddie for the night.

"Hello?" she asked again.

John nearly lost his nerve and hung up. "Hey, Carrie. It's John," he heard himself say.

Carrie didn't say anything for a moment or two, but John could tell she had moved off to a quieter spot behind the bar.

"What do you want, John?" she asked, her voice going cold.

He cleared his throat. "I was hoping to talk to Eddie. Is he in?"

"Eddie's out of town," she replied shortly. "His father just died."

Crap. John closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against the door that had been concealing the phone. "I didn't know."

"How could you? It's not like you left us a number where we could contact you or anything."

John should have prepared himself for this. Calling Blue River was a huge mistake, and one he was kicking himself for now. Carrie and Eddie deserved a clean break from him.

He never should have done this.

"I'm sorry I wasted your time," John said, about to hang up. Carrie's voice on the other end of the line stopped him.

"John, wait... There's something I need to tell you."

He braced himself for what he knew was about to come, the harsh words she'd likely been reciting in her head for days. The ones she was ready to unleash on him the moment she got a chance to speak to him again. John would endure them of course, because he deserved them. Not just for leaving, but for ambushing her on the phone when she likely never expected to hear from him again.

But Carrie surprised the hell out of him a moment later with what she said instead.

"A man showed up here in town a few days ago asking questions about you."

Ok, not what he was expecting. "Did he say who he was?"

"I have no idea. Eddie was the one who talked to him."

John considered that. "Did this guy happen to mention what he wanted?"

"All Eddie told me was that he showed up at the bar, was using your real name, and asking a bunch of questions. If you want to know more, you'll have to talk to Eddie."

John sighed. "Do you have a number where I could reach him?"

"He left one, but I'm really busy here tonight John, and it's all the way back in the office."

"I understand," he said, knowing full well he had no business asking Carrie Sinclair for anything these days.

"Why don't you leave a number where he can reach you and I'll have him call you back?" Carrie suggested.

It was hard to tell, but John thought he caught just the faintest hint of softness in her tone, as if she were giving him one last opportunity to make things right between them. And for one shining moment, John wanted to. He wanted to tell her everything. Every single thing that had happened to him since arriving back at the SCG. What it was like seeing everyone again and how easily they'd all fallen back into their respective friendships. He wanted to tell her about Hank Landry Jr. and the uncle he resembled. Or how terrified he was at the thought of going back to Atlantis but secretly ecstatic about it all at the same time. John wanted to lay all of it out at her feet, and it was killing him that he never could.

"John, I'm seriously swamped. Are you going to give me the number or not?"

The hostility was back in her voice and John could tell whatever olive branch he imagined she'd extended had just been withdrawn.

"I can't Carrie," he admitted. "Security is pretty tight around here and they haven't given me a cellphone yet."

"Whatever that means," she grumbled back from the other end of the line.

"Just let Eddie know I called and that I'll try him again when he's back in town, ok?"

"Fine," Carrie said. "Anything else?"

"Yeah... It was really good talking to you, Carrie."

Carrie was quiet on the other end of the line again as John wound a finger up in the old telephone cord.

"Take care of yourself, John," she said with a sigh just before the line went dead.

John replaced the phone's receiver and closed the little door it had been hiding behind. Carrie's last words were rattling around in his head. It wasn't their hostility that was bothering him - John would deal with all that later. What he was really worrying about was the man that had shown up in Blue River asking questions. If Woolsey was up to something or the SGC had sent someone out there to try and get a better handle on what he'd been doing for the past 18 years, John was going to be pissed. The SGC had no business poking around in that old life of his. That was one part of his past that John was determined to keep to himself.

Of course, there was always the chance that some hereto unknown party wasn't happy with the fact John was back and had gone back to Blue River to dig up some dirt on him. There was someone running around the SGC apparently trying to sabotage the expedition, after all. Was the visitor to Blue River a part of that?

John was just going to have to find out.

John's third morning at the SGC dawned unseasonably warm. The sudden change in temperature was enough to cover the whole of Cheyenne Mountain in a fog so thick the helicopter pilot commandeered to fly them over to Atlantis was seriously considering scrubbing the mission.

John was the first one up there and spent the first few minutes trying to talk the guy into making the flight. By the time anyone else arrived, he'd been able to convince him he could.

The new arrival, John noted with a hint of annoyance and a lot of surprise, was none other than his new friend, the former Petty Officer Sean Fitzpatrick.

