Author's Note: Yep, it's that time of the night again. When I feel a sudden urge (okay, not so sudden, it's been there all night...) to procrastinate, and come here instead! When I reward all my hard work by rewarding you guys for being such awesome readers and sticking with this! So, yayness all around!

Hmm, that might be the codral cold and flu talking... or the nearly finished essay... might explain the weirdness...

Hmm, might just head into the chapter...

Chapter 4

When Dave woke up early the next morning, John was in the lounge room on his laptop. Dave frowned at him as he plonked into the armchair opposite the couch John was sitting in, resting his broken leg.

"What you looking at?" Dave asked, curiosity outweighing any morning bouts of politeness.

"Good morning to you too," John muttered, looking up with a grin to dispel any snap in his words. "The coffee should still be pretty hot, if you want some."

"God I'm glad you're a morning person," Dave replied, getting up again and moving to the kitchen.

John turned back to his computer, clicking on the map to enlarge again as he took a sip of his own coffee. After his dream last night, Antarctica had him fascinated. Hell, he'd already searched through a map of Afghanistan, seeing if anything jogged his memory. It hadn't, and he was feeling stupid for even looking in the first place, because there was no way he had been to Afghanistan.

Just like there was no way he had been to Antarctica, but that wasn't stopping him from searching the continent.

Dave came back with a steaming mug of coffee, obviously enjoying it this early in the morning, sniffing it in anticipation.

"So. Good morning. What are you looking at?"

John shifted uncomfortably, taking a drink of his coffee to avoid answering the question. "I was just checking some emails, looking at some things. It's been a while since I could just peruse the internet."

Dave nodded understandingly. "How long have you been up?"

He knew. Of course he knew. "Couple of hours," he admitted. "Weird dreams."

"I've heard antibiotics can do that to you," Dave agreed, leaning back. On the screen, John found where the spot where he knew the American base was. McMurdo. That was its name. "But was it bad enough to not go back to sleep?"

"Yes," John told him firmly. "But I'd rather not talk about it."

Slowly, he began tracing the same path he had with his crutch the night before, searching hard, looking for anything… anything he recognised. He couldn't believe he was doing it, but he was.

"Your choice. You have rehab today, yeah?"

"Yeah," John told him not really paying attention. He stopped the mouse on some random spot, trying not to frown as he found nothing. There was meant to be something. He looked up at Dave. "You still dropping me off before you head to work?"

"If you want," Dave agreed, getting up. "But you'd better be ready this time. I have a busy day ahead of me." He walked over and looked at the computer. "Antarctica?"

"Uh… yeah," John muttered, wondering if he could talk to his brother about this. About what he was feeling. How he was feeling. "Last night I…" No, he couldn't say that. He gave a frustrated sigh and poked a finger at the screen. "There's meant to be something here." A dome something, but he didn't mention that. Dave's frown was deep enough as it was.

"What do you mean?" Dave asked, leaning down. "What kind of something?"

"I don't know." John shook his head. "Just… something. A building of some kind."

"What, like a station? Like McMurdo?"

"No, that's here," he muttered, pointing to the American station. "Just… something else."

"What? A resort?" Dave chuckled. "You planning a holiday already?"

It was meant as a joke, even if it wasn't very funny, and John chuckled along with his brother as the man walked out of the lounge room.

But his laugh died pretty quickly as his brother disappeared, and he sighed, looking back at the computer with frustration.

"Sure I haven't already been there?"

Carter was waiting for him when he got out of rehab that day.

He hadn't been expecting it. Not at all. Especially considering he had skipped out on his shrink session. But there was his boss, shaking his head as if he had known all along that John would shirk his brother's orders.

He hobbled over to the sedan, grinning at Carter's grin. "I knew I wouldn't be waiting here long," the older man decided. "You are unbelievable John."

Some of John's own grin turned to suspicion. "Dave didn't send you, did he?"

Carter chuckled. "Technically yes. He may have mentioned that I should make sure you attended a certain session with a certain person with a degree in psychology. But I have a surprise for you instead." He nodded at his car and opened his door. "Get in."

The halls of the police station looked oddly unfamiliar. Like he hadn't been there in a long time. Which he guessed he hadn't. He had been on assignment, after all, deep undercover in one of the most notorious organised drug rings in the city. Going into a police station, not in handcuffs, might have blown his cover.

But he guessed he had done that well enough himself. But he wasn't here to think about that. At least, not on purpose.

"You look a little pale," Carter told him as they walked through the whitewashed halls of the station. "Maybe I should have listened to Dave, and taken you straight home. You tired after rehab?"

"No," John told him. "I'm right... It's just..." He shifted his weight uncomfortably over the crutches. "It's just been a while, that's all."

