Author's Note: Please note that there is mention of PTSD in this chapter. If this topic bothers you then please skip ahead. I speak from experience, unfortunately, so know that anything written here about PTSD is based partly on my own experiences with it.

The dreams felt more vivid than the short windows in which he found himself awake. He fought to remain awake but his body and mind were so exhausted that he kept slipping back into the dreams.

He dreamed of the barracks, fighting alongside his brothers, waking in the glass coffin after battle. He would dream of the strength and power flowing through his veins but knowing that it was a false sense in some strange way. He knew that he should not want to feel that way, that something was missing and terribly wrong.

He dreamed of the past, of his wife and children, and the rolling hills and blazing sun of Greece. He dreamed of playing with his sons while tending their flocks. He dreamed of the simple life that he had longed for and was so tragically torn away from him when Atlantis sent their orders.

He dreamed of flying his enemies into the sun, knowing that his life was going to change forever. And he dreamed of the final flight into the sun when his body burned with unimaginable fire before he submitted to the deep eternal darkness, hoping and praying he would see his family on the other side and finally find peace from the war and fighting.

And through the dreams there was the constant pain. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. Pain wracked his body and he could not escape it. Every nerve and muscle was on fire — almost as though he were burning in the sun itself.

When he opened his eyes the light would inflame them. When he closed his eyes against the pain of the light his eyelashes scraped like sandpaper on his skin. He would twist and struggle against the constant agony of his body and could never seem to escape. Cool hands would touch his face, his arms, his legs, and nothing relieved the pain.

But finally, one day, one of the needles that always seemed to be bruising his arm flowed with cool relief. His muscles relaxed, and he felt the burning exhaustion finally turn from nightmares into rest, and the pain turn from agony to a dull ache.

In brief moments of consciousness, he would see faces that he finally began to recognize with a sense of relief and no longer felt animosity towards them. He finally was able to place names with the faces and began to remember his life before he became Icarus.

But as the real memories and real time began to flood back, so also did the mental agony of knowing what he had done to his family on Atlantis. And in a way, that was worse than the incredible pain of the body that he had just suffered through.

Sheppard was sleeping when Keller called his team into the infirmary.

"I just wanted to let you know that he seems to be doing better and was completely lucid yesterday," she said quietly. "But … I think he needs his team. I'm sure he remembers everything and it's going to weigh pretty heavily on him — especially the siege on Atlantis, plus who knows what he did while he was off world. The mental recovery might take longer than the physical in this case, so be aware of that and tread gently with your words."

Ronon jabbed an elbow into McKay, who protested, "What? I'm not going to say anything!"

"I've already scheduled some sessions with Kate," Keller continued, pointedly ignoring the exchange. "His first one is tomorrow. I'm hoping she can help him work through this, but ultimately it's his team — his family — that are going to help the most. Just … be there for him."

"Do not worry, Dr. Keller," Teyla said. "We will do our best to help him. This has been a great ordeal and it is hard to imagine what he might be going through."

"I can also schedule some sessions with Kate for all of you," Keller suggested. "It might be good so you can navigate how best to speak with him and support him."

"I'm down for it," Ronon said.

Keller raised an eyebrow, surprised, but said nothing as she looked at the rest of the team.

Ronon elbowed McKay again, who sighed and then said, "Sure, anything to help him."

"We would appreciate it," Teyla smiled at Keller. "Please let us know if there is anything else we can do."

"I would say come back after your session with Kate and we'll see how he does when he sees all of you together," Keller said. "No promises, but hopefully he'll talk to you."

"We shall hope," Teyla nodded.

The difficult thing about going through traumatic events was that the brain tended to dwell on them — sometimes for days, but often for years.

Sheppard knew PTSD intimately. He had never been clinically diagnosed back in Afghanistan, but he knew all the signs. He had learned to disguise the flinching at loud noises or sudden movements with smooth gestures. When it looked like he couldn't sit still it was only because he was covering any nerves he felt with what he knew looked like normal activity.

Over time, however, the flinching and memories had faded. The memories never truly went away, but he was able to box them up and push them down when they rose in his mind. He was able to focus on the task at hand with dog headed determination — the focus that caused Nancy to leave him because he couldn't give her the same intense relationship that he felt his work gave him.

But what he could never admit to Nancy was that being with her triggered some of those memories from Afghanistan. Especially the ones where the Taliban had sent women into the villages strapped with bombs. Those women never would have blown themselves up if the Taliban hadn't been holding their children hostage. And Nancy was pushing him to have kids.

