John's world had been reduced down to meetings, beatings, debriefings, and flights. For nearly two weeks he'd been working his ass off non-stop. So when Rodney, Carson and Lorne had suggested dinner in the mess followed by a few episodes of M*A*S*H with some of the other members of the expedition that evening, John had eagerly agreed. He was dangerously close to a burnout and hadn't been able to take a moment for himself in a good long while. A night out with the boys sounded like a very good idea.

John had nearly refused at first. Fitzpatrick was pushing him hard and that afternoon his knee had decided to give out on him again. He'd been sent back to his bunk with an order to ice it and give it a rest for a bit. Sitting around alone in his room just didn't seem like the best use of his time. All he had in his quarters to keep himself busy were the copious amounts of USSF brochures the leaders of his classes kept plying him with and an ancient tube TV bolted to the wall just inside the door. Like its brother, the landline phone, the set was old and only got in a few fuzzy and unreliable channels. Those channels alone were enough to swear John off TV for good this time.

Before the war, he'd been a big fan of movies but not so much the boob tube (as an old nanny of his used to call it). There just wasn't any point in getting involved with a series he'd never be around to watch through to the end. People kept telling him about these online places you could go to binge all the episodes you wanted for a particular show, but those sites required a credit card to access. John hadn't had a credit card for 18 years and he seriously doubted he could get one now even if he wanted to. Not that he wanted to. Then there was the fact that SGC hadn't exactly paid him anything yet. John had spent the last of his money on the cheap little flip phone that sat on the corner of his desk.

John had only used the thing a handful of times, mostly to try Eddie again and to shoot off a few texts to him. Even though he knew Blue River was being looked after, John still wished his friend would at least call him back. He checked his little phone daily, and every day his message count remained at 0.

Joining everyone tonight for some honest to god social interaction that didn't involve trying not to get beaten up in the middle of the boxing ring was probably a good idea. John figured it was high time he started trying to get to know some of the people who would be under him. Soldiers John could handle. He wasn't nearly as worried about that as he had been, thanks to his USSF training and the fact he would have Lorne at his side. The scientists and civilians though... well, they were a whole different breed. Rodney would be around to help, but John had no trouble remembering just how much trouble curious scientists could get into on off-world missions. John would be responsible for their safety now and that was a heavy burden, even though most of them knew and understood what they were getting themselves into.

Anyone who didn't? Well, John was already making plans in his head about what he would say to them all to make sure they were properly prepared.

But none of that mattered tonight. Tonight was about meeting some of the people he'd be working with and, if he played his cards right, maybe even develop a friendly report with a few of them.

Whenever John was reminded of his duties on Atlantis, his thoughts always strayed over to Elizabeth Weir and Samantha Carter; two women he both admired, and missed. When Elizabeth had fallen to the replicators, John had been devastated, even if he didn't show any outward signs of it. That woman had been his friend and before that day with the Wraith, he'd counted his failure with her as one of his most grievous of sins. Even now there was still a part of John that was angry at how things had ended. Elizabeth deserved a better conclusion to her story than just floating off into empty space for all eternity. And the same went for Samantha Carter.

That was another 'what if' moment of his. John knew if Carter had just been allowed to keep her command on Atlantis instead of being yanked from it to be replaced by Woolsey, then things would have turned out very, very differently. Carter would have told the IOA to fuck off, and she would have had every member of the Atlantis expedition backing her up.

Richard Woolsey had been a fool in that one respect. A weak-minded dupe to think that they all wouldn't have done everything in their power to move heaven and earth to try and find another way to save all mankind from the Wraith, rather than letting two billion people perish in an instant. Rodney had told John that Woolsey had convinced the congressional committee he had no knowledge of what the rogue IOA members were really up to. But John couldn't decide if he believed it or not. He figured he would never get the chance to find out though, because there was no way in hell he was ever getting anywhere near that man again. There had been enough bloodshed wrought by his cowardice and John would be damned if he'd let that bastard make a cold-blooded killer out of him now.

Woolsey the bastard notwithstanding, coming after such strong leaders on Atlantis was a daunting task. Both Elizabeth and Sam had been so at ease with their respective roles within the city. John would be the first to admit that he lacked any of that finesse within himself. With Elizabeth, it had been her natural grace with peacekeeping that had kept them out of countless scrapes. And Carter? Well, she had been the best of both worlds: militarily and scientifically competent. Plus, she knew how to handle Rodney McKay and that was a feat in and of itself.

