ImagoThe Tao of John

by Kristen999

Imago: a creature in its final stage of development. John receives a gift that might be used to destroy the Wraith. It might also kill him. Can his team convince him that the cost is too high? Team plus Carson and Elizabeth “Tao of Rodney” AU

2. Chapter 2

John thought back to the first time he sat in the control chair on Antarctica and the terror when it shimmered to life. Instinct told him to bolt; his gut forced him to stay. The sensation was a rush, triggering a hidden cache inside his mind that led to a new life. Fear became curiosity, and disbelief morphed into something pretty damn awesome. Accepting a one-way ticket to another galaxy meant hours in the chair, then days and days of tests in a laboratory with one Dr. Rodney McKay.

Here he was, the little gerbil all over again, waiting on news about gene mutations, DNA reversals, or some other Pegasus magic trick. A pretty nurse smiled cheerily at him, pumping a BP cuff for the millionth time. It was hour four, and his anxiety levels kept climbing with each new examination. His team had been ushered away, and the bloodletting and barrage of tests had commenced immediately.

Every machine distracted him with electrical noise, and the high volume of activity increased the pounding of his headache. Schematics of devices including circuit boards, power supplies, and computer chips came to him in a rush. Even the Ancient scanner was weird; the harmonics of its automated language pulsated loudly when it passed over him.

"Okay, Colonel. It's time to get inside the MRI machine," Pretty Nurse said.

Pretty Nurse was five foot-three, weighed one-hundred and thirty pounds. He could break down the perfume she wore into a thousand different compounds without even knowing her name.

"I need you to keep your arms to your side, sir," the nurse told him.

John wondered what the MRI machine was supposed to detect that Ancient technology couldn't. Beckett was really pulling out all the stops this time.

"This should only take a few minutes," a voice over the intercom announced.

John closed his eyes to the hum of the machine. Images popped beneath his eyelids; he could see the nuclear magnetization of the hydrogen atoms in the water of his body. Radio frequencies blinked bright blue, and he watched the light illuminate hydrogen nuclei into a rotating magnetic field. It was all silver laser beams as the scanner above him manipulated the incoming information.

"Stop!" John yelled.

The signals bounced around, reconstructing the images of his body.

"Stop the test!" he yelled, banging on the inside of the machine.

"Calm down, Colonel."

The machine roared and clanked and chattered around him.

"Get me out of this damn thing!"

"Stopping the test, sir. We're removing you now."

John bolted away from the bed, breathing hard, and ready to get the hell away. Carson hurried over with another nurse in tow. "Easy, lad. Just take it easy."

"Are you done? Because I'm feeling pretty damn cagey at the moment," he growled, his eyes seeking out all the exits.

"I think we're good for now," Carson said soothingly, hand gripping John's wrist. "Your pulse is racing. Why don't you just take a moment to get your bearings?"

He took a shuddering breath. "What's wrong with me, doc?"

Carson looked to his nurse. "Jana, darling. Would you please go do what I discussed earlier?" The physician watched her leave then smiled at him. "I think I know, but I just need you to do a few things for me."

John nodded, scrubbing his face. "Okay, but... can I get an aspirin?"

The penlight came out. "Got a headache?" Carson asked, flicking it into each pupil.

"Yeah," John said, waving it away. "You pointed that thing at me earlier."

"Could be stress or lingering effects from the stunner. You just survived a culling, son." Carson shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't want to see you in pain, but if it's not too bad, could we wait a little longer? I don't want to have to rerun some of these tests. I can give you some extra strength Tylenol and anything else you want when we're done"

"And lunch?" John asked hopefully.

The doc chuckled. "No problem," he said, guiding him toward the middle of the infirmary.

The first thing John noticed was less hustle and bustle. It had a calming effect, and he followed Carson.

"I want you to stand still a moment and close your eyes."

That seemed easy enough. John obeyed, feeling the cold tile beneath his bare feet.

"Now, lad. I asked Jana to read from a book nearby. I want you to listen for her voice and tell me what she is saying."

"Carson," John said doubtfully. "Why do--"

"Just humor me."

There was a lot of white noise, machines, voices, footsteps, but John discarded conversations and searched for a pattern. Over the surface of all the chaotic sound was the rhythmic tone of a single speaker.

John repeated the words he heard. "Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, in there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore. Not the--"

"Okay, that's enough, lad." Carson gestured for him to turn around and face in the other direction. "This is an unobstructed view from one end of the infirmary to the other. Took a while to move things around, but the staff was very helpful," he smiled.

John chewed on his bottom lip. "Was that Poe? You know, The Raven?"

"Yes, it was. Just bear with me a little longer. I want you to read the lettering on the poster on the far end there." The physician chuckled at John's disbelieving expression. "Please, Colonel."

"If this is to determine how good I'd be at darts, I can think of better ways," John joked at the unusual request. To lighten the mood he covered his left eye with his hand and squinted with his right. He stared at a tiny square blob hundreds of feet away. "It's a giant post-it note."

"Focus on it. Try to read what is there," Carson instructed him.

To be a pilot, vision was essential, and he hated to break it to Beckett, but he couldn't read that far away. "Look, Doc I..." But something happened; black letters took shape over the white backdrop. It was like seeing down the scope of a sniper. "If you are reading this, Colonel Sheppard, then you're going to be here a wee bit longer."

His jaw dropped, and he stared at Carson whose expression was ecstatic. "Doc?" Carson wasn't doing his 'everything is going to be all right' charade. In fact, his eyes sparkled with the 'I just discovered a new toy' type of giddiness that scientists got. "Is the note right?"

The physician was decent enough to rein in his enthusiasm. "I'm afraid so, but not for the reasons you think."

"I don't know; I'm thinking pretty damn hard about a million impossibilities," John fired back.

