Shattered Part 3/4
The Jumper hummed to life, spurred by the harmony it sensed in this one; the one that had awoken it after many millennia of slumber. There was no doubting his presence, the strength of his connection as he ran his hand over smooth metal. Sensors followed him as he stood on the opened back ramp. The link with this one was strong. He touched and it obeyed…
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John touched the interior wall, resisting the urge to jump as dim cab lights abruptly came on. The gene… He’d read enough mission reports to know about the ATA gene he carried, but what he felt as he walked into the Jumper was so much more than just impartial facts.
“You need me to get off this planet. I'm the only one that can fly that ship!”
He stopped, dead center in the Jumper and stared at the controls.
Okay, now what am I thinking?
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The thoughts were vague, unfocused and always changing, but the ship obeyed, interpreted as best as possible what he wanted and provided it. That’s what it was designed for, what the mental bond was all about. This one was its pilot; the one that made it swoop freely through the skies as it was meant to. It would give him what he wanted… find what he needed…
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He slowly walked forward to the front of the Jumper. Abruptly, the cockpit lights came on, the control panels lighting up with a quiet hum. “Hello, baby,” he muttered as he rested his hand on the back of the pilot’s chair. Snapshots of memories still assaulted him. Flying… explosions….
“Hang on!”
John took one deep breath, then another. His memories flashed past him like a slideshow, so many of them too quick for him to recognize. The blackness of space, then the blue darkness of water…
“We’re under water! I always wanted to try this…”
John sat down and smiled as he ran his hands over the smooth console. “I love flyin’ you…”
It was more than facts. More than what he’d read in mission reports. The words came from deep inside him, their truth relieving him. For the first time in a month something came back to him with stark clarity and for the first time in a month, he felt like he belonged. In spite of the fading memories, he felt content; felt like he’d made real progress and he couldn’t help but smile because of it.
It was a long time before he moved, but when he stood his hand lingered on the control panel. “Thanks, girl,” he muttered. He could’ve sworn he felt added warmth permeate his fingertips but he dismissed it as he pulled his hand away and the control panel went dark.
Exiting the back of the Jumper, John paused and looked at his watch. Three fifteen, but the adrenaline that flowed thorough him invigorated him and drove away any feelings of fatigue. He knew the med crew would be on the hunt for him now. He knew eventually they’d find him, or he’d make his way back to the infirmary when he was ready, to face the wrath of Carson. But even if he was found now, what just happened and the progress he felt, made it all worth it.
He slowly walked out of the Jumper bay, his mind deep in thought. He tried to pull on each memory; each thought that had run through his mind to find the meaning of them. The snarling, tattooed Wraith stood out above all of them and he unconsciously winced. Bob… He’d read the mission report, knew what that Wraith had stood for, and how they’d barely escaped the siege Bob’s kin had unleashed on Atlantis. But the raw hatred had never been there… not until now. His mind jumped from one Wraith to another… a nameless Wraith he faced alone, wounded with only a knife and an empty nine mil to defend himself…
“…Lock onto the biggest life sign signals you can see and fire.”
“That's an order, Lieutenant! Do it!”
“McKay, run!”
He stopped extending one hand, shaking with anger to steady himself against the wall. He took one breath, then another. That was why he was the CO; why he served here. He’d fought the Wraith and won… more than once. It was more than just defending Atlantis and Earth. For him, it was personal. He’d lost people under his command to the Wraith and he had a score to settle.
John swallowed hard, his anger tempered by the cool, analytical mind of a soldier. He wasn’t bent on vengeance or consumed by hatred, but he knew that the fire of those emotions, buried deep down, served only to strengthen his resolve, the same resolve that had gotten him out of more hopeless situations than he cared to admit.
He resumed walking, the cool, deserted corridors of Atlantis soothing him. He stopped in front of a large set of doubled doors and stared at them for a moment, before running his hand over the control crystal. The doors parted and he slowly walked out onto a large, outdoor balcony.
John took a deep breath, the tang of salt water invigorating him. It wasn’t that Atlantis was stuffy, the Ancient city was far from that, but nothing could replace the refreshing feeling that ocean air brought to him, the comfort his spirit found in the open air. He was born to be a pilot and wide-open spaces with seemingly endless skies always soothed his soul. Slowly, he walked across the large balcony.
You have earned both my friendship and that of my people. With our help you will make many more friends…
John smiled. Teyla. He hadn’t seen much of the Athosian woman in the past few weeks. His brows knitted slightly. That wasn’t normal; somehow he just knew it. Instinctively, he realized something with Teyla was wrong.
My team?
For a moment, he berated himself for not realizing it sooner, but quickly dismissed the thought. You know something’s wrong now. Better late than never. He put the thought aside; something to rectify in the coming days, and continued walking towards the distant railing.
You do realize I can get us into all sorts of trouble, right?
He reached the railing and stopped, his hands slowly closing over the cool metal as he leaned slightly on it.
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The warmth of his hand was not lost on it. Triggered by his touch the city awaited his command; orders from one it was designed to obey… to serve. It responded with a subtle warmth only he would feel if he was receptive to it…
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His gaze roamed over the city, the tall spires from each pier reflecting the bright moonlight. The majesty humbled him and it wasn’t because his injury made it all new. Somehow, John knew, the view of the city would always be far from ordinary.
“We’re moving!”
“On the surface without a shield? We’re target practice.”
“You don’t leave people behind!”
His thoughts drifted. His post here was a post of a lifetime. Even with his scant memories, innately John knew there was nowhere else he’d rather be. His loud sigh was tinged with frustration. His position here was endangered. The military part of him understood, although reluctantly. The intel he needed and the experience that he’d carried were vital components of his command. Without them…
John pushed away from the railing and walked slowly across the balcony. He could feel the tension… the scrutiny from Caldwell and through him, the IOA. He was on display, every aspect of his recovery subject to close judgment and it was wearing thin on him. ‘course if I’d just remember… He ran a frustrated hand over his stubble of hair. That was the hitting point, wasn’t it? If he just had his memories… all of them, not just these snippets that filled in the blanks with the consistency of Swiss cheese. He returned to the railing, his emotions churning and no longer finding peace. Innately, he knew he belonged here and the thought of being sent away… of being denied his post here went against every instinctive fiber in his body. His gaze drifted out across the city again. He could remember barely anything about her, but like an irresistible woman, he knew he couldn’t accept losing her… he wouldn’t accept it.
