Author's Note: Story takes place just after Daedalus Variations, and comes in response to a couple of plot requests from FFnet friends! One requested that John get sent home to Earth to recover from an injury - so yes, this is yet another Dave Sheppard story! The other request will be obvious as we go and was interesting because it's a "theme" not in my usual repertoire.

Home is Where the Heart... by T'Pring

"Don't puke. Whatever you do, don't lose it. John Sheppard does NOT toss cookies for less than a 5th of Scotch."

John squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he felt the Stargate belch him out into the SGC on Earth, but the feeling of dizziness and nausea he'd been expecting hit him despite the precaution. The familiar icepick behind his eyes also flared and he froze, breathing deeply and fighting with all he had not to clutch at his head. Somewhere, through the attack on his sense of three-dimensional space, he was mildly aware of voices murmuring around him and the soft splut of the Stargate as the wormhole collapsed.

"John? Can I help you off the platform?"

The words soaked into his consciousness ever so slowly, but he finally processed the question. And the name belonging to the voice who'd asked it.

"Give me a second, Colonel Carter. I just need a...second."

"Please, call me Sam. You're off duty, remember?"

John felt a shudder ripple across his shoulders and he tensed even further to stop it from reaching his hands.

"About the only thing I do remember," he growled tightly.

Sam, to her credit, gave him the time he asked without pushing, though he did feel her hand around his upper arm. Finally, he blew out a final breath and risked opening his eyes. The SGC's concrete gateroom spun a bit around him, but he was able to squint and keep his eyes open.

Sam stood at his right side, an expression fixed somewhere between amusement and sympathy. It was better than pity, John supposed. She smiled when she saw him looking at her.

"I'll take you to the infirmary," she said, indicating the wheelchair that was waiting at the end of the ramp. John just nodded, resigned, and allowed her to keep her hold on his arm as they walked.

He hated how grateful he was to sit down, but his damn head just couldn't keep up from down straight when he was on his feet. It had been pure stubbornness that got him into the event horizon on Atlantis under his own power. He closed his eyes again and rested his head on his hand as Sam pushed him, slowly, through the halls towards the Infirmary. Even the slow, steady motion set his stomach churning and his head pounding.

When he reached the infirmary, there wasn't much of him left. Somehow, hating every second of concern he heard in his former CO's voice, he managed to get himself out of the chair and onto a waiting infirmary bed. He lay on his back on top of the blankets, a stiff mass of misery until, with a final pat of awkward reassurance, Sam left. Only then did John let himself curl up into a ball and bury his head under his arms. When the world around him and the bed underneath him stopped spinning, he let himself pass out.

A couple more days passed. At least, he thought it was a couple of days. He spent most of his time either sleeping or trying to choke down and keep down bland food. On the third day since he'd arrived on Earth (the phrase 'banished' kept coming to mind) the SGC docs started giving him something that actually seemed to help.

He was sitting up in his bed, eying the mashed potatoes and blue jello on a tray in front of him when Sam Carter came to visit that evening.

"Hey, good to see you upright, John," she said, genuine pleasure in her voice.

"It's a treat," he retorted, only mildly testy. "Either the meds are finally working or my head is finally healing." He caught a whiff of the potatoes and his stomach churned in protest. He pushed the tray further away. "A little," he added.

"Severe concussion can take a long time to heal completely," Sam stated, sounding pretty darn serious. "And you've got the worst concussion we've seen in the Stargate program that didn't result in traumatic injury. You're lucky your brain didn't leak out your ears. Have you remembered anything about how it actually happened, yet?"

John remembered not to shake his head, but he managed a shrug.

"All I know is what Jennifer speculates – that I whacked my head as we were jumping out of the Lost Daedalus before it jumped to another parallel universe. It was several minutes before Lorne showed up in the jumper. I could have been out cold for half that time without anyone noticing inside that damn spacesuit."

"From what Jennifer says, you didn't notice."

Another shrug. "Until later, yeah. One minute I'm walking out of the infirmary after hanging out with McKay and the next, I'm in the bed next to him with no memory of how I got there. It only got worse from there."

"Well, Dr. Klein says it's getting better from here." Sam patted the bed next to him. "Which is why I'm here. As much as I like having you around to drop in on, the truth is that you can't stay here indefinitely. Both Jennifer and Dr. Klein have recommended at least a month of leave for recovery before we even consider letting you back on duty. We've decided it's time for you to go home for a while. To rest up and get well."

