Thank you so much for your continued support, even though its taking me ages to finish this story. My house purchase is going very well. Should close the 20th of next month. I'll still try to post updates though! It's a great distraction from packing ;)
John staggered slightly and felt Ronon's arm tighten around his waist. The walk back to the infirmary had been uneventful, but each step had seemed to sap his strength bit by bit. John knew he was leaning hard on Ronon, but he really didn't feel he had a choice; short of letting the big ex-runner carry him. Hell, no!
"Sheppard?" Ronon looked down at him.
"I'm good, just tripped," John answered and started walking again.
"Sure."
John arched an eyebrow at Ronon's cynical response. He sighed.
"Beckett's really going to be pissed," Ronon added a note of dark humor to his voice.
"Thanks for reminding me," John answered sarcastically, before concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. "God I feel like shit," he muttered.
"Look like it too," Ronon reached up, taking hold of John's good hand that was draped over his shoulders.
"C'mon," John protested weakly. "I can't look that bad…" He looked up at Ronon's cynical look, complete with arched eyebrow. "Great," John sighed again. He returned his attention forward as the infirmary doors came into view. He'd be lucky to have an ass to sit on once Carson got done with him.
As the doors to the infirmary opened, John found himself captured by a withering glare from Carson. He tried a feeble smile. "Hey, Doc."
Carson crossed the infirmary in bold strides, his pace apparently matching his temper.
"Don't ye 'hey Doc' me! Of all the bull-headed, reckless…" Carson threw his hands in the air. "What the bloody hell were ye thinking?"
John winced, noting the stronger, more pronounced accent in Carson's voice; a tell tale sign he was madder than a wet hen. He always gets this way when he's pissed, or upset… John drew in a deep breath, trying to stay composed as struggled to figure out how he knew that, but he couldn't… he just knew.
"So you're the one. You were the one that fired that thing at me!
"Well, next time just be a little more careful, okay?"
"What the hell was that thing anyway?"
"Come on. What are the odds of me having the same genes as these guys?"
He barely noticed Carson walk up next to him until he hissed in pain as the doctor grabbed his free arm, jostling his injured wrist.
"Ach!" Carson's touch gentled even if his voice didn't. "What've ye done now?" He slid one hand under John's wrist, supporting it.
John felt Carson's eyes on him, but he was too preoccupied to return the gaze. He felt Carson's free hand grab the back of his upper arm.
"Colonel?"
"The Chair," John whispered.
"Aye," Carson's voice immediately softened. "What is it, son?"
John's brows furrowed. He could feel the memory there, just on the edge of his consciousness… beyond one, last barrier he couldn't seem to break. Remembering his experience in the Jumper Bay, John took a deep breath and forced his mind to relax; to find the crack in the wall that blocked his subconscious mind and to break through it.
"You shot a… a drone… at me," John's voice remained hushed. From the corner of his eye he saw Carson wince.
"That was me," Carson answered.
"Outpost," John grimaced as he reached for the scraps of memories that were slipping away from him, "McMurdo…" The memories fled, leaving him with the dark emptiness of amnesia. He sighed, and at that moment, felt his knees buckle slightly.
"Ach, enough!" Carson's grip on his arm tightened as he steadied John's wrist with his other hand. "To bed with ye," he ordered.
John slowly sat down on the edge of his bed, silently relieved to be off his feet. He nodded once, slightly, in thanks to Ronon as the big man stepped back.
A faint smile creased Ronon's eyes and barely touched his mouth as he nodded back.
John looked back at Carson, who stood in front of him, still holding his wrist. Knowing nothing he could say would change the doctor's mood he just frowned and sat silently staring at Carson's expression which was an odd mix, of anger, worry and compassion, dashed with a little hope. After a moment, the doctor looked down at John's wrist.
"How did this happen?" Carson asked, his voice calmer, as he poked gently at the joint, and sighed as John flinched in response.
"Kinda got dizzy and fell," John answered quietly. He stared silently back as Carson again looked up at him, eyes widening in alarm.
"Did ye hit your head?"
Reflexively, John shook his head, then winced and groaned quietly as the little man with the sledgehammer beat harder on his forehead. "No." With his free hand he pointed at his injured wrist. "That's how this happened. Tried to catch myself."
Carson nodded and gently turned John's wrist over before poking it again. "I don't think it's broken, but I want some x-rays to be sure."
John stared at the dark circles under Carson's eyes and realized the doctor had probably been woken up from a much needed sleep. He sighed. "Sorry to wake ya, Doc."