McKay… Somehow, John knew deep inside that McKay was the one to turn to for answers. He’d always listened to his gut, and it had gotten him out of trouble more times than it had gotten him into it. Bowing to his instinct, John turned and headed back towards the door, only to stop mid way as he staggered, trying to keep his feet. His vision doubled and knees buckled as his weak and healing body reached the end of its limited endurance. He fell hard, catching himself on his arm and side, somehow keeping his vulnerable head from impacting. He hissed in pain and cradled his left wrist in his right hand. “Damn it!” He moved his fingers experimentally and rolled onto his back, carefully letting his tender head come to rest on the cool deck plating. John settled his injured wrist on his chest and bent his knees before he looked up at the stars, their light dimmed by the full moon. “Carson’s gonna kill me…” he muttered.
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“Dr. Beckett, come in please.”
Pulled from sound sleep, Carson rolled over and stared at the clock next to his bed before grabbing the radio headset and fitting it over his ear. “This is Beckett. ‘Tis five after three, Susan, this better be good.” Internally, he winced at his snappy tone, but he hadn’t had much sleep lately and was feeling less than charitable.
“Carson, I’m sorry,” Susan Biro, the doctor on night call this week responded. “I really didn’t want to wake you, but, well, I thought I should…”
Carson yawned as he listened to Biro’s typical chatter. “Susan,” he cut her off as he rubbed is eyes, “what is it?”
“Colonel Sheppard is missing,” Biro answered quietly.
All lingering fatigue fled from Carson’s body as he sat up straight. “Missing? Bloody hell!” he stood and crossed his room, before fumbling around for clothes.
“Carson, Kathy was sure he was sleeping…” Biro’s voice trailed off.
Carson’s thoughts touched on the competent graveyard shift nurse that had been assigned to the Colonel since his injury. He sighed. “I know, its okay. I should’ve seen this coming. Memories or not, the colonel can be a perfectly bullheaded patient.” Pulling a shirt over his head Carson reached for his pants. “How long?”
“We just noticed on the three AM rounds,” Biro responded. “He was sleeping at two so, an hour at the most. We tried reaching him by radio but there was no response. He doesn’t seem to have it with him.”
“Aye,” Carson finished dressing and headed for the door. “Or he’s just not answering. He could be anywhere by now. Contact Ops and see if they can use the city’s scanners to find him. And,” he sighed, “as much as I hate to do it, you better wake Dr. Weir and the Colonel’s team and let them know what’s going on. I’ll meet them in Ops. Beckett out.”
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John stood silently at the back wall of the infirmary and stared, watching as the base surgeon, Lieutenant Colonel Kenton, and his team worked on Martinez. The flight back had been a blur. He’d pushed the chopper past what any sane pilot would’ve considered, relying on his gut instinct to keep them all from getting killed; the sound of Edwards counting of CPR cycles driving him. Barely sparing a hand to contact McMurdo to have a med team standing by…
He glanced at Edwards who stood next to him, his gaze riveted on Martinez. John had known Edwards for almost a year and even for a medic, Edwards took every patient’s health and welfare personally. It was part of what John liked about him. The attitude was not unlike the one he took towards any man under his command. “At least they’re still working,” he offered quietly.
“Yeah,” Edwards’ reply was gruff.
John looked over his shoulder and straightened slightly as Colonel Hays walked towards him. He nodded once. “Colonel.”
Hays returned the gesture. “Major.” It was at that moment that Colonel Kenton left Martinez side and walked over to the group.
For the first time, Edwards looked away from Martinez gurney. “Sir?” He stared at the surgeon.
“Damn fine job you did, Lieutenant,” Kenton smiled at Edwards. “He’s going to make it thanks to you.” Kenton turned his gaze to John. “And you, Major. Hell of a quick trip back, and that made the difference.”
John smiled slightly. “Glad to hear it, sir.”
“By all rights your asses should be crashed somewhere out there instead of standing here feeling smug about yourselves.” Hays glared hard at John. “You were lucky, Sheppard.”
John’s smile faded and he felt a spark of challenge rise in him. Didn’t he just get them back in one piece? Saved Martinez’s life? He pursed his lips remembering how he fought the sheering winds and near suicidal speeds the whole way back to McMurdo. He sighed. Hays had a point. “Yes, sir.”
Hays smiled. “That said, damn fine flying, Major.
John’s smile returned. “Thank you, sir.”
“Colonel Kenton,” Edward’s soft voice interrupted John and Hays’ conversation. “Martinez? Is he going to be okay?”
Kenton sighed. “He’s going to live.”
John’s gaze narrowed at the doctor and he beat Edwards to the question. “What does that mean?”
After a moment, Kenton looked directly at John. “He’s going to lose his left foot. Frostbite. I’ll wait a bit for him to get stronger and then we’re going to have to amputate it. He’ll get an honorable discharge after that.”
“Damn it!” Edwards turned away and ran a hand thorough his short hair.
“Honorable discharge…” John whispered to himself as he stared at the stars overhead. That had done nothing to placate Martinez and now, John really knew how the young airman had felt.
The cool deck plating under him sent a shiver through his body. John sighed before carefully trying to sit up. He got about a foot off the deck before a strong wave of vertigo flattened him. It was a few minutes before he felt confident enough to open his eyes and move his head gently without worrying about losing whatever might be in his stomach. He left his injured hand lying on his stomach and reached for his radio, his hand making it all the way to his ear before he remembered that he’d ‘conveniently’ left it behind. “Great,” he sighed, “might be in a little trouble here….”
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Elizabeth climbed the last flight of stairs to the command deck. Carson was already there and she nodded in acknowledgment as she approached him.
“Ronon, Teyla and Rodney are on their way,” Carson nodded back.
“What…” Elizabeth started.
“What the hell does he think he’s doing?” From the back stairwell, a slightly disheveled Rodney McKay stalked into the control room, his voice demanding attention. “For god’s sake, we have better things to do than babysit him.” Rodney took a moment to glare at Carson. “Isn’t that your job anyway?”
