To the untrained eye, you're the same as you always were. You're strong, independant and if a little bit naive - it went un-mentioned. You're clothes reflect the colourings of leadership in your newly formed hierarchy - to which you pray hopelessley to relinquinsh - if only it meant you could return to the life you used to find so taxing.
You spend the hours of your never-ending day in solitude, side-by-side with the last of a race you used to call 'enemy'.
You look out at the expanse of space - and in times of silence - you imagine what could have been. You picture them in your mind's eye, squabling, laughing, teasing. You see Ronon beating John in the gym, you see Teyla, repeat the process. You see Rodney discover something wonderous and you picture them all as if they sit around your table at night, sharing your meal with warm, welcoming smiles.
But your table is empty and your meal, insufficient and unneccessary. You don't need to eat, you haven't needed to eat for months and yet you do it.
You cling to the small things all the while knowing it's the bigger things that set you apart.
You try for humanity and while you understand the concept of compassion, humility and understanding. Rationality speaks to you in efficiencies and quantitives - it makes you want to scream.
From your captian's chair you look out upon the massive expanse of space within your grasp and you blink three times over every day, wishing for Orion or Cassiopeia because they make you think back to your 5th grade astonomy class and the fact that all you had to worry about back then was whether or not, Bobby Anderson was going to ask you to the Prom.
You look out upon the black and you ask yourself - "When was the last time you saw the stars?" - because these constellations are as foreign to you as the new-found power seeping through your veins.
The first time your feet touch the floor of what was once your city, the thrill it sends through your body is 50,000 steps closer to erotic than anything you've felt in the last four years and a million times better than you thought this body could feel again.
You take three steps forward and stop, conscious of the eyes at your back, at your side and the weapons aimed at your front. You take another three and you're at the stairs, unable to stop yourself from looking up in wonder at the place it all started.
The sun seeps through the window with an afternoon hue and you smile and close your eyes, tilting your head back to feel it's warmth soak through your cheeks and you realise you feel more alive in this moment than you have in forty-nine months.
A throat clears beside you and you turn to meet the eyes of the only human willing to stand within arms reach of you, because you are formidable now, you are feared.
Though they don't know it, but you want nothing more than to be back within these halls, reading mission reports you barely understand and running to mission breifings you, yourself set far too early in the morning to be reasonable.
He holds his hand out to you and you smile, taking it because it is the first sign in all this time, that he still trusts you. Perhaps not as unwaveringly as he had - what seems like a lifetime ago - but it is a start.
With this new alliance, you hope that one day, more hands will be held out to you in friendship, rather than the startling familiarity of a weapon poised at your chest.