Carson looked up at him, his expression stern. "Aye, you should be." After a long moment, a small smile softened his features. "We'll get you settled, and then both of us can get some sleep, alright?"
John smiled back. "Okay." He looked over Carson's shoulder as his night nurse, Kathy, rolled a wheelchair up next to his bed. He grimaced. "Wheelchair?"
"Aye," Carson's tone left no room for argument. "And you'll use it. I'll not have ye fallin' on that fool head of yours."
John sighed as Carson relinquished control of his injured wrist to him and helped him stand, then sit in the wheelchair. "I want pictures of that wrist, and then I want ye in that bed."
The x-rays were quick, and before John knew it, he was changed into hospital scrubs, his wrist immobilized with a splint, and back in his bed. But sleep eluded him so he stared at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened in the last two hours. All the memories, flashes of things he knew; glimpses of his past. He held tight to them, treasured them, even if he wasn't exactly sure what all of it meant.
The privacy curtain moving grabbed his attention as Carson slowly walked through and pulled the curtain closed behind him.
"Thought you were going to get some sleep, Colonel." Carson slowly sat down in a stool next to John's bed.
"You too, Doc," John countered and arched his eyebrow challengingly.
Carson's thin smile still revealed his dimples. "Aye." His smile faded. "Why'd you do it, son? I canna have you breaking out of my infirmary all the time."
John looked away. "Doc… Carson," he amended, "I gotta get my memories back. Lying here in this bed wasn't doing the trick. I had to get out," he shook his head in frustration, "see the city… let the memories… I don't know… find me…" his voice trailed off in frustration.
"You take walks around the city every day," Carson countered. "Why…"
"I had to do it alone," John interrupted. "No distractions. No one hovering, just me and her… the city…" his voice trailed off as he realized how foolish he must've sounded, but as he looked back to Carson, he only saw understanding.
"Aye," Carson answered softly, before his expression sobered. "You could've hurt yourself badly tonight, John. You're just not ready yet. Ye got to take things slow."
Frustration welled in John and he pulled a hissing breath through his teeth. "I can't take it slow!" he insisted with quiet intensity. "I have to remember; have to get my memories back before the IOA takes…" his voice trailed off and he swallowed hard against a swell of emotion, "my command from me," he finished in a whisper.
"They haven't yet."
Carson's voice was mildly reassuring, but John wouldn't have anything to do with it. "Yet being the operative word here," he answered. "They will. Elizabeth can only hold them off for so long. Atlantis can only be without a stable military commander for so long before the IOA will move. They're bureaucrats. I've dealt with bureaucrats before. They'll walk right over the top of me without a second thought." John played with the fringes of his blanket, feeling disturbingly vulnerable. "I may not remember much… okay next to nothing, about Atlantis and my time here, but I do know that I don't want to leave." He pointed at his head. "I don't know it here, but I do know it," his hand fell to his chest, "here."
Carson's expression was full of compassion as he nodded slowly. "Aye," he agreed in a quiet voice. "We'll find a way to help ye, son."
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Her stride strong and confident, Elizabeth strode down the long hallway to the infirmary. Next to her, Rodney was muttering about the inconveniences caused by a certain colonel that was on both their minds, but she paid him little heed. In the past couple years, Elizabeth had developed a very effective 'Rodney Filter'; allowing her to filter out the noise but still catch the important parts of whatever the topic of the moment was for Rodney.
"Elizabeth, are you listening to me?" Rodney demanded.
"Every word," she reassured and flashed him a small smile. "I suspect Carson will have read John the riot act already, so try not to be too hard on him." She glanced at him and arched an eyebrow at his annoyed look.
"Fine," Rodney responded. "It's only four thirty in the morning and we're all sleep-deprived, but let's not let that get in the way."
"You weren't sleeping anyway, Rodney," Elizabeth retorted, "be nice."
"Right," Rodney's voice sounded less than convinced. He took a deep breath as if he was going to say something, but fell quiet instead.
Elizabeth again glanced at him. "What is it?"
Rodney shifted his data pad from one hand to the other before scratching the back of his head. "I can't help but notice you've had a lot of communiqués from the IOA recently…" his voice trailed off as he fixed her with a pointed look.
Elizabeth sighed. Leave it to Rodney to notice. He was next to oblivious to human emotions and had about as many soft skills as a rock, but when it came to technology, details and monitoring security on Atlantis, nothing got past him. "Yes," she answered.
"Sheppard?" Rodney asked.