“The night staff thought he was sleeping, Rodney,” Carson’s low voice held a tinge of irritation.
“Well, apparently not!” Rodney snapped as he sat down at one of the consoles. “Here I am trying to figure out that damn scanner and I have to take time to play Hansel and Gretel trying to follow a trail of breadcrumbs in hopes of finding him simply because he has the patience of a twelve year old boy!”
“Rodney!” Elizabeth cut him off mid tirade. Her voice was a little sharper than normal but at nearly four in the morning, it was the best she could muster. “Can the sensors help us at all?”
“Probably,” Rodney reached in front of the night technician who spared a moment to glare at him before scooting out of the way. Oblivious, Rodney continued. “At this hour, there can’t be that many people out and about… hello.”
Elizabeth walked up behind him. She could feel the rest of the team standing behind her. “What?”
“The lights are on in the Jumper Bay,” Rodney answered before he tapped a few controls on the panel. “That’s odd.”
“Do you think the Colonel was there?” Carson asked.
“Well someone turned them on!” Rodney snapped back. “I for one don’t believe in coincidences.” Rodney brought up a schematic display of the Jumper Bay. “But, whoever it was, isn’t there anymore. Widening the scan… Ah ha!”
Elizabeth looked down at the display and nodded at the one life showing on one of Atlantis’ several outdoor balconies. “Ronon’s quarters are the closest.” She reached up and tapped her headset. “Ronon, this is Weir.”
“Go ahead,” Ronon answered.
“We think we might have found Colonel Sheppard. Balcony 3, section 5D. Are you close by to confirm that?”
“Close enough,” Ronon’s voice was even.
“I’ll meet you there,” Carson interjected.
“No.”
Elizabeth narrowed her gaze at the Satedan man’s immediate reply. “Ronon?”
“Let me talk to him first,” Ronon replied.
Elizabeth looked at Carson, noticing the determined gaze in his eyes.
“Son, he could be injured,” Carson insisted. “He may need some help.”
“If he’s hurt , I’ll call you. Ronon out.”
Elizabeth arched her brows as Ronon cut off communication, her gaze still fixed on Carson’s unconvinced look.
“Guess he told you,” Rodney muttered sarcastically.
She looked away from Carson and thought for a moment about the strength of the bond that had developed between John and Ronon in the last year. Ronon had to have a reason for his actions, and she trusted him enough that if something was wrong with John, he’d call for Carson.
“Elizabeth, I should be there,” Carson insisted.
She shook her head. “Let’s give Ronon a chance. He’ll call if John needs you.” She smiled slightly, as, after a moment, Carson sighed and nodded in agreement.
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Ronon passed his hand over the control crystal for the door to balcony 3 and stepped through the doorway as soon as it opened. He waited a moment, his senses extended, as his eyes adjusted to the dark. Even before he could see Sheppard, Ronon knew he was there. He could feel it, and, as his eyes adjusted and a dark form lying on the deck came into focus, he knew his gut had been right. He walked towards the colonel. “Sheppard?”
“Hey, Ronon,” Sheppard’s voice was weak but clear. “Funny meeting you here.”
One side of Ronon’s mouth turned up in mild amusement as he stopped and crouched next to Sheppard. “McKay’s sensors. You okay?”
Sheppard blinked and sighed. “Sort of…”
Ronon’s smile faded. “Want me to call Beckett?” His brows furrowed as Sheppard’s neutral expression turned into a wince.
“Not really, no.”
Ronon slowly rocked back and sat down, parallel to Sheppard. He let his arms rest on his knees. “What are you doing out here?”
“Admiring the stars… but that part was a little… unexpected.” John answered quietly. “I set out with every intention to spark memories and plug some of the holes in this damn hunk of Swiss cheese I call a brain.” His voice turned cynical. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”
Ronon nodded to himself and saw a dark humor in it all. Sounded like something he’d do, and Sheppard’s frustration was understandable. He knew he’d be a lot more pissed then this if their roles were reversed. “Shouldn’t have fell,” he quipped darkly.
“Thanks for pointing out the obvious,” Sheppard replied, “but it was either that or pass out from vertigo. Either way, I’d be on my ass right now.”
“Did it work?”
“Did what work?” Sheppard questioned.
“Memories,” Ronon looked down at him. “Did you remember anything?” For the first time since he’d been there, Ronon saw a smile fleet across Sheppard’s face.
“Oh yeah, lots. Bits and pieces and I still don’t have it sorted, but… yeah.”
Sheppard sighed loudly and there was a long pause before he spoke again; a pause Ronon was content to let linger.
“Ronon,” Sheppard began quietly, “they’re going to take Atlantis from me.”
Ronon nodded slightly, even though Sheppard couldn’t see the gesture. “Yep.”
“What?” Sheppard’s slight chortle had a distinctly sarcastic note to it. “No ‘don’t say that’ or ‘we won’t let that happen’?”
Ronon scratched the back of his head. “Nope.”
“You’re not really strong in the bedside manner thing are you?” Sheppard chuckled quietly.
Ronon didn’t say a word as instinctively, he felt the humor leave Sheppard.
“It’s a post of a lifetime you know,” John continued. “Atlantis. I know if they take me away from here, I’ll never see her again. Even if I fully recover. I’ll never get to come back.”
Ronon nodded. Other than being here in Atlantis, he had no experience with Earth’s military way, but in many ways he suspected it was a lot like Sateda; and he knew if this had been Sateda, that the same thing would be happening. “You gonna let them do that?” He asked.
Sheppard’s sigh was clearly audible. “I don’t think I have much say in it. Especially if I can’t get my memories back.” His voice turned snappy. “Why do you think I’m out here anyway?”
Ronon sat silent for a moment, considering the situation and what Sheppard had done. He knew no one else would agree, but he thought Sheppard was doing the right thing. Maybe pushing himself too hard, but it was something that Ronon respected. In the same situation, he’d be doing the same thing. In the last year that he’d known Sheppard, his respect for the colonel had grown considerably. Like him, Sheppard was a fighter, but he didn’t harbor it close to the surface the way Ronon did. At first, Ronon had seen it as a weakness. Hadn’t seen the fighter in Sheppard; the kindred spirit. But he’d seen Sheppard fight; truly fight, and he knew the strength was there. “Keep fighting,” he said quietly. He barely heard Sheppard’s quiet chuckle.