"I can give you some theories, Colonel. But let me try to get more concrete answers. I have something set up over here that should confirm what I think is going on with you." Carson led him toward another bed with a lot more equipment than normally hung around examination tables.

He didn't fidget when Carson placed the electrodes on his forehead or complain at how the sticky pads itched. Carson Beckett was behaving more like Rodney McKay after a great discovery, fiddling with the machine to his left before bringing over a table with a stack of objects. "Colonel, I want you to focus on the ball point pen."

John knew what Carson wanted him to do before he asked it out loud.

"I want you... oh, Lordy… I want you to try to lift it without touching. You understand?"

Bingo. Go collect two-hundred dollars. John looked at it, calculating the mass and dimensions instantly. He focused on the pen's center of gravity and thought up.

"Oh my," Carson oohed and ahhed.

The pen floated before them; the simplicity of keeping it in the air was effortless.

"Can you try the other objects?"

It didn't take much – a tiny nudge. John juggled the pen, an apple, a watch, and a comm link with ease. In that moment his headache was forgotten, lost in the euphoria of doing something that shouldn't be possible.

This was cooler than the time he engaged in a dogfight with a Russian Su-Flanker or when he sat in the cockpit of his first spy plane.

This was even cooler than the control chair.

---

The broom handle was one-hundred centimeters long and weighed four-hundred and fifty grams. It was amusing to sweep it around the floor like Fantasia. Controlling it was different then launching a drone or flying the jumper. There was no force involved, and his head still hurt, but the pain wasn't from making the broom to do anything.

"This is so typical. You've developed superior abilities so you've decided to become a janitor. Did your I.Q. fall after you got zapped by the machine?" Rodney entered the curtained area, voice shrill but with eyes that gleamed brightly. "My God, you ... you really are moving it?"

John swooshed the broom towards Rodney. "Got tired of playing with all the medical instruments plus messing with them annoyed Beckett," he replied with a grin.

"Hey! Watch it." Rodney squawked as the broom dusted off his boots before making a beeline for the corner where it came to rest against the wall. "I still can't believe it!"

"Neither can I," John beamed, letting his feet dangle from the bed. "It's kind of weird."

"Weird? This is way past weird and into the planes of amazing and momentous!" Rodney pulled a PDA out of his pocket, pecking away with the stylus. "The synaptic interactions in your thalamus, motor cortex, and cerebellum, not to mention the basal ganglia have gone up astronomically."

"Explains the increases in my visual, auditory, and voluntary muscle movement," John thought out loud.

"Yes, in fact-" Rodney paused mid-excitement. "How do you know that? It's not like biology is your strong suit beyond the birds and the bees."

John ignored the insult. "Better question is how do you know what's in my medical file before me?" Avoiding eye contact and shuffling feet were the only clues he needed. "You hacked into Beckett's computer!"

"Of course! After all your parlor tricks today? Does Carson allow us to come in with you? No! Do any of the quacks around here tell us how you're doing? No!" Rodney paced back and forth, working himself up into a bigger and bigger tirade. "People forget I'm a genius. I can put two and two together. You got zapped by an Ancient machine the other day, and now you have super powers!"

"You might want to take a deep breath, McKay. Your pulse is way over one-fifty," John warned.

Rodney's fingers went to the side of his neck, his eyes big and his hands twitchy. "Really? You think?" He pushed his way over and sat next to him on the bed. "That's not too high, well at least not for me." Then he glared at him suspiciously. "Wait. How can you tell?"

Feeling sheepish, John ducked his head. "I could hear it pounding away." Then he looked up nervously. "Did you read anything else? I mean this," he waved his hand over himself, " isn't exactly normal."

It was impossible for Rodney McKay to hide his emotions with eyes that glowed like a neon-colored mood rings and hands that gestured their feelings. When his friend smiled like a child unable to keep a secret, any hidden anxiety melted away. "What about super powers do you not understand? I'm talking real-life comic book kind of stuff. Not that you needed anything else to become more heroic."

It had never really dawned on John, the ramifications of being able to see and hear at great distances or the whole telekinesis thing. Any time a person was genetically altered in this galaxy, it never turned out well. "Super powers, huh?"

Rodney's eyes sparkled like a kid in a candy store. "Yes! Is there anything else you can do? Can you turn invisible? Or wait... are you super strong now?"

Was he? John wasn't sure. "I don't know. What I wish I could do was make a large steak appear. I'm starving."

"Rodney! What the blazes are you doing here?" Carson entered the cubicle, clutching a handheld computer with Elizabeth close at his heels.

"I was... you know." Rodney hopped off the bed. "Here for moral support."

"We were talking about jumping tall buildings in a single bound," John replied in his flippant tone.

"I should've known you wouldn't be able to stay back and let me handle things," Carson sighed exasperatedly. "Don't try denying anything either. However, since I'm the one with the medical degree, I think I'll be the one to discuss my patient's condition."

"I think having Rodney here might prove useful based on your preliminary results." Elizabeth stepped up to defuse the situation. She turned to John. "How are you feeling, John?"

"Considering what happened the last time my DNA was altered, not bad." He looked up at Carson. "Rodney told me about some of the changes going on because of that machine. At least I'm not turning into a bug this time."

Carson always looked so guilty whenever that incident was brought up. "No, you're not, thank goodness. As you know, the brain's made up of different systems that receive and respond to stimuli. There's a complex network that delivers signals to the brain controlling our muscles, interpreting sensory information, and transferring all that data to a neural network. The spinal cord or other parts of the brain for example. Under all that circuitry is what we think makes up the human consciousness."

"Any day now. Some of us have plans for tomorrow," Rodney snarked.

"Go on, Carson. I don't mind a little brush up on this," Elizabeth encouraged, her eyes studying John's.

