Disclaimer: Stargate SG1 and it's characters are the sole property of someone besides myself, I'm just writing this for fun.

The old man shuffled down the hospital corridor. He had never expected to live long enough to see this day, but here he was, he had survived. Debating for days about whether or not he would come to visit or not, part of him wanted to turn around and go and yet another part of him wanted to see for himself that everything was as it should be.

He slowly approached his destination. The years had not been kind to his body. Past injuries caused him pain, so that walking had become difficult and a cane had become necessary for his continued independence. As he hobbled along he thought back over the years at the sacrifices he had made and hoped that it all had been worth it.

He had never married nor had children of his own, knowing that if he had, it might destroy everything he had worked so hard to correct, so he lived the past 40 years as a transient, moving from town to town, finding work where he could, but never staying long enough to make a permanent home for himself. Keeping a low profile, he never made any friends, as far as he was concerned all of his friends had died a long time ago. As an outgoing and gregarious person by nature, it had been a lonely life, but if it meant that the world was as it should be, then it had been something he had willingly endured.

Finally, he came to a stop. He had made it. Peering into the window, he looked upon the rows of isolettes filled with sleeping or crying infants that lined it. He searched for the name he was looking for and found it on the front row. The child's eyes were open and calmly took in the sights and sounds of his new world.

"Happy birthday" he whispered into the glass. As he watched the baby, an older lady came up beside him.

"Aren't they just the most precious things you have ever seen?" She spoke to him.

"They sure are, ma'am."

"This is our first grandchild, she's over there." she pointed to a baby wrapped in pink in the back and smiled. "How about you? Which one are you here to see?"

"That one." He replied succinctly, nodding into the little boy's direction, still staring through the window.

"Oh, he's lovely and he has your eyes." He had to smile at that, she had no idea how right she was.

"That he does."

"Our daughter named our grandbaby Annabelle Justice." She shook her head in disbelief "Kids these days and their hippie names, I'll never understand it. How about your boy, what's his name?"

"Cameron Aaron Mitchell" He replied softly.

"That's a nice name." She smiled at him and turned her attention back to her grandchild. Suddenly, a sharp and gripping pain ripped across his chest. He brought his hands to his heart as if to push the pain away. Instead the pain grew exponentially and he found himself falling to the floor, gasping for air. The pressure in his chest made it impossible to take a full breath and the corners of his vision began to fade. The last sight he saw was of the woman bending over him and calling for help, but he knew it was too late, his time had come. He stared into the face of the shocked woman and whispered his last.

"All is as it should be." He closed his eyes, gave into the darkness and knew no more.

Nurses came running and tended to the fallen man, but he was gone. His body was taken to the morgue where it laid for several days, unclaimed. Without any identification and no loved ones to take on the task of burial, the body was simply named 'John Doe #46' and cremated. His ashes were deposited into a simple urn and placed high on a shelf in storage, forgotten. No one ever knew that he had saved the world nor that he had died on the day he was born.