Shattered Part 2/4
It was irrational… and it annoyed the hell out of him.
Rodney ground his teeth and started harder at the data pad as if, somehow, his intense gaze could drive the distractions from his head and let him concentrate. Fat chance! Rodney sighed and found himself looking over his shoulder and down the short hallway towards Atlantis’ infirmary. Damn it, Sheppard! You’re a pain in the ass even when you’re not trying to be! Worry diffused Rodney’s irritation; more worry than he’d ever admit to anyone and to his surprise, more worry than he’d even admit to himself. Three years of the colonel’s life were missing; three years of hell, heaven and everything in between. Three years of…
Friendship.
Alone, Rodney let his defensive mask fall as worry and pain creased his brow.
His constant companion, science had been his best friend as long as he could remember. He didn’t do well with people, mostly because he had little tolerance for most people’s unending stupidity. But somehow the quirky Air Force officer had grown on him. Sometimes, Sheppard was like a rash he couldn’t itch, but Rodney had to admit that most of the time, he found himself liking Sheppard’s company; in an annoying, smartass and often infuriating way.
Deep inside, Rodney cherished the last three years, in spite of more near death experiences than he cared to admit. Oddly enough, in Sheppard he’d found one hell of a loyal friend; and in Rodney’s life, he’d had precious few of those.
“Of all the people…” Rodney muttered. Even now, he still wondered how Sheppard, of all people, would fill that role. Not religious in any way, Rodney still found himself wondering sometimes about God’s sense of humor.
His thoughts came full circle. He loathed losing the last three years and he had to admit, part of what drove him was pure selfishness. He wanted Sheppard back, not only for the Colonel’s good, but for his as well.
Like a bad horror movie, the events of their last off-world mission still plagued Rodney. Silently, he was grateful of his reputation for functioning with little or no sleep; no one noticed the long hours he spent in his lab, if only to keep from being woken by nightmares of loud explosions, gunfire… blood…
“Oh excuse me for not being an aficionado of the man!” Rodney snapped as he glared at the back of Sheppard’s head and stalked through the short grass.
“Aficionado or not, I can’t believe you’ve never heard any of his music!” John looked over his shoulder and graced Rodney with a disbelieving look. “The man is an icon. Hell, the man is THE icon!”
Rodney stopped his shoulders sagging as his irritation redoubled. “Just because I don’t listen to his music, doesn’t mean I haven’t heard his stuff! Yet, somehow, I can’t seem to accept that in all of musical history, Johnny Cash is the ultimate icon, although I can’t imagine why. After all, you’re only comparing him to musicians like Bach, Beethoven, Mozart…” His voice trailed off as Sheppard glared coldly at him.
“I’ve never heard of him,” Ronon interjected.
“Nor have I,” Teyla added.
“You two are from a different galaxy,” John answered never looking away from Rodney. “What’s your excuse, McKay?”
“I suppose if I answer with ‘I prefer real music,’ I’ll get shot?” Rodney snapped.
John’s gaze narrowed in dark humor. “Definitely.”
“Right,” Rodney sighed. He glanced down at his life signs detector, his gaze widening slightly. “Hello…”
“What?” Sheppard immediately answered and Rodney could hear the Colonel’s footsteps move closer.
Rodney looked up. The colonel’s face was devoid of any humor. “Two life signs, coming our direction.”
“Rodney?”
Rodney flinched and barely kept from dropping his data pad as Carson’s voice startled him from his memories. “What?” He snapped. He turned and glared at the doctor.
Carson’s expression was slightly concerned as he took one step towards Rodney. “You seemed a million miles away,” he answered quietly. “Are ye all right?”
“Fine,” Rodney immediately answered as he turned away, hopefully hiding the slight red tinge he could feel on his checks. “Just thinking.” He waved a hand behind him and absently at Carson. “Shouldn’t you be doing something for Sheppard?”
“Like what?” Carson answered quietly.
Rodney’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know! I’m not the medical voodoo man here! That’s your department.” Rodney scrutinized the control panel on the scanner for a minute before tapping a control key, all the while pretending not to hear Carson’s slightly frustrated sigh.
“Colonel Sheppard is sleeping right now. Probably the best thing for him at this stage.”
Rodney turned around as the silence between them lingered. Holding onto his defensive mask, Rodney none the less narrowed his gaze slightly at the hints of frustration that marked Carson’s expression. “Sleeping. Huh.”
“Aye.” Carson pursed his lips. “Any recovery is going to be slow going, Rodney. I won’t lie to you. It’ll be a long time before he’s anywhere near being the man we knew.”
“Is he even…” Rodney caught himself and bit off the rest of his question. He looked away from Carson’s intense gaze. After a moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“He’s still John Sheppard.” Carson reassured quietly.
Rodney slowly looked up. Understanding and even what he’d call wisdom radiated in Carson’s expression.
“Just be his friend, Rodney… and he’ll still be yours.”
Rodney was silent for a moment; knowing that his mask had fallen, knowing that Carson saw his vulnerabilities… and for an instant, he didn’t care.
Hastily he cleared his throat and backed away from Carson’s hand. “Yes, well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather NOT have to break Sheppard in again, so if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” Rodney turned back to the scanner.
“Made any progress?” Carson asked.
Rodney sighed. “Considering I just got started, no, but I will figure this out.”
“Rodney, we don’t know for sure the scanner does anything more than scan a patient,” Carson replied.
Rodney glared at his data pad as if he was daring it to defy him. “Carson, we’ve seen the references in the database about devices like this having healing technology. You of all people should recognize how far advanced the Ancient’s medical knowledge and technology was.”
Carson walked up next to him and stared down at the scanner. “None of that proves that this device,” he tapped the casket-like cover gently, “has any other function besides as a scanner.”
“It does.” Rodney’s reply was short. He plastered a determined and confident look on his face and looked at Carson. He held onto his confidence as Carson’s expression turned placating, with a touch of resigned agreement.
“Aye. I’ll leave you to it then.”
Rodney returned his attention to his data pad as he heard Carson walk away. Rationally, he knew Carson had a point; they didn’t know, not for sure, that this scanner had any healing properties at all. Yet, somehow, Rodney had convinced himself that it did… and somehow he just knew he was right. He shook his head at the irony of it all.