"Aye, I'll try to get to the point," the Scot compromised. "Synaptic connections are what allow our brains to parallel process all of these things. Kind of like a computer. And your synaptic interactions, Colonel, have increased tenfold. Including your cognitive function, but I'm guessing you already know that."

All eyes were on him, and John felt a mixture of scrutiny. "I honestly didn't put much of it together until now."

"How long have you known?" Elizabeth asked.

"I've felt different, but nothing I could put my finger on." John rubbed at his tired eyes wishing for a nap. "I could hear things, people talking from far away."

"Aye, Jana read that poem from the other end of the infirmary," Carson said, sounding fascinated.

Rodney snapped his fingers. "Is that how you detected the Wraith today? You heard them talking?"

His stomach rumbled, and John looked up in embarrassment. "I heard their heart rates. They were slower than ours."

Elizabeth touched his arm. "This must be overwhelming. How can you cope with so many voices and sounds?"

"It's okay." John defended. Carson was getting that panicked look, and he wanted to prevent him from turning off every machine in the vicinity out of fear. "If I concentrate, I can fade out everything that I don't want to listen to. And if there's something I want to hear, I focus on it, kind of like a radio. I can adjust the volume."

"What about sudden noise? Things you don't expect?" Carson asked worriedly, taking notes.

"I'm still working on that part." John shrugged. "Same goes for the vision thing. I can control stuff like a camera."

"Sounds like a pretty big burden just to keep your senses normal."

"I'm fine, Elizabeth," he said, trying to reassure her. "A lot of stuff is automatic reflex." John tried to put into words what felt more visceral than tangible. How could he explain the sudden confidence when he had been as freaked out or even more so than any of them only a few hours ago? "If my brain is working faster then I'll learn to cope with the increases."

"You didn't feel any pain holding up that girder?" she asked.

"No, I didn't."

"When you were pulling off those maneuvers in the jumper," Rodney said, the gears turning in his head. "That was signs of increased reaction times. You plotted out those points in your head, didn't you?"

"Something like that."

"That makes sense. If the synaptic function has increased in all parts of your brain then who knows how that could affect the frontal lobe. You might be as smart as me now." Rodney got one of his very far away expressions when he was hard at work on a problem.

"What about the headache?" Carson rested a hip against the bed, eyes glued to his computer. "Is it any worse?"

"Not really, but I'm famished," John admitted to the chagrined expression of Rodney and Elizabeth.

"I bet you are, Colonel. In fact that's a concern of mine as is the headache." The physician turned his computer over displaying an Excel sheet next to a chart of metabolic rates. "The energy consumption for the brain to simply survive is 0.1 calories per minute. And doing basic activities like doing a crossword puzzle, it is around 1.5 calories per minute which is where we get the average diet of two thousand calories a day."

"That explains why so I'm hungry."

"It's not that simple," Rodney butted in. "When you go on your insane runs you burn fourteen calories a minute. When I'm working on something in my lab for hours on end, I'm burning two hundred and forty a minute which is why I need to eat so much. But you..." He shook his head, brow furrowed in a worried scowl. "Dropping darts from the sky or lifting heavy objects – who knows the massive amounts of energy you'll burn with your brain all hyperactive."

"It would explain your headache, and I'm guessing you're pretty tired. For right now I'm going to start you on six small meals a day. Increase your intake to at least eight thousand calories; monitor the rate and see how that goes. You're made up of lean muscle, lad, so I don't want ya losing any of it or exhausting yourself." Carson gave him a squeeze to the arm. "I'll get a tray brought over right away," he said, dashing out.

"Doesn't sound like I'm leaving any time soon," John grumbled. Having lunch was a big plus, but he had been thinking the mess hall.

"Rodney, I want you to join Zelenka in studying that machine. I want to know everything about it. Why it was created. What the results were. And I'd like it to be your top priority," Elizabeth ordered.

"But I wanted to hang out and try..." Rodney shoved his PDA in his pocket. "Fine. I'll get right on it."

The scientist bounced on the tips of his toes. "We'll get together later on and maybe try out some of your new tricks. Maybe even compare notes on a couple theories I've been working lately," he said excitedly.

John gave a half smile, thinking back to the early days of exploring the city and how much time he spent turning things on in McKay's lab. Elizabeth was still there, her presence a beacon of strength and genuine concern. It was nice to have such a great support system that was sadly still a foreign concept to him. He closed his eyes, letting everything from the past few hours to sink in.

Security.

He looked up at her with a quizzical expression. "Did you say something?"

"No, I didn't. Are you hearing someone close by?" Elizabeth studied him closely. "I'll ask Carson if one of his staff is around. I'm sure they are."

"Don't worry about it," he said. John gave her one of his charming grins, but deep inside he felt it again. An emotion like fingers through his head.

"You know, while it's just the two of us, we might want to talk about the procedure for something like this." He gave a half-smile, watching the way her facial muscles twitched.

"I don't think we have anything to worry about."

"When I'm released though," he pressed.

Elizabeth looked thoughtful for a moment, and the odd feeling of unease slipped away with her words. "Well, it might be a good idea to have one of your team members around. Nothing too formal. Just in case you experience something unexpected."

"I think that's a good idea. Can't be too careful."

"I trust you, John. I just don't want you to be alone. We're dealing with severe biochemical changes, and I won't risk your health."

The paranoia slipped away when he saw Carson and a nurse return with a huge tray of food. "Thank goodness," he said happily, prepared to finally eat.

Food eased his headache and quieted his belly; unfortunately the short reprieve led to more tests. Carson suckered him into wearing the most ridiculous swimmer's cap with wires that stuck out like Medusa. It took forever to attach it with his unruly hair, making him glad to be alone with just the doc and a nurse.

Then Beckett lied to him, saying something about trying out a few 'video games' while he studied his brainwaves.

That had turned into two hours of playing the craziest computer puzzles known to man.