“I intend to.”
Shifting in to a crouch, Ronon looked down at Sheppard. “Beckett’s pretty mad.”
Sheppard grimaced. “Figured that.” He pointed at the hand that lay on his waist. “He’s really not gonna like this either.”
Ronon’s gaze narrowed. “You hurt?”
“Just the wrist,” Sheppard admitted. “Think I sprained it when I fell.”
“Ronon this is Weir. Did you find him?” Weir’s voice over the radio startled him slightly. Ronon pointed at his head. “Weir.”
John sighed loudly. “Great. Ass chewing number 2…”
Ronon stifled a chuckle as he tapped his radio headset. “Yeah, he’s here. He’s okay. Taking him to the infirmary. Ronon out.” He looked down at Sheppard again. “Think you can stand?”
“With some help? Maybe.” Sheppard lifted his good hand towards Ronon. “Just take it slow, okay?”
Ronon firmly grabbed Sheppard’s wrist. “Yep.” He slowly stood, carefully pulling Sheppard along with him. When they were both standing, he steadied Sheppard with both hands as the colonel rocked slightly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Sheppard whispered, his head bowed. “Just… gimme a second…” After a long minute he looked up. “I’m good.”
Still keeping one hand on Sheppard’s arm, Ronon slowly started walking towards the door. Right before they reached it, he stopped and stared Sheppard squarely in the eye. “Keep fighting,” he said. “And next time, call me. I’ll help you.”
Sheppard stared back, before a smile slowly formed on his pale face. “I doubt I’ll be able to escape Beckett again, but if I can, you got a deal.”
Ronon smiled back and nodded, before carefully helping Sheppard back through the door and towards the infirmary.
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John staggered slightly and felt Ronon’s arm tighten around his waist. The walk back to the infirmary had been uneventful, but each step had seemed to sap his strength bit by bit. John knew he was leaning hard on Ronon, but he really didn’t feel he had a choice; short of letting the big ex-runner carry him. Hell, no!
“Sheppard?” Ronon looked down at him.
“I’m good, just tripped,” John answered and started walking again.
“Sure.”
John arched an eyebrow at Ronon’s cynical response. He sighed.
“Beckett’s really going to be pissed,” Ronon added a note of dark humor to his voice.
“Thanks for reminding me,” John answered sarcastically, before concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. “God I feel like shit,” he muttered.
“Look like it too,” Ronon reached up, taking hold of John’s good hand that was draped over his shoulders.
“C’mon,” John protested weakly. “I can’t look that bad…” He looked up at Ronon’s cynical look, complete with arched eyebrow. “Great,” John sighed again. He returned his attention forward as the infirmary doors came into view. He’d be lucky to have an ass to sit on once Carson got done with him.
As the doors to the infirmary opened, John found himself captured by a withering glare from Carson. He tried a feeble smile. “Hey, Doc.”
Carson crossed the infirmary in bold strides, his pace apparently matching his temper.
“Don’t ye ‘hey Doc’ me! Of all the bull-headed, reckless…” Carson threw his hands in the air. “What the bloody hell were ye thinking?”
John winced, noting the stronger, more pronounced accent in Carson’s voice; a tell tale sign he was madder than a wet hen. He always gets this way when he’s pissed, or upset… John drew in a deep breath, trying to stay composed as struggled to figure out how he knew that, but he couldn’t… he just knew.
“So you’re the one. You were the one that fired that thing at me!
“Well, next time just be a little more careful, okay?”
“What the hell was that thing anyway?”
“Come on. What are the odds of me having the same genes as these guys?”
He barely noticed Carson walk up next to him until he hissed in pain as the doctor grabbed his free arm, jostling his injured wrist.
“Ach!” Carson’s touch gentled even if his voice didn’t. “What’ve ye done now?” He slid one hand under John’s wrist, supporting it.
John felt Carson’s eyes on him, but he was too preoccupied to return the gaze. He felt Carson’s free hand grab the back of his upper arm.
“Colonel?”
“The Chair,” John whispered.
“Aye,” Carson’s voice immediately softened. “What is it, son?”
John’s brows furrowed. He could feel the memory there, just on the edge of his consciousness… beyond one, last barrier he couldn’t seem to break. Remembering his experience in the Jumper Bay, John took a deep breath and forced his mind to relax; to find the crack in the wall that blocked his subconscious mind and to break through it.
“You shot a… a drone… at me,” John’s voice remained hushed. From the corner of his eye he saw Carson wince.
“That was me,” Carson answered.
“Outpost,” John grimaced as he reached for the scraps of memories that were slipping away from him, “McMurdo…” The memories fled, leaving him with the dark emptiness of amnesia. He sighed, and at that moment, felt his knees buckle slightly.
“Ach, enough!” Carson’s grip on his arm tightened as he steadied John’s wrist with his other hand. “To bed with ye,” he ordered.
John slowly sat down on the edge of his bed, silently relieved to be off his feet. He nodded once, slightly, in thanks to Ronon as the big man stepped back.
A faint smile creased Ronon’s eyes and barely touched his mouth as he nodded back.
John looked back at Carson, who stood in front of him, still holding his wrist. Knowing nothing he could say would change the doctor’s mood he just frowned and sat silently staring at Carson’s expression which was an odd mix, of anger, worry and compassion, dashed with a little hope. After a moment, the doctor looked down at John’s wrist.
“How did this happen?” Carson asked, his voice calmer, as he poked gently at the joint, and sighed as John flinched in response.
“Kinda got dizzy and fell,” John answered quietly. He stared silently back as Carson again looked up at him, eyes widening in alarm.
“Did ye hit your head?”
Reflexively, John shook his head, then winced and groaned quietly as the little man with the sledgehammer beat harder on his forehead. “No.” With his free hand he pointed at his injured wrist. “That’s how this happened. Tried to catch myself.”
Carson nodded and gently turned John’s wrist over before poking it again. “I don’t think it’s broken, but I want some x-rays to be sure.”