And then there was John.

John knew how to handle himself on the battlefield. He could dismantle and redress any gun the USSF put in his hands faster than any other person on base, even after all these years. But give him a room full of bickering diplomats, and you could kiss your sweet ass goodbye. He had a head for the tactical, not the gentle hand needed for intergalactic peace.

So naturally, he was worried. And not just for himself but for the people of Earth as well. John was too... uncivilized to be a good representative. Too likely to commit some unforgivable cultural faux pas or stir up some international incident. Carter and Weir seemed to take to that aspect of the job like horses to water, but not so much John. Even so, the new IOA and the SGC had still offered him the position which meant that there was at least someone out there who believed he could handle all this. John couldn't decide if he wanted to thank this unknown benefactor, or throttle them.

John had been training all day so when dinner time rolled around he hit the showers to wash away some of the grime of the day. Once that was finished, he headed down to the larger mess located on Level 22. He was in desperate need of a decent meal as he'd been existing on power bars scarfed down between meetings for the better part of a week and if he landed himself in the infirmary again, Carson was going to have a cow. What John needed was a chance to refuel and recharge and the thought of doing both with men he held in high regard had him picking up his pace down the corridor.

As John neared the mess hall he could already tell it was full, the sound of clinking silverware against ceramic reaching him even in the hallway, along with the low muted rumble of many voices. He'd never been in the mess during the busy time. He usually took late lunches, if he got them in at all, and was almost overwhelmed by the sheer number of people he saw when he finally rounded the corner and ducked inside.

It was as if everyone and their brother had decided to have dinner at the same time and John wondered if there was anyone else left in the mountain who wasn't in the room with him. Every table was full and John spied the men he was looking for over in one far corner. Rodney raised a hand in greeting and John nodded in acknowledgment before tilting his head toward the food line to let them know he was going to grab some grub before heading over. Rodney gave him a thumbs up and John slid into the line. When he accidentally bumped into the person in front of him the woman ahead of him rounded on him angrily.

"Wanna watch where you're going pal?" she said, and John instantly recognized her. She must have realized who he was, too because her face reddened dramatically. She recovered a second later and offered John a salute. The mess probably didn't see many high-ranking officers. Most took their meals in other parts of the mountain.

"Ah, the angry girl with the crutches," John said with a chuckle. "At ease soldier."

The young lieutenant had been down in the training facility his first day back when John had met Carson there for his physical.

"And you're Brigadier General Sheppard," she said, smiling sheepishly. "I really am sorry."

"Don't worry about it," John said. "I'm just glad to see you off your crutches."

"Thank god. That Dr. Beckett, he sure knows his shit. I'm mean stuff... oh christ."

John couldn't help but laugh. This girl was a riot. "So are you on an SG team or are you going to be a member of the Atlantis expedition?"

The girl's eyes went wide for a moment. "Well, I was hoping to go to Atlantis, but now I'm not so sure. I guess it all depends if I offended the expedition leader or not. Still trying to figure that one out."

The line in front of them shifted and they both took a few steps forward.

"I hear he's a decent enough guy," John replied with a shrug. "My guess is he's forgotten all about it by now."

His new friend smiled and held out a hand. "I'm Macy."

"Nice to meet you," he said back and she must have picked up on his bemusement because she stiffened again.

"Apologies Brigadier General Sheppard. I'm Lieutenant Macy Hayden." He knew they were a lot laxer with etiquette at the SGC but the young lieutenant standing in front of him was botching it pretty spectacularly. It was kind of refreshing in a way.

"I know this might sound like a stupid question," the young lieutenant went on, grabbing a tray when they finally reached the start of the food line, "but don't you guys have an official officer's mess on base or something? Wouldn't you rather eat over there and instead of in here with us peons?"

The smells coming from the kitchen finally hit John full on and his stomach rumbled greedily. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent meal and grabbed a tray after Hayden in eager anticipation.

"If there is one, I've never found it. Besides, all my friends are peons," John said and Lieutenant Hayden smiled over her shoulder at him just as she plopped a gelatinous mound of some unidentifiable side dish into one of the squares of her tray. The mess hall food line was separated into various sections with all manner of dinner options and John skipped by that particular one trying not to pay too much attention to how very unappetizing everything looked up close. He went for the salad instead, figuring it was the safest.

"Is the food better or worse on Atlantis?" Hayden continued, crinkling her nose up at something that looked to be some kind of chicken pot pie gone horribly wrong. "Cause I don't think it gets much worse than this."

