Maggie's heart lurched as she saw Hannibal sway, his face turning ashen. "John!" she shouted, bolting from her seat.

Dr. Cooper vaulted over the low rail that separated the gallery from the courtroom floor. "Colonel, stay with us!"

Hannibal's cane slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor as his knees buckled. He crumpled awkwardly, his left boot scuffed against the polished wood floor. His body jerked violently as the first convulsion tore through him, his head snapping back against the hard floor.

"Move!" Maggie shouted at the stunned bailiff who hovered nearby. She dropped to her knees beside Hannibal, sliding one hand beneath his head to cushion it and the other across his chest to stabilize his upper body. "Time it!"

Cooper knelt beside her, pulling his medical bag open. "I need space," he barked to the onlookers, waving off the judge's clerk and a junior officer who approached them. "Back up and let us work!"

The courtroom erupted into chaos, voices overlapping as the judge pounded his gavel in vain. "Order! What is happening?" Colonel Hargrove yelled.

"He's seizing," Dr. Cooper snapped, retrieving a vial of medication and a syringe.

Maggie turned Hannibal onto his side to prevent choking. His muscles twitched uncontrollably, and his face was pale and covered with sweat. His jaw was clenched with white, bubbly froth at the corners of his mouth. "I've got his airway clear," she said firmly.

"Good," Cooper replied. He filled the syringe. "Hold him steady."

The judge stepped down from the bench. "Does he need a medic?"

"You're looking at them," Maggie replied, not taking her eyes off Hannibal. "But we'll need transport to a hospital as soon as we stabilize him."

"Bailiff, call the base hospital. Get a medic team here now!" Hargrove ordered as he gestured to the courtroom door.

Cooper leaned over Hannibal, quickly unbuttoning his coat and loosening his tie to help his breathing. "Maggie, inject the lorazepam," he instructed, handing her the preloaded syringe.

Maggie pushed the needle into Hannibal's forearm and depressed the plunger. "It's in," she said. "Come on, John. Fight!"

The convulsions eased. The jerking motions slowed until Hannibal lay still, his chest rising and falling in shallow, even breaths. Maggie placed two trembling fingers on the carotid artery in his neck to check his pulse. "It's fast, but still there."

Cooper nodded, pulling a penlight from his bag and opening Hannibal's eyelids to check his pupils. "Sluggish, but that's expected. He's stable, but we need to monitor him closely."

Maggie brushed damp strands of silver hair from Hannibal's forehead, her heart aching at the sight of his slack, pale face. "John, we're here," she whispered.

The bailiff returned, followed by two medics carrying a stretcher. They moved swiftly. "We'll take it from here," one medic said, crouching beside Cooper to assess Hannibal's vitals.

"No," Maggie said firmly. "I'm going with him."

The medic hesitated but nodded after Cooper gave his nod of approval.

As the medics lifted Hannibal onto the stretcher, Hargrove stepped closer. "This hearing is adjourned until further notice. Colonel Smith's health takes precedence."

Hannibal's limp form was secured to the stretcher, his class A uniform now rumpled and damp with sweat. Maggie walked alongside as the medics carried him out, her hand never leaving his arm.

Decker sat stiffly in his seat, his expression unreadable, his fingers drumming a tense rhythm on the table.

As they exited the courtroom and entered the bright hallway, Cooper looked at Maggie. "We'll do another CT scan when we get to the hospital. We need to rule out any additional damage."

Maggie nodded. "We'll get him through this," she said, more to herself than anyone else.

In the ambulance, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor proved life as Maggie sat beside Hannibal, holding his hand. She watched his chest rise and fall, the faintest flutter of his eyelids giving her hope.

"You're not done fighting, John," she whispered, her grip tightening. "Not by a long shot."

###

His awareness came back in waves. First, he felt the uncomfortable mattress under him, the antiseptic smell, and the cold as if he were in a freezer. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt like lead weights. He tried to move, but his body was unresponsive. Then he heard the steady, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor and cracked his eyes open, blinking, trying to focus on the blurry images around him.