Science was his life. The ins and outs of theories and facts and the thirst for knowledge had driven him as long as he could remember. Follow the facts to the logical conclusion. His life was based on that. Yet, as he stared at the Ancient device, he realized it was his gut, more than anything that was driving him. His theory was sound. There were just too many vague hints and scraps of information in the massive Ancient database about scanning and healing for him to just dismiss it as coincidence, but all he had at this point was his gut. Sheppard’s rubbing off on me…
Rodney sighed and carefully set his data pad on the dome shaped cover of the scanner and walked down the short hallway towards the infirmary ward. He stopped in the doorway and stared at the curtain covered corner where Sheppard was resting in privacy. He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. What would he say? Sheppard wouldn’t know him, Rodney knew that for certain. What do you talk about with a man who can’t remember you or anything from the last three years of his life, which just happened to be the entire duration of your friendship with him? I really suck at this personal crap… Rodney sighed again. He took small consolation in the fact that Sheppard was probably sleeping; in which case, he wouldn’t have to worry about saying a word. The thought gave him courage and he crossed the infirmary.
He stopped again as he reached the curtain. Taking a deep breath he slowly pulled the curtain back and stepped into the secluded area. His eyes never left Sheppard as he pulled the curtain closed behind him. A thick bandage swathed the colonel’s head and he was unsettlingly still. Rodney’s eyes unconsciously found Sheppard’s chest and he watched for a moment, comforted by the slow rise and fall of the Colonel’s breathing. The steady beep of the monitor over Sheppard’s head could’ve told Rodney as much, but somehow he found reassurance in seeing, for himself, the life in his friend’s body.
He slowly walked up to the bed and stared down at Sheppard’s sleeping form. “Always the hero,” he muttered. How many times had Sheppard pulled their asses from the fire? He’d saved them from everything from an insane Genii commander to a microscopic nanovirus. Rodney’s gaze narrowed in determination. This time, the hero needed saving, and he’d be damned if he’d let Sheppard down.
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John held tightly to the stick, forcing the copter to comply; to side with him in what felt like a battle of wills he fought with the shearing winds. His grip tightened as a strong gust blasted them and the copter dipped. He swallowed hard, feeling like he was pushing his stomach back down out of his throat.
“You sure this was a good idea?” Edwards asked, his voice tinged with dark humor.
From the corner of his eye, John could see Edward’s grip on the edge of his control panel. In spite of the gloves, John had no doubt the lieutenant’s hold was white knuckled to say the least. “Sounded like a good idea at the time,” John answered tensely.
“And now?”
John abruptly grabbed the stick with both hands as a particularly nasty crosswind buffeted the chopper. “Ask me that later.” He barely heard Edward’s quiet snort. His gaze narrowed as he tried in vain to see through the near white out conditions, only made worse by the growing darkness. “Damn the days are short,” he muttered.
“Give it a month and we won’t have any daylight at all,” Edwards answered. “You sure we’re on their flight path?”
John grimaced before answering. “Sure,” his voice cracked slightly.
“You’re not giving me any confidence, buddy,” Edwards muttered. “Are we even close?”
“Close?” John wrestled the stick again. “Define… close.”
“Great,” Edwards muttered. “How far off are we?”
“Define far,” John answered quietly.
“Aw, hell!”
John could feel Edward’s glare on the side of his face, but he refused to look at the lieutenant as he fought darkly amused smile. If they weren’t in danger of dying in this god forsaken storm, the situation he found himself in might have actually been funny. “Anything?” John risked a glance at his cohort in insanity and waved his hand briefly at the console.
Edwards tapped a couple buttons on the console. “Maybe…” His voice trailed off in a whoop of joy.
Caught off guard, John flinched before refocusing his attention on keeping them from getting killed. “That’s a yes?”
“Hot damn!” Edward clapped once, his hands muffled by gloves. “It’s their locator beacon! Coordinates coming your way.”
This time, the smile that tugged at John’s mouth had nothing to do with dark cynicism and he let the grin into his expression. He adjusted his heading and continued looking around, searching for the downed helicopter.
“Not that I mean to be a killjoy,” Edwards said quietly as he too searched, “but they’ve been out here for a long time. If they were injured badly…” his voice trailed off.
“They’re alive,” John said with more confidence then the situation warranted.
“Right.”
John glanced at his friend as they each exchanged knowing looks, though neither one of them said a word. He looked away, his eyes widening. “There!” he pointed, as a dark mound suddenly appeared through the driving snow. He slapped the radio button. “Flight 2-1 this is Flight 6 do you copy?” Tensely, John watched as the undistinguishable mound turned into the wreckage of a helicopter as he flew closer. “Captain Stiles this is Major Sheppard. Respond.” He shook his head. “Damn it.”
“Their radio could just be down,” Edwards offered. A low whistle escaped him as he shook his head at the wreckage. “Took a hell of a beating…”
“Yeah,” John muttered. He switched radio frequencies. “McMurdo base, this is flight 6. We’ve located flight 2-1. Repeat. We’ve located flight 2-1.” Through the static he could just barely make out a reply.
“…Sheppard…where… alive?”
John glanced at Edwards who shook his head slightly.
“Is that Hays?”
John nodded. Part of him was surprised the Colonel was right there waiting to hear from them, but a larger part of him wasn’t. “Gonna set down as close as we can. Hold on, this is going to be rough.”
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At first Rodney didn’t really notice. It was just a glimmer of movement; a hint of consciousness; nothing definite, nothing showing that Sheppard was waking up. But, it didn’t last. “Colonel?” Rodney stepped closer to the bed as Sheppard moved weakly.
“Hold on…” Sheppard’s mutter was barely above a whisper. “Rough…”
Rodney swallowed hard and looked around uncertainly, “why me?” His voice was tinged with the worry he felt.
“Okay… alive… have to be…” Sheppard’s body tensed as his head moved back and forth on the pillow.
Rodney turned and whipped back the curtain, looking for someone to help. His eyes scanned the empty infirmary. “Oh, that’s just great. Where is everyone?” he muttered before raising his voice. “Hello? Need some help here.” He turned back to the bed and took a deep breath, before gently squeezing Sheppard’s shoulder. “Colonel, wake up. Colonel.”
Sheppard’s eyes snapped open and his body tensed as he pulled in a sharp breath.
Rodney snatched his hand back and stared at the blank look in the Colonel’s eyes.
Sheppard’s eyelids slid shut as his brow pinched and he grimaced.