The large Irishman spotted John standing at the railing on one edge of the tarmac and made his way over. He looked beat to hell and was sporting two rather spectacular black eyes.

"Brigadier General," Fitzpatrick intoned with a slight nod of his head.

"I thought you didn't do ranks," John said in greeting, recalling their earlier conversation.

"Only in my gym," Fitzpatrick explained, leaning against John's rail.

Tall banks of fog rolled around them, covering the valley below in a curtain of shimmering white. John leaned back over the railing, trying to find the bottom, but the rocky face of the mountain just disappeared a few feet beneath their feet.

"Considering what happened between us the last time we met," John said, kicking at some rocks and sending them tumbling over the edge, "why don't we just skip the formalities from now on." John glanced over at Fitzpatrick's blackened eyes and bandaged, swollen nose. "You can just call me John. Or just Sheppard, if that suits you."

"Alright, Sheppard," Fitzpatrick said as though trying the name on for size. "I know I'm the last person you probably wanted to see this morning, but Landry suggested I tag along with you all today. I hope you don't mind."

John had the funny feeling the former SEAL would be coming along with them whether John had a problem with it or not. He was apparently stuck with Fitzpatrick, and probably would be until Landry was convinced John had worked through his shit and no longer needed a babysitter.

"You ever do any flying, Fitz?" John asked. If he was going to be stuck with the guy for the foreseeable future, then at least they could try to get to know each other a little. Fitzpatrick had already beaten an introduction out of John. Turnabout was only fair play.

"No," Fitzpatrick replied. "In fact, I'm not exactly the biggest fan. Especially in this." The former SEAL gestured towards the tall banks of white still surrounding them.

"Eh, we'll be okay," John replied dismissively. "It's too warm for ice and our pilot's flown this route before. Nothing to worry about." He never would have guessed that a Navy SEAL could be afraid of flying.

"So, what brought you to the SGC?" he asked to change the subject.

"My dad," the Irishman replied without hesitation.

"That's cool. Is he here? Would I know him?"

Fitzpatrick was shaking his head. "He was a scientist, and no. He passed away right before he was supposed to head to Pegasus once you all reestablished contact with Earth. It was a big dream of his so I figured I'd come and see what all the fuss was about."

John nodded, struck suddenly by how nice it was just to stand there and have a normal conversation with someone.

"So I noticed people keep calling you former Petty Officer," he pressed on. "What's all that about?"

Fitzpatrick just shrugged. "I'm technically still retired."

John raised an eyebrow at that as Fitzpatrick pushed away from the railing, his bruised face grave. "It's a really long story, though. Why don't you ask me about it some other time?"

"Well, whatever your reasons for not coming back officially," John said, reaching up to rub the side of his own face where a light bruise was still lingering. "You've certainly kept in shape."

Fitzpatrick actually laughed at that. It wasn't something John would have thought the former SEAL capable of, but he did it all the same.

"You managed to get a few licks in yourself," Fitz answered back, ghosting his knuckles over the bruises darkening both of his eyes. The twin black eyes made him look a bit like a raccoon with that ridiculously pale Irish complexion of his. Or a panda. John couldn't decide which.

"You kicked my ass, dude," he laughed. "Take the compliment."

Fitzpatrick chuckled again. "I know my methods aren't always the easiest, but they do tend to get the job done."

"I'll say."

"I'm just glad there doesn't appear to be any lasting damage," Fitz added.

John was more than capable of reading through the lines on that one. The former Navy SEAL was the reason John was hurting physically, but he would heal from those injuries. In fact, he was feeling better already. What the SEAL/pseudo psychologist standing before him seemed to be suggesting was that maybe there was still hope for John's head as well. He would take whatever progress he could get.

"If you two lads are quite ready," Carson Beckett interrupted them a moment later. He and Rodney had apparently arrived during John and Fitzpatrick's conversation. "Our pilot says it's time to go."

Heading over to the helicopter, John didn't miss the irritated glance McKay threw Fitzpatrick when he realized the former Petty Officer would be tagging along. Clearly the inclusion of a fourth in their travel party hadn't been Rodney's idea either.