"Welcome back," Maggie's said, sitting beside his bed. Her hand rested on his arm, her touch grounding him in reality.

He tried to speak, but his throat felt dry and raw. After swallowing a few times, he managed a weak, "How bad?"

"Bad enough to scare the hell out of everyone in that courtroom," Maggie replied. She reached for a cup of water on the bedside table, holding the straw to his lips.

He sipped slowly, the cool water soothing his throat. "Well," he whispered, "I hope I gave them a show."

Maggie shook her head. "You're impossible, John."

The door opened, and Dr. Cooper entered. A clipboard rested in his hand, and his white coat was wrinkled from the long day. "John, you have a knack for making dramatic exits," he said, pulling up a chair on the other side of the bed. "Do you always aim for center stage?"

Hannibal smiled. "At least I was prepared this time."

"Prepared?" Cooper asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hannibal pointed at his groin. "Wore a diaper. Figured it was better than ruining my uniform."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "You're unbelievable."

Cooper chuckled lightly. "While you were unconscious, we performed a CT scan to check for any additional brain damage. The results show no new injuries, which is good news. However, the scar tissue remains, and you're still at high risk for further seizures, especially under stress."

Hannibal nodded, absorbing the information. "Well, Doc, it looks like stress isn't going anywhere with Decker in the picture."

"Let us worry about Decker," Maggie interjected. Her gaze locked onto his. "You need to focus on healing, John."

The door opened again, and Major Bannon came in. "Colonel, the hearing officer has decided to reconvene without your presence. They'll deliberate based on today's testimony and the medical evidence. We should have a decision tomorrow."

Hannibal exhaled deeply, relief washing over him. "Good," he said. "Maybe now I can finally get some damn rest."

Bannon nodded. "The medical testimony from Dr. Zale and Dr. Cooper was compelling. I believe we have a strong case for dismissal on humanitarian grounds."

"Let's hope the panel sees it that way," Hannibal muttered, his eyelids growing heavier by the moment.

As Bannon exited, Cooper rose to adjust the monitors. "You need rest, Colonel. And no theatrics for the next 24 hours. Let's not push our luck."

Maggie stood, pulling the blanket up over Hannibal's chest. She leaned down, kissing his temple. "You scared me today."

He opened his eyes briefly, meeting hers. "Sorry about that, Maggie. Guess I'm full of surprises."

"You said that when Douglas Kyle poisoned you. You're going to owe me a lot more than an apology once this is all over," she teased.

"Add it to my tab," he whispered, his eyes sliding shut.

As sleep pulled him under, the steady beeping of the heart monitor became a comforting rhythmic song. Maggie remained by his side, her hand never leaving his arm. For now, Hannibal could rest, knowing he hadn't lost the fight.

###

The faint murmur of voices in the hallway caught Hannibal's attention, pulling him from a light doze. He turned his head toward the door. Maggie was seated beside him, flipping through a medical journal.

The knock on the door was soft but firm.

Maggie looked up, closed the journal, and stood. "Come in.".

The door opened to reveal Major Bannon and Colonel Edward Hargrove. Hargrove carried a leather folder under one arm. His uniform was crisp and meticulously maintained.

"Colonel Smith," Hargrove said as he stepped inside. "I wanted to check on your condition and deliver the panel's decision in person."

Hannibal pushed himself up, grimacing as his body protested the movement.

Maggie quickly adjusted the bed to a more upright position, her hand lingering on his shoulder.

"Let's hear it," Hannibal said.

Hargrove nodded and pulled a chair closer to the bed. Bannon remained standing behind him.

"First, Colonel Smith, let me apologize," Hargrove said. "It was never the panel's intention to put you through such undue stress. Given the events of the hearing, we clearly underestimated the severity of your condition."