“Are you okay?” Rodney edged closer to the colonel’s bed. “Do you need Carson?”
“No… ‘m okay,” Sheppard muttered before he opened his eyes.
It was all Rodney could do not to flinch or look away as he stared into confused hazel eyes that met his. Gone was the recognition, the familiarity… the friendship that he’d grown so accustomed to. He hastily cleared his throat. “Rodney McKay. Dr. Rodney McKay.”
Sheppard licked his lips and looked away. “I should know you, shouldn’t I?” While his words were a question, his tone of voice wasn’t. “You were here when I woke up…”
Rodney fidgeted and absently scratched his chest. “Yes, well… yes. We were… are friends.” He bounced on the balls of his feet for a moment, as Sheppard continued to look away. The silence was uncomfortable and Rodney searched for a way to break it. A small voice inside urged him to just turn and leave, but refused to consider it. “Look uh…” Rodney grimaced and scratched his head. “I know you don’t remember me and that’s well… you know, okay.” He fell silent and forced his fidgeting body to stillness as Sheppard carefully turned his head and looked at him.
Slowly, a smile gradually turned up the corners of Sheppard’s mouth, if only slightly. “Thanks,” he whispered.
Rodney didn’t know what to say. Faced with the gratitude he saw in Sheppard’s face, words escaped him. Instead, he returned Sheppard’s smile with a genuine one of his own.
“Everything all right in here?”
For the second time that afternoon, Carson’s voice startled Rodney. Going to get him a cowbell! “Fine!” Rodney snapped, with a bit more edge than he intended, “do you practice sneaking up on people and scaring the living daylights out of them?”
“It’s a talent,” Carson quipped as he walked up to Sheppard’s bed. “You did call for some help.”
“Oh yes,” Rodney answered, “and in your own impeccable timing, you’re, of course, late so I handled things myself.”
If Carson had a reply, he chose not to voice it. Instead he smiled at Sheppard. “How are you feeling, Colonel?”
“Tired,” Sheppard answered. “Am I going to sleep my life away?”
Carson chuckled. “For now, yes. You’ve got a lot of healing to do.”
Rodney’s gaze narrowed as a dark shadow flashed over Sheppard’s face.
“Yeah,” Sheppard whispered. “Lots of healing…”
Carson’s expression turned understanding as he stepped back and looked at Rodney. “Don’t stay long. Colonel Sheppard needs his rest.” Passing Rodney, Carson pulled the curtain shut behind him.
Not able to contain his fidgeting, Rodney looked everywhere in the makeshift room, except at Sheppard. The silence between them lingered before Sheppard broke it.
“You don’t have to stay.”
Sheppard’s quiet offer snapped Rodney from his selfish discomfort. He was Sheppard’s friend, damn it, he needed to start acting like it! He looked directly at the colonel. “I uh… oh, that’s okay, I could use a break really.” He backed up a step and sat down in the chair next to Sheppard’s bed. He watched as the colonel looked down at his blanket and absently fingered the seam.
“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Sheppard asked softly.
Rodney sighed. “You could say that, yes. Although sometimes you infuriate the hell out of me…” his voice trailed off, but he found it again when Sheppard smiled slightly. “But then again, I know you’ve wanted to shoot me more than once, so I guess we’re even. So, friends? Uhh… yeah, I think.”
Sheppard’s smile lingered. “Sounds like my kind of friendship. Keeps things interesting.”
“Yeah, well sometimes I think I’m just a glutton for punishment,” Rodney answered. He squinted slightly as Sheppard arched an amused brow at him and, for a moment, Rodney saw the Sheppard he knew peeking out from behind the mask of uncertain confusion the colonel silently wore. As quick as it appeared, the normalcy was gone.
“Wish I remembered,” Sheppard whispered.
“You will.” The words left Rodney’s mouth before he even had a chance to think, but he contained his surprise and held onto the confident air that seemed to follow his statement. After a moment, he slapped his thighs and stood. “Well, it’s not my idea of fun to endure a Carson Beckett lecture, so I’ll leave you to rest. Besides, I have work to do.”
“Right.”
Rodney heard the resigned tone in Sheppard’s voice and bit back his own frustration. He knew the Colonel chafed at the inactivity, at being so weak and most of all at not remembering so much of his recent life. The frustration within Rodney grew as his thoughts refocused on the Ancient scanner. “Look uh, I’ll come back later,” Rodney found a small smile.
“Sure.” Sheppard closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Rodney resisted the urge to whip the curtain shut behind him. He stalked across the infirmary and headed back towards his work. There had to be a way to help Sheppard and he, Rodney McKay, would find it.
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Peace eluded her.
Teyla pulled in one deep breath through her nose before letting it quietly escape through her lips. She repeated the process, willing her body to relax, her mind to clear… her spirit to find peace. But, even as she tried, she knew peace was beyond her reach. It had been since the day John Sheppard nearly died…
… saving her.
Teyla’s head dropped and she folded her hands on her lap. She stared at her crossed legs, barely visible in the amber candlelight as a loud sigh escaped her. Unbidden, the memories came back to her, memories she couldn’t chase away.
Her grip tightened on the P-90 as all humor faded from John’s face.
“Two life signs?” John glanced at Rodney before turning a wary eye to the thick woods. “Where?”
Teyla turned, scanning the surrounding landscape. “I see nothing…”
“Teyla! Look out!”
She whirled around as John’s warning reached her ears, only to find herself sprawling to the ground under the force of his weight just as a loud explosion deafened her.
She hit the ground hard, but rolled away, her fast recovery spurred by gunfire. Coming up in a crouch she fired, her shots following Ronon’s. It was over quickly as the two T’eshii were dead before they hit the ground. It was at that moment she realized that only she and Ronon had been shooting. Turning, her breath caught in her throat as she stared at John’s crumpled and limp form. “Colonel!”
Teyla opened her eyes, her vision blurred by tears. If she’d only seen the grenade, if she’d only turned back sooner… if she’d never turned away in the first place.
The rest was a blur to her. Blood; on her hands, flowing freely from his head, smeared across the rock that had injured him… soaking the ground under him.
Ronon, running for the gate.
Rodney strangely silent.
The feel of John’s mouth on hers as she forced life back into him; his ribs cracking under her hands as she refused to let him die without a fight…
The desperate break in her voice as she shouted for Carson…
The vacant and confused look in John’s eyes the first time he awoke in the infirmary.
