"Another Man's Shoes" (4/4)
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Ronon paced the area around the bed in slow steady strides. When John finally shot him an irritated look he shoved his back into a corner of the room and took up a casual seeming slouch against the wall.
Teyla took her place back in the chair, her expression serene calm. But the looks she was shooting at him… John knew it for the façade it was.
Rodney had pulled up a small chair, pounding away on his laptop set up on the end of the bed. Every few minutes he’d pop his head up like a prairie dog, look around to see if anything had changed, then go right back to his research.
And they all pretended not to notice when he phased in and out from wherever it was that he went. The visions were getting shorter but more frequent, and the memory of each started to blend in to the next.
Every time he came back he waited through the adrenaline rush, the pounding heart, the dashed looks to see that he had, for now, returned to himself. And through the growing dread of the time when he would be lost for good.
“A-ha!”
John’s headache swelled with the twinge in his neck and shoulder as he whipped his head over at Rodney’s exclamation. “What?”
The physicist held a single finger up briefly, then returned to tapping rapidly on his keypad. But his face bore the smug smile John knew to be triumph. “What?” He demanded louder.
Rodney finally looked up from his computer at the group of eyes staring intently at him. “Commander Morla. It was the first concrete clue that we had. I was searching the Ancient database, getting bubkus, then on a whim I opened up the search to all the data on our system. That archeologist, Jackson? He had entered a whole bunch of crap about PX3-MKZ. He’d managed to translate some of the writing they’d come across and that name came up in his findings!”
“Makes sense,” Ronon said. “Last planet you two were on before this stuff started happening. Anything happen while you guys were there?”
“You mean besides being bored out of our skulls, surrounded by ethno-archeo-anthro-whatever-ologists nattering about ruins and plants and --”
“John returned with a head injury,” Teyla broke in.
“Yeah, but that was just a little shrapnel --”
“A little shrapnel,” Rodney huffed.
“Yes, a little shrapnel,” John continued, unwilling to roll his eyes and risk aggravating his headache. “It was a glancing blow -- a flesh wound,” he emphasized for Rodney. “Carson gave me the all clear. There’s no way a laceration on my scalp did this.” He pointed at the small red line on his temple as illustration. “Nothing happened to that point and we left right afterwards.”
Rodney looked momentarily defeated, then shook his head. “The coincidence is too great, were I to believe in them in the first place. Tell us exactly what happened.”
John rolled his head slowly on his sore neck, kneaded at his nape while he thought back. “The storm was on us. Rain, lightning, the whole nine. Jackson was dawdling, dragging his feet. He’d been trying to cover a piece of artwork they’d exposed. He fell and I scooped him up outa the mud. I remember a bright light, a feeling like my head was gonna explode. Then the lightning hit and shattered a piece of the wall. Shrapnel hit me, we went home. The end.”
“Wait. You said light, pain, then the lightning?”
“Well, yeah. The lightning was the light, shrapnel was the pain… what the hell are you getting at, Rodney?”
“That’s not what you said,” Ronon commented. “You’re a military man, used to remembering details for reports.”
“When he chooses to put them in,” Rodney remarked.
“Ronon is right,” Teyla said, uncurling from her chair. “John you clearly describe the light and pain prior to the lightning strike. What more do you remember?”
“I -- jeez, it was all so fast.”
“Come on,” Rodney fumed. “This is Pegasus. There had to be an Ancient device, a hidden lab, a Wraith testing facility, am underground bunker.”
John started to shake his head and gasped at the pain. “No, damnit, Rodney!” he growled. “There was a crumbling wall. Mud. Jackson. And that artwork. A pretty map. No lights, no buttons, no crystals. Besides, you were the one who insisted there weren’t any energy signs on the planet.”
“There weren’t,” Rodney sighed. He shut the lid of his laptop dejectedly, stood up with it. “This means something. I just don’t know what yet.” Then he turned and left the room.
Even through his now blinding headache John could see the look on Teyla’s face.
“I know,” he ground out. “He was just trying to help.”
