Two days earlier

The gate shut down behind them. Sheppard glanced back, his eyes coming to rest on the empty ring. He half expected it to roar to life again, spitting out Rahelians who were coming to get him. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. The pounding of his heart resounded in his ears. He still felt strangely detached, as if a glass wall had gone up between him and all the others.

No wormhole engaged.

Sheppard looked back at his team and the crew currently manning the gateroom. Seeing them was both comforting and unsettling at the same time. He couldn't quite understand what was going on.

"Welcome back, SGA-1," Dr. Weir greeted. "How did things go? Are you feeling okay, Colonel Sheppard?"

It took Sheppard a moment to realize that he'd been addressed. Panic clutched his heart in an icy grip.

How did Elizabeth know? Did his whole team know?

His cheeks were burning up with embarrassment. Suddenly, he couldn't help the weird notion that the people around him just had to see something was different. As if he was still barely dressed; with his recent physical reaction to Mathar's touch plain for all to see. It was ridiculous really, because his private parts were about the only relaxed area of his otherwise tensed up body.

"He's had seventeen hours of beauty sleep," McKay pointed out somewhat testily. "Unlike some of us, he didn't stay up half the night, only to get cheated out of his breakfast."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, scowling at his team leader. Trust McKay not to forget something like that any time soon. A surge of anger replaced the deep sense of mortification for a moment.

But before Sheppard had any chance to say something he might regret, Dr. Beckett approached.

He wriggled his brows. "Why don't ye let me be the judge of that? As for the rest of the team, I expect to see ye for yer respective exams in an hour."

He laid an arm around Sheppard's shoulder to guide him toward the infirmary. A tremor ran through the Colonel and he shrugged the doctor's arm off his shoulder.

"I'm good," Sheppard said stiffly.

He felt Beckett watch him. For a moment, Sheppard was afraid that the doctor already suspected something had happened on MX-650. He carefully schooled his features to what he hoped was a neutral expression. Sheppard continued his way to the infirmary, pretending that everything was just peachy.

Beckett followed him without another word. He headed straight for one of the beds and patted on it.

"Hop up here, Colonel." He smiled. "Take off yer shirt and we'll be done in a jiffy."

With trepidation, Sheppard followed Beckett's order, sat down on the bed and started to remove his shirt. His breath caught as he realized that the story of his recent fight would probably be written all over his chest. Stiffly, he pulled the fabric over his head.

He had a brief look at himself. Relief washed over him as he saw that his skin looked almost normal. As Beckett went through his examination, he managed not to flinch whenever the doctor hit a sensitive spot.

"Tell me what happened to ye when ye operated the chair," Beckett asked.

"I felt like the chair was resisting me," Sheppard said quietly. "And when I engaged the shield, the chair seemed to be drawing power from me instead of the ZPM."

A frown appeared on Beckett's forehead. "Teyla told me ye were so tired ye could barely stand on yer own two feet."

Sheppard nodded uncomfortably. "I was exhausted."

The doctor reached for his stethoscope, moving the cold metal over Sheppard's chest and back. When he was done, he wrapped it back around his own neck and gave a quick, contented nod.

"Anything else ye did nah tell her?" Beckett prodded.

Sheppard tried his best mischievous grin. "Would you believe me if I said no?"

The doctor's frown deepened, speaking volumes without his lips ever moving. It was obvious that he wouldn't let him get away with his usual strategy.

Sheppard heaved a resigned sigh. "I experienced some dizziness and a headache," he admitted.

"Bad?" Beckett asked and fumbled for his penlight. He flicked it on and shone the light into Sheppard's eyes to check their reaction.

"Managable," Sheppard replied. "It was gone once I'd had a little sleep."

Beckett raised his brows. "Seventeen hours straight, if I understood that correctly." He put away his light and scratched his head. "How are ye feeling now?"

"Better," Sheppard said truthfully. "A little tired still. But I'm sure that after a good night's rest, I'll be fine."

