Chapter Eight
From somewhere far away he could hear voices. In the darkness where he now drifted feeling warm and free of pain, he could just barely hear the voices. There were several. They came and went, but were always so soft he couldn't make them out. This was the first time he could remember actually being aware of them. Even stranger was the realization that this was the first time he could remember being aware of himself as a person since…
He couldn't remember. For that matter, he didn't know who he was, just that he was a person. He'd been alive, once. He wasn't even sure if he still was. All he knew now was the never ending darkness, and it was comforting. He was almost surprised to realize he knew what pain was. Yes, he knew it very well. There was no pain here. It was lonely, but somehow he knew lonely was safe, too.
But the voices…
He knew them. Even as something tried to tickle his thoughts, he shoved it away. It didn't matter. He knew those voices, but he didn't want to remember. A horrible feeling deep inside him knew that if he remembered, then he would have to remember the pain, too. He didn't want the pain anymore. He'd given it away. He gave up his life. He'd retreated to this place, the darkness.
But the voices…
They were human. They weren't the Wraith voices he'd grown accustomed to. And they were so familiar. Maybe if he just listened a little...
It's not impossible…Still there…With time he…Give up until…
"No!" a sharp, familiar voice commanded from right behind him.
Turning, he found himself confronting someone eerily familiar, but scruffy. The beard and hair were unkempt, the clothes were ragged and torn. Even as he took in all of this, he immediately thought. Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United—
Shaking his head and shoving that aside, he asked, "Who are you?"
"You."
States Air Force. Five seven—
"What?"
"You created me. I am Yann."
Three nine eight two one—
"No. What the hell?"
"You were supposed to die."
eight. May sixth—
He shook his head. This was crazy. "No."
Nineteen seventy. Evan—
"Just die already!" the man screamed at him. "You were supposed to die! This is my life, now! It belongs to my goddess!"
"What? No. What the hell is going on? Where…" His confusion was complete. But the one thing he was certain of is that the man he faced wasn't him. Whatever the hell it, or he, was, he didn't know. And, at the moment, it didn't matter.
Lorne. Lieutenant—
"—Colonel, United States Air Force. Five seven three—"
Before he could finish the man's face twisted in rage as he ran at him with a knife bared. Stepping aside, he gripped the man's wrist and twisted, flipping him to the ground as the bones in his arm snapped audibly. The man screamed in pain, briefly, before rolling away and cradling his left arm to his chest. In that moment he could have retaliated in any way he wanted, since Lorne was in a state of frozen shock. The moment he'd touched Yann, he remembered it all. His name, his family, his childhood, Atlantis, and…yes, even the fact that he was supposed to die and didn't. No…he had died. He just hadn't stayed dead. He…the pain…he had been tortured.
Still numb with shock and realization, Lorne watched the other man stumble away. Somehow he knew this wasn't over. But he didn't have time to deal with that. Now he recognized the voices. John and Carson. He had to pay attention. He had to let them know he was still in here, that he hadn't died. Terrified of the gray that began to push away the darkness, but knowing it was the only way back, he focused on those voices.
~o~o~o~
"To be quite honest, I'm amazed he's survived this long, Mister Woolsey," Doctor Beckett was explaining in the conference room some four days after Colonel Lorne had gone into a coma.
"But he is responsive?" Woolsey pressed.
"He's coming out of the coma," Colonel Sheppard added, his irritation showing through his own exhaustion at this point.
"So he will survive?" Woolsey asked for the third time, his own patience growing thin.
Beckett and Sheppard shared a look. What passed between them Woolsey could only guess at. But they'd been virtually inseparable from Colonel Lorne since they'd brought him back. Finally they turned back to him, nodding; neither of them looking very pleased with the situation. And it was no wonder, since Woolsey was now wrestling with how long he should continue to delay notifying the SGC. Delaying a week already had not sat well with him; but he'd seen Lorne for himself and knew what may happen. Now that it seemed the man would survive, whatever neurological damage they had yet to diagnose, he felt it was time to take action.
Seeing these things on his face, Beckett again stated his case. "Just a few more days. A week, at most, and I will have more answers for you. Right now all I can tell you is that it appears he will survive and he is responsive."
"I understand that, Doctor. But having someone declared dead, and then have him reappear months later addicted to Wraith enzyme and sporting a new personality is a security risk no one wants to tempt," Woolsey told him again in a chilly voice. "Now, unless either of you can give me something as to why I shouldn't inform the SGC and quite possibly get him sent to a facility better equipped to handle his case, I see no reason to delay further."
