Sometimes, Cam wishes that when Jack had asked him to take the command of SG-1, he had both recalled and listened to the age-old advice, 'You should never meet your heroes'. If he had, he would never have ended up in this situation.

At first,  he only had to worry about Daniel. Carter never did anything that might require the invocation of the corporal punishment clause, and Teal'c, well. Teal'c operated at the highest standards of military protocol, but also outside the purview of the American military system enough to exempt him from such things.

But Sam has long since gone back to bigger & better things, as they all knew she eventually would. And along the way, SG-1 had acquired Vala. And Vala wasn't the same as Teal'c. Teal'c, for all intents and purposes, is a foreign diplomat working alongside them. Vala's a different story entirely, and signing the corporal clause had been a required part of her formal integration into the SGC. She doesn't have Daniel's intense need for penance and absolution; instead, she has the impulse control of a toddler. He supposes he should be grateful that Vala wasn't with them on this trip.

Because for the time being, he also has Sheppard. Which, to be fair to all parties involved, is his own fault. Jack had refused to transfer Sheppard to Sam's command on the Hammond, for reasons he's still keeping close to the vest. The next logical choice was for him to be transferred to the SGC, but Landry doesn't particularly like him, and had been on the verge of refusing; Sheppard had come to Cam to plead his case, and Cam had agreed to intercede with Landry. In the end, Landry agreed that Sheppard could stay — for now — if Cam took him on SG-1.

He thinks he might be less pissed off right now if he didn't like Sheppard. He does, though, which makes this all the more frustrating.

The world they've landed on is, like so many of the others, curiously similar to their own. They aren't the first arrivals - the discovery team had taken some pictures and tests, but only stayed a few hours. Cam's team has been sent to follow up because there's a ton of writing, artifacts, and a strong suspicion of Ancient technology.

Today, that team is a little different. He's got Daniel and Teal'c, but Vala is stuck in the infirmary with some alien flu. But they're not a man down, because for the time being, they have John.

Lieutenant John Sheppard. Cam glances over at the other man, trying to gauge where his head's at. It's not reassuring that he's not sure he can anymore. They were friends, once. Pretty good friends. They were in the same year at the Academy, the same Squadron their first two years, even roommates for a time. After graduation, they'd gone different ways — both pilots, but while Cam's career had been fairly straightforward, John's had been anything but. Still, they'd exchanged letters, e-mails, and postcards for a while. Eventually, Cam had ended up in the Stargate program. John had ended up court-martialed and assigned to Antarctica, and that was when he'd distanced himself from Cam. From everyone, if the rumors were true.

That was how it was, until John was assigned to ferry Jack to the Ancient outpost. And saved his life, and sat in the command chair. That was when his black mark didn't matter anymore, and off to Atlantis he went. He'd sent Cam a note when Cam was recovering in the hospital after the Battle of Antarctica, and they'd slowly started to reconnect. So when John had come and asked him to intervene with Landry, Cam had done it for both old time's sake as well as for the sake of whatever they were rekindling.

And here they are. On a planet full of who-knows-what kinds of crazy Ancient technology, and Cam doesn't know whether he needs to be more worried about Daniel or John; they have equally terrible track records for touching stuff and disobeying orders and going rogue. He can't hold back the heavy sigh; this mission is a disaster waiting to happen.

"Alright, boys and girls...well, boys, I guess. We are here to look around. To translate, to catalog. Do not touch anything without running it by me first, and that goes double for anything that might be Ancient."

"I want to get started right away on the big wall," Daniel says, already staring in that direction. "I think it might be a sort of inventory of what's here."

"Teal'c, can you go with Jackson? Sheppard and I will start looking at all the other...stuff," Daniel's too distracted to notice the dry tone of his voice, but he gets a snort from John and that tiny twitch of the face from T that means he might find it almost funny. "And, Jackson?"

Daniel looks his way, his attention caught by Cam's sharper tone of voice.

"Don't touch anything."

"Yeah, Cam, got it."