"Depends," John shrugged, going for a halfway decent-looking piece of grilled chicken to add to his salad. "Sometimes we hit the jackpot while exploring other worlds. Other times it's the same old Tuna Surprise they serve here at the SGC."

"Well let's hope it's the former for all our sakes," she replied with a grimace at the rest of her options.

John caught Rodney's eyes from across the room and picked up the pace. "Well, Lieutenant Hayden, I'm glad to see you're off your crutches and hopefully I'll see you on Atlantis."

"You got it, Sir. And thank you," she replied before heading over to a table of her friends. They all started whispering with their heads together as John walked off.

No one was waving him over or whispering when John finally reached his own table of aging friends. He clattered his tray down on the tabletop and took one of the empty seats with an almost smile.

"You just couldn't help yourself could you," Rodney said, shaking his head and John cocked an eyebrow in his direction.

"What are you talkin' about McKay?"

"That girl you were flirting with up in the dinner line," he responded smugly.

"For your information, Rodney," John said, pointing a fork at the astrophysicist and ignoring the fact that Lorne was hiding a laugh behind his napkin, "I was not flirting with her. I'm old enough to be her grandfather."

"Well, that's not what it looked like from over here!"

"Jealous much?" John fired back and was totally taken aback when Rodney's face went beet red. It was just supposed to be a bit of silly banter. So why was Lorne suddenly looking uncomfortable?

Thankfully Carson chose that exact same moment to arrive and plop a tray of something utterly bizarre down onto their table.

"What in the hell is that?" John asked. The thing sitting on Carson's tray looked to be some kind of cross between meatloaf and a sausage packed into some kind of casing that Carson was sawing into as soon as he sat down.

"You just had to ask," Rodney said, rolling his eyes.

"That, my friend," Carson smiled over at John proudly, "is a haggis."

"Oh here we go again," Lorne laughed as John looked back and forth between Rodney's disgusted face and his 2IC's amused one.

"Okay, what'd I miss?"

"Carson here just won't shut up about... what did you call it, Carson? 'The virulent lack of fine Scottish cuisine in the States'?" Rodney groused. "He's been complaining about it for weeks."

John let his eyes fall back on the hideous thing now broken open and laying on full display across Carson's tray.

"That thing's a haggis?"

"Don't you turn your nose up at something you haven't even tried!" Carson cried, shooting Rodney a scathing look. "Haggis is delicious. It just has a bad reputation amongst the uninitiated."

"That's because it looks like a dead rat," Rodney pointed out, rather ungracefully.

"Don't they cook that in the animal's own stomach?" Lorne asked, making it worse. John nearly shuddered, eyeing the thing on Carson's tray with trepidation as the doctor continued his surgery on it.

"I just don't understand how you can eat that crap. It looks disgusting!" Rodney sniffed melodramatically over the haggis then waved a hand in front of his nose. "Smells disgusting, too."

"I'm going to have to agree with Rodney on this one, for once, Carson," John said. "I don't know whether to tell you to eat it, or kill it."

"Make all the fun you want, but in Scotland, this is a delicacy. I have it flown in 'specially from Edinburgh. You just can't get a decent haggis around here these days."

"I wonder why that is," Rodney muttered under his breath as he took a swig of Coke.

Carson just loaded a fork from within the dissected monstrosity on his tray and lifted a full bite to his lips. "Mmmm, perfection."

John had to look away. Suddenly the salad on his own tray looked completely unappetizing; his chicken, rubbery and undercooked. He pushed the tray away with a sigh, having lost his appetite.

"Carson, your appalling taste in food aside, where have you been for the past few days?" Rodney asked to change the subject. "I went to ask you a question the other day and they told me you were off base."

Carson finished chewing but paused for a moment as if the bite hadn't gone down very easily. When he choked a little on it, Lorne reached over and patted him on the back helpfully. Carson took a sip of water before answering.

"It's all very exciting but you must keep it between us for a while yet, alright?" he said softly, eyeing the tables around them and leaning in closer. "I shouldn't even be talking about this here at all, but I've been itchin' to tell you all about it for days. I've been off base interviewing fellows for my ATA gene research!"

"So you're going ahead with it then?" Rodney asked a little excitedly, leaning forward as well.