Hannibal studied Hargrove for a moment, then offered a faint smile. "Apology accepted, Colonel."

Hargrove cleared his throat, glancing briefly at Bannon before continuing. "The panel has decided to dismiss all charges against you on humanitarian grounds. The medical testimony from Dr. Cooper and Dr. Zale, combined with the events in the courtroom, left no room for doubt. You are to be fully exonerated."

A wave of relief washed over Hannibal. "And the others?"

"Lieutenant Peck and Sergeant Baracus will receive honorable discharges with full benefits," Hargrove said. "However, given the nature of their records, re-enlistment will not be an option."

Hannibal leaned back against the pillows, exhaling deeply. "They'll be glad to hear it."

Bannon stepped forward. "Colonel, if there's anything else you'd like to address, now would be the time."

"First, I have a question," Hannibal said.

"Go ahead," Hargrove said.

"Can I get legal help to file a federal restraining order against Colonel Decker? While you may have cleared me, he isn't the type to forgive and forget. He's the main source of my stress. Three of the five seizures have been in his presence. I don't even remember how I saved his life, but you'd think he'd be a little bit grateful."

Hargrove looked over his shoulder at Major Bannon. "Take care of that."

"Yes, sir," Bannon replied.

"What else, Colonel Smith?" Hargrove asked

"In answer to Major Bannon's question, Actually, there is something I want to address. I'm not ready to walk away from the Army yet."

Hargrove's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Given your condition, Colonel, I assumed retirement would be your goal."

"Limited duty," Hannibal clarified. "I want to teach. Leadership, tactics, and military science. West Point would be ideal. There's a hospital on post, and I'd be surrounded by some of the brightest minds the Army has to offer. It's a good fit."

Hargrove leaned back in his chair, considering the request. "Colonel, with your medical history, passing a fitness review for active duty, even limited duty, would be a challenge."

"I'm willing to put in the work," Hannibal said firmly. "And I'm not asking for special treatment. If I don't pass, I don't pass. But I want the chance."

Bannon glanced at Hargrove, then spoke. "With the panel's decision and your distinguished record, Colonel, I don't see why this request couldn't be forwarded up the chain of command. It's unconventional, but so are you."

Hargrove chuckled softly. "That's an understatement." He rose from his chair, extending a hand to Hannibal. "I'll ensure your request reaches the right people. For now, focus on your recovery. You've earned it."

Hannibal shook his hand firmly. "Thank you, sir."

As Hargrove and Bannon left, Maggie returned to her seat. "Teaching at West Point, huh?"

Hannibal shrugged. "Figured it's time to pass on some of my charm and wisdom to the next generation."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "Don't forget who's keeping you in one piece."

He reached for her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "Never, Maggie. Never. And you can get a job at Keller Medical Center. I am sure those young doctors would benefit from an older professional such as yourself."

"Older professional?" She lightly punched his shoulder. "Really, John."

He shrugged, feigning injury by rubbing his shoulder. "Ouch. I have a question, Maggie."

"What?" she asked, concern on her face at his sudden change of direction.

"Do you think I can ever stop taking the seizure medication…I mean in the future, not now."

Maggie rubbed her chin. "That depends, but I'll make you a deal. You go six months without one, and I'll consult with Elliot. If he agrees, I'll step down the dosage gradually over a period of months until we hit zero. Then will be the test. If you go without one for a period of…let's say…three months, then I'll say we're in the clear, but I will keep medication handy in case that changes. The blood pressure medication is easier. If your pressure stays in the good to excellent range for the next…say…three months, I'll discontinue it entirely. If it spikes again, you go back on it, Deal?"

Hannibal nodded. "Deal."

For the first time in weeks, Hannibal allowed himself to feel hope, not for his future but for the legacy he could leave behind. One step at a time. And this was a step in the right direction.