John began pulling himself up into the back of the helicopter behind Fitzpatrick who'd just informed a very annoyed Rodney that he would be sitting up at the front by the pilot. He claimed this was due to the fact he was afraid of flying, but John had another theory. Fitzpatrick wanted to watch him. To see how he would react to being in a helicopter again. Well, that was fine with John. He could play those games if it meant he could get Fitzpatrick off his back sooner rather than later. What John was really worried about was the thin sheen of sweat that had sprung up on his forehead, or the way his heart rate was rising ever so slightly.

John had been praying that yesterday in the training room had put all of this behind him. That the panic attacks would go away now that he'd faced some of his past and stood his ground. But it was happening all over again and John hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes until Fitzpatrick was yelling at him.

"Sheppard!"

John, still crouched half-in/half-out of the back of the bird and shaking like a leaf, froze in place. He uncemented his eyelids and forced himself to look over at Fitzpatrick. Heat rose from his center as his cheeks colored in embarrassment. The former Navy SEAL was calling him out in front of everyone.

"Quit glaring at me like that and take a look around," Fitzpatrick ordered. "This is nothing like the Medevac helicopter that transported you to the hospital after the crash."

John's knuckles went white as he gripped the edge of the door. He was half ready to launch himself at Fitzpatrick again.

"I'm serious! Look!" the former SEAL ordered again, ignoring the daggers John was throwing at him. "It's just a helicopter."

John forced his shaking arms to start working again and pulled himself the rest of the way into the helicopter, cursing Fitzpatrick and all his ancestors while doing so, beyond embarrassed and pissed as hell.

But that anger was actually helping. John discovered this several seconds later when he took his seat and found that he no longer seemed to be teetering on the edge, but rather retreating back from it. He kept his eyes forward and mouth shut all the same, ignoring them all. The helicopter really was nothing like the one he'd been in a few days ago. It was almost Russian in design and there was a long, spacious bench in the back compartment with room enough for all of them. Minus Rodney of course, who was turned around in his seat up front and watching John carefully.

Carson was the last to climb in and John asked if they could switch seats once the door was secured behind them. He knew it looked childish, but he could have cared less in that moment. Fitzpatrick had called him out in front of everyone, and the sting of it was still smarting. So was John's realization that what Fitzpatrick had done had actually helped. There was no sign of the panic attack that had been threatening him only moments ago.

Carson obliged without comment, and soon John was settled in beside the door as the blades above them whirled to life and the helicopter lifted away from the mountain.

The fog they flew through was thick, but the helicopter was high-tech. John had every faith that it would bring them out of the foothills of the mountain range completely unscathed. Fog was easy enough to fly in if you knew what you were doing and John had the sudden urge to ask if he could fly the helicopter himself again. The fact that he wanted to was probably a good sign, though he knew it was going to be a very long time before anyone let him sit in a cockpit again.

"I'm never gonna get used to this," Carson spoke to them all over their headsets as they took off into the fog.

"How come we don't use a puddle jumper?" John asked, realizing too late that he was talking louder than he needed to.

"Are you kidding?" Rodney laughed. "This is the SGC we're talking about. They like to make us do things the hard way." John figured there was probably more to that story, but he didn't ask. He was having too much fun watching Fitzpatrick white knuckle the grab bar above his head. He looked a little green around the gills, like he just might be getting a taste of what John had been going through the other day. Karma could be a real bitch sometimes.

Feeling more at ease than he had in days, John went back to staring out his little window. All he saw for a good long while was the billowing fog. It raced past the glass in puffy white plumes and they wound their way out of the roots of the mountain. Gradually the fog burned away and John got to watch as the world below was slowly revealed again. This was the feeling he'd been hoping to find on his last helicopter ride: the sheer exhilaration of flying thousands of feet above the Earth in a craft you needed endless hours of training just to be able to get off the ground.

Flying helicopters was the first thing John had jumped into after joining the Air Force. It was also probably the one thing in all his Earthbound years of self-imposed exile that he missed the most.

Cheyenne Mountain was part of the Colorado Rockies and John watched as the rough terrain of the mountain ranges gave way to the softer, more rolling hills of Southern Utah and then finally California wine country as they made their way west. As if sensing it was on its way to the place where it had nearly been blown off, John's knee gave an errant throb of pain. He reached down to finger one edge of the brace he wore beneath his BDU's.