The peace she found from meditation had never been close to her tonight, but at this moment, all hopes of its healing powers fled from her.
Teyla wept silently.
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Elizabeth’s stride was hesitant as she slowly walked down the long corridors of Atlantis. Tucked neatly under her arm and cradled in her hand two soft covered books brushed absently against her hip with each step she took.
She leaned forward in her char and stared at Carson from across her desk. “I want to help him, Carson.” Elizabeth slightly arched her brow at the doctor.
After a moment, an understanding smile faintly lit Carson’s face. “Aye, I suspected you would. That’s why I stopped by and talked to Dr. Anella.” He tapped two books he’d set on the edge of her desk. “She gave me these.”
Elizabeth looked down. “Primary writers?”
“Aye,” Carson nodded. “Some of the Athosian children are learning in classes on the mainland instead of only apprenticing out to other craftsmen in the settlement. A trial project. Teyla’s idea. We had these shipped from Earth.”
“Oh yes,” Elizabeth nodded, remembering the requisition. She sighed. “He’s not going to like this.”
“Aye,” Carson agreed, “but the truth is, he needs to relearn to write from the beginning. Relearning in cases like this goes much faster than initial learning, but he still has to start from scratch. The damaged part of his brain has to be retrained.”
Elizabeth’s other hand tightened around two pencils she carried. Amnesia or not, John Sheppard could be stubborn and a bit prideful if he put his mind to it, but, she suspected, this time it would be more embarrassment and shame than anything else. That’s why she had to do this and no one else. Not because she was a diplomat, but because as the leaders of Atlantis, her and John had been through a great deal together. And, while he didn’t remember any of it, that bond was still there. Of that, she was sure.
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“Shit! That’s cold!”
In spite of the layers of thick clothes John winced, as the Antarctic air seemed to pierce any protection he had. Behind the mask that covered his face, he bit his lip and nodded, silently agreeing with Edward’s exclamation. The swirling snow was blinding, even with thick goggles protecting his eyes. John squinted as he barely made out the snow-covered form of the wrecked chopper. Pushing through the drifts of snow that surrounded him, John tugged at Edward’s coat sleeve. “Come on.”
Holding tightly to the side of the chopper and fighting the wind that battered them, John and Edwards made their way around the back of the chopper to the large, side door, still firmly shut. John firmly tugged on the handle. “Frozen. Give me a hand here.”
“You expected this to be easy?” Edwards quipped darkly as he added his strength to John’s.
“Sure, but I’m the optimistic type,” John answered absently. Again, he threw his weight into the door and this time, with Edwards’ added strength the door slowly creaked open, yielding them just enough room to squeeze in.
John all but ripped a flashlight from one of his parka’s pockets. Holding it beside his head, he scanned the interior of the copter. “Stiles? Any of you guys hear me? It’s Sheppard.” John wormed his way into the chopper and panned his light across several bodies. He hastily pulled his goggles down around his neck and pulled the protective mask off over his head. “Come on, guys, talk to me,” he urged as he made his way towards the nearest body. He stopped mid-crouch as frozen, lifeless eyes stared back at him. “Damn.” He panned his light slowly in a circle around him. It vaguely reminded him of some nightmarish haunted house as his light encountered one frozen and lifeless body after another. He paused as Edwards turned away from the cockpit. “Stiles and Harris?”
Edwards just stared back.
Even though John could only see his friend’s eyes, he still knew exactly what the lieutenant was saying to him and the dog tags that reflected the light from John’s flashlight only confirmed it.
John turned towards the rear of the chopper, a quiet moan catching his attention.
“They’re dead,” Edwards said quietly.
“Shh!” John waved at the lieutenant, “I heard something.” John stepped over one of the dead crewmen and made his way to the rear of the chopper. He wasn’t sure if it was the wind or… “Talk to me, airman!” He put as much authority in his voice as he could.
“Shep, it’s the wind…”
“Shut up!” John snapped as he knelt next to a lone body, huddled against the wall and haphazardly covered in extra blankets. His jaw dropped as two glossy, but alive eyes looked back at him. “Wind hell!” John knelt and put his hand on the airman’s shoulder. “Edwards! Martinez is alive, get your ass back here!”
John’s eyes burned and his memories faded as he forced one blink then another to wet his eyes. He pulled in a deep breath and turned away from the daydream and back to the present. The cold chill of the Antarctic air and the even colder chill of lifeless eyes, faded from his memory. It was so clear to him, so clear in his memory. He looked around, his gaze passing over alien architecture, intermixed with the familiar equipment of any military infirmary. Why couldn’t he remember this?
John looked up, movement catching his attention, and watched Elizabeth walk towards him. The small, hesitant smile that found him matched his feelings perfectly. No matter how much she, or any one else tried to hide it, there was still a level of familiarity; more so in some than others, that he didn’t… couldn’t share and every time he saw any of them, it only reminded him of what he’d lost. She must’ve seen his hesitation, because the impartial mask on her face strengthened.
John’s eyes fell to her hands, which carried two soft backed books, a thick tablet and a couple pencils. His eyes narrowed slightly as she stopped next to his bed. He looked up and again met her gaze. “Hi.”
She smiled. “Hi. How are you feeling?”
John sighed quietly. “I’d be lying if I said fine, but… better.”
Her smiled warmed slightly as understanding radiated in her eyes. Without words, John knew she knew that he spoke of more than just his physical wellness.
She slowly sat in the chair next to his bed and set the books beside him. “I brought you these.”
He looked down, his brow wrinkling as he stared at the primary school writers. The last time he’d seen anything like this, he’d been a kid, just learning how to write. He clenched his jaw as he felt the redness of embarrassment creeping up his neck and tingeing his ears. His unfocused stare centered on the books and he couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
“Hey,” Elizabeth’s voice was soft and reassuring, “there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Like hell,” John muttered. “It’s a first grade writer.” A touch of confusion found him as he pulled on his now limited knowledge of Atlantis. “Where…”
“We’re assisting with the schooling of some of the Athosian children,” she answered. “Not much, as they seem to do well on their own, but Teyla wanted them to learn some of our ways.”