“I said nothing, John,” Teyla demurred.
“Yeah, well you didn’t have to.” He placed the heels of his hands on his temples and squeezed, trying to hold his splitting head together. Risked a glance over and saw Ronon staring at him, his gaze wary.
“What the hell are you looking at?” John snapped.
Ronon’s gaze didn’t falter. But his hand did drop perceptibly closer to the blaster at his hip.
“I asked you a question, soldier!” John barked as the room around him started to shimmer and fold. A rainbow aura formed around Ronon’s face…
“I gave you an order, Hermot!”
“Sir, my family! Please, you must let me go to them!”
His aide’s face was pale, lit only by the inferno blazing behind him. The streets were impassable, jammed with men, women and children screaming, crying. Tossing belongings out their windows into waiting arms.
“You wish to be with your family, Hermot?” he asked calmly.
“Y-Yes, Commander Morla.”
With equal calm he drew his sidearm and shot the man dead where he stood. The noise of the weapon’s discharge was swallowed up in the chaos.
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She looked out with pride from the platform. Her father and mother were in the very back row, shamed she knew by their worn, unfashionable clothing. Her mother was in her very best dress, taken out for only the most special of occasions but one she‘d had since the first days of her marriage. Her father wore the suit he wore every day to work.
All that would change now. Her development of the personal podcraft would keep them comfortable for the rest of their lives and her mother could have a new dress for every day. And her father could finally retire to his books and work on his own inventions.
As her name was announced she saw them stand and clap wildly, broad, proud smiles on their faces.
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Lights were coming on all over the city as he made his way through streets still mostly empty. He passed a security officer with his communicator pressed to his ear, listening intently but with a stricken expression.
He could still feel his beloved pet’s fur between his fingers, the warmth, the pulse beating in her neck as he twisted. She was in a better place, he knew, but still muttered a prayer to the Protectors for her safe arrival. As the city stirred to life around him, he knew it wouldn’t be long before panic took hold. He had little time before the crush of terrified people filled the streets.
He rounded a corner, slipped into a dark alleyway. The light of the first moon was blotted by clouds but his path was well memorized. He stopped just before the end and closed his eyes. At the brush of his thought a section of the wall morphed into an open doorway. He entered quickly with a look dashed over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t been seen. The lab was through a short maze of corridors and hidden by another illusionary wall. This one would open to his thought only… to his Pattern.
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The rise and fall of his father’s chest was slowing.
He had rushed to his bedside, played the part of a dutiful son, and held his father’s hand when the physicians told him it would only be a matter of hours. But his father, stubborn old fool that he was, had fooled them all, hanging on for the better part of three days now.
But even the great and powerful High Cleric of the Protectors was only mortal.
The room was stifling, too warm, and the air was heavy with the scents of dozens of flickering candles. His Eminence’s fellow clergy bustled in and out, trading whispers and hooded looks at him and his father.
He knew he was an Outlier, a heretic. His father had screamed the name at him just before turning his back, banishing him from home and family.
And now, it was too late. His father’s eyes would never look upon him again.
The next breath was a dry rattle, shallow and stuttering. The susurrus of whispers stopped as the next breath was slow in coming. The clerics moved closer, now the only whispers the sound of their robes on the heavy carpeting underfoot.
The next breath was more a short gasp. And it was his last.
John came back with the now familiar feeling of tears cooling on his cheeks, and snot drying on his upper lip under the rub of a nasal cannula.
He took in a shuddering breath and raised a shaky hand to wipe away the moisture. Finally opened his heavy, swollen feeling lids and blinked away the tears still clinging to his lashes. Sadness was a physical weight, bearing him down into the thin mattress.
“Welcome back, John.”
“Carson?”
The doc moved closer to the bed and smiled kindly. “Aye, you’re back with us again. I’m afraid you had another seizure… actually, technically a series of them. Several patterns again tried to assert themselves at the same time. All that electrical activity shorted things out for a bit, but you’ve been you for the last few minutes. You were quite upset.. would you like to talk about it?”