"Aye. I've given it some thought... a lot of thought actually, and I've decided I'll give it another go. This new IOA seems trustworthy enough and I can take steps to make sure that what happened at Area 51 is never repeated again. I want to do the work myself..." Carson had to pause a moment to cough into his hand, that last bite of the foul-looking haggis apparently still giving him trouble, "...before they start lettin' some two-bit hack have a go at my research."

"I would have respected your decision either way, Carson," John put in after the doctor finished coughing and went for more water, "but I gotta say, I'm kind of glad you're starting it up again. This whole 'being the only one who can fly Atlantis' thing was getting pretty old."

"Well, I'm afraid you might be waiting for a good long while on that, laddie. Research like mine," Carson paused again to swallow hard and pull in a breath, "can take years to perfect, and then there's a chance it might not even work a'tall." Carson let the fork he was lifting to his mouth fall back to his plate and he pounded a fist against his chest and coughed again, wincing as he did it.

"Wrong pipe, Doc?" Lorne asked.

"Aye, laddie. It would appear so. But I'm fine now, thank you," Carson promised after draining the bottle. "So that's where I've been. There are some promising kids in the genetics program at Brown that might be suitable for the work and willing to come with me to Pegasus."

"Bet that's a fun conversation to have," Rodney said sarcastically. "Hi kids! Wanna come to another galaxy where crazy Space Vampires just might attack us all at any given moment and suck the lives right out of our chests? They're going to just line up for that research project."

"Space Vampires, Rodney?" John laughed. "Really?"

"Well that's what they are!" the scientist responded with a nonchalant shrug and John just shook his head.

"Any reason you've not touched your food there, Sheppard?" Carson cut in before John could start in on Rodney again.

He begrudgingly pulled his tray back in towards him. He knew he needed to at least get some protein into his body, as hard as that might be with a steaming pile of haggis staring at him from the next tray over. Carson watched him carefully until John started attacking his salad with all the gusto he could manage.

"Speakin' of research, Rodney," the doc went on, turning to McKay. "How goes the work you've been doing' with the Wormhole drive?"

"It's getting there," Rodney replied. "I've got a lot of theories, just no way of testing them. I keep trying to talk Landry into letting me use the city, but he seems to have this unfounded fear that I'm going to blow her up or something."

"Huh, I wonder what gave him that idea," Lorne said with a conspiratorial smirk, and Rodney's face reddened slightly.

"That was not my fault," the scientist practically growled and Lorne laughed outright.

"What happened?" Carson and John both asked at the same time. Lorne had yet to stop giggling.

Rodney cast his eyes around the packed Mess with a scowl. "Ask me some other time."

John speared a bite of chicken with his fork and reveled in the fact that he was with his friends again. After so many years alone, he'd forgotten how much he missed this. The friendship, the camaraderie. The easy way in which they'd all learned how to handle one another. The buttons they all knew how to push and the gentle words that would make it right again.

One thing he did not miss was the tasteless, dry meat on his tray the SGC was trying to pass off as chicken. If John was remembering correctly, there were a few restaurants in the town at the foot of the mountain. If they had some time in the coming weeks, John was going to suggest they all take a night off to go and get some real food. There likely wasn't much to choose from, but anything would be better than this.

"Well guys," Lorne said, stretching his arms and patting a full belly (at least someone had enjoyed their meal), "I promised to set up the AV equipment in the new conference room and get it ready for the M*A*S*H marathon tonight. Anyone want to join me?"

Rodney was the first to speak up. "I've actually got a few things to take care of first. How about I..."

"Oh come on, Rodney!" Lorne cut him off with a smile. "You just don't want to have to help set up."

"Hardly!" Rodney snapped back just as quickly. "All you need to do is turn the console on and queue up the DVDs. A third-grader could do it. You'll be fine on your own."

"Gee, thanks, Rodney." Lorne acted affronted, but it was hard to pull off while still smiling. Funny thing was, Rodney probably saw his remark as a compliment.

"Well, I'm in Lorne," John said with a nod and Carson piped in with his own agreement to join.

"Alright fine," Rodney caved. "But if you make me sit up in the AV booth all night changing out the discs, I'm never helping you again."

"I promise not to make you sit up in the AV booth all night changing out the discs, Rodney," Lorne promised with his hand in the air as if taking an oath. "And I appreciate you guys coming with me."

The three friends got up from their seats to clear away their trays. Carson, John noted, hadn't finished his haggis. When it disappeared down the hole of the trash can, he hoped they would never have to set eyes on the likes of it ever again.