John looked sideways as a pencil appeared in his peripheral vision. He finally found the courage to once again look up at her, and took strength from the warm and understanding look she gave him. Slowly, he took the pencil from her and opened the book. He stared at the first page and the large, bold “A” and “a” that dominated it. Pressing the pencil into the page, his concentrated gaze bore a hole through it as he slowly scribbled across the page, but what he knew how to do ended up being far from what his hand actually did. “Damn it,” he cussed quietly, but emphatically as he stared at the messy twist of lines that only vaguely resembled an A.
“John…”
“No,” he interrupted hotly, “I know how to do this. I.. I know, but I… can’t.” A heavy stillness hung between them for a moment before Elizabeth broke it.
“Here,” she said quietly, “let me help.”
John sucked in a deep breath as her warm, gentle hand closed over his. Slowly, she guided his hand across the paper.
“You didn’t expect to master this first try, did you?” She admonished lightly. “Carson says you’ll learn a lot faster, but not that fast.”
John moved his hand to the next line, keenly aware that her hand followed his, and started the exercise again. “You can’t tell me you don’t have more important things to be doing than this,” he muttered.
“As a matter of fact,” she answered as she loosened her grip slightly, giving him more control, “I can’t think of anything more worth my time than this.”
He paused at the end of the line and looked up at her. “You don’t have to…”
She tightened her grip and moved his hand to the next line. “I know.”
John fell silent as he concentrated on his exercises, but he couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at his mouth. Somehow, he felt that of all the people that could be doing this, she was the right one; the one that he’d be the most comfortable with. After a page and a half of her guiding him, she silently let go and watched as he slowly formed letters of his own. They were rough and uneven around the edges, but, he had to admit, they looked better than his first try.
He looked questioningly at her as she gently took the pencil from his hand.
“That’s enough for today. Carson’s orders. Only an hour at a time.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs before folding her hands on her lap. Her smile was faint as she looked at him. “You do look better every time I see you,” she said quietly.
John looked away. “Don’t look like the living dead anymore?” he quipped lightly.
Elizabeth chortled quietly. “No.”
Her deep sigh recaptured his attention and he watched all humor fade from her expression.
“You gave us a… a scare,” her voice trailed off as if the words she uttered, were inadequate.
John bit his lip, unsure what to say. “Sorry,” he muttered.
A slightly flustered smile flashed across her face. “No, don’t be. I just…,” she sighed again, “no matter what may be wrong or might happen, I’m incredibly relieved to just see you alive and… there.” Her brows furrowed slightly.
John swallowed hard and thought about her words. He’d spent so much time cursing his injury and what he couldn’t do or remember, that he’d never really considered how lucky he was not only to be alive, but also to not be a human vegetable. The silence between them stretched and lingered, before he shifted slightly in his bed. “Well,” he attempted some light humor, “not really all there…” His slight smile to her was cynical
A look of determination replaced the vulnerable one on her face. “That will come,” she said, her quiet voice strong and unwavering.
“Yeah.” John couldn’t quiet keep the hesitation from her voice. He pursed his lips. “We… we’ve worked pretty closely for a while, haven’t we?”
Elizabeth’s smile was bittersweet. “Yes,” she answered softly. “We’ve been through a lot in the last couple years.” Her gaze narrowed slightly. “Why do you ask?”
John sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “it just… it feels that way.”
“Dr. Weir, to the control room.”
John looked up as the hail came over the Ancient citywide system.
Elizabeth sighed. “Duty calls.” She tapped her headset. “This is Weir, I’m on my way.” She stood and smiled down at him. “I’ll be back later. We can talk more then. Get some rest.”
John smiled slightly and settled his head back in the pillow. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered. He held his smile as she took a moment to chuckle quietly before she turned and left the infirmary.
--------------------------------------
Elizabeth stopped next to one of the main Ancient control panels and nodded at the technician minding them. “What is it, Chuck?”
Chuck’s smile was grim. “Daedalus. Colonel Caldwell calling for you.”
Elizabeth frowned in confusion. “They left for Earth three days ago.” How could they still be in radio contact, unless…
“Yes, ma’am,” Chuck confirmed.
“They turned back,” Elizabeth muttered.
“Looks that way, ma’am,” Chuck answered.
Elizabeth sighed. Deep inside she knew her report to the IOA, in which she was obliged to include a status on Colonel Sheppard, would make its way into the hands of the military, she had just hoped for more time. “Thank you, Chuck. I’ll take the call in my office.” She barely caught Chuck’s nod as she turned away and crossed the short bridge to her office. Sitting down behind her desk she tapped her radio call button and folded her hands on the smooth surface. “Colonel Caldwell, this is Weir. I’m surprised to hear from you so soon.”
“Dr. Weir,” Caldwell’s voice responded immediately, “given Colonel Sheppard’s… condition, my superiors felt it best that I return to Atlantis immediately. We’re in orbit, I’d like to beam down.”
Orbit? Elizabeth’s eyes widened slightly. “Yes of course,” she answered. She looked up as the bright transporter beam appeared in her office and quickly faded, leaving the straight form of Colonel Steven Caldwell in its wake. Elizabeth stared at him for a moment, trying to read anything in his impassive mask. There was a lot of water under the bridge between them, since he’d made his bid to take command of Atlantis over a year ago, but she nonetheless felt wary. “Colonel, welcome back to Atlantis.”
Caldwell nodded slightly. “Thank you Doctor. I was sorry to hear what happened to Colonel Sheppard. Given the circumstances, I’m sure you can understand why I returned so quickly.”
Elizabeth sighed. With John injured and Caldwell gone, Major Lorne had been running the military presence in Atlantis, and doing a fine job. But, Elizabeth knew how the brass felt about majors acting as military CO’s of such an important, strategic outpost. “I’ll have Major Lorne brief you as soon as you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” Caldwell turned towards the door, only to stop and look back at her. “Dr. Weir, you should know that given Colonel Sheppard’s particular injuries, my superiors feel he’s no longer fit for command and are pushing to have him relieved. They want to place me in command of Atlantis’ military contingent.”
Elizabeth couldn’t keep the anger from her eyes. “It’s too early to be jumping to that conclusion, Colonel.”
Caldwell’s gaze narrowed. “The IOA doesn’t think so. They’re concerned with a compromising gap in the chain of command and military security of this base.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, her voice turning cynical. “And you’re the perfect person to step in.”
Caldwell looked away for a moment before bowing his head. “Dr. Weir…”
Elizabeth was slightly taken aback at the sincere expression on his face when he finally looked up.