John wondered if the evidence of the explosion that had nearly ended his life would still be visible on Atlantis when they finally arrived. He could have asked Rodney, but decided against it. His plan for today was to try and just take things as they came and not dwell on what might be in store for him. He'd managed to get a good night's sleep thanks to the sleeping pills he'd let Carson convince him to take… but only after an impassioned speech by the doctor on how it was okay to accept help sometimes. He was refreshed and feeling more like himself than he had in years. He was ready to take this on and was glad he would be doing it with his friends at his side.

"How long since you two have been back?" he asked over the headsets.

"I'm with you, John," Carson answered first. "I haven't been back since right after the crash."

"I've been overseeing the project to get her back in the air so I'm over there fairly regularly these days," Rodney piped in.

"This'll be my first time ever," Fitzpatrick added, though they all ignored him.

"How's that going, Rodney?" John asked. "The preparations, I mean."

"Fine," he replied. "They repaired most of the damage from the crash. It's just a matter of starting to boot up some of the old systems again. We should run through a few of them when we get there if you're up to it."

John gave the scientist an enthusiastic thumbs up in agreement. The thought of sitting around and turning things off and on for Rodney in the old days would have sent John off-world on some made up mission. Now his hands were just itching to dive back into Atlantis' systems. It was going to feel so strange after all these years, but he would do it if it would help.

Hearing the Ancient technology mentioned again had John's thoughts meandering over to what Rodney and Landry had told him; the details about why he was being tapped for this.

Someone was trying to sabotage the expedition and John wanted to know why. Was it some fanatic who didn't like the idea of the SGC returning to Pegasus? No one had seen hide nor hair of the Wraith for nearly two decades so there was a good chance John had decimated them to the point of extinction during the war. Of course, there was always the possibility that they were still around. So was that the motivation for the sabotage? Killing ATA gene carriers was one way to stop the expedition in its tracks, but who had enough access to the project to know who those gene carriers were, or that they even existed at all? That had John suspecting an inside job. He just didn't have enough information yet.

Once he was finally settled in at the base, John was going to have to sit everybody down so he could be debriefed on what exactly had been happening. Find out the reason someone was in Blue River asking questions and throwing his real name around. After that was done, maybe John could help them come up with some plan to flush the perpetrator out.

When their helicopter eventually reached San Francisco, the pilot let them out near a small dock jutting out into the bay. At the end of that pier stood a very rickety, very old-looking boat with two heavily armed men waiting for them on the bow. John nearly made a joke about how semi-automatics were a bit much for fishing, but kept the comment to himself. The two soldiers guarding the boat did not seem like the joking type.

John boarded the boat behind Carson and headed straight for the bow. The pristine waters of the bay were sparkling in the sunshine as if they were enjoying the beautiful day as much as he was. John shielded his eyes and looked out across the water, trying to see if he could make out where the bay ended and the cloaked edges of the city began. But all he could see was blue. It stretched on for miles and one of the soldiers fired up the boat and pointed them towards the middle of it.

Thoughts of sabotage fled from his mind as John let the salty sea air whip around his head and shoulders. It was one of those cloudless, California days where the sun shone down almost hot on their heads and John was happy with his decision to leave his winter coat back in the helicopter.

San Francisco sat glimmering fuzzily a few miles away, distorted through a haze left behind by the morning fog. John couldn't help but marvel at the view. He'd only ever been here one other time, though that had been when he was half dead and too out of it to truly appreciate the beauty of the city. Which was too bad considering how picturesque it looked now as it sat admiring itself in the calm waters of the bay that surrounded it. The last time John had seen Atlantis it was strapped to a stretcher, and right before he was thrust into the back of a helicopter with as much haste as the EMTs dared. Just before they airlifted him away with Carson Beckett standing on the platform below and watching them go.

That was the last fleeting glimpse he'd gotten of his city's tall spires smoking against the picturesque backdrop of the Golden Gate Bridge. It had been foggy that day, too, his memories reminded him as they passed through his mind with all the grace of a bad dream. His palms were sweaty again and he balled them into fists and prayed no one behind him was watching.

But all of that was forgotten the moment John realized he was no longer looking at an empty bay. Rodney disappeared first and then John suddenly found himself looking up at Atlantis. A place he had not seen in nearly two decades.

The city reached out to him instantly, an insistent nudge like the cold nose of a puppy that had just gotten it's human back. John let the feeling wash over him and tried not to pass out.

There was only one message hidden in all that noise. And it was only for him.

"Welcome home John Sheppard."