John stared at the dark circles under Carson’s eyes and realized the doctor had probably been woken up from a much needed sleep. He sighed. “Sorry to wake ya, Doc.”
Carson looked up at him, his expression stern. “Aye, you should be.” After a long moment, a small smile softened his features. “We’ll get you settled, and then both of us can get some sleep, alright?”
John smiled back. “Okay.” He looked over Carson’s shoulder as his night nurse, Kathy, rolled a wheelchair up next to his bed. He grimaced. “Wheelchair?”
“Aye,” Carson’s tone left no room for argument. “And you’ll use it. I’ll not have ye fallin’ on that fool head of yours.”
John sighed as Carson relinquished control of his injured wrist to him and helped him stand, then sit in the wheelchair. “I want pictures of that wrist, and then I want ye in that bed.”
The x-rays were quick, and before John knew it, he was changed into hospital scrubs, his wrist immobilized with a splint, and back in his bed. But sleep eluded him so he stared at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened in the last two hours. All the memories, flashes of things he knew; glimpses of his past. He held tight to them, treasured them, even if he wasn’t exactly sure what all of it meant.
The privacy curtain moving grabbed his attention as Carson slowly walked through and pulled the curtain closed behind him.
“Thought you were going to get some sleep, Colonel.” Carson slowly sat down in a stool next to John’s bed.
“You too, Doc,” John countered and arched his eyebrow challengingly.
Carson’s thin smile still revealed his dimples. “Aye.” His smile faded. “Why’d you do it, son? I canna have you breaking out of my infirmary all the time.”
John looked away. “Doc… Carson,” he amended, “I gotta get my memories back. Lying here in this bed wasn’t doing the trick. I had to get out,” he shook his head in frustration, “see the city… let the memories… I don’t know… find me…” his voice trailed off in frustration.
“You take walks around the city every day,” Carson countered. “Why…”
“I had to do it alone,” John interrupted. “No distractions. No one hovering, just me and her… the city…” his voice trailed off as he realized how foolish he must’ve sounded, but as he looked back to Carson, he only saw understanding.
“Aye,” Carson answered softly, before his expression sobered. “You could’ve hurt yourself badly tonight, John. You’re just not ready yet. Ye got to take things slow.”
Frustration welled in John and he pulled a hissing breath through his teeth. “I can’t take it slow!” he insisted with quiet intensity. “I have to remember; have to get my memories back before the IOA takes…” his voice trailed off and he swallowed hard against a swell of emotion, “my command from me,” he finished in a whisper.
“They haven’t yet.”
Carson’s voice was mildly reassuring, but John wouldn’t have anything to do with it. “Yet being the operative word here,” he answered. “They will. Elizabeth can only hold them off for so long. Atlantis can only be without a stable military commander for so long before the IOA will move. They’re bureaucrats. I’ve dealt with bureaucrats before. They’ll walk right over the top of me without a second thought.” John played with the fringes of his blanket, feeling disturbingly vulnerable. “I may not remember much… okay next to nothing, about Atlantis and my time here, but I do know that I don’t want to leave.” He pointed at his head. “I don’t know it here, but I do know it,” his hand fell to his chest, “here.”
Carson’s expression was full of compassion as he nodded slowly. “Aye,” he agreed in a quiet voice. “We’ll find a way to help ye, son.”
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Her stride strong and confident, Elizabeth strode down the long hallway to the infirmary. Next to her, Rodney was muttering about the inconveniences caused by a certain colonel that was on both their minds, but she paid him little heed. In the past couple years, Elizabeth had developed a very effective ‘Rodney Filter’; allowing her to filter out the noise but still catch the important parts of whatever the topic of the moment was for Rodney.
“Elizabeth, are you listening to me?” Rodney demanded.
“Every word,” she reassured and flashed him a small smile. “I suspect Carson will have read John the riot act already, so try not to be too hard on him.” She glanced at him and arched an eyebrow at his annoyed look.
“Fine,” Rodney responded. “It’s only four thirty in the morning and we’re all sleep-deprived, but let’s not let that get in the way.”
“You weren’t sleeping anyway, Rodney,” Elizabeth retorted, “be nice.”
“Right,” Rodney’s voice sounded less than convinced. He took a deep breath as if he was going to say something, but fell quiet instead.
Elizabeth again glanced at him. “What is it?”
Rodney shifted his data pad from one hand to the other before scratching the back of his head. “I can’t help but notice you’ve had a lot of communiqués from the IOA recently…” his voice trailed off as he fixed her with a pointed look.
Elizabeth sighed. Leave it to Rodney to notice. He was next to oblivious to human emotions and had about as many soft skills as a rock, but when it came to technology, details and monitoring security on Atlantis, nothing got past him. “Yes,” she answered.
“Sheppard?” Rodney asked.
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “They’re getting harder and harder to keep at bay. They want some resolution on the situation with John and command of Atlantis, one way or the other… and they want it now.”
“They can’t be serious!” Rodney’s voice went up an octave, “he was damn near killed! I know, I was there!”
“Rodney.” Elizabeth chastised lightly.
“They can’t expect him to be well yet,” Rodney lowered his voice, “or to think that they have to just… just kick him out.”
“They’re concerned with having a stable chain of command and a strong, competent commanding officer.” She sighed, “given all our troubles and enemies…” her voice trailed off.
“You agree with them?” Rodney’s voice was incredulous.
“About removing John? No.” she sighed, hating herself for seeing the logic of the IOA’s concerns about John, but at the same time, the rational side of her couldn’t deny it. Apprehension clenched her gut as, for a moment, she tried to envision life on Atlantis without John. In the three years they’d led the expedition together, she’d come to rely on his straightforward attitude, innate ability to command, and his unwavering support, whether or not he fully agreed with her. Rational side or not, she wouldn’t let go of him. Not without a fight.
Elizabeth looked away, unable to meet gazes with Rodney, who surprisingly remained quiet. She swallowed hard and continued walking, quietly letting the conversation end as the infirmary doors loomed ahead of her. Taking a deep breath, she passed her hand over the door crystal and entered the infirmary. She turned towards John’s corner of the infirmary and saw Carson sitting next to John’s bed. Her gaze touched on John’s sleeping face, before she smiled thinly at Carson. “How is he?” she asked quietly.