With Teal'c at his shoulder, Daniel heads down the hall in the direction of what had been dubbed the 'big wall'. Cam watches them go, only turning back to his remaining teammate when they've disappeared from view. "Let's start with the big cavern," he suggests, flipping through the previous team's report in his head. Several rooms of writings, a couple of small caverns of artifacts, some murals, and then the big cavern. The shapes of its contents had intrigued him. "Same goes for us, Shep," he says as they start walking, easily falling back to the nickname of their youth. "Don't touch anything. Especially you — with how darn strong your ancient gene is, anything could happen."

"Yes, sir," John answers. It's the right words, but with that typical Sheppard ironic drawl underneath. It had earned him more than a few thrashings in their Academy days, and Cam imagines that hadn't changed once he was out in the world.

They enter the cavern, their flashlights cutting through the dusty air. It's a vast space, filled with strange artifacts. There are glowing spheres set atop pedestals, angular metallic structures humming with latent energy, and something that looks suspiciously like a control panel. Cam looks around, but out of the corner of his eye, watches as John circles the control panel, his fingers twitching at his sides like he's itching to touch it.

They both pull out notepads and cameras, describing and documenting the things they are seeing. Then Daniel's voice crackles over the radio. "Mitchell, you need to see this. We've found something — I think it's instructions. Or warnings. It's hard to tell."

Cam hesitates, glancing at John. The man is distracted, sitting in a clear section of the path and intently sketching something that's absurdly small compared to most of what's in the room. Cam sighs. Five minutes. That's all it'll take, and then he'll be back here to supervise.

He radios back, "Be right there, Jackson," then points a warning finger at John, who has glanced up at him. "I meant it. Don't touch. Eyes only." John grins, giving him a lazy salute. Cam lingers another second, then turns and jogs toward Daniel's location, regretting the decision the minute he turns the corner.

That's the point it all went wrong. He knows this. But, of all the technology they've discovered, somehow time travel isn't one of them.

The door to Landry's office opens. "Get in here," the General demands, spinning on his heel and heading back to his desk almost before Cam manages to get to his feet. Allowing himself to wince once when his boss's back is turned, Cam forces calm onto his face before he enters the room. He complies when Landry orders, "Shut the door."

He stands at attention in front of the desk; there are places to be casual in the SGC, but the General's office is not one of them. Landry lets him, for a long minute, which isn't reassuring as the man himself settles into his seat and flips through what Cam is fairly sure is his own mission report.

"Sit down, Mitchell."

Finally. Silently, he pulls out one of the chairs across from Landry and settles into it.

Landry leans back in his chair and pins him with a look. "You vouched for Sheppard. You told me he'd be an asset to SG-1." The General tosses the report down onto his desk with a sharp flick of his wrist. "Instead, he activated an Ancient device — one we don't even understand — without authorization, nearly destabilized the entire planet-side facility, and then got himself zapped into a three-day coma."

Cam keeps his voice and eyes steady. "Sir, with all due respect, Sheppard's spent the last few years on Atlantis. Their protocols are...looser. He's adjusting." He pauses, weighing his next words carefully. "And, he did stabilize the device once he realized what was happening. That has to count for something."

Landry exhales through his nose, tapping his fingers against the desk. "You're right. It does. And that's the only reason I'm not sending him packing the minute he wakes up." He leans forward, eyes sharp. "But you vouched for him, Mitchell. He's your responsibility. This cannot happen again."

"I assure you, sir, I am going to handle it. He will understand how much we disapprove of his actions." Cam hesitates,  but old loyalty and renewed affection win out. "Sir, if I may be frank?" He waits for the man's nod of assent. "I have no doubt that Sheppard is going to be a pain in the ass. It's kind of a specialty of his, as I believe you've gathered. But, Sir, I think he's worth it. Look at Dr. Jackson. For every world-saving hero moment, I think we could match it up to a bull-headed misstep. I've known Sheppard a long time, General, and I think you'll find he's much the same."

"Oddly enough, you are not the first to say so." Landry leans back in his chair, considering. "Fine, Mitchell. For now, you can keep him. But make it clear he is on thin ice."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"I know you've been sitting in the infirmary, son. Why don't you go home and get some sleep?"

"He's a member of my team, sir. I'll go when medical releases him."