Again Sheppard and Beckett shared a look. Carson began to look helpless. He knew reason when he heard it, no matter what his own personal feelings about it may be. Sheppard, on the other hand, had the entire military contingent to run, with no real backup at the moment. This was the time when he almost wished he'd established an XO officially, so he could step out for a while. Because if Lorne was being shipped off to Earth, Sheppard was going with him until they knew what was to become of him.
Sheppard's lips thinned as Beckett's gaze seemed to convey something the Colonel didn't agree with. Turning his attention back to the expedition leader, he decided to play his last card.
"Remember that talk we had in the observation room, Mister Woolsey?"
"Of course," he replied warily. "Why?"
"Where were you when it happened? Were you alone in some hospital?"
Ignoring the doctor's curious looks, Woolsey threw Sheppard a warning glare. "You've made your point. But what purpose would it serve in the case of Colonel Lorne?"
"He's been believed dead for months. If our guess is correct, he was tortured into conversion. Then he's brought home and essentially tortured more by detox and withdrawal. The least he deserves is some familiar faces, friends, to be with him while he's going through initial recovery."
"He's right, Mister Woolsey," Beckett agreed. "His initial recovery and assessment of neurological damages may be considerably easier if he's in familiar surroundings with familiar people."
"And the moment you tell the SGC of his current circumstances, they'll have him shipped out," Sheppard followed.
Woolsey seemed to consider this. His eyes bored into the tabletop as he wrestled with himself. Finally he turned back to Beckett. "You believe his initial recovery and assessment will be hindered if we move him now. Meaning he has to stay in Atlantis under observation until such time as he is deemed able to return to Earth." Neither of these were questions, but more like suggestions.
It didn't matter to Beckett. He knew Woolsey was giving him a way out, and he jumped on it. "Yes."
"Very well, then," Mister Woolsey said, standing up. "Keep me updated on his progress."
"Yes, sir," Sheppard said, just barely refraining from smiling. Until that moment, he hadn't really believed Woolsey would give in on something like this. Turning back to Beckett, they shared a relieved glance before heading out of the conference room behind Woolsey.
~o~o~o~
As Colonel Lorne stirred for the third time that day, Sheppard again stood to see if he would wake fully, or if he was just shifting uncomfortably under the restraints. This time he found himself staring down into confused blue eyes looking everywhere. But, unlike when he'd been coming out of the coma, there was a clear sense of confusion and furrowed brow. He was aware and thinking.
"Sleeping beauty awakens," Sheppard quipped, leaning down a bit to ensure he was in Lorne's field of vision. "You with us this time?"
"Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Five—" Lorne started again, making Sheppard sigh heavily and turn away.
"Same as before, Doc," he called over his shoulder.
"Not quite," Carson replied, distracted by something on his laptop. "I have an idea." Coming over he plastered on a smile, despite his growing exhaustion. "Welcome back, Colonel. Tell me your first name."
"Evan."
"Hey! Welcome back, Evan!" Sheppard started, excitedly before Beckett motioned him to silence.
Holding up two fingers, Carson asked, "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Evan Lorne. Lieutenant—"
"That's enough, Evan," Carson said gently. Holding up three fingers he said, "Tell me how many fingers I'm holding up."
"Three."
Oh crap, Sheppard thought to himself, finally understanding.
"Very good. As Colonel Sheppard said, welcome back. Don't worry. You're confused right now, but things will begin to clear up in time. For now, just rest. If you can speak, feel free to do so. We'll be back with some food in a moment." Taking Sheppard by the arm, Beckett led him out of the isolation room.
"Interrogation responses," Sheppard said, before Beckett could even start.
"Aye, if my guess is correct, he's still very confused on where he is and running on a sort of auto-pilot. His brain has determined that anything phrased as a question should be given the standard response he was taught as a sort of reflex. On the other hand, anything phrased as a command will force him to think before reacting. This is a good sign. It means his confusion, sluggish responses, and automatic replies should fade as he begins to understand more and more of what is going on around him."
Until that moment, Sheppard hadn't realized how tense he was. It had been in the back of his mind from the start that there may have been permanent brain damage done and he was no longer the Evan Lorne they all knew. Hearing this at least gave him some hope.
"So you think it's just temporary?"
"Yes. Think of it as a sort of sleep walking. He's emerged from the coma and moving. His senses are keeping up, but his mind is elsewhere. As his mind wakes up, we'll begin to see more intelligent responses."
"But you still think there may have been some damage." It wasn't a question.
"We will still need to assess the damage that has been done, and there is no doubt he's been damaged. Whether it's psychological or physical remains to be seen."
