Description: My take on an overdone theme in television. Amnesia. Hopefully it's a bit different than the usual 'oh I got conked on the head and now can't remember a thing' type story. I hope you enjoy it, I was a little hesitant at first to put this to paper, but I'm glad I did. It's still a WIP, but it's nearly done! It's rated T becuase of Sheppard's libido(just implied, nothing graphic or overt), no matter how much he forgets, Captain Kirk will always guide his actions.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Stargate franchise, nor am I compensated for anything done using material from such franchise. However if the gods of the Stargate are reading this... I'm a hard worker, I make great coffee, and if I can see Joe Flannigan, Paul McGillion or Kavan Smith then I'll work for pennies!


Chapter One: The Worst Day of Sheppard's Life

The ring of the ancients had been silent and still for many weeks. Yacob, one of several assigned to guard it at night, had become lax in his duties and had 'accidentally' turned the security cameras in the room off. It was something done commonly during the slow nights so the guards could relax and play a popular card game.

"I will raise the betting pool by seventy," he said, pushing several betting chips into the center of the table.

A young woman, Sylva, a guard as well, peered over her cards, "Yacob, you are being more daring than normal. Perhaps you are just bluffing?" She also tossed several chips onto the pile in the middle.

"Ah, if I were bluffing I would not be betting this much."

Another man guffawed, "You lie badly."

"I believe you are right," agreed Sylva. "Yacob has nothing in his cards right now." She raised an eyebrow at the other guard silently asking him to tell her otherwise.

"I see what you two are doing. And you are not succeeding." Yacob shook his finger at the two, "No, I will not give you any more opportunity's to try and determine if I am bluffing or not. Show your hands."

The two reluctantly displayed their cards. With an impassive look on his Yacob stared at their hands.

"Well, show us what you have!" demanded the other man.

"Very well, this…" he was cut off by a sudden tremor that vibrated up through the floor. Looking at the ring of the ancestors he realized that it was activating.

The three dove aside as the shimmering blue event horizon exploded from the ring disintegrating the card table that was before it. From it a man ran out, he was bloody and out of breath. Seeing the guards there his eyes widened and he made to flee, however a second figure, a man with dark messy hair, soared out and landed on him knocking them both to the ground.

Yacob stared in disbelief for a moment, he had not been told the ring would be used tonight. Coming to his senses however, he noticed right away that the uniform the first individual was wearing was not of his people, it was of the Paedagogi, their enemy. Shouting for his friends to arm themselves, he raised a gun at the struggling pair on the floor.

The man that had come out second had managed to pin the first to the floor, after backhanding him across the face with the butt of his gun, he looked up at the approaching guard.

"Drop the weapon, stand up, and put your hands behind your head," commanded Yacob. He glanced back to see where his friends were, they were just entering the armory to get their weapons. The next thing he knew was the feeling of electricity entering his body and he collapsed to the ground unconscious.

Momentarily distracted by stunning the guard, the man on top of the Paedagogi did not notice when his enemy had managed to free one of his hands and swing his fist wildly at him. Reeling backwards from the force of the man's punch he lost his hold on him.

The two looked up in unison when the other two guards fired their weapons at them. Both missed wildly, but it was enough to make the two scramble to their feet and make a run for it. The Paedagogi ran towards them and tackled the male guard, fighting him to get his weapon. The man with the dark hair stood there for a moment swaying on his feet. He didn't look as if he were faring too well. Shaking his head to stay focused he ran towards a window, firing at it to knock the glass out. Looking out of it into the dimly lit area he saw below him a narrow walkway separating the building from a river several meters below. He leapt out landing awkwardly, his upper half had been caught by the safety railing of the walkway. Winded, he staggered only to trip over his own feet and lost his balance completely.

Sylva reached the window and looked out of it in time to see the man tumble over the railing and splash into the cold water of the river. Sighing she looked back and saw that the other man was leaving the building, leaving both her friends out cold on the floor. From the utter failure in the way they handled the situation she doubted this incident would reach the high command. She certainly wasn't going to put this in her report.