Enough was enough. With a lot of complaining about being a hamster on some endless wheel, he was allowed to go to his room.

"I'm going to bed now," he informed Carson over the radio.

"You let me know the second you feel even the slightest bit differently," the Scot informed him in that worried physician's voice.

"You'll be the first to know. Sheppard out," he said, tossing the comm on an end table.

The bed was so inviting; his muscles felt like old taffy from the crazy day. While his body was sore and achy, the exhaustion was purely physical. The rest of him was jittery, like five cups of coffee type of awake. Ideas and thoughts bounced around in scattered pieces, but none of them stayed long enough for him to remember anything.

The blank computer screen drew him to his desk only to have his notebook from last night steal his attention. As soon as he laid eyes on the pages, he was instantly assaulted by theorems and theories. "Intrinsic parities of protons and deuterons are both positive," John said out loud. "That's why electric dipole radiation requires a parity change," he muttered to himself, reaching for a pen.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the open Sudoku book with an unfinished grid and much like flipping channels on TV, the need to solve the number game sucked him in. He grabbed the elusive pen and sat on the floor to attack the book. It took no time to fill in countless grids, and after six pages, his attention waned, and he glanced around his room as if ravenous for something else to occupy his time.

"This is stupid, John. You should be sleeping," he growled. Then he saw his guitar tucked away in the corner and brought it over. He sat cross-legged, using the side of the bed to lean against. "Yeah, this will do."

Closing his eyes, his fingers strummed rhythms and chords. The more he played, the more complex the music became. He closed his eyes, getting lost in the sounds and finding a peaceful harmony in a room that endlessly distracted him.

---

It was disorienting to wake up, sprawled on the floor, a guitar next to his legs and with a massive crick in his neck. John groaned rubbing at the knotted muscles and looked up at the clock. Early dawn peeked through his curtains, but he distinctly recalled seeing four AM in red numbers only moments before. Beckett would have his head for only catching two hours sleep.

Showering woke him up, the billowing heat loosening some of the tension from falling asleep in a pretzel position. His stomach growled loudly in its demands for food as he toweled off and folded the fabric around his waist. Water droplets left wet trails down his chest, and his spiky hair was still damp as hell, but he felt compelled to go to his door and open it.

"Hey, Ronon," he said. "Let me get dressed."

The big guy walked in with a tray and slid it on his desk. "You hear me outside?"

"Yeah," John said absently, not knowing how he knew Ronon was there. "What you'd bring?" he asked, snagging boxers, a pair of sweats, and a clean t-shirt.

Inside his bathroom he quickly changed into his morning running clothes, wiping at the steam-covered mirror. He would shave later.

"I ran into Beckett in the mess hall. He knew I was coming over here and said you should eat this," Ronon's voice drifted over.

John walked over to the tray. "That's a lot of food," he said, pulling out a chair.

"He said you needed to finish it all. Something about energy. I dunno." Ronon leaned against the wall eying him with an amused grin. "They say you've got powers or something."

John nearly choked on his eggs. "Not... powers... I'm not sure… what I have," he said between mouthfuls.

"You think you can outrun me now?" his friend asked with a challenging grin.

"Don't think it works like that," John said, wolfing down a whole stack of pancakes. "Whatever that machine did... it enhanced my senses. Don't think I'll be faster than a speeding bullet."

Ronon looked at him like he was idiot for suggesting such a thing. "Then what can you do?"

He thought about it a moment, mulling over all the possibilities. "I don't know." John looked over at him with a glint in his eyes. "Wanna find out?"

That earned him and even wickeder smile. "Yeah."

John began devouring his bacon. "Cool."

"I'm not in a rush, you know."

It took effort to slow down the speed with which he was swallowing his breakfast. "Um... yeah. Just kind of hungry."

In less than five minutes he finished a meal that even McKay wouldn't have been able to then waited enough time to let it settle before exercising. "Let's go."

Ronon pushed off the wall and pointed at his feet. "You might want to wear some shoes."

Oh yeah, higher brainpower his ass.

---

Running lost its appeal after a mile, the freedom and quiet an open doorway to a growing low-level hum permeating all around. John swore the wires and circuits in the walls called out to him. They stopped near an overhang when a mischievous idea came to him, beating back all the other clutter in his head.

"Peel back that panel, wouldja?" John asked, mapping out the size of the hallway.

Ronon yanked on the section of wall that wasn't intact, laying the metal piece on the ground. The size was too large and clumsy. John bent down, feeling out a narrow section and grunted as he pried it apart, breaking it down into something smaller. "There, perfect surfboard size," he said, grinning.

It took only a minute to convince his fearless friend to walk up the catwalk with the metal board and place the object on the top rail. "Okay, now what?" Ronon asked.

"Drop it," John ordered.

Ronon didn't waste time with silly questions, just gave the 'board' a slight shove. Catching it with his mind was easy, and the metal plate hovered in the air. "This is so cool."

The 'board' coasted in the air, gliding whichever direction he nudged it, requiring the same effort to walk or talk. John sent it to the ground by his feet, and he jumped on top of the panel, testing to see if it could support his weight. He looked up at Ronon, half expecting to see the Satedan give him a 'you're insane' look, but received an encouraging nod instead. John wet his lips and thought fly, whooping loudly as he rose high above the floor.

John kept his knees bent, arms outstretched to keep his balance and floated to the top of the ceiling. The view was electrifying, and for a second he thought of trying it over one of the piers. He breathed deeply, realized the staggering height, and cascaded back down in a long, slow swoop.

"That was awesome!" he shouted with a goofy smirk.

"You gonna share?" Ronon yelled from above.

John sent the metal panel back up to the catwalk for his teammate to grab. Ronon stepped on the 'board', bounced around on top of it and looked over. "I'm ready."

He took his time with his friend's safety at stake and slowly lifted the object with Ronon buzzing with excitement on top of it.