“I know we’ve had our differences, and I’ll admit at first I wasn’t convinced of Sheppard’s ability to be the CO here. Now?” He shrugged and a dark, challenging smile pulled at one side of his mouth, “maybe.” Caldwell took a step closer to her desk. “But off the record, I agree with you.” He sighed deeply. “Right now, this job is temporary and I’ll work to keep it that way until the day I believe Sheppard is no longer able to effectively command this base.”
Elizabeth was silent for a moment as Caldwell’s unexpected words sank in. She softened her gaze. “I appreciate that, Steven,” she said quietly, “but neither you nor I may have any say in it.” She met his direct gaze with a serious one of her own.
Caldwell nodded slightly. “I know.” He stared at her for a moment longer, before he turned and quietly left.
Elizabeth watched him go. She slowly leaned back in her chair, her mood turning dark and brooding. This was just going from bad to worse.
---------------------------------
“Easy now, son. Nice and slow.”
John could feel his knees shaking as he eased off the bed and onto his feet. Carson’s gentle voice accompanied his firm grip as he faced John, helping him to stand. Part of John was surprised he was so weak, but guessed it made sense. A wave of dizziness swept over him and his fingers tightened on Carson’s forearm.
“You all right, lad?” Carson reinforced his support and his grip tightened.
“Yeah,” John whispered, “gotta do this.”
“Aye,” Carson sighed, “your muscles could use it, but we’re not pushing our luck, Colonel, just a short walk then back to bed with ye.”
John’s gaze fixed on the floor as he straightened, standing, albeit wobbly, on his own two feet. He took one shaky step, then another. A sudden, second grip on his other arm grabbed his attention and he looked up.
“Hey.” Ronon smiled slightly.
In the last week since he’d woke, John had gained some comfort around those he knew were supposed to be his friends. Ronon was no different. In fact, John found himself more relaxed around the big man than most other people. Ronon was content to sit with him, silent, and just be there. Not expect anything from him, nor be uncomfortable when he couldn’t give it. It was that way with most of “his team”; the ones he knew had been the closest to him in the last three years of his life that he’d lost. McKay was the worst, fidgeting and rambling, but the more John had watched him, the more he’d realized that most of what he saw on the surface with Rodney was a front. But, with Ronon, John found a renewed friendship, one he could sow from scratch. There was slight warmth to Ronon’s otherwise neutral expression as he gripped John’s elbow.
John took another step and looked ahead, ready to cross the room. His gaze fell on the crash cart, sitting off to his left and John froze, his mind reeling.
Pain… his neck… his own voice shouting an order to a wide-eyed and hesitant young man under his command. “Do it!”
Pain.
Darkness…
“Colonel?”
John took a deep breath, composing himself in the face of Carson’s worried tone. “I’m okay, I’m…” He squinted while, as quick as the scrap of memory had returned to him, it faded, leaving him confused and flooded with adrenaline, the reason for which, he had no idea. “I was… defibbed?” The look of sheer surprise on Carson’s face affirmed his statement more than anything the doctor could’ve said.
“Aye! You remember?”
John swallowed. He chewed on his lower lip tentatively as the memory faded behind the heavy shroud of his memory loss. “It was something… I was awake.” Puzzled, John’s brows knitted. He shook his head slightly. “It’s gone now.”
“’Tis okay, lad,” Carson immediately reassured, “don’t push it. I know you’re pretty frustrated, but believe me, that is a good sign.”
John looked away from the crash cart and nodded slightly, trying to push away his irritation. “I think we were… walking?” he ventured.
“Aye,” Carson answered, “easy now.”
John took a step, before arching an eyebrow at Ronon. “Don’t have anything better to be doing?”
Ronon’s expression turned bemused. “Nope.”
John couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his face. “Right.” He took another step, encouraged, as he felt slightly stronger. It felt good to be walking again, using the muscles that had been cramping over the last week. He took another step, then another.
“Slowly, Colonel,” Carson pulled back a bit on his arm, “You’re not running a bloody marathon.”
John turned and started the trek back to his bed. “It feels good Carson,” he complained and tried to speed up once again.
“Aye! I’m sure it does,” Carson resisted John’s impatient pull, “but you’re not overdoing it. Doctor’s orders!”
“I’m just walking,” John protested, “how the hell can I overdo it?”
“Very easily!” Carson sounded slightly exasperated, “my god, man, you suffered serious injury.”
John felt Ronon’s grip tighten and he glanced at the big man. “You too?”
“Don’t want to carry you back to bed,” Ronon answered.
John grimaced in annoyance and slowed his pace.
“’Tis good to see some fire in your belly again, son,” Carson steadied John as he slowly sat down on his bed. “No matter how exasperating it is.”
Fatigue washed over John but he managed to send an annoyed look Carson’s direction as he eased his head down on the pillow. “Funny,” he muttered as his eyelids fell shut and he succumbed to exhaustion.
--------------------------
“McMurdo, this is flight six. We’re inbound with a medical emergency. Please respond!” John fought to keep control of the stick as relentless, sheer winds pounded the chopper. “McMurdo! Respond!” John braced his feet as a strong gust jarred the helicopter.
“Less bumps would be better,” Edwards warned.
John risked a look over his shoulder at Edwards, knelt intently over Martinez. “Doin’ my best.”
“Sheppard… Stiles… back…?”
John shook his head at the static filled reply, but he still recognized the voice of his CO. “Colonel, you’re breaking up. We’re inbound with Lieutenant Martinez in critical condition. ETA 10 minutes.”
“Sheppard… about… others…?”
John pursed his lips for a moment, fighting the frustrated anger within him. ‘Damn I hate losing men…’ “Negative, sir.”
“Sheppard… copy?”
“Damn it,” Edwards cussed softly but intensely. “He’s got severe frostbite. I don’t think they’re going to be able to save his foot.”
John pushed away the frustration he felt at the news. “Just keep him alive, we’re almost there.” He brought his left hand up to reinforce his right hand and pushed the chopper for more speed… well beyond the recommended parameters for these conditions. Not that rules ever stopped him before. ‘Hell, the recommended parameters for these conditions is to land the damn thing and stay grounded…’
“Aw damn it! Cardiac arrest!” Edwards shouted.
He pushed the chopper harder…
“John?”