The water was frighteningly cold, however it did serve to bring back what little lucidity he had left. Lt Colonel John Sheppard broke the surface of the river gasping for air. He had no idea where he was, or why he was struggling to swim in a river at the moment. However it was not time to ponder over something like that. Coughing, trying to clear his lungs of moisture he started to swim towards what he presumed was the river bank.

It was hard going, the current was swift and the river very wide, he was carried a long way down the river. The cold was also starting to slow him down and he was becoming sluggish. He almost couldn't feel when his foot came into contact with a cement stair that lead up to a darkened pier. Breathing hard from his exertion and fighting to stay awake he dragged himself up the steps and flopped onto his back.

He was in what seemed to be an industrialized area. The river had cement walkways running next to it, with occasional stairs leading down to the water. After catching his breath and regaining some feeling in his legs Sheppard staggered to his feet. His head was killing him and it disturbed him slightly that he did not have any memory of what happened prior to him ending up in the river.

"Hey, you ok?" A ragged man wearing a cheap filthy coat came out of a darkened alley. Sheppard nodded but leaned back when the man's smell drifted towards him.

"Yeah, just a little soggy."

"Ok man. You wanna drink?" He offered a bottle that looked like it had once contained motor oil.

Sheppard shook his head wincing as it made his headache worse and his vision swim. "No thanks." He shivered, the air was not much warmer than the river had been. "Hey, do you know someplace that I could warm up?"

"Yeah," the man made no effort to show him.

Staring at him for a moment Sheppard waited for him to make a move. "Ok, are you going to show me where it is?"

"Yeah." The man shuffled off into the alley.

Following him Sheppard heard the man begin to mutter to himself. There was something not quite right about him. Clearly he was homeless, but he didn't seem very sane either. The Colonel began to worry for his safety, his gun had been lost, and he didn't have any other weapon on him, not to mention he felt terrible. He relaxed a bit when they arrived at a small fire with several other men wearing equally dirty clothing around it.

Ignoring the putrid fumes from whatever they were burning Sheppard crept closer to the warmth. "So, uh, you come here often?" he asked casually. It was becoming harder to think straight and his headache was getting worse.

They looked at him strangely and whispered to each other. "Yeah," said the man who had led him here. "Hey, let me put on your shoes."

"Pardon?"

"Your shoes. They're nice lookin'."

Sheppard backed away, the man was crazy, "Sorry, I'm using them right now."

The man's face twitched, "Give me your shoes." Rage blossomed on his face and he dove at the Colonel.

It was the sun that woke him. Casting long shadows into the alley it had risen slowly showing that the alley was now empty. Sheppard groaned, he couldn't recall anything that had happened, presuming something had. He didn't know where he was, or why he was dressed in smelly dirty old clothes. His head was killing him and spots were floating in his field of vision. Using the wall for support he slowly stood. Looking down at his feet he had to squint to focus on a metallic object on a chain. He picked it up. They looked like military dog tags, he didn't know how he remembered what they were, he just knew. He racked his brain trying to figure out what it said on the tags, but the writing didn't look familiar. At a loss he shrugged and tossed them back on the ground.

Still confused he wandered out onto the street. Early morning commuters walked by him as if he were invisible and judging by the way he smelled they were probably wishing that he didn't exist at all. The district did not seem to be very reputable. There was garbage littering the walkways and stores that required you to be a certain age to enter. Across the street a bouncer was tossing a final customer out of a bar. Cautiously crossing the street he wondered if he could get some information from the bouncer. The inebriated individual that had been tossed out of the bar stumbled into him before he had a chance to speak with the bouncer.

"Hey! Watch wher yous goin'!" slurred the man. He swung at Sheppard who ducked easily. The motion however aggravated his already excruciating headache. Doubled over in pain he fell to his knees.

"Are you alright?" the deep voice was that of the bouncer. When the man on the pavement didn't answer he knelt down next to him putting a hand on his shoulder. As bouncers go, this one was unnaturally philanthropic, and he tried to help the homeless guys out when he had a chance. "Do you need some help?"

Sheppard could barely nod, but he managed to get his point across, he was barely holding onto consciousness. He felt himself getting hauled into the back of a vehicle before he lost his tentative grasp of awareness completely.