"Hey John, can I talk to you for a minute," Rodney asked as the three made their way towards the conference room where the M*A*S*H marathon was to be held. John let his pace slow so that he fell back behind Carson and Lorne and Rodney could come up beside him.

"Sure buddy, what's up?"

"I was just wondering... did you happen to talk to Landry about TJ joining the expedition?"

John froze. He thought back on his conversation with Landry a few days ago and worried that he'd unintentionally overstepped. He'd also meant to talk to Rodney about it directly then proceeded to forget about it entirely.

"I did," John admitted cautiously. "I hope that was okay."

"It's great actually," Rodney assured him. "If you had said something to him, I wanted to make sure I thanked you for it. The paperwork was approved yesterday and TJ should be here by next week!"

"Rodney! That's fantastic! I'm really happy to hear it." John clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I appreciate you talking to Landry for me. I have a feeling it made all the difference."

"I wouldn't be so sure, Rodney."

"What do you mean by that?" Rodney's eyes went wide with panic.

"I just mean that Landry seems to be on the up and up," John explained quickly. "When I asked him about making sure TJ's transfer went through, he seemed to know exactly what I was talking about."

"He said something!?" The panic was back in Rodney's eyes.

"No, Rodney, he just gave me the impression that he knew exactly what I was up to."

"Yeah," Rodney chuckled a second later, "he tends to do that with most of the people on base. Still, no one besides you and Carson should know that I have a son."

"Could be the fact that the kid's name is TJ McKay, Rodney. That's kind of a dead giveaway so you can't fault the guy for putting two and two together."

"Oh, come on Sheppard!" Rodney said with mock affront. "Give me at least a little credit here! I mean, hello, astrophysicist." Rodney gestured towards himself. "We gave him Diane's maiden name. It cut down on the questions and in a pinch, we could just tell people it was his birth mother's family name."

"Well, that'll come in handy when he arrives on base," John agreed. "Oh hey! I didn't even think to ask, do you have a picture of him?"

Rodney's face lit up.

"Yeah, actually. I do!" The scientist fished his wallet out of the back pocket of his BDU pants. He pulled a creased and careworn photograph from the folds of his wallet and handed it over to John.

The photo was small and faded as though it had been through the wash a time or two, but the face smiling up at him was still as clear as ever. Torren John Emmagan was the spitting image of his mother and as John stared down at the photograph something pulled at the center of his chest. "That's one good-looking kid, Rodney," he said thickly and handed the photo back to his friend.

"I like to think so," Rodney replied as he carefully put the photo back into his wallet. "Though I can't really take any credit for any of that. Now his brain on the other hand..."

"Let me guess," John smiled. "Baby Einstein DVDs 24/7 and cognitive development exercises?"

Rodney pulled a face. "Diane wouldn't let me."

John threw his head back and laughed.

"I was tough on him when it came to school," Rodney explained, ignoring John. "That was always top priority."

"I can imagine," John said, wiping at his eyes.

John could just picture Rodney's idea of a fun summer afternoon spent at the playground collecting samples of sand and naming all the grains after elements, TJ having to help put them in order by atomic weight before he was allowed to go and play on the swings with all the other kids. "I'm really looking forward to meeting him."

"You're gonna love him, Sheppard," Rodney said in a rare moment of parental admiration. "He's so much like Teyla sometimes, it's not even funny."

"It's nice to think that a little piece of her still exists, ya know?" John waxed a little poetically as Rodney nodded solemnly beside him.

"When we were on that Hive, it never even occurred to me about TJ being back on Atlantis. It wasn't until after, when that botanist who used to watch him sometimes came up to ask me where she was..." Rodney paused and John stayed silent beside him. He'd never heard this part of the story before. "...But I couldn't tell her. I sent her over to find you."

"Ah," John said quietly.

After the Super Hive had been destroyed and word had reached Atlantis that other Wraith ships had received the coordinates to Earth and were attacking, it had been utter chaos. In the mad scramble to get Atlantis turned around, a lot of the more minor details of that day had kind of coalesced into this one heaping mess of jumbled moments in John's mind. Rodney's subtle reminder of one particularly horrible part of that day had pieces starting to break away from the main body of the mass: Mary, he was pretty sure her name had been Mary, standing there in the middle of the corridor, blocking John's way with a squirming Torren John cradled in her trembling arms. A determined refusal to move until he told her what exactly she was supposed to do with Teyla's baby now that she was dead. John had blocked it out entirely.

"I'm sorry about all of that," Rodney said quietly. "I keep doing that to you, don't I?"