He knew that the Taliban couldn't get to them in the same way they got to those women, but something about his experiences held him back when she started talking about having kids. He threw himself into his work to keep the memories at bay, pushing her away at the same time, and she eventually left.

Now, PTSD was rearing its ugly head and he was struggling to know whether or not he should actually admit it out loud to Heitmeyer.

It started with the dreams. The ones that only the drugs seemed to dampen. Once he had sorted out the dreams from reality, the dreams turned into memories, and he couldn't shake the feeling of his knife at Ronon's throat, or his arm pressed against the jugular of the unconscious soldier, or giving the command to his alien brothers to take Atlantis.

But he especially couldn't shake the thoughts that had crossed his mind unbidden as he thought of ways to taunt Ronon into storming his cell. Thoughts of torture. The torture of soldiers and civilians under his command. Thoughts that he could not push away and he knew were not his — yet he had thought them.

And the thing about PTSD was that it wasn't going to go away permanently. He knew that. And as much as he knew that going over each and every thing that he had done was his mind's way of processing, he also knew that he couldn't stop his mind from playing everything to him again — over and over.

The guilt was eating away at him, taking his appetite and his will to get up and get going with his life again. The guilt was keeping him from opening the doors to his team again.

Keller pushed him gently to eat in those first days. He picked at his food and eventually turned himself on autopilot to get her to leave him alone. He turned forced smiles on the medical staff and put on a courageous face for his first session with Heitmeyer.

But then she asked how much he remembered, and he found he couldn't lie.

"I remember everything," he said softly.

When she said nothing, he kept talking, words stumbling at first, and his storylines not always working out. But he had the feeling that maybe, just maybe, if he didn't keep things bottled up this time, things could be different.

He didn't want to lose Atlantis and Earth like Icarus had.

He didn't want to lose his team like he lost Nancy.

He didn't want to lose his family.

Sheppard was awake when Teyla, Ronon, and McKay visited him. Despite Janus' healing device, a scar still lined his temple, and multiple others crisscrossed his body, a permanent reminder of his ordeal on the alien world. Dark, hazel eyes studied them when they entered, but he made no move to greet them.

"Hello, John," Teyla said gently. "We thought we would come to see how you were doing."

Sheppard closed his eyes for a brief moment, then offered them a small smile.

"It's good to be home," he finally said.

"We're glad you're back," Ronon said, placing a firm hand on Sheppard's shoulder.

"It's been … strange without you," McKay admitted.

"You saying you missed me, Rodney?"

"Well, I … we all … you know we …" McKay stammered.

"It's ok," Sheppard smiled. "I missed you, too. All of you."

"What do you remember?" Teyla carefully asked, settling on the side of the bed.

Sheppard took a deep breath, closing his eyes again. "Too much."

"This whole Icarus thing is crazy," McKay said. "I mean … he's probably your distant ancestor and that would make sense as to why Janus' hologram was so confused with you. Your genetic code was probably an almost perfect match—"

Teyla gently laid a hand on McKay's arm, shooting him a warning look. He stilled, realizing that it might be too early to talk about sensitive topics.

Sheppard sighed, noticing their exchange. "It's ok. I'm … still a little confused myself. The things Icarus did happened so long ago but it feels like it happened yesterday. He was … ruthless."

Everyone was silent for a long moment, then Ronon gruffly said, "It wasn't you. They forced you to do it."

Sheppard opened his eyes, biting his lip. "I'm not so sure. It … it wasn't like I was out of control. I knew everything that I was doing and I didn't fight it. I should have fought it. I killed people. Good people. My people. And I gave the orders to do so, even if they didn't die by my hand."

"Keller said that drug had you believing anything that Janus wanted you to believe," McKay broke in. "He could have made you think you were an elephant and you would have gone along with it. He turned you into Icarus. It wasn't you."

"It doesn't matter," Sheppard shook his head gravely. "I did it. It happened at my hands. By my orders. Icarus really believed that what he was doing was the right thing, and I believed it, too. He wanted to eliminate the Wraith and all his other enemies by any means necessary, even if it meant defying the Council on Atlantis."

His team was silent for long moments as they sat with him. Each felt that they understood in some small way how he felt. To betray your family was the ultimate heartbreak.

"We will get through this," Teyla finally said, squeezing his hand. "Together."

Sheppard closed his eyes. "I hope you're right, Teyla," he said quietly. "And I hope you can forgive me for what I've done."

Ronon squeezed his shoulder again. "Always," he said softly.

McKay nodded. "Always."

"Always," Teyla smiled.

And when Sheppard looked at them again, a small smile touching the corner of his lips, they felt a little of the old friend and commanding officer they knew might come back to them again.