John closed his eyes back down and took a moment to gather the strands of memory together. “This last one hit pretty close to home, Carson,” he said quietly. “Think I’ll just let it fade like the rest.”
“Of course, lad.”
“Where…” He looked around the room. “Where’s my guard?”
“The big man’s pacing around outside,” Carson said, bending down and lowering his voice. “He’s more sensitive than people give him credit for.”
“What? He couldn’t stand to watch a grown man crying? Again?” John said bitterly.
“It’s human nature, John, to be moved by another man’s pain. Unless of course, you’re a sociopath.”
“Yeah. Speaking of, did you hear from Morla again? The man is- was- is… he’s a sociopath. I should know; I’ve met a few of them in my day.”
“No, lad. No, none of the… personalities showed themselves. I believe that as they continue to acclimate themselves to their new organic substrate, they will… och. Jockey for position. The strongest may eventually will out.”
He paused and John’s heart tripped in his chest. “What?”
“John, you need to know. This situation as it stands has three possible outcomes. Ideally, your pattern is the sole survivor and the others break down, much like what happened with Thalen and Phoebus.”
“Yeah, and less than ideally?”
“One of the other patterns takes dominance.”
“You said three, doc.”
Carson put a hand on his arm. “The seizures will likely increase in frequency. Chemically, your brain is flooded with neurotransmitters every time you experience a vision. Each high and low brings a different one, each often an antagonist of the other. John, your brain is just not equipped, in any way, shape or form, to handle this kind of battle.”
“So…” John said slowly. “Win, lose or fried. Those are my choices?”
“We’re still working on this, lad. I have every confidence we will find the answer and set you back to rights.”
John just nodded tiredly, the growing ache in his head now laden with the image if the battle being waged in it.
“I can send Ronon back in if you like, John. Teyla has also said she’d return to keep you company.”
“Not like I have much choice, Carson. If I get… taken over again, I’m not sure you could do much to stop it. No offense.”
“None taken, Colonel. Well, maybe just a wee bit. I did wrestle at University. Was top of my weight class.”
“I’ll take your word for it, doc. But to be on the safe side, the big Satedan with the gun might be a better option.”
“Fair enough.”
“Hey, I cant believe I’m asking this, but where’s McKay?”
“Och, lad’s got himself locked up in his lab, bent over a computer. He calls every hour on the hour for an update, though. John?”
The room was narrowing again; it was Alice down the rabbit hole time. He could hear Carson still saying his name as everything went black.
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Rodney poked his head in the door, more timid than his usual abrupt entrances. He looked around then slowly walked in, his hands uncharacteristically shoved in his pockets.
“Well, I think I know what happened.”
John struggled to sit up, grudgingly allowing Teyla to help arrange the pillows to support his aching head.
“Spit it out, Rodney,” Carson said in exasperation. The doc was clearly exhausted; his shadowed eyes and the beard growing in made John wonder if Carson had slept in the two days since the whole nightmare had begun.
“It was, uh, Jackson, actually, who was responsible for the translation.”
Rodney not taking all the credit made it clear John was about to hear bad news.
“Now mind you, this is only pieces that we’ve linked with a hell of a lot of speculation… but it sounds right, what with what’s been transpiring.” He took a deep breath. “It seems the planet, which they called Allora, was divided into two factions or races or territories. Pieces, remember? They were extremely advanced, and likely were some form of proto-Ancient. But as advanced as they were, they were still human and of course, that made them prone to the same disgusting behaviors we still see today. The two factions fought. Over land, over resources. And most importantly, over Ascension. Seems there were, gah - why do they call it political science?”
“Rodney, please,” John sighed.
“Sorry. There were, I don’t know… factions within the factions, or something. Jackson talks even faster than I do. But some of them felt the only way to Ascension was faith-based, through meditation, yoga and clean living. The rest of them felt the key to Ascension was through science. There was a terrible war, nuclear probably, although from the number of building structures still intact after all these millennia I’d say they were N bombs not… anyway. They had a failsafe in place. Each generation a thousand of the best and the brightest would be chosen to have what they called their “Patterns” saved. When war broke out, each of those Chosen Ones uploaded themselves into a central storage system- like a remote server- where their Patterns were kept. And they stayed there for the next ten thousand years, give or take.