Elizabeth pursed her lips. "They're getting harder and harder to keep at bay. They want some resolution on the situation with John and command of Atlantis, one way or the other… and they want it now."
"They can't be serious!" Rodney's voice went up an octave, "he was damn near killed! I know, I was there!"
"Rodney." Elizabeth chastised lightly.
"They can't expect him to be well yet," Rodney lowered his voice, "or to think that they have to just… just kick him out."
"They're concerned with having a stable chain of command and a strong, competent commanding officer." She sighed, "given all our troubles and enemies…" her voice trailed off.
"You agree with them?" Rodney's voice was incredulous.
"About removing John? No." she sighed, hating herself for seeing the logic of the IOA's concerns about John, but at the same time, the rational side of her couldn't deny it. Apprehension clenched her gut as, for a moment, she tried to envision life on Atlantis without John. In the three years they'd led the expedition together, she'd come to rely on his straightforward attitude, innate ability to command, and his unwavering support, whether or not he fully agreed with her. Rational side or not, she wouldn't let go of him. Not without a fight.
Elizabeth looked away, unable to meet gazes with Rodney, who surprisingly remained quiet. She swallowed hard and continued walking, quietly letting the conversation end as the infirmary doors loomed ahead of her. Taking a deep breath, she passed her hand over the door crystal and entered the infirmary. She turned towards John's corner of the infirmary and saw Carson sitting next to John's bed. Her gaze touched on John's sleeping face, before she smiled thinly at Carson. "How is he?" she asked quietly.
Carson's smile mirrored hers. "He sprained his wrist, but other than that, he's okay. Just exhausted. Don't think he wanted to sleep, but didn't have much choice in the matter."
"Huh," Rodney grunted. "At least he's getting some sleep."
Carson glanced up at Rodney. "Of all of us, he needs it the most." He lightly admonished before returning his gaze to John. "He regained some memories."
Elizabeth felt hope kindle within her and her eyes widened slightly. "How much?" Her voice remained quiet but still had an added note of intensity to it.
"A few snippets from his first… encounter with drone weapons at the Outpost in Antarctica." Carson winced.
Elizabeth felt a small smile pull at her mouth. Even now, three years later, Carson still got nervous every time he was around the Chair. "Anything else?"
"Probably," Carson answered, "I don't know for sure."
"I do."
Elizabeth turned, following the deep voce to Ronon, who, along with Teyla, had joined them, unnoticed. "Ronon?" she questioned.
Ronon walked up next to John's bed and looked down at him for a moment, before fixing his gaze on her. "He told me. Said he had lots of 'pieces' of memories come back to him when he was wandering around." Ronon's gaze narrowed slightly. "It was good for him."
Elizabeth met his strong look with a confident one of her own. For a man of few words, Ronon was a master of subtle hints and as she stared at him, his opinion became abundantly clear. He thought John did the right thing. She pursed her lips and nodded slightly.
"Aye, maybe," Carson answered, "but he went about it the wrong way."
"Not the way I see it," Ronon contradicted.
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Rodney added sarcastically.
Elizabeth sighed. "Gentlemen," she headed off the debate before it got started. "This is a good conversation to have later."
"Elizabeth." For the first time since she'd arrived, Teyla spoke. "You can only keep the IOA at bay for so long before they will supersede you and remove the Colonel from command." She sighed and something akin of guilt flashed across her face before she smothered it with a stoic expression. "We must not let that happen."
Elizabeth looked down at John. She rubbed her eyes wearily before speaking softly. "I've been able to keep the IOA at bay so far, but it's not just because of my word. Colonel Caldwell is still in our camp on this, and between the two of us, we carry a lot of weight with them."
"Somehow, I'm not entirely comfortable placing this matter solely in the hands of Colonel Caldwell, but I can't imagine why," Rodney snapped quietly.
"I know, Rodney," Elizabeth answered. She shook her head. "If only he could remember."
"He is remembering," Carson insisted. "Tis not a fast process. We can't just wave a wand over his head and, 'poof' he has all his memories back. This is going to take some time." Carson looked back at John. "Maybe I need to speak to the IOA myself. Convince them of that."
Elizabeth shook her head. "They know, Carson. They're just not willing to let Atlantis continue without a definite, qualified CO for any length of time in hopes that John will recover enough of his memories to be fit for command."
"He didn't know thing one about Pegasus when we first arrived here," Rodney insisted, "none of us did, and we did a pretty damn good job getting along."