John pulled in a deep breath and slowly turned his head. He found a small smile for Elizabeth who stood just inside the privacy curtain.
She held up a book. “Came for your writing lesson.” Elizabeth walked further in and stopped. She silently regarded him with a friendly but tense gaze. “You’re looking better every day, John.”
John subconsciously touched the light bandage on his head and scratched the short but growing hair on his crown. A fleeting thought about how much he hated buzz cuts and how he couldn’t wait for his hair to grow out again, dashed across his mind before he narrowed his gaze slightly at the tense lines he saw on her face and the touch of worry in her eyes. In spite of the month that had passed since his injury, he still saw worry in her every time she visited him. But this time there was something more. He waited a long moment before speaking. “I am getting better you know.”
Her smile widened slightly. “Yes you are. Carson tells me he has to keep you on a firm rein during your walks these days. That’s the John Sheppard I know…” her voice trailed off and she looked away. “Sorry.”
John took a deep breath. “It’s okay.” He reached up and lightly tapped his temple. “He’s in there, somewhere.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Right.” She walked up to his bed and sat down in the chair next to him before opening the writing book, which she handed to him, along with a pencil.
John took them and arched an eyebrow at her. “I still don’t believe that you don’t have better things to be doing.”
She leveled a determined gaze at him. “I don’t. Right now, nothing is more important then you getting better, John.” She drew in a deep breath and again looked away.
Frowning, John watched her for a moment. “What’s wrong?”
A forced smile popped up on her face. “Nothing.” She shrugged. “Well, nothing outside the usual things,” she added, trying to sound light.
John didn’t buy it. Not for a second.
“We… we’ve worked pretty closely for a while, haven’t we?” He asked.
Elizabeth’s smile was bittersweet. “Yes,” she answered softly. “We’ve been through a lot in the last couple years…”
“Try again,” he insisted quietly.
“What?” She questioned.
“What’s wrong? And, tell me the truth this time,” John’s voice was quiet but firm.
She leaned back in her chair. “You’ve always been more curious than what’s good for you.” She arched a mischievous brow at him before her smile faded. “The IOA is concerned about your fitness to command, even once you’ve physically recovered. They’re talking about having you relieved.”
John looked away. He’d read enough Atlantis mission briefings during his recovery to know all about the IOA and the politics surrounding the Atlantis expedition. He pursed his lips. “I see.”
“John,” Elizabeth leaned forward, “I’m going to do everything I can to prevent that.” Her expression turned slightly challenging. “The IOA may be in control, but I have some pretty influential contacts, I’m not done fighting yet. I’m not alone either. General O’Neill is putting some pressure on them as well.” She stood and paced. “Even Colonel Caldwell seems to be open minded… for now. He’s reserving judgment and stalling the IOA.” She smiled slightly at him. “Guess you’ve managed to make an impression with him.”
John tapped the pencil on the open book and frowned as he let the silence linger for a long moment. Forcing himself to look at things objectively he found a realization he didn’t like but couldn’t turn away from. “Not sure you should be fighting this, Elizabeth,” he said quietly.
“What?” Her voice held a disbelieving tone as she walked back to his bed. “You can’t be serious.”
He looked up at her. “Like it or not, I’m the least experienced soldier on Atlantis now.” He dropped his head. “Not exactly what you want in a commanding officer.”
“John, you’re getting better every day. The memories will come.” Her gaze narrowed in blunt determination. “I’m not ready to give up on you just yet.”
Slowly, John smiled. “Nice to know.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Don’t let this worry you, John, please. Just focus on getting better. The rest will take care of itself.”
John sighed quietly. How could he not think about it? “Okay.”
“Now,” Elizabeth nodded at the book in his lap. “Where were we?”
----------------------------
Rodney resisted the urge to kick the scanner. “Piece of crap,” he muttered, “I know you’re hiding something from me.” He knelt and stared at the control crystals again. He’d been inside this panel so many times he swore he had the lay out memorized. Rodney sat back and sighed. For close to two weeks, this damn scanner had been his life. He’d relentlessly shoved all his other projects of on Radek Zelenka and surprisingly the Czech doctor had taken it all in without a word. Rodney had no doubt Zelenka knew exactly what he was devoting his time too. “Everybody likes you, Sheppard,” he sighed before reaching for a control crystal.
Rodney stopped mid-reach and stared, his eyes widening. He looked down at his pad and typed a few keys before looking back up at the crystals. “Is it that easy?” he whispered. He pulled one crystal and scooted to the next panel before inserting the crystal in an open control slot. He sat back for a moment. “McKay you are a genius,” he smiled. Grabbing his pad, Rodney started hastily typing commands.
-----------------------------------
The mission report on M32-846 was not doing a good job of keeping John’s attention. He looked up, his gaze wandering over the Ancient architecture. Elizabeth’s words stuck with him and he felt the urgency in them. He couldn’t remember much about the IOA, beyond what he’d recently read, but he’d tangled with pencil pushing bureaucrats before. They were all the same. He sighed quietly. This time though, while he chafed at their interference, he also saw their point. The military side of him saw the need for a strong, experienced officer commanding this outpost. Right now, he was far from that and there were no guarantees he’d ever be able to fill that role again. John grimaced and pushed the analytical, military part of himself aside. Memories or not, he knew, in his gut, that he belonged here and wanted… needed to stay. A rustling of the privacy curtain captured his attention and he looked up and straight into the face of Colonel Caldwell.
“Am I interrupting, Colonel?” Caldwell asked his face an impartial mask.
“No,” John took a deep breath. “Just thinking. Come in, sir.”
Caldwell walked in and stood at the foot of John’s bed. “You look better, Sheppard.”
John smiled faintly. “Thank you, Colonel.”
Caldwell gazed at him a moment longer, before looking away. He inhaled deeply before letting his breath out noisily. “Dr. Weir informed me that she told you about the situation with the IOA.” He looked back and stared impassively at John.
John licked his lips and nodded. “Yes, sir, she did.”
Caldwell’s gaze narrowed. “I’m going to be frank with you, Sheppard. I’m not convinced that you should remain in command of Atlantis, given your condition.”
John’s lips tightened as he clenched his jaw, but he said nothing.
“But,” Caldwell crossed his arms across his chest, “I’m not convinced that you should be relieved yet either.”
John’s gaze narrowed. “With all due respect, what exactly are you saying?”
