The headaches were getting worse. A lot worse. And the nightmares as well. They had changed, too. Instead of dreaming of Wraith, Replicators or Rodney dying, John now dreamed of green light. Green light and smoke and whispered words in the night. It didn't make any sense to John and he was afraid to talk to Heightmeyer about it. John couldn't quite explain it but there was this feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him something strange was going on. Now he just had to figure out what that 'something' was. John only knew that the reluctance he felt was connected to his nightmares.
But they were just nightmares, weren't they? He'd had plenty of those over the years. It was just that these dreams were somehow … different. It was like these images were trying to suffocate him.
Maybe that 'witch' on PX-921M had really done something to him. Maybe she had used some sort of drug on him. A hallucinogen maybe?
John couldn't remember much of that night, or the ritual itself, only that there had been chanting involved. After that, his memories went a little fuzzy. None of his teammates had been present at the ritual that the Nurundai insisted every leader of a group that wanted to trade had to go through. They had promised that the procedure was harmless and totally safe and according to them John had done nothing more than have a nap in the nice, cozy tent they had provided him with.
But John had a feeling that was not all that had happened. The only time he had voiced his concerns though had been at his medical checkup with Carson. But after the blood-work came back clean and nothing at all out of the ordinary could be found, John let it go. Maybe he really only had had a very vivid nightmare. And that surely wasn't something the Nurundai could be blamed for, was it?
Rubbing his face tiredly and trying to shake the feeling of wrong that crawled up his belly every time he slipped into his uniform lately, John forced himself to not think about the dreams any more. He had a long day ahead of him and stupid, childish feelings - like that somehow his weapon didn't seem to be any more right than his clothes - had no place here.
John finished dressing, the headache that was growing behind his temple not making his mood any better. What the fuck was wrong with him? If this didn't stop soon, John would have to talk to Carson again. And that would mean an appointment with Heightmeyer, too. Which was something John tried to avoid at all costs.
A face flickered through John's mind, unbidden. A man with dark hair and almost black eyes sneering at him. You need to learn to protect your mind, the man hissed in John's memory and at the same time John's skull seemed to be ready to burst open.
Nausea was welling up in John. And he decided that, childish or not, Heightmeyer or not, he needed to see Carson. Now.
oooooOooooo
John thought that maybe he was going insane. Or paranoid. Carson was acting strange. Really strange. Sure, he had done all the things John had expected him to do. Blood tests, scans, all kinds of poking and prodding. And then he had given John some sort of fluid, telling him that it was a painkiller and would help John to get some rest. But John wasn't fooled. The painkillers Carson usually handed out weren't liquid and something about the color of the fluid told John Carson wasn't being truthful. It was like a memory that wanted to come to the surface, something nagging at the back of his mind he couldn't quite grasp.
Calling himself all kinds of stupid and reminding himself that Carson would never betray or willingly hurt any of his patients, John settled deeper into his infirmary bed and drank the liquid in one swift go.
It tasted awful. And John still thought he knew that stuff somehow. The image of that man appeared in John's mind again, this time he was calling him a useless twit. It was quite annoying, to be honest. Blinking sleepily, John somehow wasn't surprised that he felt his eyes drooping almost instantly, slipping into sleep.
oooooOooooo
John woke slowly to Carson's whispering voice, "…don't know what he's remembering yet. They said he might never remember, and now he does. I already contacted the SGC and they said that Mrs. Granger-Weasley has agreed to come and assist us. She'll be here within the next few days. They said, and I quote 'she can't very well apparate into another galaxy and needs to get some business in order first.' I'd say the earlier she's here, the better. I dunno how long I can keep John in the dark about what's happening to him."
John's heart beat wildly as he let the words he had heard sink in. There was something going on that Carson wasn't telling him. And as it seemed, Sam knew about it. Who else did know? Rodney? The whole damn expedition? What was wrong with him? They'd said 'remembering'. Was that what was happening? Was he remembering things he shouldn't remember? But how? Why?
The hushed conversation had stopped and John knew he needed to give a sign that he was awake pretty soon or risk for Carson and Sam to find out he had eavesdropped on them. So he stretched lazily, deliberately and then slowly opened his eyes. Carson and Sam had turned towards him and came the last few steps over to his bed as John pretended to wake up completely.
"Mornin'," John mumbled with a relaxed ring to his voice, even if his insides were all tied up in knots.
"Good morning, John. How are you feeling?" Carson asked, as he reached into the pocket of his coat and took out a penlight. John inwardly groaned. He hated that thing.
"I'm fine, thanks Carson. Whatever you gave me worked like a charm. I had a pretty dreamless sleep. I'm feeling great. No headache at all," John reported dutifully and at least that was the truth. He had really slept exceptionally well and nightmare-free. It was just the whole Carson and Sam lying to him thing that put a damper on his good mood this morning.
"That's good to hear. We were a bit worried about you, John," Sam chimed in cheerfully, just as Carson attacked John's eyes with the penlight.
Forcing himself not to flinch away from the uncomfortable light, John mumbled, "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I have no idea what's wrong with me, lately. Maybe I just needed a good night's rest." John knew it was a lame excuse, but he also knew right now it was them who were hiding something from him. And he couldn't let it on that he had eavesdropped on them.
"Yes, that might be it," Carson agreed and finally put his penlight away. "As far as I can tell you are perfectly fine. But I'd like to keep you close to the infirmary for a few days anyway. Just in case the headaches come back. No offworld missions for you for now, Colonel."