"I almost think there's more to this than his memories," Elizabeth commented quietly. Years of diplomatic work had given her tremendous insight and the ability to read people's opinions beyond what just came out of their mouths. "The IOA has resisted John being in command of Atlantis from the start. It took myself, General O'Neill and the president to get him the promotion and the post here in the first place."
"You think that's their reasoning behind all of this?" Carson asked, his gaze a cross between anger and disbelief.
Elizabeth shook her head. "Not entirely. But I think it is a factor."
"Well, I for one would love nothing more than to put those squabbling bureaucrats in their place," Rodney interjected, "and we just might be able to do that."
Elizabeth slowly looked at him, her gaze narrowing. "Rodney?"
Rodney looked down at John for a moment, before stepping back and turning. He waved at them. "Come with me."
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Rodney quickly walked down the hallway to the infirmary's lab confident that the rest of them were following his quick steps. Walking into the lab, Rodney tapped the space bar on his laptop, effectively bringing it out of hibernation before typing a series of commands into it as his companions gathered around the Ancient scanner. "I've made a lot of progress with this thing. I know for sure it has healing capabilities and I think I know how to run it."
"You're just telling us that now?" Carson stared incredulously at Rodney.
"I just figured it out!" Rodney snapped back. "At two thirty in the morning I might add. Next time I'll wake you so I can fill you in on all the details instead of waiting for a more civilized hour!"
"Rodney," Elizabeth interjected before Carson could respond, "you've made your point."
"You think you know how to run it?" Ronon walked around the end of the scanner.
Rodney sighed loudly. Sometimes the burden of being a genius was a hard one to bear. The more you did, the more people demanded of you. I figured the damn thing out for god's sake! "Yes, think!" he turned his attention towards Ronon. "I don't know for sure and I don't think I can know for sure until we use it."
"Rodney I'm going to repeat what I said before," Carson's voice was resolute. "We're not testing this thing on the Colonel's brain!"
Rodney set his pad down and crossed his arms. "Tell me," he challenged Carson, "what are his chances, really, of regaining all of his memories? Or at least enough to keep his post here?" Rodney waved a hand. "Just a round figure, using conventional medicine. What are the chances, Carson?" He knew the answer; it'd been simple enough to research, but he was trying to make a point that had to be made. Hope and optimism were fine, but sometimes you had to cut through the crap and face reality.
Carson sighed. "With little progress after over a month of recovery, 'tis a slim chance he'll regain enough to keep his post here. I'll grant ye that." Carson pointed at the scanner. "But I'll not have that thing turning his brain into mush! Right now, he can live a normal and productive life, even if it's not on Atlantis. Something goes wrong with that thing; we could rob him of even that. I won't allow it."
Rodney threw his hands up in exasperation. "This is Sheppard we're talking about! He'd want to do this. He'd want to try. It's his life! Don't you think we should let him choose?"
"Yep," Ronon agreed. "I'd want to try. Sheppard too."
"Thank you!" Rodney waved Ronon's direction.
"I am not so sure of this," Teyla disagreed.
"Rodney," Elizabeth's voice was calm, in an apparent attempt to diffuse the high emotions radiating in the room. "We have to consider that John may not be in the right frame of mind to be making this decision."
Rodney dropped his head and scratched his brow wearily. "I can make this work." He looked up at her.
Elizabeth smiled thinly. "I'll think about it."
Rodney resisted the urge to argue further. He recognized her expression and knew that was the best answer he was going to get. "Fine." Turning back to his laptop, Rodney ignored all of them as they silently left.
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A knock on the door grabbed John's attention. He dropped his book and pushed himself off his bunk before crossing the room to his door. Opening it, John straightened slightly as he found himself staring at Colonel Hays. "Sir," he stepped aside. "Come in."
"Major," Hays nodded as he walked past John and into his quarters. "Taking a little down time?"
John smiled and walked over to join the colonel. "Yes, sir. Needed to unwind."
Hays chuckled slightly. "I'll bet. Hell of a stunt you pulled." He turned and faced John. "You should know I'm putting you up for an Air Force commendation for it."
John's brows climbed up on his forehead. "Commendation, sir?"
Hays' expression turned deadpan. "You don't think you deserve it?"
"I can't speak to that, sir," John fidgeted uncomfortably, "but that's not why I did it."
Hays smiled and nodded his head. "I know, that's why I'm nominating you, Major." He took a step closer to John. "Martinez is alive because of you and Edwards. I'm putting him in for a medal too, by the way. At the end of the day, that's what matters…"
John woke with a start and blinked as the memory faded and reality set in. He smiled slightly as he met gazes with Teyla. "What are you doing here?"