"Doing what?" John asked, clearing his throat of the emotion that tried to clog it.

"I keep ambushing you in hallways. I don't mean to keep doing it, and it's not intentional, I swear."

"Don't worry about it, Rodney," John said, forcing a smile. "According to Fitzpatrick, I need to face all this crap anyways. It's all part of the "healing process"." John did the air quotes and everything.

"Well it's all a load of crap if you ask me," Rodney said, rolling his eyes.

"Still railing on the soft sciences, are we Rodney?" John asked. Fitzpatrick's methods were actually helping so he was interested in what Rodney had to say next.

"I don't mean for you, John. I just mean in general. Psychology is just a bunch of wanna-be scientists sitting around trying to get us all to share our feelings. Maybe it's working for you, but I don't put much stock into it."

Leave it to Rodney McKay to look down his nose at any branch of science that wasn't his own.

John might not like the process all that much, but even he had to admit it was helpful at times. Being a member of the Stargate program was no walk in the park. The members of the off-world teams had demanding and dangerous jobs. There never was any guarantee that they would make it back home alive after stepping through that event horizon. As was the case with any high-stakes, high-stress job, it was important to find some sort of outlet for all that pressure.

John had found his on the running track and in the cockpit of the puddle jumpers or an F302. For Ronon it had been found in the sparring sessions he conducted with the Marines on Atlantis and Teyla with her Bantos. They all had managed to find some way to defuse the time bombs they would bring back with them from especially difficult missions. The SGC had had the good sense to recognize the need for allowing their people to decompress in any way they saw fit. Be it drinks at the Officer's Club or an all-night M*A*S*H marathon in a brand new, state-of-the-art conference room. It was surprising really. The government rarely ever got it right, but the SGC had done a good thing here and John was already making plans of his own to create an officer's club on Atlantis.

When John entered the low light of the conference room a moment later, he had to stand in the doorway for a second and give his eyes a chance to adjust. He understood now why Landry had decided to take over a bit of the space from the old conference room for his office. This new one they had built was pretty damn impressive. Set up much the same way as the sunken lecture halls he remembered from his time at college, the auditorium-like space could probably hold the whole of Cheyenne mountain without breaking a sweat and was equipped with a floor-to-ceiling white wall that was perfect for screening movies. Everything was controlled from a smoky glassed room set back behind the main seating and John could hear Lorne fumbling around inside of it. Rodney pushed past him to go and join him, but John opted to stay out in the open space of the conference room and look around rather than get drawn into a technological argument.

The conference room had stadium-like seating that reminded John a little of the movie theater he used to take Carrie to about 45 minutes out of Blue River in Prairie Du Chien. Tall backed and comfortable-looking leather chairs lined the various levels of the room, curving around the space in gentle symmetrical arcs. Each level was equipped with a long counter for laptops and taking notes and John headed over to the topmost level where Carson had taken a seat and was drumming his fingers against the desktop in some absentminded rhythm. Rather than try to walk in front of him to take the next seat, John just settled himself on the topmost stair beside Beckett's chair.

"Everything okay?" he asked the doctor who hadn't acknowledged him yet. After a beat when Carson still didn't answer, John tried again.

"Carson?" he said a little more forcefully this time and the doctor finally turned his way.

"No need to yell, laddie. I'm sittin' right here."

"You alright?" John asked again, eyeing his friend skeptically. He couldn't really tell for sure in the low light of the conference room, but Carson looked kind of pale.

The physician massaged his temples. "M'fine lad. Just a headache and that haggis from before isn't sitting too well with me either."

"Carson, that haggis wouldn't have sat well with anyone," John pointed out, recalling the unappetizing looking thing Carson had tried to pass off as dinner. "I don't know how you can eat that shit."

Carson shifted in his chair with a wince. "Damn joints," he muttered.

"We're not as young as we used to be, are we?" John mused.

"That we are not, my lad. Funny thing is, I don't feel old. My mind tells me I can still do all of the things I used to. It's my body that cannot seem to keep up anymore." As if to reiterate his point, Carson flexed an elbow with a grimace.

"I watch those kids heading out on the SG teams and it's so weird to think that I won't be doing that on Atlantis anymore. I don't know if I'm ready to be behind a desk yet, Carson..." John glanced down at the hands he had clasped between his knees.

"Och, I wouldn't worry yourself about all that if I were you. The SGC is damn lucky to have you and you're going to do a bonny fine job, laddie. A bonny fine job, I just know it."