“To what end, Rodney?” Teyla asked.
“Their records indicate they had been working on technology similar to that I used when I built Fran. When I built the body for Elizabeth…”
“But John is not an artificial life form,” Carson said bitterly. “And how the bloody hell - a thousand did you say?”
“Originally, yes. We have no way of knowing who survived the war long enough to upload their Pattern or how many were lost as the system degraded.” Rodney stepped further into the room and began wringing his hands.
“It’s my fault. I said there weren’t any energy readings, but there were of course, low level ones. Any planet with organic life, solar energy, radioactive ores… they all register as low level energy, perfectly natural. But the power supporting the system, the server inside the ’pretty map’ Sheppard touched. It was so low it barely registered. It recognized the power was almost fully depleted and when a conduit became available it just dumped the whole core into it- him. It could be the ATA gene or just the length of time he was near it or how he touched it--”
“Rodney, settle!” Carson placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “Nobody blames you Rodney.”
“Well, I do!”
“I don’t,” John said meeting Rodney’s frantic gaze. “Just bad luck, Rodney. Pegasus-style.”
Rodney looked away then nodded his acceptance of the reassurance. “I - I can try making bodies, the way I did for…for --”
“No,” John interrupted. “We’re not messing around with that crap again. Besides… how the hell would you get the… the Patterns into the bodies? And I don’t think some of them should be… set free.” He took in a deep drag off the oxygen and closed his eyes, unwilling to see the reactions on his friends’ faces. “What happens if I die? Do the Patterns die too?”
Silence greeted his question for a heartbeat, then all of then began clamoring, shushing him, smothering him with pep talk. As it died down he finally opened his eyes and pinned them on Rodney. “What happens?”
“They… they would for lack of a better word ‘die’ too. That is, if they didn’t find another conduit, which--”
“How? What could they use? Think, Rodney!” John urged. There was no way he could let them jump to the city or to another person.
“I.” Rodney clamped his mouth shut, his mind working like only his could. Then he let out an explosive breath. “I don’t think they can. They can’t. They are currently based in an organic substrate, in their previous natural state. They would need to upload them with technology only they had into equipment they designed. Ten thousand years ago, give or take a millennium.”
John relaxed back into his pillows, satisfied that if there’d been a way, Rodney would’ve thought of it. They were in him and they would stay in him until… at least the city would be safe.
“Am I the only one who thinks Sheppard dying isn’t an option?” Ronon grunted out of nowhere.
“Of course not, big man,” Carson sighed. “But something Rodney said… I’ve been researching a procedure. As he observed, the Patterns are currently in a natural organic state. John’s brain to be exact. And John’s ‘pattern’ is still there and fighting. It’s the overlay of the others that’s disrupting his and causing the seizures and the neurological breakdown he’s experiencing.
I have a way that might reset his pattern and clear the rest. It’s a bit out there…”
“Since when aren’t your cures?” Rodney huffed.
“But I think it may do the trick,” Carson continued with a sigh. “And I think it worth it to try anyway.”
“Whatya got, doc?” John asked.
“Perhaps we should discuss it in private, John? I know you’ve already had your share of audience, but this is a decision you should be able to make on your own.”
John looked around at his team. His family. Family was supposed to be by your side in life and death decisions. His yearning to have one small part of the situation be private was strong. But he knew that ultimately they’d be there through it and at the end if it came to that. “No. I appreciate your attempt at discretion but they can stay.”
Carson hesitated then steeled his shoulders. “All right, just hear me out now. ECT.”
“ECT?” Ronon asked.
“Electroconvulsive therapy. We administer an electric shock to the brain in order to - I believe Rodney would say ‘reboot’. It’s been used for the last eighty years or so on Earth and the literature is generally positive.”