Carson’s smile mirrored hers. “He sprained his wrist, but other than that, he’s okay. Just exhausted. Don’t think he wanted to sleep, but didn’t have much choice in the matter.”
“Huh,” Rodney grunted. “At least he’s getting some sleep.”
Carson glanced up at Rodney. “Of all of us, he needs it the most.” He lightly admonished before returning his gaze to John. “He regained some memories.”
Elizabeth felt hope kindle within her and her eyes widened slightly. “How much?” Her voice remained quiet but still had an added note of intensity to it.
“A few snippets from his first… encounter with drone weapons at the Outpost in Antarctica.” Carson winced.
Elizabeth felt a small smile pull at her mouth. Even now, three years later, Carson still got nervous every time he was around the Chair. “Anything else?”
“Probably,” Carson answered, “I don’t know for sure.”
“I do.”
Elizabeth turned, following the deep voce to Ronon, who, along with Teyla, had joined them, unnoticed. “Ronon?” she questioned.
Ronon walked up next to John’s bed and looked down at him for a moment, before fixing his gaze on her. “He told me. Said he had lots of ‘pieces’ of memories come back to him when he was wandering around.” Ronon’s gaze narrowed slightly. “It was good for him.”
Elizabeth met his strong look with a confident one of her own. For a man of few words, Ronon was a master of subtle hints and as she stared at him, his opinion became abundantly clear. He thought John did the right thing. She pursed her lips and nodded slightly.
“Aye, maybe,” Carson answered, “but he went about it the wrong way.”
“Not the way I see it,” Ronon contradicted.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Rodney added sarcastically.
Elizabeth sighed. “Gentlemen,” she headed off the debate before it got started. “This is a good conversation to have later.”
“Elizabeth.” For the first time since she’d arrived, Teyla spoke. “You can only keep the IOA at bay for so long before they will supersede you and remove the Colonel from command.” She sighed and something akin of guilt flashed across her face before she smothered it with a stoic expression. “We must not let that happen.”
Elizabeth looked down at John. She rubbed her eyes wearily before speaking softly. “I’ve been able to keep the IOA at bay so far, but it’s not just because of my word. Colonel Caldwell is still in our camp on this, and between the two of us, we carry a lot of weight with them.”
“Somehow, I’m not entirely comfortable placing this matter solely in the hands of Colonel Caldwell, but I can’t imagine why,” Rodney snapped quietly.
“I know, Rodney,” Elizabeth answered. She shook her head. “If only he could remember.”
“He is remembering,” Carson insisted. “Tis not a fast process. We can’t just wave a wand over his head and, ‘poof’ he has all his memories back. This is going to take some time.” Carson looked back at John. “Maybe I need to speak to the IOA myself. Convince them of that.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “They know, Carson. They’re just not willing to let Atlantis continue without a definite, qualified CO for any length of time in hopes that John will recover enough of his memories to be fit for command.”
“He didn’t know thing one about Pegasus when we first arrived here,” Rodney insisted, “none of us did, and we did a pretty damn good job getting along.”
“I almost think there’s more to this than his memories,” Elizabeth commented quietly. Years of diplomatic work had given her tremendous insight and the ability to read people’s opinions beyond what just came out of their mouths. “The IOA has resisted John being in command of Atlantis from the start. It took myself, General O’Neill and the president to get him the promotion and the post here in the first place.”
“You think that’s their reasoning behind all of this?” Carson asked, his gaze a cross between anger and disbelief.
Elizabeth shook her head. “Not entirely. But I think it is a factor.”
“Well, I for one would love nothing more than to put those squabbling bureaucrats in their place,” Rodney interjected, “and we just might be able to do that.”
Elizabeth slowly looked at him, her gaze narrowing. “Rodney?”
Rodney looked down at John for a moment, before stepping back and turning. He waved at them. “Come with me.”
------------------------------
Rodney quickly walked down the hallway to the infirmary’s lab confident that the rest of them were following his quick steps. Walking into the lab, Rodney tapped the space bar on his laptop, effectively bringing it out of hibernation before typing a series of commands into it as his companions gathered around the Ancient scanner. “I’ve made a lot of progress with this thing. I know for sure it has healing capabilities and I think I know how to run it.”
“You’re just telling us that now?” Carson stared incredulously at Rodney.
“I just figured it out!” Rodney snapped back. “At two thirty in the morning I might add. Next time I’ll wake you so I can fill you in on all the details instead of waiting for a more civilized hour!”
“Rodney,” Elizabeth interjected before Carson could respond, “you’ve made your point.”
“You think you know how to run it?” Ronon walked around the end of the scanner.
Rodney sighed loudly. Sometimes the burden of being a genius was a hard one to bear. The more you did, the more people demanded of you. I figured the damn thing out for god’s sake! “Yes, think!” he turned his attention towards Ronon. “I don’t know for sure and I don’t think I can know for sure until we use it.”
“Rodney I’m going to repeat what I said before,” Carson’s voice was resolute. “We’re not testing this thing on the Colonel’s brain!”
Rodney set his pad down and crossed his arms. “Tell me,” he challenged Carson, “what are his chances, really, of regaining all of his memories? Or at least enough to keep his post here?” Rodney waved a hand. “Just a round figure, using conventional medicine. What are the chances, Carson?” He knew the answer; it’d been simple enough to research, but he was trying to make a point that had to be made. Hope and optimism were fine, but sometimes you had to cut through the crap and face reality.
Carson sighed. “With little progress after over a month of recovery, ‘tis a slim chance he’ll regain enough to keep his post here. I’ll grant ye that.” Carson pointed at the scanner. “But I’ll not have that thing turning his brain into mush! Right now, he can live a normal and productive life, even if it’s not on Atlantis. Something goes wrong with that thing; we could rob him of even that. I won’t allow it.”
Rodney threw his hands up in exasperation. “This is Sheppard we’re talking about! He’d want to do this. He’d want to try. It’s his life! Don’t you think we should let him choose?”
“Yep,” Ronon agreed. “I’d want to try. Sheppard too.”