"Well thanks, Carson," John said genuinely, looking back over at his friend. "I appreciate that."

"Well it's the truth," Carson smiled before changing the subject. "So when are we supposed to get this bloody show on the road? I've been looking forward to Starsky and Hutch all week."

"M*A*S*H you mean," John corrected and Carson glanced over at him as if confused.

"What did I say?"

"You said Starsky and Hutch."

"Did I now? I think you're goin' deaf in your old age Rodney," Carson slurred almost drunkenly and John couldn't tell if he was being serious or making some kind of joke.

"You sure you're alright?" he asked again and Carson waved a hand through the air.

"Never better, laddie," he replied in a sing-song voice. "Never better."

John opened his mouth to prod Carson further but movement behind them in the control booth had him glancing over his shoulder.

"Sheppard, please come in here and talk some sense into your friend before he breaks something important." Rodney was standing outside the control booth with hands on his hips and looking irritated as hell.

John shook his head before pulling himself up from the step, not really sure what good he was going to be able to do up there. Carson got up to follow along behind John and the only indication they all got that something was very, very wrong was the soft "oh" the doc issued next. Right before he crumpled heavily to the floor.

John whipped around at the sound of the thump and watched in horror as Carson's body began a vicious somersaulting dive down the several flights of steep stairs leading down to the bottom of the conference room. He was off and headed down the stairs in pursuit in the blink of an eye, even before Rodney had time to gasp and give a strangled cry from behind him.

John took the stairs two at a time, his knee screaming at him the entire time. Each step jarring the joint as if someone were driving ice picks up into the cartilage again and again, but there was no time to worry about his knee now. Carson was nearly at the bottom and John couldn't tell if it was just his shocked brain playing tricks on him, or a figment of his own imagination, but he could swear he heard bones crack each and every time Carson's body connected heavily with a new step.

John knew there was no way he would reach Carson in time to stop the descent. He tried anyway and skidded to a halt beside his friend a fraction of a second after Carson's body came to rest at the bottom. John fell to his knees beside his now unconscious friend.

"Carson?" he called out.

Carson's arm was broken. John could tell that right away. Pale white bone protruded out from between torn flesh visible just below the man's left elbow. The tear was bleeding freely but Carson had landed in a heap on his side after finishing his freefall down the stairs and the arm was partially trapped beneath him. John's first instinct was to roll his friend over and onto his back, but muddled memories of half-absorbed medical training scratched at the back of his panicked thoughts, warning him not to do it. Carson could have some kind of spinal injury and if John moved him, he could risk paralyzing the man or injuring him even further.

John pressed trembling and unsure fingertips to the exposed side of Carson's neck and tried to find a pulse. His own heartbeat was pounding away in his ears, making it impossible for him to focus on anything else.

He could find nothing at first and John cursed loudly before pushing in harder against the older man's carotid. "Don't be dead. Don't be dead. Don't be dead." John sent his silent pleas out into the universe, hoping whatever deities might still be out there listening might heed the call and come help.

This wasn't supposed to be happening again. One violent death for the sake of the mission was enough for one man. This was supposed to be Carson's second chance. He was supposed to go with John to Atlantis and then die an old man, happy and warm in his bed. Not sprawled out on the tile floor in the middle of the SGC. And Carson had so much more work to do. So many people to save, John included, because he couldn't do this without the unwavering loyalty of the injured man before him. Carson wasn't allowed to die, and John held his breath as he willed his fingertips to find some sign of life.

When the nerves in his fingers finally registered a swift yet thready rhythm, John let his head fall forward in relief.

"What in the hell just happened!" Rodney yelled as he came to a halt beside John.

"He just collapsed," John explained in a rush. "We were talking about the marathon and he kept trying to tell me we were going to watch Starsky and Hutch and then he just fell!"

"Should we move him?" Rodney asked, eyeing the growing pool of blood beneath Carson's arm with a swallow.

John shook his head. "That fall was really nasty. I don't want to hurt him any further by moving him."

"Lorne radioed for help. The medics should be here any minute. He'll wait for them out in the hall," Rodney explained, his eyes wide and full of fear.

Movement from Carson had both men focusing back on their friend. For one brief moment, John actually believed he was starting to wake up, but that hope was soon dashed when he realized Carson had begun to seize.

"Fuck!" John said, knocking Rodney's hands away when the scientist moved in to try and hold him down.