“Electro- Carson, I’ve called your medicine quackery before but this takes the cake! Are you insane? It’s barbaric!”
“Shut it, Rodney. It’s not barbaric. John, we induce a seizure - I know, you’ve been having them already, but this is a controlled seizure. Longer in duration and more severe, but controlled. The shock has been proven to reboot the brain-”
“He’s not a PC with a Vista operating system --”
“Cram it,” McKay John growled. “I wanna at least hear the man out.”
Carson closed his eyes briefly and took a calming breath. “The seizure is thought to increase levels of BDNF. It’s a protein in the brain that acts on certain existing neurons. Although the vast majority of neurons in the human brain are formed prenatally, parts of the adult brain retain the ability to grow new neurons from neural stem cells. Your stem cells. The Patterns being… inflicted on yours aren’t natural. So when your brain… reboots- and yes, I know the colonel isn’t a computer, Rodney- it should come back with the existing neurons only.
“What’re his odds, Doc?” Ronon asked in the silence after Carson’s speech.
“I can’t honestly say, big man. But I do know that if this abnormal activity continues his brain and body won’t be able to handle the stress.”
John swallowed and tried to absorb everything through the ache and fog in his head.
“But I’ll be able to handle a few thousand volts to my brain?”
Carson smiled and shook his head. “No volts. Milliamps, 800 as a start. We increase wattage until we get the desired effect.”
“Which is me doing the St Vitus jig?”
“A crude way of putting it, but, aye. You won’t be awake for it John. We’ll put you under sedation; you won’t feel or know a thing about it.”
“I saw A Beautiful Mind, doc. I know what happens.”
Carson’s face colored. “That movie depicted something completely different and outdated I’ll quickly add. That was the 40’s, John. This is 21st century Atlantis. Please give me a little credit.”
“Didn’t he forget his wife after?”
“I won’t lie to you. There is a very real risk of retrograde amnesia. It’s often temporary, and they have made improvements that limit it. I’ll be trying unilateral ECT first; it’s sometimes not as effective but the reports of memory loss are much less frequent.”
“And if at first you don’t succeed?”
“Why don’t we cross that bridge if we come to it, lad?”
Not getting the expected ‘try, try again’ meant Carson doubted he’d get a second chance.
He scanned the room, took in the eyes of his friends, then settled his gaze on Carson. It was still a bit jarring, seeing his dead friend’s smiling cherubic face, hearing the familiar brogue. He had trusted Carson with his life on more occasions than he’d care to remember. This was Carson, clone or not. And he still trusted him with his life. “So what happens next?”
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Any doubts Carson had about the ECT went out the window as John’s condition worsened. The memories trapped in his head were in an all out battle, images coming in slivers so fast they began to blur. His headache had ended him up on a morphine cocktail that was only barely touching the pain.
John emerged from reliving a son’s birth, from the aspect of the husband, thank God. But the vision had touched him all the same. Often conflicted between the desire to have a family of his own to memories of how screwed up his had been. And Pegasus wasn’t exactly Anytown, USA. Unless the neighbors there were life sucking space vampires.
He looked up at the sound of a voice clearing. It was Carson, bouncing patiently on his toes. “We’re ready when you are, Colonel”
John nodded, still caught up in the experience of seeing his… a child born.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Let’s get on with it, I guess.”
Carson cocked his head and studied him. “Do you have any questions about the procedure. Concerns, beyond the obvious, I mean?”
“After the … after you do this, they all go away? Where do they go?”
“Och, lad, if I knew that…” Carson sighed and sat down on the chair, began playing with the stethoscope in his hands. “Having been dead once myself you’d think I’d have more answers.”
“I’m consigning the last remnants of this entire race to oblivion, Carson,” John said softly. “Just to save my skin. I really hadn’t thought about it too much… but they were…are…were people. They had lives, families. Loved ones. They were artists and inventors, soldiers and scientists. And they’ll be gone with the flick of a switch.”