John almost huffed in anger. Perfectly fine, yeah, right. Like they didn't know that something was wrong with his head. With his memories. Not knowing what to do or say to this, John just kept silent. It was no use fighting against it, anyway.
oooooOooooo
Finally having escaped Carson's clutches, John decided to pay Rodney a visit. He was working in one of the newly cleared labs, trying to get the equipment to work properly. When John had called him he had been cursing his staff, the Ancients, and pretty much every thing he could come up with at the moment. John figured Rodney was having a blast.
For a moment, John debated with himself if he should talk to Rodney about his dreams, and the things he had overheard in the infirmary. By now, John was pretty sure that Rodney wasn't in on whatever Carson and Sam knew. Rodney couldn't lie convincingly at the best of times and he had never been able to keep anything from John, especially not since he and John had become lovers. No, John was certain Rodney didn't know what was going on with John any more than John knew himself.
The new labs they had discovered, - 'not just labs, John, something was built here. Something huge. This was some sort of hangar' Rodney had said - were at the far end of the city and it took John a while to get there. John used the time to think about the things he had learned, about the nightmares and he desperately tried to put a face to the name 'Granger-Weasley'. Somehow John had a feeling he should know this woman, whoever she was. Just like he should know what 'apparate' meant. It was as if the knowledge was there, somewhere in his brain and the information was just out of reach, slipping through his fingers like water every time he tried to grasp it.
Absentmindedly, John rubbed his forehead as he palmed the door to the hangar open. He felt like he was getting a headache again. The room looked even bigger now that it was properly lighted and John pushed away the thoughts of dreams and memories and looked around with wide eyes. The Daedalus would fit in here easily, maybe even an Orion class Ancient warship and ... his eyes fell on Rodney. Rodney who was crouching on a narrow ledge several feet above the ground, half-way inside of a control panel of some sort, checking crystals while typing one-handed on his laptop. John froze in horror, taking in the lack of a security line. And Rodney was all alone. There was no-one else there. John's blood ran cold as scenarios of what could have happened ran through his mind at lightning speed.
"Rodney," he yelled and immediately regretted it as Rodney jerked half around. John could pinpoint the exact second Rodney lost his footing and, with an expression of surprised fear on his face, fell.
And just like that, everything changed.
Later, John wouldn't be able to tell how it happened. Just that it was like a reflex. Gut instinct. It wasn't something John consciously chose to do, for that kind of decision there was no time. The second John saw Rodney fall, horror on his face, he jerked up his arms in front of his body – palms out – and hissed, "refico". Rodney's fall was instantly stopped by an invisible force, keeping him from hurting himself. Instead Rodney seemed to softly bounce on a pillow of air before slowly sinking to the ground, unharmed.
Rodney's surprised, "What the hell …?" was drowned out by a rush of white noise in John's head. The headache was back in full force now, a searing pain shooting through John's skull. He stumbled and fell to his knees as memories came back to him, so many of them, mixing with what he had perceived to be his life until just a moment ago.
It was agony.
In an instant, John remembered all of it. The battle, the deaths, the loss of the man he loved. The way he had buried in his work, trying to forget.
And forgotten he had.
"John what the hell did just happen? What did you do?" Rodney's high pitched, panicked voice cut through the agony that was still raging in John's head, his chest, his whole body. It wasn't just physical. It was more than that, so much more.
John had his memories back. He had his magic back. And with that came a kind of knowledge he never wanted to have.
"Magic," John said, turning his head towards Rodney slowly, but his sight stayed unfocussed and he felt strangely detached from his surroundings. "I used magic to save your life."
Hollow. That was how John felt. Hollow. Wrong. Empty.
It had all been a lie. A ruse. Nothing of it real.
"Magic? Don't be ridiculous. There is no such thing as magic. Maybe it was a failsafe, or you activated something we didn't know existed. You've always been Atlantis' favorite anyway," Rodney stammered nervously.
John just blinked. "It was magic Rodney. Even though I admit, usually you'd need a wand to make it work," John replied, now feeling like someone had stuffed cotton into his head. It was a peculiar feeling. Maybe he was in shock?
Detached, really detached. And that was probably a good thing. Because once everything sank in, John was sure he'd hurt really, really badly.
"A wand?" Rodney sounded incredulous now and John decided to humor him.
"When you're a child, you learn to channel your magic through a wand. It gives your magic a focus, makes it easier to control and direct. I learned to do it without a wand a long time ago, even before the final battle. But then again, I've always been a bit stronger than the others, when it came to magic. Just one more thing to set me apart from the others," John mumbled, the fog that had been wrapped around his brain for what felt like eternity now clearing.
As if on cue, the pain came. Talking about his past had opened a whole floodgate of emotions and John really didn't feel fit to deal with them right now. Reality came crashing down on him and John just wanted to curl up and cry. His life, the life he had led for the past six years, was a lie. It was all a well constructed, completely thought out and masterfully executed lie. Memories, implanted to make it possible for him to go undercover. A complete background, a complete false life. Something must have gone wrong with the spell. Something in John's mindset maybe. He would never be sure, what exactly it was. But one thing John knew: The spell had never been meant to make him forget his real life. It had been designed to mask his real memories, hide them behind the false ones, if anyone should try to use legilimency on him. But obviously something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. Something that made him think he really was John Sheppard, and he really did have a black mark and a brother and all the other things that had been real to him until just about half an hour ago.
"Why the hell do you keep rattling on about magic? Are you insane? What the hell is wrong with you? I'm the one who almost died. John? Are you listening to me, John?" Rodney's voice was somewhere between anger and panic and John had to suppress a laugh. He feared it would come out like a sob, anyway.
Swallowing hard, John finally whispered, "I'm not John. I've never really been John. My name's Harry."