###

The sound of rhythmic footsteps echoed through the converted garage Maggie had transformed into a small workout space. Hannibal jogged steadily on the treadmill with his left ankle wrapped in a compression sleeve for added support. Sweat dampened his gray Army PT shirt as he increased the incline slightly, testing his endurance. His breathing was controlled, his stride confident, far from the shaky, uncertain steps a few weeks ago.

Mark Andrews stood nearby, clipboard in hand, watching with a satisfied grin. "Looking good, Hannibal. I'd say you're putting some of my other clients to shame."

Hannibal slowed the treadmill to a walking pace. "They don't have the same motivation. Limited duty at West Point isn't going to hand itself to me on a silver platter."

Mark chuckled, jotting a few notes. "Well, you're getting close to passing the physical evaluation standard. You've come a hell of a long way from where we started."

Hannibal stepped off the treadmill, grabbing a towel to wipe his sweaty face. He then moved to the bench press, where a barbell with 100 pounds loaded on it waited. He lay back on the bench, adjusting his grip on the bar.

"You've been watching those bodybuilders on TV, haven't you?" Maggie teased from the doorway with arms crossed and a playful smile on her face.

Hannibal grinned. "Nah, too flashy. Besides, I'm aiming for functional strength, not to look like a neon billboard."

"Good," Maggie said, walking over and resting a hand on his shoulder. "But I have to admit, the progress is…noticeable."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow as he lifted the bar, his muscles flexing under the strain. "Noticed, huh? I'll take that as a compliment."

Maggie laughed, shaking her head. "Don't let it go to your head."

He finished his set, setting the bar back in place with a satisfying clink. Sitting up, he reached for a water bottle and took a long drink. He looked at Maggie, who stood watching him with an expression he couldn't quite place.

"Are you okay?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Maggie hesitated for a moment, then smiled. "I'm fine, John. Actually, better than fine. There's something I need to tell you."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "What's on your mind, Maggie?"

She stepped closer, resting her hand on his arm. "Remember what we did the night before the trial."

"Yeah, why?" No, she can't mean that.

"I went to the doctor last week," she said. "And…well, I'm pregnant."

Hannibal froze, the weight of her words sinking in. He stared at her. Then, a slow smile spread across his face. "A baby?"

Maggie nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. "Yes, John. You're going to be a father."

Hannibal reached for her hand, pulling her closer. He rested his forehead against hers. "You've got to be kidding me. Maggie, that's…that's incredible."

She laughed softly, her hand brushing his cheek. "You're happy?"

"Happy?" Hannibal pulled back slightly. "I'm over the moon. You gave me another reason to fight like hell to finish this."

Maggie smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. "I thought you might say that.

Mark, quietly observing from the corner of the room, jotting notes on his clipboard, let out a low whistle. "Well, I'll be damned. Congratulations, Hannibal. Guess we're not just working on your legs anymore. Looks like you've got diaper duty to prepare for."

Hannibal looked at Mark, grinning. "Thanks, Mark. I'll be sure to call you when I need a babysitter."

Mark chuckled, setting his clipboard on a nearby table. "Fair warning, Colonel. I'm better with barbells than babies. But seriously, that's fantastic news."

Maggie smiled. "Thanks, Mark. And don't worry, we'll keep the babysitting requests to a minimum."

Mark gave her a mock salute. "Appreciate that. Now, Hannibal, what do you say we finish today's session strong? You've got a lot more to work for now."

Hannibal leaned back slightly, still holding Maggie's hand. "Damn right. Let's get to it."

For the rest of the evening, Hannibal couldn't stop grinning. As he moved through his workout—lifting weights, practicing his balance on one leg, even swimming laps at the local church's indoor pool his mind was a whirlwind of plans and hopes for the future.

Later, as they sat on the couch, Maggie curled up beside him. He reflected on how far he had come. The unwavering support of his team, Maggie's patience and love all culminated in this moment.

"One step at a time," he murmured, his hand resting protectively over Maggie's stomach.