“Thank you!” Rodney waved Ronon’s direction.
“I am not so sure of this,” Teyla disagreed.
“Rodney,” Elizabeth’s voice was calm, in an apparent attempt to diffuse the high emotions radiating in the room. “We have to consider that John may not be in the right frame of mind to be making this decision.”
Rodney dropped his head and scratched his brow wearily. “I can make this work.” He looked up at her.
Elizabeth smiled thinly. “I’ll think about it.”
Rodney resisted the urge to argue further. He recognized her expression and knew that was the best answer he was going to get. “Fine.” Turning back to his laptop, Rodney ignored all of them as they silently left.
--------------------------------
A knock on the door grabbed John’s attention. He dropped his book and pushed himself off his bunk before crossing the room to his door. Opening it, John straightened slightly as he found himself staring at Colonel Hays. “Sir,” he stepped aside. “Come in.”
“Major,” Hays nodded as he walked past John and into his quarters. “Taking a little down time?”
John smiled and walked over to join the colonel. “Yes, sir. Needed to unwind.”
Hays chuckled slightly. “I’ll bet. Hell of a stunt you pulled.” He turned and faced John. “You should know I’m putting you up for an Air Force commendation for it.”
John’s brows climbed up on his forehead. “Commendation, sir?”
Hays’ expression turned deadpan. “You don’t think you deserve it?”
“I can’t speak to that, sir,” John fidgeted uncomfortably, “but that’s not why I did it.”
Hays smiled and nodded his head. “I know, that’s why I’m nominating you, Major.” He took a step closer to John. “Martinez is alive because of you and Edwards. I’m putting him in for a medal too, by the way. At the end of the day, that’s what matters…”
John woke with a start and blinked as the memory faded and reality set in. He smiled slightly as he met gazes with Teyla. “What are you doing here?”
A shadow of a smile passed over her face. “I could not sleep.”
John arched an eyebrow slightly. “Okay. But there has to be better places to feed your insomnia then here.” He met the intensity of her brown eyes with a confident look of his own.
“There is not.” Blinking hard, Teyla looked away.
John’s gaze narrowed as he studied her. Her body was tense… on edge. He could feel it, even without touching her. His gaze fell to her hands and the white knuckled grip her interlaced fingers had on each other. He slowly looked back up at her. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?” He asked gently.
“I cannot. I…” she drew in a deep breath and let it out forcefully. “I am sorry,” she whispered.
John sat in silence for a moment. Somehow… somewhere in his gut, he knew the apology had nothing to do with her denying his question. “For what?” His voice was soft as he gently prodded her to talk to him. Something had been bothering her since the beginning of this whole ordeal and he wasn’t going to let it slide anymore. “Teyla?”
Teyla’s lips were pressed tight as she finally looked back at him. “For all of this,” she waved slightly. “It is my fault.”
John’s brow furrowed. “Not according to everyone else… except you apparently.” His gaze hardened slightly. “If anyone is to blame it’s these T’eshii.”
Teyla shook her head. “I should’ve been more alert. I should have…” her voice trailed off.
“Should’ve what?” John asked, but she shook her head.
“I cannot tell you, Colonel,” her voice was resigned, “you must remember on your own.”
John clenched his jaw for a moment before pushing his own frustration aside. “Teyla look at me,” he insisted and was silent until she did. “I may not remember what happened, but I do know I’d do anything for anyone on my team. Period. That includes you. Whatever happened, I don’t blame you.”
Teyla abruptly stood. “You should not have had to do what you did.”
Before John could say another word, she turned and quickly left.
John sighed loudly, allowing his own frustration to color his mood. How the hell could he help Teyla if he couldn’t even remember what happened in the first place? Settling back in his bed, John tried to pull back the scraps of memories he’d experienced in the last few hours, but to no avail.
It sort of reminded him of his Grandma Eunice’s snapshots. Hours he’d sit and endure one picture after another that obviously meant something to her, but, taken out of context, had no meaning to him. He could see the images in his head, but had no perspective… no attachment to go with them. Nothing more than rouge emotions he couldn’t explain. Sleep eluded him as he stared at the ceiling, buried in his own frustration.
---------------------------------
The day’s appointment schedule on her pad did nothing to hold Elizabeth’s attention as she stared blankly at it. Abruptly, the sound of the gate activating grabbed her attention.
“Incoming wormhole,” the gate technician’s voice came over her headset. Pushing back from her desk Elizabeth stood and quickly walked out into Ops. “Do we have an IDC?”
“Affirmative,” the technician answered, “it’s a transmission from the SGC.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “It’s marked confidential. Your eyes only.”
She nodded. “Pipe it into my office.” Her stomach full of apprehension, Elizabeth swiftly walked back to her office and sat down. She took a deep breath and tapped her laptop, bringing up the transmission. Her brows arched slightly at the face of Richard Woolsey staring back at her.
“Richard? What can I do for you?”
“Dr. Weir,” Woolsey responded, “I… I hate to be the one to tell you this.”
Elizabeth dropped her head and sighed. She had a sinking feeling she knew what he was going to say. “Go on.”
“The IOA has decided to relieve Colonel Sheppard of his command, effective immediately. Colonel Caldwell will be ordered to step in as military commander temporarily, until a suitable commanding officer for the Daedalus can be found. At that point, Colonel Caldwell will be instated as the military commander of Atlantis permanently.” Even over the transmission and two galaxies away, Woolsey’s sigh was still audible. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I know how much you fought this.”
Elizabeth stared back at him as she tried to get a hold of a wide array of emotions, each one carefully hidden behind her strong expression. Her gaze narrowed. “Off the record, Richard,” she said quietly. “Caldwell’s opinion?”
Woolsey paused a moment before shaking his head. “It wasn’t him. Colonel Caldwell’s last report to the IOA advised waiting as he felt it would be a premature decision to relieve Sheppard yet. The IOA is superseding both of you. I’m sorry.”
Elizabeth swallowed against her emotions and nodded. “Thank you for telling me personally, Richard. Atlantis out.”