"Well, at least you still know the way. Come on, they'll be waiting."

In hind sight, he should have known it was coming. After all, Carter had mentioned it when he had visited John in the hospital. But Sheppard still jumped higher than he would have liked as he walked through the doors into the office and a dozen or so people cheered.

He stopped still, like a deer caught in headlights, the noise catching him off guard. Carter grinned at his goldfish impersonation. "Surprise."

John forced himself to take a deep breath. "What the hell is this?" he demanded, shaking his head. Whatever it was, it was overwhelming. For a minute his good leg shook, and he wanted to run. This didn't feel right.

"This?" Carter clarified, clearly not sensing John's discomfort. "This is what you deserve."

The words had an ominous ring to them, but Sheppard didn't have time to read anything more than that into them. Carter gave him a gentle push forward, and before John knew it, he was standing in the centre of the room, still being cheered and applauded, while Captain O'Neill, the bureaucratic officer who thought he was in charge of the division, clapped a pudgy hand on Sheppard's shoulder and smiled.

Which was just weird. O'Neill didn't like anyone. He didn't respect anyone. And he certainly didn't smile at them like this. And John could have sworn that the last time he had seen his captain, the man had been...

Thinner?

Trying to shove those thoughts away, John pulled his attention back to the present as O'Neill lifted his hand and motioned for quiet. The room eventually died down, and O'Neill's grin became more sombre.

"It seems like an age ago when we heard the news. That one of our agents, working undercover in one of the most notorious drug rings in New York, was found out by the enemy. That he had been apprehended, and we all knew what that meant. Thought we knew, and we were so close to being willing to accept it."

O'Neill looked over at John, who shifted on his good leg. He did not like where this was going. "But one among us was not willing to accept it," the Captain continued. "And going beyond protocol, beyond common sense, beyond survival, he stormed the enemy stronghold single-handedly. Using only bravery, and decency, he saved a good man, a good officer's life."

John managed to catch Carter's gaze; the older man rolled his eyes, and Sheppard tried to relax as he forced an easygoing smile onto his face while O'Neill went on.

"Unjustly, John Sheppard was himself captured trying to save Officer McKee's life. And for four days he suffered, more than any man should have to endure. Because of his bravery, decency, and unwavering loyalty to his fellow man. To a teammate."

John swallowed, and looked down, shoving the nightmares away before they could even begin to be remembered.

"Today," O'Neill said. "We honour that loyalty, that bravery. Not just with our thanks. But with the highest honour any police officer can receive." The round man turned to Sheppard, and again grabbed his shoulder. "We don't have the medal here today, John. No, that deserves a real ceremony, once you're back on your feet and back among us. But today... well, good job, son. You did your team, and your country proud."

Everyone clapped again, and John tried not to look to embarrassed. But he swore he was going to chew Carter out the minute he had the man alone.

Which, admittedly, took a while. Everyone officer in the room seemed to want to shake his hand, once for gratitude, and twice for luck. But eventually that wore thin for even the greenest of recruits, and John was left standing with O'Neill and Carter, still shocked beyond words.

"We're proud of you, son," O'Neill told him, intoning the words as if he were still giving a speech. "You saved McKee's life, and put yours on the line. And what's more, you stood up to those bastards, even as they tried their damndest to break you." The man clapped his hand on John's shoulder once more, but this time Sheppard was grateful: it hid the flinch, at least from the Captain. "You're a credit to this force, Sheppard."

Carter on the other hand, seemed to finally be picking up on John's discomfort, frowning as O'Neill removed his hand. Sheppard could feel himself turning pale, his leg shaking, and the older man turned to O'Neill.

"Sir, if you don't mind, I need to debrief Sheppard on some things. We'll just be in my office." Again Carter put his hand on John's back, steering him in that direction as he smiled up at O'Neill. "That was a nice speech, Captain."

Before O'Neill could say a word back, they were away, and into Carter's office. John found the nearest chair and collapsed into it, shaking his head.

"You should have warned me," John breathed as Carter sat back on his desk. "You should have told me what was happening."

But he didn't really need the stern words; Carter was looking guilty enough as it was. "No. I shouldn't have brought you here at all," he muttered, looking down. "You weren't ready for that."

"No," John agreed. "You're right. I wasn't. He leaned his crutches on the arm of the chair. "And I don't think I'll ever be. I don't deserve a medal, Carter."

"That's where you're wrong," the older man replied, moving around to sit at his desk. "Whatever you think, you do."

John just shook his head in denial, and decided to change the subject. "So, what did you want to tell me?"

"Nothing," Carter told him. "I just wanted to get you out of there. Give you a few minutes peace and rest before I take you home."