John felt his heart begin to thud and he looked away so Sam wouldn't see the fear in his eyes. If the docs were sending him away, his thin hopes for a miraculous recovery and soft duty on the Daedalus' next run back to Atlantis in two weeks had just been dashed. All he had left to hope for was that he'd get to return to duty ever.

"I gave up the apartment I had in Colorado Springs the last time I was here a couple of years ago," he was finally able to ask without his voice shaking. "Do you know if there is any base housing available for temporary assignment?" He was very careful to emphasize the temporary part.

Sam cocked her head as if surprised by the question. "I said home. Your brother is expecting you in a couple of days when you're ready to travel, again. He's looking forward to having you stay with him."

John jerked his head towards Sam so fast the room kept going in a spiral behind her. He was so shocked he didn't even care.

"You talked to Dave without asking me first?" he ground out, forcing himself to remember that she outranked him to keep his annoyance in check.

"You've been very ill, John," Sam soothed, but her voice was back to serious. "You're in no condition to live by yourself, even on base. You need someone around to keep an eye on you just in case...you know," she finished awkwardly.

"Jennifer said that the seizures were most likely temporary and I haven't had any since I got to the SGC, Sam," he rasped, embarrassed and angry all at once. Sam's face went so sheepish that he felt his breath catch. "Have I?"

"That fact that you don't even remember makes it all the more concerning. We've explained your condition to your brother. He's promised to hire a live-in visiting nurse to monitor your progress. And he says there's staff on site all day, every day even when he can't be there personally. Sounds like a nice place, your family home."

John's embarrassment grew even further at the admiration in her voice. He'd spent his whole life running away from his father's money. It galled him that Dave was waving it around in his CO's face, now.

"I, um, appreciate the effort, Colonel, but I'll make other arrangements." He didn't know what the hell they would be, but anything was better than giving Dave the satisfaction of seeing him weak.

"I'm sorry. It's been arranged. Your brother is expecting you."

"Sam!"

"We need you, Colonel," she barked, startling him with the sharpness of her voice, so that he snapped his mouth shut. "We need you back on Atlantis doing what you do so well. That means we expect you to take every advantage available to heal as quickly and safely as possible. And that means sucking it up for a month at home. David Sheppard has offered you care that, honestly, is much more than you'd get on government benefits. He's assured me that he'll provide you with anything you need for a full recovery."

"You talked to him?" The thought that Sam would personally go to the trouble was both flattering and somehow annoying.

"I did. He's a perfectly nice man," she answered firmly with a hint of amusement twinkling in her eyes. "If a bit arrogant," she added after a beat and John, defeated, couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"You have no idea," he sighed.

"I have some idea," she shot back with a pointed tilt to her head and pure mischief in her tone. John just closed his eyes and sank into his pillows, now dreading the next month of his life even more than before – and that was saying something. Sam gave his arm a firm squeeze. "Don't worry. I'm sure your disability is only temporary. You'll be back on Atlantis giving Woolsey conniptions before you know it."

John just nodded, his throat suddenly too constricted to speak. Sam gave him one last squeeze and left quietly, leaving John alone in the bare, stark infirmary for the moment. He suddenly wished that Sam had stayed around longer. Or never come at all. He definitely wished she hadn't said what she'd said, though he knew her intentions were good.

Because, speaking the fear out loud only made it worse.

John was annoyed when they assigned him an escort for the trip. He was even more annoyed when Carter and the doctors briefed said escort about his "travel and post-release" instructions like he wasn't sitting there in front of them, listening to every word.

Sam at least had the decency to look embarrassed about it and she made it a point to hang back once the sandy haired and overly serious Lt. Conaway had left with John's bags to check on their transportation to the Denver airport. Commercial flight, no less, which only added insult to injury.

"John? Remember the suck-it-up part?" was all she said after he finally met her steady gaze. She sat on the edge of the infirmary bed he'd spent the last week lying in but the wheelchair he currently occupied didn't feel like much of an upgrade. The opposite, in fact. At least in the bed, he could pretend he was just taking it easy because that's how you got back on your feet faster.

"I don't know if I can..." he trailed off, frustration heating his cheeks.

"Can what?" Sam prompted softly.

"How am I supposed to relax if I've got to be on guard the whole damn month?" he snapped finally.

"On guard?"

"Against him. Against my brother. Sam, I left home," he threw air quotes around the last two words, "fifteen years ago because I wasn't welcome. Why should I go back now?"

Sam watched him with steady regard. "Because you need his help. Because he wants you to come. Maybe this is a chance for you to mend some fences."