As the transmission on her screen faded to black, Elizabeth sat back in her chair. She rubbed her eyes wearily, letting her emotions permeate her expression. They’d been fighting to get John back, to keep him in Atlantis and, in a twisted stroke of fate, their luck finally ran out.
---------------------------------------
“Dr. Weir.”
Elizabeth had no idea how long she’d been sitting in her office, wrapped in her own thoughts, faced away from the door and the world. So, the voice that suddenly broke her silent brooding startled her. She turned away from the wall to face her doorway and met gazes with Colonel Caldwell. She sighed. “Colonel. What can I do for you?” She held her expression carefully neutral as he stood still for a moment, before slowly walking into her office.
Caldwell gestured at the chair in front of her desk. “May I?”
Woolsey’s words echoed in her head.
“It wasn’t him…”
Elizabeth softened her expression and nodded slightly. “Please.”
Caldwell settled into the chair with a heavy sigh. Elbows perched on the armrests, he folded his hands in his lap and stared back at her for a moment before speaking. “I assume you spoke to the IOA?”
Only a couple dozen times in the last week… Elizabeth nodded. She knew exactly what he was talking about. “Woolsey contacted me personally.”
One side of Caldwell’s mouth turned up slightly. “You do have some admirers out there, Dr. Weir.” Something akin of respect flashed across his expression and as quickly as it appeared, the respect was replaced with a well-used neutral mask.
Elizabeth remained silent; observing the colonel, trying to gauge his mood but it was proving to be a daunting task. Somewhere along the way he’d learned to hide his moods well. A twinge of pain cramped her gut. So different from John…
Caldwell looked away from her. “Dr. Weir, the IOA is doing this against my recommendation. I know that doesn’t change anything, but,” he looked back at her, his gaze sincere, “I thought you should know anyway.”
Elizabeth sighed deeply and sat back in her chair. “I already knew.” She quirked an eyebrow at his questioning expression. “Off the record, Woolsey told me.” She pushed out of her chair and stood. “In spite of the circumstances, I think congratulations are in order.”
Caldwell stared up at her for a moment, before slowly standing. His expression was no nonsense. “I know you don’t mean that.”
Elizabeth resisted the urge to cross her arms defensively and instead settled for rubbing her brow; a vain attempt to tune out the headache that had plagued her for days. “I’d be lying if I said I was happy about this, Steven,” she admitted plainly, “but I don’t blame you. I blame those…” she looked up, “how did John put it? ‘Paper pushing bureaucrats.’” Her small smile to him felt faint and pathetic.
Caldwell stepped around her desk and walked closer to her.
Elizabeth watched him silently. His gaze and demeanor felt very direct and straightforward, so she matched her expression to his.
Caldwell stopped a short distance from her. He was close enough to convey sincerity but far enough to remain unthreatening. “Dr. Weir… Elizabeth. I know we’ve had our differences. When I first came to Atlantis, I was convinced at least one of you was wrong for the job.”
She felt one brow quirk slightly, and her gut clenched, but she remained silent and let him continue.
“Now?” Caldwell shrugged and his expression turned slightly challenging. “I’m still not entirely convinced, but I’ve seen things from Sheppard…,” a hint of respect colored his expression briefly. “I’m willing to keep an open mind.” He looked around. “This is…” after a moment his eyes caught her and his gaze narrowed slightly. “Premature.”
Elizabeth drew in a silent, but deep breath as she quickly tried to process what he’d said and what he’d meant. At first she wasn’t convinced his words and meanings were the same, but as she studied his expression some, she watched as he let down his guard slightly and, whether conscious or not, conveyed a hint of sincerity to her. In her gut she felt he was being honest, and that instinct had gotten her through too many diplomatic summits to ignore it. “Thank you, Steven,” she said quietly.
Caldwell stepped back, turned and looked out the window at the inactive Stargate. “It might take some time to find the right person to command the Daedalus in my place.” He looked at her. “I’ll delay them as long as I can, but once the IOA and the Air Force have made up their minds…”
Elizabeth nodded and settled for conveying her thanks through her expression instead of words.
“That’s the best I can do,” Caldwell added quietly. He nodded once at her and silently took his leave.
She stared at the gate, barely hearing him leave her office. The situation was slightly improved, but not enough to make her feel that much better. She truly believed Caldwell would do what he could to help her, but, while he had considerable influence, there was only so much he could do.
“We’re running out of time,” she muttered before abruptly turning and tapping her headset. “Rodney, this is Weir, come in.” After a moment a response came back over her headset.
“McKay here.”
“Can you please come to my office? It’s important.” She smiled slightly at the quiet but exasperated sigh that precluded Rodney’s reply.
“On my way. McKay out.”
Elizabeth’s smile faded as she walked back to her chair and slowly sat.
------------------------------------
“Ach, what do ye think you’re doing?”
John winced, finished tying his boot lace and slowly sat up, meeting the intense gaze on Carson’s face. “Going for a walk,” he answered bluntly.
“Again?” Carson walked closer to John. “I know you’re anxious to heal, Colonel, and you’re getting much stronger, but I don’t want you to overdo it.”
John took a deep breath and stifled his frustration. He scooted back slightly on his bed and swung his feet back and forth. “Come on, Carson. A walk to Stargate Ops and back isn’t going to kill me. I’m going nuts cooped up in here.”
“By yourself, I suppose,” Carson crossed his arms over his chest.
“Nope. I’m going with him,” a deep voice replied.
John looked past Carson and smiled at Ronon as the big man walked up and looked at Carson, his expression smug. John’s eyes travelled back to Carson who seemed less than convinced that Ronon’s presence made any difference whatsoever. “See? Ronon will make sure I don’t get lost,” he quipped darkly.
“Right,” Carson answered dryly. He stared at Ronon for a moment before looking back at John. “You’re only a few days away from being released. Don’t push it.”
John smiled. “No way.” He slid off the bunk and took a deep breath as he found his balance. Every day it took less and less time for him to equilibrate when he stood up, and that alone encouraged him. Now if I had the memories… he sighed and pushed away the thought. Passing Carson, his mouth quirked. “Thanks, Doc.”
Carson’s smile was genuine. “Aye, you’re welcome. Don’t be long.”
John walked past the doctor. “Yes, mom,” he answered.
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On to Part 4!