"Come on!" Ronon shouted, eager to play

"Maintain your balance," John called back. Then he sent his friend in a low orbit, swinging Ronon in a lazy arch across the empty space.

"Faster!"

John did as requested and sent Ronon sailing, his dreads whipping in the wind. He kept the ride smooth and straight, like navigating gigantic surf swells. "Hold on," John warned, turning the board around to bring it back.

Ronon and the board skidded to a halt, and he jumped off, clapping him on the back. "That was fun."

Feeling positively giddy, John jumped back on and shot up at a steeper incline. He forced his feet in place so no matter the maneuver, it was impossible to fall. He did loops and coasted right up the walls. This was the ultimate wave off Maui or the highest ramp in the skate park. It was like the Silver Surfer.

Ronon craned his neck, watching his every move. It was obvious he would try to catch him if he fell, no matter how badly that wouldn't work.

Don't worry.

"I'm not," John shouted back.

"What?" Ronon asked puzzled.

"Never mind," he said and leaped.

He swore the city sighed sadly when he headed toward the floor.

The big guy waited for him when he finally returned to the ground and took a moment to collect himself. Ronon was good at giving him space, patting him on the shoulder after a while to get him moving.

"Let's go to the gym," Ronon said. John followed, still lost in the air.

---

John favored the bench over a sweat-drenched sparring session with Teyla. She smiled upon their arrival, left arm arching one of her banto rods in a graceful swipe. It was considered impolite to interrupt one of her routines unless it was an emergency. Her exercises were as much ritual as they were training. Grace of movement and fluidity of the body.

It was feet, arms, hands, eyes, mind, soul, all interacting, reacting. It never really synced together the way it did now. John tried to be a good student, learning by repetition and practice. But there was more to it— with parts ballet and something like Earth yoga no doubt.

Ronon practiced by himself in the corner, waiting for her to complete her solo workout. His style was more aggressive, based more on pure strength and quicker take downs. John watched both teammates, recognizing the familiar patterns that they shared.

Teyla bowed to Ronon, and their sticks clashed together at dizzying speeds. Attack, counter attack. Anticipation of the opponent. Within the frenzied action were lines and geometric configurations. A nagging ache gnawed in his stomach, but he was still in a t-shirt and sweats, no pockets to stash a power bar.

For whatever reason, he felt compelled to walk over to the mat where his friends traded blows. Teyla ducked her head away from one of Ronon's swings and spun around behind him in a familiar move, banto rod under the Satedan's chin. "Yield," she commanded.

Ronon knew when he was beat, bowing to her and grabbing a towel to dry off.

"How are you feeling, John? When I was finally allowed to visit, I was told you were in your quarters, resting."

"I'm fine. Don't worry," he said studying the sticks. "In fact, I thought I might go a round."

Teyla looked to Ronon, who shrugged, and dragged her gaze back to critically look at him. "Is that wise?"

"I'm not injured," he replied, taking the sticks offered to him by Ronon. "I feel the need to stay active."

It wasn't a total lie. John burned with untapped energy which was really weird since he lacked so much sleep. He wanted to get rid of the sudden urge to try and experience everything ping-ponging in his head. It took a lot to keep his hands still; they were restless to imitate the moves he'd just processed. John felt like he had in his room earlier – antsy and in need of an outlet. He wondered where his lazy desire to sit and watch had evaporated to.

I am not sure about this.

"I promise it's all good," he smiled.

"Very well," Teyla said.

I will take it easy.

John squinted at lips that never moved. He loosened up his wrists, testing the balance of each rod.

Whack!

The sticks met in alternating angles, low to the ground, twirling to clank together at head level. Back and forth, parry and reverse.

Teyla backed up, feet shifting weight to her front toes. John knew exactly what pattern of attack she would use, predicting when the rods came slashing towards him.

Sixty, forty-five, thirty degrees.

Thwack, thwack, thwack. Counter.

John knocked the left rod out of her hands with a hard tap to her wrist and shifted his body like a reed in the wind to avoid her rebound. Then he dodged left, her stick missing his torso. He bobbed forward, clacking Teyla's other wrist, causing her to drop the other one.

He stopped, breathing heavily. The last time he had one-upped her so single-handedly, the sparring had ended in a dark moment so he froze, letting her know this was not a repeat performance.

"Oh, for Pete's sake. Do you have nothing better to do?"

John turned at the voice, and Teyla lunged, her foot sweeping his legs out from under him, pinning him to the ground with her knee. "Don't ever let your guard down," she breathed over him.

He lay flat on his back, matching her heavy inhalations. "Yeah, forgot that part."

She stood up, giving him a hand. "It would seem you've applied your... what are we calling it? Abilities to improve your coordination."

"I think. I— it was like I predicted what you would do next," John admitted. "My body reacted a lot faster."

"I could tell. You got all that by just watching me for a few minutes?" she asked curiously.

"Yeah." He wiped at his brow and turned to face McKay. "Thanks for ruining my focus."

Rodney huffed, and Ronon smirked. "Nice moves. If you keep this up you could even learn advanced Terkia techniques."

"Please," Rodney said rolling his eyes. "What Shepard needs to do is apply that brain to intellectual pursuits."

Like solving the Riemann Hypothesis so I can win my bet.

"What's the Riemann Hypothesis?" John asked, still catching his breath.

"Huh?" Rodney gazed at him. "What do you mean?"

"You wondered if I could solve it. So, what is it?" John grumbled, seeking something to quench his thirst

His friend was getting that crazed look again. "Did I say anything?" Rodney asked his teammates.

Teyla grabbed a bottle of water from her bag. "When?"

"Just now," Rodney snapped. "Did I say anything about the Riemann Hypothesis?"

"I do not believe so," she replied, handing John the Fiji container.

He read my mind?

John faced him confused. "I did?"