"Well, I don't really want to go there, either," John let him know. "Dave's acting like it's his fault, won't leave me alone. I never knew there could be someone out there as bad as Carson."

At that, Carter frowned. "Who?"

John went still, racking his mind for an answer. "Ah... just... someone I know." He thought, frowning. Was it? "Anyway, there were a few things I've been meaning to ask you."

"Like what?" Carter asked cautiously, leaning back in his chair.

"About the guys who had me." He spat the words out fast. "I mean, I'm assuming some were arrested?"

"Yeah, three survived the shootout, though one's still in ICU. One's in our cells, and we've been questioning him, but he's not telling much."

"Didn't really think he would," John muttered, shifting on his seat. "Have they asked anymore about Atlantis?"

"Atlantis?" Carter barked, half laughing, half worried with confusion. "What do you mean?"

John shook his head, not catching onto that half worry glinting dangerously in Carter's eye. "Atlantis? I don't know, it's something those guys were... were questioning me about."

"You mean you've remembered some?" Carter demanded, leaning forward onto his elbows.

John nodded, intensely uncomfortable as his brain caught up to what his mouth was talking about. "Just... some nightmares, that's all. And in one of them, they were asking me about Atlantis. Or talking about asking me, at least." Before one of them had turned into a pale monster and sucked the life out of his chest. But he didn't mention that. "Do you know what it is?"

Carter's frown deepened, and he shrugged. "Uh... mythical city that sank into the ocean. Plato, I think." He shrugged again. "Maybe your mind's just filling in blanks with anything it can come up with."

John didn't want to consider that possibility, if that led to the conclusion that the white monster was his own creation. "But it felt so real," he said with a shake of his head. "You sure you haven't heard of any divisions, or task forces called Atlantis? Anything at all they might be interested in?"

Carter shook his head. "Nope. Sorry John. But I can take a look for you. Do some investigating if you want?" He gave a grin. "That's my job after all."

John thanked him with a grin, and forced his mind to close the matter. But that didn't completely kill the worried feeling deep inside his gut.

When Dave got home that night, John was staring aimlessly at a magazine he had picked up off the coffee table. He wasn't really sure what it was, only that it was boring. Not that he was concentrating on any of the words. His mind was racing, and he was frowning, and he wasn't even really sure why.

"John Sheppard!"

John sat upright; he hadn't even heard the front door open, but suddenly there was his big brother, scowling over him, foot tapping and arms crossed. And John didn't even know what he had done.

"Uh... hey Dave." He licked his lips. "You okay?"

"No," Dave answered. "No, I'm not. You know why?"

He was actually expecting an answer. John put down the magazine. "Did something happen at work?"

"Just one thing," Dave told him. "A certain person with a degree in psychology called. About the fact that my little brother has skipped out on a session with her."

"Oh." A certain person... Hadn't Carter used those exact same words? "Well..." His face dropped, and he sighed. "Yeah, you're right. I didn't go."

"Well, you should have, John!" Dave snapped, sitting down in his own chair, angry. "Those sessions are important. You went through a terrible ordeal, John. You need to see someone about it, because you're not invincible!"

"I know," John told him quietly. "You're right."

"I'm... Are you feeling okay, John?"

He looked up at Dave, who was looking very worried all of a sudden. He forced a laugh. "So now you're worried when I agree with you? Damn, Dave."

But the older man just shook his head. "It's just... sometimes I think you don't agree with me just on principle. What changed your mind?"

"About the shrink?" John asked. He wasn't sure he could answer that. But Dave wanted him to. "Just... everything. I don't know." He swung his legs over the side. "I'm just... Damn, this is hard." He shook his head and looked Dave in the eyes, guessing he just had to jump right in and speak. If he couldn't talk to Dave, how could he talk to a stranger?

"It's just, that ever since I woke up, none of this has seemed right."

"None of... this?" Dave wanted to clarify, looking hurt all of a sudden. "John, look, I'm sorry if I overstepped my -."

"No!" John interrupted. "God, no. Not you." He paused, and then amended. "Not just you, anyway. Not just any one thing. I mean... everything. Everything seems surreal, and too bright, and just... weird."

"But that's to be expected isn't it?" Dave asked. "That's what the doctor said."

John nodded. "Yes, that's what they said. But I guess I'm... I'm having trouble. I'm having weird, and honestly, scary dreams. And I don't know what's real... in them."

At least, mostly in them. Most of it he could guess. But if Carter was right, about Atlantis just being a myth, then he would bare his ass down Broadway. Atlantis felt real. He licked his lips, and looked up at Dave again.

"So you're right. And next time I'm not skipping out."

Dave nodded slowly, eyes raking his brother as if he were trying to see something, or sense it. And he just nodded. "Okay, John. Good." He gave a tentative smile. "Now, you hungry?"