"That won't help," he tried to explain as Rodney yanked his hands back as though he'd just been scalded. Honestly, the man could be so dense sometimes.

There were rules you had to follow when someone was having a seizure. Important rules that John ran through his head as he started trying to move tables and chairs out of the path of Carson's failing limbs. Don't try and hold a seizure victim down. Remove any obstacles the victim might hit.

Check and check.

"Keep an eye on his breathing for me, Rodney," John ordered as he removed his jacket and threw it at the scientist. The floor down here was made of thick ceramic tile and Carson's head was making a sickening cracking noise each and every time it came down onto the tiles. "See if you can't get this under him. Protect his head."

Rodney caught the jacket but was looking up at him with panic painted plainly across his face. Carson's convulsions seemed to intensify right before their eyes, sending their friend's body into painful-looking paroxysms. John had never felt so goddamn helpless in his life.

"John... Is he..."

"Don't even go there, Rodney," he snapped, trying not to get angry at the desperate tears he saw forming in the scientist's eyes. Rodney blinked them away and John cast his eyes up to the conference room entrance, relieved when Evan Lorne's form finally darkened the doorway.

"Medical team is seconds away," he called out to them, running down the stairs and coming to a stop next to Rodney.

"Sheppard, is he... is he breathing?" John was pretty sure Lorne had meant to ask if Carson was still alive and John nodded up at him, directing his eyes at Rodney and Lorne got the hint.

"Rodney, why don't you let me take over," the colonel suggested gently, and Rodney gave up his spot on the floor beside Carson's head without comment. Lorne pressed fingertips to Carson's throat and checked his pulse just as John had done what felt like hours before.

"It's too fast, isn't it," he asked when Lorne finally pulled his hand away with a frown. He glanced back up at the conference room entrance as if willing the medical team to suddenly appear there out of thin air. But more disturbingly, he didn't answer John's question.

"They're gonna be here soon," he said strangely, emotion coloring his voice in a way John had never heard before. Carson Beckett meant a lot of things to a lot of people and John didn't think he could take losing him all over again. He'd already lived through that nightmare once already.

"They'll be here soon," Lorne repeated, a little less convincingly. "And they'll have the antidote."

"Antidote?" John asked stupidly.

"He's been poisoned," Lorne said.

"Jesus," Rodney all but cried and John tore his eyes away from Lorne to look up at the scientist.

"This is what happened to the ATA gene carriers when they were poisoned," Rodney explained, looking down at Carson whose convulsions had slowed somewhat, though the docs extremities had begun to take on an unnerving cherry red color. "It's all the same symptoms but we're prepared for this. We keep the antidote on hand at all times now." Rosney seemed to be trying to convince himself as much as he was John. "If we caught it in time and depending on how much he ingested, it might still be okay."

But Rodney's eyes weren't backing up his promises. They were wide and lost and John had to look away and back down at Carson. The convulsions had mercifully ceased.

"What is this?"

"Cyanide," Lorne answered simply and John closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

Cyanide was the capsule the Russian spies always crushed between their teeth after being discovered in the spy movies he'd loved so much as a kid. Cyanide was the poison secret agents kept on hand lest they be taken alive and death was the better alternative to being tortured for information. It wasn't something that showed up on military bases and it certainly wasn't something that was used to murder his friends.

The seconds ticked by like hours but finally, movement on the stairs above them heralded the arrival of the medical team. John was pushed unceremoniously out of the way and went to stand over by Rodney.

The medical team worked quickly. John watched them from the table on which he was now leaning to try and take some pressure off his throbbing knee. It was so strange, being the one on the other side of all the madness for once. Usually, it was him lying there on the floor all beaten and broken. He wasn't used to being the one waiting helplessly on the sidelines to see if a friend lived or died. And he didn't like the feeling much at all.

But Lorne had said there was an antidote and John held tight to that one glimmer of hope out there in the darkness. This wasn't a death sentence. If fate gave them a break for once, there was a very real chance Carson made it out of this alive and if he did, John was going to say all the things he'd been meaning to say to the man. He was going to thank him for getting John on that Medevac helicopter. He would make sure Carson was aware of the countless lives he touched, not just by being a physician, but by being an unwavering friend. He would make sure Carson knew he was the best damn thing to ever come out of the Pegasus galaxy... the man just had to pull through so John could make good on those promises.

But when someone called for the portable defibrillator, that last glimmer of hope blinked out and John Sheppard was left, yet again, alone in the dark.