It still amazed him how quickly Rodney McKay could flush red. "I can't believe it. Look at me," the scientist commanded.

John glanced at Ronon and Teyla who looked equally perplexed. He wasn't really up for this, not with another headache descending on him from out of nowhere. "What?" He glared at Rodney, ignoring the tension in his temples.

He rolled his eyes. "What is it with you and prime numbers? And you're thinking group theory." John stared at Rodney.

"It's about nontrivial zeros?"

"You can read my mind!" Rodney gasped, eyes shining.

"Number theory, McKay?" John was suddenly hit with one of those holy shit moments. "Fuck."

The room suddenly became a tilt-a-twirl, his equilibrium taking a vacation.

"John!"

"Colonel!"

Hands steadied him while he tried to figure out which way was up, the lights in the gym magnifying to a factor of ten. "I'm good," John mumbled, finding himself sitting on the floor, head bent over his knees.

"I'm calling Dr. Beckett," Teyla said above him.

"No... wait," John swallowed. "Just got a little dizzy," he said, lifting his head.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. When was the last time you ate? You're supposed to be eating six meals a day," Rodney's outrage pierced the fog around his brain.

"I had breakfast," John whined.

"How long ago?"

"I brought him food around six," Ronon answered McKay's annoyed tone.

"And since then you've been sparring and running around the city, no doubt," the same irritated voice snapped. "It's nine now."

"Actually we flew around one of the catwalks." Ronon was such a tattletale.

"You two did what!" Rodney exclaimed, tearing open an oatmeal bar.

"It was more like surfing." John took a breath. "On air."

"You're an idiot." Rodney slapped the snack in his hand "Now eat that."

John took three large bites, devouring everything but the wrapper.

"Did you get a black hole in that ever-expanding mind of yours? Or just conveniently ignored the lecture about caloric intake and energy?"

"I'll go to the mess hall and eat a pre-lunch, okay?" John stood up, Ronon grabbing an elbow.

I didn't know want we did this morning was bad.

He blinked at the Satedan's remorseful thoughts. "It was an accident. No one's at fault."

Ronon looked confused by his remark, and Teyla laid a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you should go see Carson first."

"Look, I'll go to the infirmary after I eat. You can even watch me, but I'm supposed to report to Beckett this morning anyway." John waved off any more support.

He started toward the exit, his team following close behind. There was no need for an escort, but right now he was too busy trying to come to terms with the whole hearing people's thoughts thing - this was getting out of hand.

I should ask him about the mind reading ability. Should I ask now or after he eats? No, maybe during lunch. Got to do it before Carson gets his greedy little hands on him. Don't know how I should bring it up. Or maybe he's reading my mind right now. Oh, God. What if he is? What if he can read all my thoughts? What if--

"McKay!" John whirled around at him. "Please, enough."

Rodney startled backwards almost into Ronon who sidestepped him. Teyla was really giving him that whole worried vibe.

"Look, I'm sorry. Its just you're so... so loud," John apologized, walking a little faster in the hall.

Focus. He wasn't bombarded by Teyla's or Ronon's thoughts. Maybe it was based on the intensity of the emotion.

Oh shit, it's the Colonel. I still don't have my mission report finished.

Sergeant O' Riley nodded, fake smile in place. "Good morning, sir."

John nodded, feet hustling down the hall.

God, she's so hot. I wonder if she's as good in bed as she is in the gym.

He glared at the Marine who passed them, noting which officer he was for later. He would tell Teyla not to hold back on him during the next training.

I just want to take a long hot shower and sleep all week. I'm not sure how much longer I can take working with Dermenski.

Why won't Joesph ever listen to me? He's so closed of; we never talk anymore. It's like I'm dating a stranger.

I'm so sick of alien biscuits. How hard is it to keep a supply of flour around here?

John couldn't match faces with the random thoughts, searching eyes and expressions that didn't resemble what he heard.

Oh no, there's Colonel Sheppard. I'm not even wearing eye make-up. Not that'd he'd ever notice someone like me.

John gave the red-head a small smile, her cheeks blushing in response.

Sheppard's acting twitchy. What's going on in that brain of his now? God, he's probably listening to me. Quiet, Rodney. Just think of white walls and counting tiles. One, two, three, four...

Something's wrong. Still don't get what's happening with him.

Ronon even broadcasted in a low, heavy rumble. John felt a flare of pain surge behind his eyes. Food, food seemed to help the last time. Okay the mess hall was up ahead. At least his team wasn't badgering him with questions; even McKay was trying to keep quiet.

"John, are you alright?"

Was that Teyla? Did she ask him out loud or think the question? John turned to her to answer; the doors to the mess only meters away.

"Did you say something?" John asked, ignoring a collective murmuring in his ears.

Rodney bristled past him, holding the door open for the rest of them in what had to be a misguided attempt to keep from thinking too much.

Thank goodness. I was running out of tiles to count.

Why is the line always so damn slow!

Oh, why can't I eat in peace without Perkins babbling constantly at me?

Did I forget to turn the burner in the lab off?

John froze. His head felt dunked under water, voices and noise rushing his ears.

John?

Is he okay?

Sheppard? Oh no, what's wrong now?

"I think..." God, this hurt. Talking and chattering. Wave after wave. Layer after layer. He couldn't tell who was saying what.

"Colonel?"

Is that Colonel Sheppard? What's wrong with him?

I'm going to tell Dr. Fredrick that I think I like him. Oh that's so lame.

Is someone hurt?

God, this isn't another outbreak is it? Is that the Colonel?

Lewis really needs to take a shower.

Oh no, what's going on over there?

I wonder if I should radio security.

Is that Dr McKay? I am in no mood to deal with his rants today.

Should someone call the infirmary?

Loud. Too loud. "Rodney?" John gasped. He cradled his head, or he thought he was. Hands were touching him again, but it didn't matter. Noise. Everywhere. John groaned. Falling, he was falling.