Beckett seemed pensive for a moment. "Any idea why ye had such a strong reaction to the chair?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Dunno. McKay promised to look into it. Are you letting me go now?" He hated how whiny he sounded, but Beckett seemed oblivious.

"Aye, lad, if the bloodwork comes back clear, ye can go." Beckett prepared his equipment to draw blood. "That is, if ye promise that ye rest up in yer quarters. And I want ye to come right back to me if you experience any problems." His brown eyes bore into the Colonel.

"Understood," Sheppard replied, plastering his best cocky grin on his face.

He didn't feel like smiling at all. The close proximity of the doctor had brought back unwanted memories of being touched. On usual days, he barely tolerated bring poked and prodded at. He just liked his privacy. Today, it was a tremendous effort not to lash out at the poor man in front of him who only did his job.

All he really wanted right about now was a shower and some privacy, so he could start licking his wounds.

To Sheppard, it seemed to be taking forever, till the bloodwork finally came back. For agonizing moments, he thought that Beckett would confine him to the infirmary, after all. But it seemed that for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, he was lucky and got to leave.

And true to his word, he really went straight to his quarters. In the privacy of his room all pent up energy ran out of him. He headed straight for the shower. Once he'd shrugged out of his clothes, he stepped into the stall and started scrubbing himself until his skin felt raw.

Present

Steeling himself for what was to come, Sheppard headed for the infirmary. It was the one place in this city he never visited unless he absolutely had to. On his way, he wreaked his mind, trying to decide how he was going to approach Dr. Beckett. The good doctor seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to all the things he desperately tried to hide from him.

Like the collection of bruises on his chest. Or his current mental state. He set his jaw a bit more firmly, trying his best to appear completely unfazed. Hopefully, it would work.

Just as Sheppard had expected, the doctor was busy in the infirmary. He was sitting at his desk, studying something on his computer and taking some notes. He looked up as he noticed his most frequent patient. His brows raised in surprise as Sheppard approached him.

"How can I help ye, Colonel?" He smiled.

"I...uh...can I talk to you for a moment?" Sheppard asked. He shifted from one foot to the other.

"Of course, lad." Beckett put his pen down and looked at him expectantly. "Is this about what happened in the morning meeting?"

Sheppard's heart skipped a beat. Of course he would cut right to the chase. "No. Actually, I was wondering if we could give the Rahelians the gene therapy."

If Beckett was surprised, he did one hell of a job to hide it. "Why?"

Sheppard sent a silent prayer that his idea wouldn't tip off the doctor what was really going on. "They need to be able to operate the chair. I can't always be around, should the Wraith decide to attack them again."

"That is true," Beckett muttered thoughtfully. "But I doubt my therapy would do any good in this case. Ye see, none of the people who received the gene therapy can control ancient tech to the level a natural gene carrier can. And even among the natural gene carriers ye're one of a kind." He raked his hand through his hair and his cheeks looked unnaturally flushed all of a sudden. "My gene is ranking second strongest compared to yers. Do ye remember what happened when I sat in that bloody chair in Antarctica?"

Sheppard pulled a face. Of course he remembered. After all, the doctor's failure to control the chair had gotten him his ticket to Atlantis in the first place. And he was grateful for it, mostly.

"Couldn't you try to modify your gene therapy to make it work better?" the Colonel asked with a sense of despair.

Beckett's jaw tightened. "Don't ye think I would have done that if I could? McKay must have asked me that a million times already. And even if I could make the gene more effective, how would that help? From what I heard, even you could hardly operate the chair."

Sheppard hung his head and heaved a sigh. He could hardly argue with that. "Thank you."

He flashed Becket a brief smile. Suddenly, he couldn't get out of the infirmary fast enough. The walls seemed to be closing in on him and he wanted nothing more than to get away from it all. Just a short while ago, he'd allowed himself to feel hopeful. But what was left of that now?