A shadow of a smile passed over her face. "I could not sleep."
John arched an eyebrow slightly. "Okay. But there has to be better places to feed your insomnia then here." He met the intensity of her brown eyes with a confident look of his own.
"There is not." Blinking hard, Teyla looked away.
John's gaze narrowed as he studied her. Her body was tense… on edge. He could feel it, even without touching her. His gaze fell to her hands and the white knuckled grip her interlaced fingers had on each other. He slowly looked back up at her. "Want to tell me what's wrong?" He asked gently.
"I cannot. I…" she drew in a deep breath and let it out forcefully. "I am sorry," she whispered.
John sat in silence for a moment. Somehow… somewhere in his gut, he knew the apology had nothing to do with her denying his question. "For what?" His voice was soft as he gently prodded her to talk to him. Something had been bothering her since the beginning of this whole ordeal and he wasn't going to let it slide anymore. "Teyla?"
Teyla's lips were pressed tight as she finally looked back at him. "For all of this," she waved slightly. "It is my fault."
John's brow furrowed. "Not according to everyone else… except you apparently." His gaze hardened slightly. "If anyone is to blame it's these T'eshii."
Teyla shook her head. "I should've been more alert. I should have…" her voice trailed off.
"Should've what?" John asked, but she shook her head.
"I cannot tell you, Colonel," her voice was resigned, "you must remember on your own."
John clenched his jaw for a moment before pushing his own frustration aside. "Teyla look at me," he insisted and was silent until she did. "I may not remember what happened, but I do know I'd do anything for anyone on my team. Period. That includes you. Whatever happened, I don't blame you."
Teyla abruptly stood. "You should not have had to do what you did."
Before John could say another word, she turned and quickly left.
John sighed loudly, allowing his own frustration to color his mood. How the hell could he help Teyla if he couldn't even remember what happened in the first place? Settling back in his bed, John tried to pull back the scraps of memories he'd experienced in the last few hours, but to no avail.
It sort of reminded him of his Grandma Eunice's snapshots. Hours he'd sit and endure one picture after another that obviously meant something to her, but, taken out of context, had no meaning to him. He could see the images in his head, but had no perspective… no attachment to go with them. Nothing more than rouge emotions he couldn't explain. Sleep eluded him as he stared at the ceiling, buried in his own frustration.
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The day's appointment schedule on her pad did nothing to hold Elizabeth's attention as she stared blankly at it. Abruptly, the sound of the gate activating grabbed her attention.
"Incoming wormhole," the gate technician's voice came over her headset. Pushing back from her desk Elizabeth stood and quickly walked out into Ops. "Do we have an IDC?"
"Affirmative," the technician answered, "it's a transmission from the SGC." His gaze narrowed slightly. "It's marked confidential. Your eyes only."
She nodded. "Pipe it into my office." Her stomach full of apprehension, Elizabeth swiftly walked back to her office and sat down. She took a deep breath and tapped her laptop, bringing up the transmission. Her brows arched slightly at the face of Richard Woolsey staring back at her.
"Richard? What can I do for you?"
"Dr. Weir," Woolsey responded, "I… I hate to be the one to tell you this."
Elizabeth dropped her head and sighed. She had a sinking feeling she knew what he was going to say. "Go on."
"The IOA has decided to relieve Colonel Sheppard of his command, effective immediately. Colonel Caldwell will be ordered to step in as military commander temporarily, until a suitable commanding officer for the Daedalus can be found. At that point, Colonel Caldwell will be instated as the military commander of Atlantis permanently." Even over the transmission and two galaxies away, Woolsey's sigh was still audible. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I know how much you fought this."
Elizabeth stared back at him as she tried to get a hold of a wide array of emotions, each one carefully hidden behind her strong expression. Her gaze narrowed. "Off the record, Richard," she said quietly. "Caldwell's opinion?"
Woolsey paused a moment before shaking his head. "It wasn't him. Colonel Caldwell's last report to the IOA advised waiting as he felt it would be a premature decision to relieve Sheppard yet. The IOA is superseding both of you. I'm sorry."
Elizabeth swallowed against her emotions and nodded. "Thank you for telling me personally, Richard. Atlantis out."
As the transmission on her screen faded to black, Elizabeth sat back in her chair. She rubbed her eyes wearily, letting her emotions permeate her expression. They'd been fighting to get John back, to keep him in Atlantis and, in a twisted stroke of fate, their luck finally ran out.
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