"Yeah, yeah. Get out of here, Mitchell." Landry waves a hand, "At least get a hot meal." 

Daniel is trying to explain to him what he's translated, something about hidden defenses or hidden treasures, when the floor rumbles beneath them. They all freeze; it lasts only about thirty seconds before everything goes still again.

Cam is the first to move, grabbing his radio. "Sheppard, what's your status?" Daniel's radio crackles, Teal'c's, but no response comes. When the floor rumbles again, he leaps to his feet, and he and Teal'c are running, even as Daniel scrambles to gather his things and stuff them into his bag behind them. "Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, come in," Cam snaps into his radio.

"Yeah, uh," even over the radio, he can hear the strained quality of John's voice that says both I'm in trouble and I need help. "I need you back in here, Cam."

At least he's alive. Cam doesn't bother replying because they've made it into the cavern.

Which is no longer dark — soft blue lights ring both the paths on the floor and the circumference of the ceiling. It glints off of the structures in the room, making it obvious now which ones are metal and alien tech and which ones aren't. The control panel is still in the center, all paths leading towards it, but John is not immediately visible. Cam starts to scan the room. "Sheppard," he barks.

"Over here," they duck around a column that looks like it might be ancient, not Ancient, and there he is. There's a gaping hole in the floor now, because the circular piece of floor has risen about five feet off the ground. John is standing on it, and he's encased in the same soft blue light that illuminates the cavern. There appears to be a second, smaller control panel on the disc with him.

John's got his hands shoved in his pockets and is standing conspicuously several steps from the control panel. On one side of him, Cam swears he hears Teal'c sigh. On his other, Daniel's mouth has dropped slightly open, and he shoves his glasses further up his face. Cam takes a deep breath and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Are you injured?"

"No."

The floor rumbles again. More aggressively, this time. Daniel gives the ceiling and walls around them a worried look. Notably, John's floating disc is steady.

"What happened?" Cam asks him.

"I was...comparing this console to the one over there," John gestures vaguely behind them. He pauses, but glances down at Cam, and something in Cam's hard expression must convince him to go on. "When I stepped into the circle, it felt like it was...humming. The console lit up. And then I, uh," he trails off, and when he speaks again, there's a defensive edge. "It felt familiar, Cam, like Atlantis. Friendly."

"You touched it," Cam accuses. John's silence is answer enough. He squeezes the bridge of his nose before snapping,  "Damn it, Sheppard. Is there an 'off' button? 'Down', maybe?"

"I don't know," John admits. "The Ancient isn't quite what I'm used to. Different dialect, maybe? I don't want to make things worse."

"Worse than what, exactly?" Daniel asks, and John grimaces, flashing Cam a look he can't interpret before he answers.

"Worse than a facility self-destruct?" he admits. Cam counts to ten, and he would like to count to ten again, but the rumble of the facility around them kind of puts a more urgent spin on things.

"Get down here then, we're getting out of here."

"Would if I could, sir," he reaches out and touches the blue light; there's a bright flare, and then he winces and pulls back almost immediately.

Shit.

"Jackson, help him translate. Turn it off if you can, get him out if you can't."

The two of them had figured out how to stop the facility's auto-destruct. Unfortunately, the answer to that was that a sentient being had to be on the disc to control it. But they couldn't figure out how to turn off the force field.

So when the first crack had appeared in the floor where John could see it, he'd thrown himself through the blue light. Hence, zapped. Coma. Three days after they'd dragged him home, of being completely out, though Dr. Lam had assured him she couldn't find anything actually wrong with him besides the fact that he was, you know, unconscious. In a coma.

Dr. Lam is standing near the door when he swings into the infirmary. Looking up, she grins at him. "Hey, Colonel. Good news, your boy's awake. Doesn't seem to be any lasting damage that we can find. I'm going to keep him one more night for observation, but I'm kicking him out of here and sending him to quarters, if you want to tell him the good news."

Cam nods at her, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders now that there is no adrenaline support from the underlying refrain of anxiety. "Thanks, Doc." He turns toward the familiar medical bay at the end of the row, the one SG-1 always ends up in, taking a deep breath to try to settle himself before stepping inside.