Carson appeared uncomfortable, averting his eyes. “I’m sorry, John. Maybe your Carson…”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“The ‘your Carson’ bullshit,” John said angrily. “Whatever made Carson, Carson is in you. IS you. I don’t know how but… you are OUR Carson, damnit.”
The doctor flushed red and his blue eyes brightened with tears. “I’ve been thinking on that, John,” he almost whispered. “I’m wondering if Michael had technology similar to what the Allorans had. Maybe I’m nothing more than Carson’s pattern in a homegrown body.”
“Carson, I have these patterns inside my head. Trust me when I say, that whatever made them the people they were, it’s here. I feel their love, hate, anger, joy. I remember their childhoods, their marriages, the loss of their loved ones. It’s what’s making it so hard,” he finished, taking a shaky drag off his oxygen. “You have his soul. As far as I’m concerned, a friend was miraculously resurrected and all I can do is be thankful for it.”
The doctor wiped a hand across his cheek, then steeled his back. “Thank you for that, lad. But we have work to do. And as far as the Allorans go… Their time was ten thousand years ago. They lived their lives. Now its time to make sure you live yours.”
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Awareness returned slowly. There were muted voices. Then a slight breeze blew across his closed lids.
Brief snapshots, like a slide show of unconnected images ran through his head. So many faces, so many voices. Summer, winter, day, night. Each had its own smell, its own feel. Its own emotion. Anger, fear, lust, heartache.
Then over everything he heard a low moan and the slight breeze became a rush of air that made his eyes blink.
“John?”
His eyes opened briefly, too quick to see which of his realities he would find. A wife and child? A soldier with a gun? A grave or a celebration.
“John?” The voice grew louder and more urgent. A woman. But which woman would he see? Would her face bring sorrow or happiness? Desire or repulsion?
“John, please. It’s Teyla. Can you open your eyes for us?”
“Yes, we’re all quite done with the waiting by your bedside thing. So come on.”
John waited a heartbeat, then two, three. Waiting for what he wasn’t sure.
“Seriously, John,” came close to his ear. “Wakey wakey. You’re beginning to scare Teyla.”
“Just give the lad a moment, Rodney. The procedure will probably leave him more than a wee bit disoriented for a good while.”
Procedure? As a little more of the fog lifted John finally remembered. The ECT. Several hundred watts to the noggin, then the mother of all seizures. By the lingering aches now awakening all over, especially in his jaw and neck, they had that right.
He finally worked his eyes open, blinked away the veil of white that lay over his vision. Of all his realities, it appeared he was, at least currently, in the right one.
He turned his head slightly to see Rodney bent over, staring intently at him, his blue eyes filled with concern.
“Teyla’s worried, huh?” John managed to grunt out.
“OhthankGod,” Rodney said on a rapid exhale.
“All right,” came Carson’s stern voice. “The lot of you, you’ve seen he’s awake, give us a few minutes to get him sorted out and we’ll see about having you back in later.”
The lot of you? John turned his head-- slowly- God, his neck was stiff- on his pillow to see Teyla to the other side of his bed, Ronon standing, arms crossed over his chest at the foot and wow… Richard Woolsey standing in the doorway, looking like he was trying to blend in with the frame.
“Did it work?” he asked the room in general, too sore to even try to focus on anyone in particular.
“We’ll be trying to figure that out, once everyone clears out,” Carson said with a sigh but a small smile accompanied it. “Go on. I promise to give you all a status report, but I’m afraid I must insist.”
John felt hands touching his shoulder, arm, leg. Heard a few softly spoken goodbyes and good wishes, then the room was suddenly much emptier. Colder. He pulled at the blanket on his chest, wincing at the soreness in his arm. A hand appeared from over his shoulder and he flinched away.
“Sorry, John.” Jennifer Keller stepped from behind the head of the bed and grabbed the blanket, eased it up over the wires that flowed from the loose top of his hospital gown. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” she said with a bashful smirk. “This room is cold. You want another blanket?”
“When?” John’s heartbeat kicked up a notch and a light began flashing on a nearby monitor. She hadn’t been part of this reality, he was certain of it.