Caldwell’s expression turned bemused. “That I’m not ready to pass judgment on you, Colonel, and I thought you should know that.” Caldwell stared at him a moment longer before turning away to leave.
John’s mind raced. He knew that he and Caldwell’d had their run-ins, and it wasn’t just from reading past mission reports. Somehow, Caldwell’s statement felt unexpected. He looked up. “Colonel?”
Caldwell turned back. “Colonel?”
John found a small smile and nodded slightly. “Thank you, sir.”
Caldwell’s expression turned slightly mocking, but still held a note of sincerity. “Don’t thank me yet, Colonel.” Without another word, he left John alone.
------------------------------------
The stillness of night did nothing to soothe John. He should be sleeping and he was sure that everyone in the infirmary believed he was. He glanced at the clock on a nearby table that read half past two. He quietly threw back the sheet, relieved that he’d been allowed to trade a hospital gown for scrubs and that he was finally rid of the bandage, although his head still felt tender and strangely bare. His hair was still short, but growing, the hair on his crown already starting to take a life of its own. Free of an IV for over a week now, there was nothing chaining John to his bed. He slowly sat up, breathing through the brief vertigo that washed over him. It got better every day, but still threw him for a loop whenever he got out of bed. Carson had reassured him it would fade in time, something John was grateful for. He was a pilot and vertigo was something that would ground him without a doubt. He eased off the bed. The cool floor felt refreshing as he slowly walked to the privacy curtain. Pulling it back slightly, he looked around, relieved to see, with the exception of a couple of sleeping patients, a deserted infirmary. After spending over a month here, he’d gotten to know the staff schedule pretty well. Especially since I spent the first few weeks being woke up every damn hour… In another half hour, the night staff would do their rounds and he planned on being gone by then.
John sighed quietly. Its not that he wanted to escape… okay, he really did want out but this was different. In the last week since Elizabeth had told him about the IOA, he’d chafed at the slowness of his recovery. His body felt stronger every day, but his head was still scrambled. Memories weren’t coming back to him, and he knew it was because his surroundings never changed. John frowned. Okay, I don’t know that… but his mind kept going back to the experience with the defibrillator and how it jarred his memories, if only briefly. Somehow, deep inside, he felt this was what he should do… what he needed to do.
He took a deep breath and walked out into the infirmary, taking a moment to pull the curtain closed behind him. Noiselessly, he walked across the infirmary and exited, wincing at the loud sound of the door opening then closing behind him. First things first… clothes. He took a left and headed straight for his quarters, relieved that in one of his previous walks, Carson had actually taken him there. His eyebrow quirked. Wouldn’t do to have to stop and ask for directions…
He hoped the late hour would mean the hallways were deserted. Somehow he really didn’t want to have to explain why he was walking the corridors of Atlantis in the middle of the night, barefoot and in infirmary scrubs. But, when he rounded a corner and found himself face to face with a female scientist, he just smiled and acted confident, in spite of her puzzled expression. He reached his quarters and entered, breathing a quiet sigh of relief as the door closed behind him.
Reaching out, John leaned on the doorframe, and took a deep breath. Irritation at his lack of stamina flared within him. Never mind he was only a little over a month out from a critical injury, he was still pissed that a walk from the infirmary to his quarters tired him so much. It was several long minutes before he let go.
He glanced at the clock on his nightstand, which read a quarter to three. In fifteen minutes, the night staff would discover he was gone. His quarters would be one of the first places they’d check and he planned on being gone by then. John winced slightly as he pushed back the thought of the butt chewing he was destined to get from Carson. In the past month, he’d re-learned that, while Carson was one of the kindest people he’d ever met, the man was downright tyrannical when it came to protecting a patient’s health, or enforcing his care instructions even if the patient was the offender. He had a stare that would wither just about any Special Ops guy John had ever met and a tongue that would put his ex drill sergeant to shame.
John found a pair of pants and t-shirt along with socks and his combat boots and he quickly got dressed. He turned to the chair next to his bed and picked up his lightweight, gray coat that lay over the back of the chair. He paused, his gaze settling on the holstered Beretta that laid on the seat a surge of hatred flowing through him.
“I'm not screwin' around, Bob! Did you sabotage this base or not?”
“… I don't think we've gone far enough!”
John sucked in a deep breath as adrenaline coursed through him. Wraith… Atlantis…
“Listen, Bob, I have no problem with killing you whatsoever.”
Images of a tattooed Wraith, snarling in defiance, flashed across his mind’s eye. John struggled to stay calm… to let the memories surface. But for now, his mind was done and the memories faded.
John sucked in a deep breath, determination steeling him. If he wasn’t sure this was the right course of action for him before, he damn sure was positive now. Reaching out, he grabbed his sidearm and quickly strapped it around his waist and thigh before he left his quarters.
He strode down the hallway, away from his quarters. He took a deep breath and looked around as he continued walking, waiting for something to spur his memories. As he rounded a corner, he stopped, his gaze fixing on a wide, tall stairwell.
“… So long, Rodney…”
“Jumpers,” he muttered before starting up the auxiliary staircase that led to the Jumper bay. At the halfway point he had to stop and rest, his irritation once more flaring but he kept it in check. He knew, deep down, that this excursion was doing him good. The last thing he needed was to pass out in some secluded stairwell. Starting again, John made his way up the last flights and stopped, staring at a large, closed door. He reached out, barely touching the control crystal and the door obligingly opened.
As he entered the large bay, he stopped, his eyes passing over several Jumpers patiently docked on different levels. He’d read enough mission reports to have an idea what the little ships were all about, but beyond that…
He knew there was so much more to remember. Feelings… experiences. He closed his eyes, his mind awash with memories…
Discovery…
“I’m thinkin’ of a nice turkey sandwich…”
Urgency… his heart pounded…
“See anything that looks like a weapons console?”
Desperate sacrifice…
“Weapon is armed and ready… I’m goin’ in.”
John inhaled deeply, forcing himself to relax and let whatever memories that wanted to, surface.
“Not one of my better landings…”
“I’ll give you a Jumper! I’ll fly it out of here myself!”
The barriers that blocked his mind were down. John opened his eyes and slowly approached one of the ships.
“A little puddle jumper like this?”
Slowly, he ran his hand over the smooth surface.
“It’s like it reads your mind…”
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On to Part 3!