She looked up at him. "And look how far we've come."

Hannibal nodded, a quiet determination settling in his expression. The battles ahead didn't seem so daunting anymore. For the first time in a long time, the future looked bright.

###

The early morning darkness hung on the edges of the horizon as Hannibal stepped onto the treadmill in the corner of the home gym in the detached garage behind Maggie's house. His legs moved with precision, his breaths controlled, his pace steady as he pushed through the miles. Sweat ran down his face, soaking into the collar of his t-shirt. He had a lot on his mind.

Ten months. Ten months since he woke up in that hospital bed at Fort Franklin, unsure if he'd ever walk again, much less run. Now, he moved his legs with confidence, each stride smooth. His left ankle, once weak and unreliable, held firm under a compression sleeve, supporting his weight as he increased the incline. He wasn't just recovering anymore—he was rebuilding himself, piece by piece.

After a four-mile run, he wiped his face with a towel before moving to the weight bench. The cold metal barbell felt solid in his grip as he lay back, planting his feet firmly on the ground. With a slow inhale, he lifted the bar from the rack and pressed it upward. The strain in his chest and arms was a welcome burn, proof of his progress. Months ago, he could barely manage ten pounds without his muscles shaking. Now, he was pushing close to 200, a number that felt satisfying, though still far from the 350 pounds he once bench-pressed with ease.

As he finished his last rep, he let the weights settle into place and sat up, stretching his arms. His heart pounded, not just from exertion. Today was the day of his medical clearance. He'd come so far and fought through the setbacks, but doubt still gnawed at him. What if it wasn't enough?

Hannibal rolled his shoulders and exhaled sharply. No point in sitting here brooding. He had things to do.

By the time Maggie woke up, the scent of coffee and bacon had already filled the house. She stepped into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and found him at the stove, flipping eggs in the skillet.

"You're up early," she said, her voice laced with curiosity.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Old habits. Figured I'd get in a workout before today's dog and pony show."

She walked up beside him, leaning against the counter as he slid eggs and toast onto two plates. "You mean your medical clearance."

"Something like that," he murmured, setting their plates on the table before pouring two cups of coffee. He sat across from her, wrapping his fingers easily around the ceramic mug. He turned it, watching how steady his hand remained. Ten months ago, holding a coffee cup without spilling had been a challenge. Now, it was second nature again.

Maggie studied him over the rim of her mug. "You're worried."

Hannibal huffed a small laugh. "Is it that obvious?"

She reached across the table, placing her hand over his. "Only to me."

"I'm hoping they don't poopoo on my plans." He turned his palm up, intertwining his fingers with hers. "I keep thinking about everything it took to get here. The setbacks, the seizures, the days when I couldn't even button my damn shirt."

"And now?" she prompted gently.

"I can do all those things. But what if it's not enough? What if they look at me and still see a broken man?" His voice was quieter than usual, laced with something he rarely let slip—uncertainty.

Maggie squeezed his hand. "You're not broken, John. You fought to regain what you lost and did it on your own terms. They'd be fools not to see that."

He sipped his coffee, letting the warmth run down his throat. "You always know what to say, don't you?"

She grinned. "It's my job."

They ate in comfortable silence for a moment.

"What happens if they clear you?" Maggie asked.

He exhaled, considering the weight of that possibility. "Then I go to the assessment board and prove I'm still a soldier."

"And if they don't?"

He met her eyes. "Then I figure out another way forward. I didn't come this far to stop now."

She nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Good."

Hannibal finished his breakfast and pushed his chair back, standing with a stretch. "I'm going to grab a shower, then head out."

Maggie followed him to the door, resting a hand on his arm before he disappeared down the hall. "You've already won. No matter what they say."

He nodded, considering her words, then kissed her forehead. "I know. But it'd be nice to make it official."

With that, he disappeared into the bedroom to get ready, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders but somehow feeling a little lighter.