"Lieutenant Brooks!"

Ian scowled as he turned. He'd just escaped the infirmary – without McKay, who had been suggesting that the two of them go to the press conference together – and wanted nothing more than to go find Cassie (or maybe Jack and Sam, or Daniel or pretty much anyone else that he liked) and have a chance to relax for a while without having Fraiser looking over his shoulder to see that he was eating right. He definitely didn't want to be stopped by someone whose voice he didn't recognize.

Sure enough, the man hurrying toward him from the direction of the infirmary wasn't someone he recognized. The man was wearing an expensive suit, was probably in his early forties with a hundred dollar haircut and an expression that said quite plainly that he was a big fish in his pond and wasn't used to hurrying after anyone.

"Yeah?"

"I'm Ken Shawl, director of communications for the President."

Ian wasn't impressed.

"And?"

"And we need to get your personal information sheet from you so we can prepare it for the press conference."

As he spoke, he was reaching for the papers that Ian had been carrying, and Ian handed it over to him – resisting the urge to pull his hand away and make the guy work for it. It wasn't worth the effort.

The man frowned as he looked down at the papers, flipping through the pages.

"You didn't finish it…"

"I didn't start it," Ian corrected.

"Do you need more time? I'm sure we could-"

"I'm not going to fill it out," Ian interrupted.

"What?"

"I'm not going to fill out your papers," he repeated.

Shawl frowned.

"You have to."

"No I don't."

"But the American people need-"

"I don't think they really care what my favorite flavor of ice cream is," Ian said. "And I can't imagine why I'd even be interested in sharing that information."

"It's the way things are done," Shawl explained, as if speaking to a small child who had just asked why people need to eat or something equally ridiculous. "The press have that information so they can-"

"I'm not giving them that information."

"But why?"

"Because it's personal."

"That's the whole point!"

"I don't care."

Shawl crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the New Yorker.

"Lieutenant Brooks, you will fill out these papers and you'll do it as quickly and as thoroughly as time permits, or I'll make sure you wish you'd never been born."

Ian gave him an incredulous look.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Mister. Do it. Now."

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"So, do you think I should tell them my IQ?" McKay asked, looking down at the papers in his hand.

Fraiser sighed and suppressed a smile as the closest medic rolled her eyes behind the astrophysicist's back.

"Does it even ask that?" she asked, immediately sorry that she did. No sense in encouraging him, after all.

"Well, no…" he replied, looking through all the pages. "But I'm sure the world would want to know that they're in the hands of a brilliant, brilliant man, don't you think?"

Janet exchanged looks with her staff, and handed one of them the clipboard she'd been holding.

"Doctor McKay is cleared to be released," she told them. "Please do it."

"With pleasure."

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"So how long until they're set up?"

Hammond checked his watch.

"The press and your public affairs people are setting things up, now. It should be-"

The door opened, interrupting him, and a very angry looking man in an expensive suit walked in. And stopped cold when he saw that the President of the United States was leaning on Hammond's desk.

"Mr. President…" he said, stammering. "I didn't know you were… here…"

He looked back over his shoulder, obviously checking the door for the secret service agents that usually shadowed the President. Instead he saw a small group of serious looking Marines, who were all watching things with various looks of distrust in their expressions.

"Come in, Ken," Hayes said, gesturing to the man. "Have you met General George Hammond?"

"Um, no." Of course, since he'd just barged into Hammond's office, both of the men were looking at him, now. "I… um… wanted to talk to you, General Hammond. But it can wait until you're finished…"

Since Hayes had never seen the man so flustered, there was no way he was going to leave without knowing why.

"Go ahead, Ken," he said, gesturing amiably. "We were about done, anyways…"

Shawl shook his head.

"Really, sir… I just-"

"What's going on, Ken?" Hayes asked, abruptly, cutting off the argument.

Shawl scowled, and looked over at Hammond.

"I'm having trouble with one of your heroes, General…"

The way he said hero made it more of an insult than anything, and both Hammond and Hayes noticed.

"Which one?" Hammond asked, surprised.

"Lieutenant Brooks."

"Oh."

So much for being surprised.

"What kind of problem?" Hayes asked, curiously.

"He won't fill out his press sheet."

"His what?" Hammond asked, confused.

"It's some questions that we supply the media with before a press conference that involves anyone who isn't normally known to the public – or to them…" the President explained.

"Ah."

"He refused to fill it out," Shawl snapped, now letting his earlier anger overcome the presence of the President. "And was rather rude when I told him it wasn't an option. I want him reprimanded! And I-"

"Did he tell you why he didn't want to fill it out?" Hayes asked.

"He said he's not interested in sharing that kind of information."

"Lieutenant Brooks-"

"Told me to go fuck myself, General," Shawl snapped, furious. "I want him reprimanded and I-"

"Calm down, Ken," Hayes said, surprised and a little annoyed that the man would have the nerve to tell George what to do with his own men – and in his own office. "It's not that big of a deal, really. Is it?"

Realizing that he wasn't getting anywhere, but unable to let it go, Shawl frowned.

"But, sir… He told me to-"

"I think we can cut Lieutenant Brooks a little slack, Ken…" Hayes said. "He did help save the world, after all… Don't you think?"

Shawl sighed, but there was only one response, really.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'll see you at the press conference, then…"

"Yes, sir."

Shawl nodded to Hammond and left the room, and Hayes shook his head.

"Do you think he was exaggerating, George?"

"About Ian?"

"Yes."

"Not a bit, Mr. President…"

Hayes snorted.

He hadn't, either.

"I'll see you at the press conference, George."

"Yes, sir."

With that, Hayes strolled over to the door and left. He had things to do, too.