To her credit, Jennifer quickly figured out the reason for his concern. Put a hand on his arm and rubbed gently. “I’m sorry, John. I just got back from my trip this morning. You had to go and have all this excitement without me,” she teased. “I just wanted to help. I didn’t mean to… I can go.”
“No. No,” John said, taking in a deep breath. “Home, right? To see your dad?”
She grinned broadly and shot Carson a jubilant look before nodding back at John. “Yup. Fishing, Scrabble, all the Fox News programming I could stomach.”
“Aye now, fishing. That’s my idea of a good time,” Carson chuckled. “What were ya fishing for, might I ask, love?”
“Well, we were trying for trout, but I caught a tiny sunfish and almost cried at its little gaping face. I made my dad throw it back, then watched the water for the rest of the day, waiting to see if the poor thing came floating back up.”
John just laid there, basking in the normality of listening to the docs make small talk as they fussed over his monitors, leads and tubes.
The pillow felt good, supporting his head, easing the strain in his neck. He settled in, felt the warmth of the blanket. Allowed himself to…
With a small start, he realized that he’d been relaxed, allowed his mind to drift, and he had stayed rooted in his time and place.
Next he realized that the two docs had stopped their ministrations and were sharing the same smile.
“I’m… I’m still me,” John said quietly, almost afraid of tempting fate.
“Aye, you are, John. 100% John Sheppard.”
“Heard that one before,” John said with a scowl.
“And that, my friend, is another good sign,” Carson said smugly.
John’s brow creased in confusion. “Huh?”
“Long term memory,” Carson replied. “You remembered that we, that is, you --” He stopped before John could even open his mouth. “We“, Carson continued more firmly, had a very similar conversation a few years ago.
“Yes, we did, John affirmed.
“Must’ve been quite the conversation,” Jennifer observed, clearly confused by the loaded exchange.
“Sorry, you had to be there,” John said with a wry smile. “So… when do we know for sure that it worked? That they’re - that I’m…”
“You’ll be our guest for another few days at least, John. The readings so far are all good. Your brainwave pattern is back to normal, but we’ll need to keep you on the leads for a wee bit longer. The ECT appears to have worked, but don’t expect to bounce back too quickly. As hopeful as I am that we avoided any major damage, don’t be surprised if you do find gaps in your memory.”
“So if I forget your birthday I get a free pass?”
“Cheeky bastard,” Carson smirked. “Seriously, John. The ECT was a traumatic injury inflicted on your already taxed body. Deliberately inflicted, but no less traumatic.”
Then he flashed Jennifer a quick look. Even still groggy from the anesthesia and the seizure, John could read an ‘amscray’ when he saw it.
Apparently, so could Jennifer. She smiled, then quietly excused herself from the room.
“It want just physical trauma, John,” Carson said quietly after she’d gone. “What you experienced… I know the decision weighed heavily on you lad, but I can only assure you that you made the right choice.”
When John didn’t reply Carson patted his leg through the blanket. “Get some sleep, lad.”
After he left John curled up on his side and closed his eyes. He couldn’t dredge up a single image of the Allorans. So he let his mind drift, pictured himself flying one of those pod cars over the city, and dreamed his own dreams.
FINIS
Tridget originally wanted John to feel the effects of stimulant use, similar to what happened with Lorne in Tabula Rasa. When I failed, miserably, to conceive of a scenario that fit, she noted that her main desire was to see John struggling with emotions that he cant control, and more importantly that he knows he can’t control and why, but is powerless to stop it. Giving him the Allorans, I HOPE, gave him the whole gamut of emotions. I loved playing with the memories and the emotional vulnerability that we don’t get to see in our stoic Colonel very often. I also loved writing Carson and was happy I was able to parallel their two stories.
I genuinely, desperately hope Tridget liked it. Thanks, R-, for your help on Long Ago and I hope this tragically late fic was worth your way too long wait.
And thanks again to my ever patient beta, mod, friend, Kristen, without whom…ermmm… Likely NO fic would get written.