John shook his head, then had to squeeze his eyes shut to wait out the dizziness and flash of pain. "I don't want him to see me like this," he growled. "Showing up as an invalid will only..." again he trailed off.

"Only what?" Sam asked, patient as ever.

"Only prove them right."

Sam was quiet for a long time, but John didn't open his eyes, though the dizziness had passed, leaving only the thick fuzziness that he knew was the drugs.

"Every family I've ever dealt with has been more than proud of their sons and daughters who have been injured while serving. I think, just maybe, your brother isn't the same person you left fifteen years ago. Give him a chance. Give yourself a chance to show them what your service means. Maybe you'll find that, I don't know, that being family is enough."

"Enough for what?" he spat.

"Enough," she answered firmly. "Your ride is here. John, I don't really want to pull rank, but I expect you to follow this one order: Get Well. Do what you have to do to recover. And I know how hard that order might be to follow, so don't disappoint me."

There was a pause and John knew she expected him to acknowledge, but he couldn't do it. Not when every instinct in his body was screaming that this was wrong. Not when every nightmare he'd ever had was unfolding before him. He heard a resigned sigh.

"Then at least try. That I can ask as a friend. Good luck, John."

And with that she left.

The ride to the airport was excruciating. Not because of pain – they'd drugged him to the gills for the trip – because serious Lt. Conaway kept staring at him like he was about to roll onto the floor of the rent-a-limo and start frothing at the mouth at any minute.

"You flying all the way to Maryland just to babysit me?" John asked at last when the painful silence was louder than the constant ache behind his eyes.

"No, sir. I was heading east anyway."

"Lucky you," John snorted.

"Yes, sir! I volunteered," Conaway replied fervently.

"In that case...thank you," John murmured, suddenly unable to dislike the young man for simply being there. He closed his eyes and no longer worried that doing so would freak the lieutenant out.

Getting through airport security and to the gate was uneventful. John simply chose to ignore the stares and surreptitious glances of sympathetic civilians as Lt. Conaway paved the way with a professional urgency that John finally pegged.

"You're JAG, aren't you?" he blurted as they sat beside the gate waiting to board. Conaway's lips twitched into the first smile John had seen.

"That's what it says on my patch," Conaway teased bringing a flush of embarrassment to John's cheek. They were both in uniform. He should have known that. He just couldn't remember…looking for it. "It's OK, sir. You've got a lot on your mind. I've spent quite a lot of time on the paperwork for your unit," he added, coyly, clearly enjoying having a secret out in public. "If you ever need any help on base, I would love to visit there."

The man's enthusiasm was genuine, but John suddenly felt grumpy. Probably because he really wanted to be there, too.

"Next time the Wraith and Replicators and dimension hopping death ships take a day off for me to catch up on paperwork, I'll give you a call. Or maybe I'll just shoot myself in the foot, instead."

Conaway looked disturbed and John felt a little bad about being such an ass. But he didn't really care. His head was throbbing and he felt himself squinting more and more as the airport around him began to whirl faster by the minute. It was too noisy, and he was moving too much for his abused brain to compensate. The walk from the end of the gate into the plane was excruciating and he was breathing hard and swallowing back nausea again for the first time in a few days.

It took everything he had to grind out a simple "thank you" when the perky flight attendant who was settling them in gave him a pillow and thanked him "for his service". He put the pillow against the window and gulped for air like a fish out of water. A wall of white pain flashed behind his eyes and he was asleep before the plane thrust itself off the runway.

He awoke briefly in a fog, aware that there was activity around him and voices that sounded urgent. He pushed himself upright in the uncomfortable, despite being 1st class, seat. When he opened his eyes, the plane spun so violently around him that he gagged before he got a handle on the nausea and slammed his eyes shut. A female voice in the seat next to him was speaking urgently to another voice, also female that John thought he recognized as the flight attendant.

"Could we have some water please? And another blanket."

"Of course, are you sure you don't want us to redirect the plane?" The attendant said, sounding panicky in a responsible sort of way.

"There's no need. We're not far. The Colonel's seizures are not life-threatening, just uncomfortable. I suspect the altitude change as we descend is exacerbating his condition."

"Conaway?" John croaked, confused by the female voice in the seat where his escort should be. He couldn't seem to stop shaking, though he was holding his own on sitting up.

"I'm here, sir. Just sit tight. We land in half an hour. You'll be home soon. Would you like your anti-nausea medicine?" replied the female voice, only confusing him more.

"Where's Conaway?" he demanded.