Someone do something! Are we being attacked? I better secure things. I should contact security, or maybe Major Lorne. All I wanted was a second helping of those potato things. That can't be good. Did I miss something? Where the hell is Patterson? The colonel is down. Fuck! Hold on, John. Help is coming. Everyone out. Clear out. What? Why? Who's in charge? I hope Sheppard's okay. We need him on his feet. Wait till Anderson hears about this. Should we stick around? Where the hell is Lorne? Medical's on the way. Why are these idiots all standing around? Do they not understand to get the hell out? Maybe I should tell Ronon to stun them. This is bad; this is so bad. Please John, try to clear your mind. Get out of here! Where is that quack!

John felt things snapping and cutting in and out. White. All white. Too much white.

Then finally there was nothing but heavenly, silent blackness.

---

He floated in a warm and soothing sea. Without chaos. Without noise. John uncoiled from a tight, huddled place in his mind, blindly reaching out for something to latch on to. Cautiously he connected back within himself and was instantly assaulted.

There were too many sounds, and, before things spiraled out of control, he untangled them one by one.

A beeping assailed his ears, loud and sharp, like a... heart monitor. John turned down the annoying machine to more manageable levels.

Then a deeper, familiar thudding sound was next. No, two thumpings, each in a different beat.

Heartbeats. His and someone else's. He slowly faded them out, too.

That left an unintelligible whirring hum flickering in and out like a transistor radio. Now that all the other sound was gone, the drone grated over his nerves like the edges of a cheese grater.

So much dissonance.

Hidden in the layers of static, a whisper coaxed him closer.

John. Listen to my voice.

He wanted to follow it, but he didn't know how. Adding to the confusion, his head felt tangled up, trapped.

John. I want you to focus on the sound of my voice. Trust it.

He did. The voice was calm and honest.

John awoke to shadows and something comfortable under his back. A bed or mattress. The walls were awash in a golden glow, the air filled with perfume. He wiped the grit out of his eyes, tugging at a wire attached to his index finger in the process.

"Where?" he asked groggily, looking at the pulse ox clip and feeling a band tighten around his head. "What?"

The burring noise continued, echoing out of the walls, the ceiling, the floor.

Look at me, the whisper urged.

John squinted in the darkness and found Teyla sitting next to him, eyes locked with his. It's me, John. Hone in on my voice. Shed everything else.

Teyla was a sweet honey voiced hush in his head.

Scattered sticks of wax bathed them in natural light. John's eyes adjusted to the low levels while he fought with everything else.

My voice. Listen to the cadence. There is nothing but my words. Relax, John. Block the rest.

John tried filtering all the background noise, but the city fought back.

I'm going to take your hand. Hold onto it, concentrate.

Teyla slipped her warm fingers into his. He licked dry lips, allowing the heat to leach into him.

You told Dr. Beckett that you could adjust what you hear. Turn down all noise. Make everything else fade away. You control your senses, John. They obey your commands.

Battling Atlantis' collective was tougher; she hummed louder and resisted his effort to shut her out. He rubbed at his temple, fingers snagging on a lead.

"There is some monitoring equipment around your head. It is like a crown according to Dr. Beckett," she explained.

John traced a band encircling his skull under his hair. "Better than the swimmer's cap. IV, too?" he asked, holding up his arm.

"Carson is very worried about dehydration and your diet." She rose from her chair and picked up a plastic container, popping a straw in it. "This is a protein shake."

He accepted the container as the walls buzzed louder.

"You have to maintain focus, John."

"And I thought I was the mind reader," he joked, cradling his head.

"You showed signs of distress," she said and sat back down. "Always know that you are in control."

This was so screwed up. "How did you--" John's voice trailed off. "Your gift? Was it overwhelming when you first felt it?"

Teyla brushed back layers of her hair. "Yes, it was difficult to have voices, thoughts of other people, invade your mind without warning. At first it was an assault, a violation that I could not fight." The flickering candlelight added to the shadows of her face. "I was afraid of it and allowed the fear to rule me. It took time to understand what was happening."

John watched a laptop glow blue, recording his brain's output, and knew exactly how she felt. He didn't want to hear what was going on inside everyone else's head. Their thoughts had been like daggers.

"I'm not you, Teyla. I'm not sure I can handle so many voices." It hurt to make that admission, but the idea of all those personalities forcing their way inside scared the hell out of him.

She took his hand again. "I am going to help you control these new powers. I cannot imagine what it must be like, but you adapted with your hearing and eyesight. This is just another thing to learn."

He finished the chocolate shake, the straw making that annoying noise when you reached the bottom. John checked out the darkened room; the mattress on the ground and equipment were the only things around. "Where are we?"

"This is one of the sub-levels in Section L2 on Level One. Dr. Beckett and Rodney felt you needed to be far away from the inhabited areas of the city."

He bowed his head, closing his eyes tightly. Is that what his life had been reduced to? Abandoned corners of Atlantis?

"Do not give into fear, Colonel. You have faced greater enemies, and you have fought back against your body before," Teyla encouraged him.

She was right; he could not give into weakness. John felt foolish for wallowing in self pity and allowing fear to break him down. He gazed at the walls knowing he was stronger than the inner workings of machinery. Atlantis had its own artificial biochemistry; billions of interchanges created their own synthetic world. Under all the electronic pulses of the city's systems was a language reaching out to him.

"John?"

"Sorry, got lost for a second."

"What are you feeling?"

Could he risk saying it out loud? John closed his eyes. "I can hear Atlantis' nervous system all around us. How she breathes, how she connects. It's... it's..."

"A distraction that you must ignore, like the humming of the air conditioning or the footsteps in the hall outside your door. Make Atlantis the silent backdrop in your head. Do not get lured by it."