John is sitting up, looking unfairly alert for someone who'd been unconscious for three days. He, at least, is well-rested. That makes Cam, who has sat here sleeplessly for much of that time, irritated. There's a book in his hands — some sci-fi novel, probably borrowed from Daniel — and a mostly-empty cup of jello on his tray. He glances up as Cam enters, the smallest hint of uncertainty before his expression clears.

"Hey," he grins, "Your medical officer says I'm in perfect health. Lucky, right?" Cam feels himself bristling because there's no remorse in John's tone, no apology in his posture, nothing but that same damnable drawl and smirk. Like he hadn't disobeyed a direct order and almost died.

"You're cleared for quarters," Cam tells him, keeping his voice flat. "After Dr. Lam releases you tomorrow morning, report to my office. No detours." He turns on his heel, already halfway out before John's voice catches him.

"Cam," he says, and Cam turns back, raising his eyebrows. John's expression is still unrepentant, but there's something else there now, a flicker of something Cam can't quite pin down. He doesn't seem to know what to say once he's gotten Cam's attention. In this mood, Cam doesn't feel like helping him out; he just waits. Finally, John ventures, "I'll be there, Colonel."

It settles something in his bones. Not enough to wash away the rest, but enough to deaden the sharp edges. "Glad you're awake, Shep," Cam allows, then leaves, stalking down the hallway

He goes home to his own bed, but he doesn't sleep any better than he had in the chair in the infirmary. Worse, maybe; he's kind of gotten used to that chair.

He thought learning how to discipline Daniel had been rough. This is a different kind of miserable. Daniel had been one of his heroes, and then a friend. John...had been a friend first, and they'd been in each other's orbits since then, but never one in a position of authority over the other.

He hates it, just like he did with Daniel at first. Until Jack had helped him see that it was what Daniel needed, to stay level. It's still not his favorite thing to do, by any stretch of the imagination, but they get by. John, though? He is under no illusion that this won't be rough. Even if a part of him is pretty sure that John's more like Daniel than most might suspect, and spiraling just as hard right now.

There's a hesitant knock at the door, and Cam looks up from his desk to call, "Enter." John steps inside, shoulders tense and hands shoved deep into his pockets like he's trying to make himself smaller. He shuts the door behind himself and steps towards Cam's desk. Not at attention, but not brazen enough to try and sit, either. Cam could insist they stand on protocol, here, but...he doesn't want to. He thinks it would break something. That the tentative friendship they've been rebuilding piece by piece would not survive it.

John's usual smirk is absent, replaced with something almost sheepish — but not apologetic enough. Not yet. Cam leans back in his chair, fingers tapping on the arm, considering him. "You disobeyed a direct order," he says, voice low and direct. "You could've died, Sheppard. You could've taken the rest of us with you."

John shifts uncomfortably, gaze on the wall above Cam's shoulder. Opens his mouth, shifts again, and scowls suddenly in a way that makes Cam's jaw clench. "I didn't know what would happen," he says defensively, jaw tight.

"That's why I told you not to fucking touch it," Cam leans forward. "And you waited, what? Five seconds after I walked away? Ten?" John opens his mouth, but Cam quells him with a hard look, not in the mood for more excuses. "And for what, your curiosity?"

"I could feel it," John protests, and there's a whine in his voice now. "It was calling for me."

"Oh, yeah, and it's always a good idea to let yourself be summoned by alien tech," Cam says sarcastically.

"You don't understand! My ATA gene is so strong, sometimes I just...wake stuff up. But it's not a big deal, it works out."

"You're not on Atlantis anymore!" Cam snaps. "There's no sentient ancient spaceship out here to protect you. You could have died, Shep." The bite in his tone must get through his friend's thick skull, because John doesn't respond, just grimaces in reluctant acknowledgement. "On top of that,  I vouched for you. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret that, but you were already on thin ice with Landry, and now we might as well be floating in the water. This cannot happen again, do you understand?"

"Yes," he murmurs, adding, "Sir," after a moment's hesitation. There's no excuse this time, no flippant deflection — just raw acknowledgment. Cam nods once, pushing himself up from his chair and circling the desk.