"I'm here, sir," the voice answered patiently. John cracked open his eyes and concentrated on focusing through the dizziness. A female soldier with a JAG patch and Lieutenant's bars was in the seat. She had sandy red hair, just like Conaway, looked the same age, and had similar features. It was like someone had sneaked onto the plane and stuffed Conaway's sister into his uniform. The imposter was holding out the familiar pill, shaking it slightly like one does to entice a dog to take a treat.

"Put this under your tongue. It will help right away. Then you'll be more comfortable for the rest of the descent."

John reached out, desperate for the medicine, but extremely wary. His hands shook so hard, he could hardly get them where he wanted them go. The woman noticed him struggling. Everything seemed foggy, like there was a bright light in his face that was blurring out his vision.

"You've had a mild seizure, sir. I'm sure you feel pretty bad. But you'll feel better once we land. You looking forward to seeing your family? I heard they're planning a party for you when you arrive. Something about old friends in a townhouse?"

John felt himself shudder even harder. Whoever she was, she also sounded just like Conaway, though what she said didn't make any sense. He'd been told he was going to the Ranch where Dave lived these days. He put the pill under his tongue and leaned away from her. He stuck his hands under his armpits to control the shaking.

"What's your name, lieutenant?" he snapped at last when she didn't seem to be planning to offer an explanation. His voice sounded faint, even to himself.

"Lt. Conaway. I'm escorting you to Maryland to meet your family." Her expression finally showed the first hint of concern, though her tone was as patient as ever. The plane took a dip and John felt the altitude change sear through his head.

"What happened to... to the other Conaway," he gasped out, wincing, but forcing himself to keep his eyes open. The fake Conaway chewed her lip, as if deciding how to answer.

"No Conaways besides me around here, sir. I have a twin brother back home, though."

Another dip and John slammed his eyes closed. White sparks were floating at the edge of his internal vision. He felt Conaway's hands on his shoulder, and his teeth began to chatter he was shaking so hard.

"Hang in there, Colonel Sheppard," she soothed, sounding sympathetic. "Hang in there."

He did for as long as he could, but the white sparks flashed, and he could no longer concentrate on anything but fighting the disorientation. He wouldn't just let himself pass out, this time, though. He needed to remember something important. He didn't feel...safe.

It seemed forever before the throbbing, pulsing pain and dizziness subsided. Once it did, he allowed himself to just sit still and gather his composure. It seemed quieter, somehow. The hum of the airplane's engines was gone. Without moving, he peeked through hooded lids. The dizziness was much better so he took a deep breath and sat up straighter to look around.

A wall of silent, concerned faces greeted him. The perky flight attendant hovered behind two decked out EMTs. Lieutenant Conaway, the real Conaway, was in the seat next to him, a hand on John's arm. The young man's face flashed enormous relief when John turned to give him a solid glare.

"Welcome back, sir," Conaway murmured.

"What the hell happened?" John demanded. He was no longer shuddering, and now that his head wasn't splitting open from altitude changes, he felt about as good as he got these days.

"You seized on the descent into Maryland, Colonel," Conaway answered.

"I meant what the hell happened to you? Where did you go? Where's the 'other' Lt. Conaway?" John started to twist in his seat to look for the mysterious female look-alike, but stopped abruptly when his head flashed a warning. The real Conaway had that serious look again and didn't answer for a long time.

"I've been here the whole time, sir. You've been unresponsive for the past fifteen minutes. You slept the whole flight before that."

This time John's confusion was mixed with doubt rather than alarm. His memory seemed to be whirling as badly as his vision.

"Why are they here?" he growled, at last, flopping a hand at the EMTs who looked like they were itching to pounce on him.

"Pilot called ahead, got us bumped up the list for landing and had them waiting for us. Passengers went out the back. We've just been chilling out, waiting for your head to catch up with your body, sir."

"So now what?" John was waiting for the punch line – for someone to crack up and admit to the joke. Though it wasn't funny. At all.

"When you're ready, we'll get you to the car that should be waiting for us. With luck, you'll be home by dinner."

"I'm never likely to be ready," John groused. Conaway cocked his head.

"Do you want to go to the hospital, sir? You were out of it for a pretty long time."

"No, no, lieutenant. That's not what I meant."

John flopped against the seat, gathering his strength, and perhaps his courage. Then, Carter's orders ringing in his ears, he took a deep breath and shoved his hands into the armrests, preparing to push himself to his feet.

"Fine. Let's just say I'm as ready as I'll ever be, Lieutenant. Let's go."

Conaway scurried and the EMTs hovered as he worked his way slowly off the plane.

"Might as well get it over with," he whispered, just to himself.