Sheppard nodded, remembering all too clearly the mental state of the man they had brought through the gate. All he could do was hope what Beckett found wasn't as bad as they all feared.
~o~o~o~
After eating halfheartedly some of the mushy, soft foods Beckett had brought him, Lorne dozed off again. Sheppard sat by quietly, as ever, playing on his DS. Beckett had continued to pour over the information on his laptop for whatever other projects he'd been working on in his lab. This time neither of them noticed when Lorne first woke up. Groggy and confused, he tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes before catching sight of his bedside companion.
"Colonel?" he croaked with a too dry throat.
The reaction was instantaneous, Sheppard very nearly dropped his DS when his head flew up to find himself only a couple feet away from a pair of confused, blue eyes.
"Morning, sunshine," he said with a smile. "What's your name?"
"Evan Lorne," he said after a moment of confusion as Beckett brought over a cup of water.
"And who am I?" Beckett asked, after he'd given the Colonel a few sips of water through a bent straw.
"Carson Beckett."
"Very good. Now, who is that?" he asked pointing toward Sheppard.
Lorne shook his head slightly before grinning, "The Cursed Colonel. But others call him John Sheppard."
"Snarky," Beckett commented. "Welcome back Colonel."
"Do I want to know why I'm restrained in an isolation room?"
Beckett and Sheppard gave nearly identical frowns of concern before sharing a look. The doctor gave Sheppard a brief hand gesture to motion him to silence.
"Colonel, what is the last thing you remember?"
Lorne relaxed a bit as he thought about this. After a few seconds he came back with, "I'm not sure. Everything's kind of…fuzzy."
Beckett relaxed considerably at this. "That's alright, son. Don't worry about it right now. It will all come back to you in time. For now, just relax."
"I think there's something about Wraith. Was I taken by Wraith?" he asked them.
"Carson's right," Sheppard said, seeing the edge of panic in those blue eyes, though Lorne's face gave none of it away. "Don't worry about it right now. For now, welcome back."
"Yes, sir," Lorne replied, dubiously. "Am I injured?"
"Aside from a broken arm, there's no serious damage. You're likely to be in a world of hurt for a few days, though," Beckett told him, thinking about all the strain to his muscles over the past week.
"Then would it be too much to ask for a shower and some food, Doc?"
Beckett beamed a smile, glad to hear the old Lorne coming out. "I'll get you some scrubs. You can use the shower here in the isolation room. I'd like to keep you here under observation for a few more days. I'll let Colonel Sheppard help you out of those restraints."
"Thanks, Doc."
Sheppard didn't even wait for Beckett to start walking away before starting to undo the numerous buckles on all the restraints.
"So, you still haven't told me why the restraints, sir. And, by the feel of it, there's a few more than usual."
Sheppard paused for a moment, considering how much he should tell the Colonel. Finally he settled on one word that would pretty much sum it all up for him pretty clearly. "Enzyme."
"Oh…"
"Yeah, which is why Carson said you're going to be hurting for a while. The withdrawals were a bit…unpleasant."
"You don't say," Lorne said with a grunt, flexing his right arm and torso to test if he could sit up.
"That souvenir on your left arm was a compliment of the enzyme. You broke your own arm trying to get out of the first set of restraints," Sheppard told him, starting on the lower restraints. "Don't sit up until I can catch you. If you fall off this gurney and break the other arm, Carson will put me in a bed next to you."
Before Lorne had a chance to attempt it, though, Beckett returned with a fresh pair of scrubs and a towel. Setting them aside, he carefully walked Lorne through sitting up slowly until he was perched on the edge of the bed. Once the dizziness passed, Lorne reached up to grab a lock of the hair that now fell across his face to his chin.
"How long was I gone?" he asked, his face paler now.
"A while," Sheppard jumped it. "We'll talk about that later. Right now, shower, food, and rest."
Lorne nodded, slowly, feeling the beard on his face with a distasteful grimace.
"I'll call in Nurse Mooney," Beckett told him, pointing to the hair and beard. "He'll take care of that in a jiffy."
"Thanks, Doc," Lorne said with a grunt, sliding off the bed and testing his legs. They were shaky and sore, but they would hold. He waited patiently while Beckett wrapped his casted arm in plastic to keep it dry. He caught the two of them sharing a look behind his back that involved Sheppard nodding toward the bathroom and shower on the far side of the isolation room. Obviously privacy wasn't something he'd be seeing much of for the time being.
Suddenly part of him didn't want to remember what the hell had happened.