"We're going to make sure. Over the desk, pants down." He doesn't miss the way John's breath hitches slightly when he grabs the strap from the desk between them, or the way his fingers twitch at his sides like he's fighting the instinct to bolt. John hesitates long enough to make Cam wonder if he needs to course correct, then exhales sharply and complies. He shoves his pants and underwear to his knees and steps forward, bracing his palms on the flat surface.

Calmly, slowly, Cam puts a hand in the middle of his back and applies gentle pressure until he lowers himself all the way, chest to wood, and reaches out to catch hold of the far edge. Cam doesn't waste time after that, taking only as much time as he needs to step back and aim before he brings the strap down hard, the sharp crack echoing off the office walls. John hisses through his teeth, shoulders tensing, but he doesn't move. Not yet. Cam pauses just long enough to let the sting settle before delivering the next one.

"I gave you a direct order," Cam says, his voice low and firm as he snaps the strap down again, lower this time, watching the angry pink stripe bloom on pale skin. John inhales sharply, fingers tightening around the desk edge. "You ignored it, and you nearly got yourself killed for no damn good reason." The next stroke falls quicker, lower again across the very bottom of his ass and the top of his thighs, and John shifts his weight, pushing up onto his toes before forcing himself back down. Cam waits for him to settle, then lays a fourth stroke across his upper thighs, which flush a deeper color immediately. 

John sucks in a breath and holds it this time, shoulders tight, spine rigid. Cam waits, letting him feel it, until he exhales shakily and the tension in his back loosens just a fraction. "You're lucky we got you out," Cam says, quieter now. "Lucky you didn't take us with you." He brings the strap down harder this time, and John jerks, a bitten-off noise escaping before he clamps his lips shut. "You were in a coma for three days."

Cam doesn't rush the rest. He doesn't need to. The strap does its job, methodical and unrelenting, until John's breathing is ragged and his knuckles are white where they grip the desk. By the time Cam stops at an even three dozen, John's forehead is pressed to the wood, his shoulders rising and falling unevenly. Cam tosses the strap onto his chair behind the desk and leans against it beside him, pressing a hand to John's back and rubbing it up and down when he isn't shrugged off. And there he waits, patient and quiet, until John pushes himself upright, hands unsteady as he tugs his clothing back into place. He won't meet Cam's eyes yet, and Cam lets him have a minute, watching him struggle to regain his composure.

In that minute, he's thrown back thirty years. He can see a familiar cadet superimposed on the man in his office, struggling to stay composed after being thoroughly taken to task for some nonsense or other, desperately trying not to look weak in front of their classmates. John'd never let himself accept comfort at the Academy unless they were behind closed doors, tucked away where no one could see them. 

Which they are, here in Cam's office. "Oh, come here, you big idiot," Cam sighs, grabbing him and yanking him into an uncompromising hug. 

"I'm sorry, Cam," John mumbles into the front of his uniform, leaning into the hug. In the back of his mind, Cam has time to hope that he'd been willing to let someone hug him on Atlantis. And before that. 

"Just try to stay out of trouble," he sighs, arms locked tightly around the other man's back. "I promised Landry I'd be able to curb the worst of your shenanigans. I don't have a ton of pull with him, and O'Neill already told you he wouldn't force him to let you stay on here. It doesn't have to be perfect, but you have to make an effort."

"Got it," John mumbles. And then, "Sorry about making you...do this. I didn't mean to cause trouble for you."

Cam pushes him away so that he can force him to meet his gaze. "Worth it, alright? I like having you around. I missed you, though maybe that means I should get my head checked," the tease lands, John quirking a little smirk at him. "But, for the record? I'm not as averse to this as I used to be. Your crazy shit is going to land you here every time, so maybe tone it down. At least if you want to be able to sit. Ask Daniel and Vala, if you don't believe me."

John cycles through shock, mortification, and irritation before his face lands on reluctant amusement. "Yeah, I hear you," he says wryly. 

"Good. Alright. You must be starving, huh?" He opens his office door and slings an arm over John's shoulders, firmly back onto the familiar grounds of old friends getting reacquainted. "Let's find the rest of the team, go get brunch."