Sheppard followed the corridors, barely looking where he was going. His mind raced, while he was still trying to find a way out of this situation. Dr. Weir expected an answer from him and so did the Rehelians. He couldn't ignore them forever. Anger, despair and rage bubbled up inside him, making his every muscle tense until he felt about ready to explode with all those tightly coiled up emotions that were warring inside him.

For a while, he just walked on aimlessly, paying just enough attention to his surroundings that he managed to avoid running into other people. When he finally stepped aside to let a group of scientists pass, he accidentally came into contact with the walls of Atlantis.

A strong surge of power shocked him back into awareness. The city's hum had shifted again as if it was trying to tell him something. His first impulse was to dismiss the notion. But then he willed his body to relax. Sheppard reached out to once again touch the wall. He still felt the difference, though it was no longer as noticeable as it had been just a moment ago. With a start, he realized that he was close to the chair room.

He felt a strong urge to go there. Like so many times, he wondered if that was actually the city talking to him or just his own desire to be near her. He liked to think it was the former, liked to imagine that the constant hum around him was not just his mind playing tricks on him. After a moment's hesitation, Sheppard decided to follow his impulse.

Was it just wishful thinking, or might Atlantis actually be able to help him find out what had happened to him while he'd operated the chair back on MX-650? And if so, could that knowledge somehow help him?

The doors slid aside before he'd even really touched the control panels. Lights came on immediately, bathing the room in that eerie blue glow that always surrounded the chair. Sheppard moved closer, running his hand over the arm rest, sensing the gel like substance underneath his fingers.

The tingling sensation increased, feeling almost like an embrace. Atlantis welcomed him and Sheppard followed her invitation to sit down in the chair. It reclined, like it had on MX-650, but this time the transition into the systems was smooth.

"Atlantis, what can you tell me about the chair on MX-650?" Sheppard asked in his mind.

The answer was quick. A rush of pictures and data flooded through his brain, giving him schematics and information on all defense systems. Briefly, he felt overwhelmed. But quickly he managed to slow the stream of information until he had a fair idea how the systems were working.

But that hadn't helped him solve his dilemma. "Why wasn't I able to connect with the chair? Could it be damaged?"

The city didn't reply. Sheppard let out a low groan of frustration, when he suddenly felt Atlantis presence much stronger.

"There is no answer to your question, John Sheppard." The voice in his mind was his own – and at the same time, it wasn't. Sheppard blinked, confused. "This system cannot retrieve the necessary data from MX-650 without an active gate connection. However, it would be possible to use the information Dr. McKay downloaded from the chair and compare it to your experience."

"How come you can talk to me like that?" Sheppard wondered.

"The systems can communicate on many levels," Atlantis told him. "You just never required it to do so, John Sheppard."

The answer had Sheppard reeling. "And how exactly do you compare McKay's readings to my experience?"

"Your connection to the chair allows the system to tap into your memory. That will result in your reliving the time you were connected to the chair on MX-650," Atlantis replied.

Sheppard grimaced. Reliving his battle against the Wraith? That didn't sound pleasant at all. But he needed to know what had been wrong with that chair. Perhaps, they could repair it after all. He had to cling to that hope, because he dreaded the other option.

Knowing that he had no choice but to meet the Rahelian's demands would make things a little easier for him. At least he hoped it would.

"Relax, John Sheppard," Atlantis told him.

"Easier said than done," he muttered.

His every nerve ending were coiled up with tension. Taking a deep breath, Sheppard made a conscious effort to let go.

"What are we going to do now?" Sheppard asked.

"The link to Dr. McKay's data has been established. Now, remember what your connection to the control chair on MX-650 felt like," Atlantis advised.

He thought back to the moment he'd first noticed the resistance. How difficult it had been to force the connection, and how strenuous to maintain it.

And all of a sudden, it felt like he was there again on MX-650.