The walls crackled with electricity. Energy had life that burned and died before him.

"Push it away," Teyla said in his head.

If he could ignore a Rodney McKay lecture and still retain the few nuggets of relevant knowledge then he could ignore noise that even dogs and cats were immune to. John thought of McKay's loud voice, rambling on in a high-pitched whine, never stopping for breath. He focused on tuning out the annoying tone and listening to other things or thinking about something else to occupy his thoughts.

He felt something click. Like the first time he was able to hold his breath for over three minutes in training, pushing back those psychological barriers of panic and overcoming the knee-jerk reaction to breathe in air.

Keeping your lungs from sucking in oxygen took time and willpower. Mind over matter. It wasn't like opening or closing his eyes, but he was able to suppress the city and all its noise along with it.

"It's quiet," he sighed deeply. John looked at Teyla, waiting to see if the sounds would pop back up when he wasn't concentrating. "Nothing," he said, wanting to curl up on his side for a week.

Teyla made him drink another one of those protein shakes while she talked to Carson on the radio. Part of him was curious about all the gizmos he was hooked up to since according to the doc his vitals were good. Nothing was said about the other tests-- because who were they kidding? This was another experiment, and every blip of his mind was being studied. He could see the Technicolor image of his brain on the screen, noting that the bright orange areas were larger then before.

"How are you feeling?" Teyla asked.

"Not bad; headache's going away." John wanted to rip the stupid crown of wires from his skull but knew the importance of leaving it alone. He looked at Teyla. "Thanks... for this. For helping."

"I'm glad I'm able to in some way." She rested a hand on his knee. "You should know that I've been focusing on my emotions and thoughts. I've suppressed them so that you do not pick up on them."

He arched his eyebrows. "Oh. I didn't even... That makes sense."

"I want to try a few exercises. I'm going to release some strong emotions on you. I do not know any other way to help you deal with an onslaught. I do not want to cause you pain, but--"

"It's okay. If this helps teach me how to control all this then we should do it."

She squeezed his hand.

John braced himself, his body tensing for something physical. Teyla bowed her head as if in meditation. He wanted to ask what to expect but was assaulted by a feeling of sadness and dark regret. He flinched at the unrestrained sorrow; his chest filled with a heavy, longing ache.

"You need to block how you are feeling. These are not your emotions; they do not belong in your head," she instructed.

"I don't know how." How stupid was that? He was the king of pushing away the stuff that hurt. Locking it away and processing it for another time.

"I know you protect yourself from these types of feelings, Colonel. They are painful and open you up in a way that is private. You must do the same here. Push back, John."

Teyla's voice strained for control, each word carefully spoken was riddled with grief. Her face was held tight; her jaw clamped shut. Her pain was powerful. How the hell could he just shut it out?

"Teyla?" John breathed.

Darkness and loss. Emptiness like a gaping hole. He didn't want this! He couldn't deal with his own shit half the time.

"Please, John, I know this is difficult. You cannot think of other things. Happy thoughts will not make this go away. These are my private emotions; you must drive them away."

His chest tightened with an enormous force, weighing and pressing him down. Go away! John fought. Ghosts treaded over his soul, and his heart hammered against his ribs.

"Feelings are raw; they are the ultimate things out of your control. If you can handle such powerful forces then you will be able to block out other people's thoughts. Emotions are always the cornerstone of what we think each day. They drive our minds."

She was right. The mess hall had been a storm of words, but it had been everything else behind them that had overwhelmed him. Anger, jealously, fear, anxiety. It had been the sheer number of feelings, attacking him without warning.

One side of Teyla's face twitched. She was sharing with him these experiences, raw and unfiltered. Reliving them for him. He couldn't watch her face such pain, and he battled them like an invader.

Wraith Queens had tried to get inside his head as had Replicators with hands that pushed through layers of his brain. If he could resist their attempts to rip the thoughts out of his mind then he could use the same technique.

John fought back, separated his emotions from hers. He imagined a white wall swallowing up all the grays, blacks, and blues of despair. Feelings were brain chemicals. Noradrenaline and serotonin behind depression. Dopamine and adrenaline levels keys to happiness, love, and affection.

They were only interactions between nerve impulses. He controlled the release of them all.

These were not his feelings; they were emotions without hormonal reasons. If he could tag them, tag any outside influence as 'other' then he could shut them out automatically as he did to an enemy. Make it a defensive reflex.

John gasped. He went from the bottom of the ocean to cascading towards the top, floating alone in his own head space. Colors dulled; throbbing aches diminished. He reached out and clasped her hand. "They're gone. It's okay."

She raised her head, her eyes moist from the flood within herself before she reasserted control. "What do you feel?"

John could tell that Teyla still broadcasted loudly. His brain didn't register her emotions, repelling the invasion. "I'm… I'm fine, Teyla. You can stop."

She exhaled deeply, her features relaxing. Teyla stared at him, and it was unnerving to be under her scrutiny.

"What?" he asked.

"You don't hear me?" Teyla asked. He shook his head, and she smiled. "I spoke in your mind."

John sagged in relief, resting his back against the wall. Part of him knew how and why this was happening. In fact, he understood the exact part of his brain that learned how to act as a filter.

Left frontal lobe. Broca's area.

"Is there something wrong?" Teyla asked.

John shook his head, not needing to explain anything. "I'm good." It was getting pretty scary how fast answers to questions he shouldn't even know just came to him. The really frightening thing was he understood it down to the molecular level.

They spent the next few hours repeating various exercises. Teyla switched things up, using both emotions and thoughts to see if he could block out both combinations. It was incredible the speed in which he went from keeping them at bay to controlling things fully. John could turn 'on' his ability to read her mind and shut it off any time he wanted.

"Are you ready for someone else to come here?" Teyla inquired after finishing another radio check-in with Carson.

What he wanted to do was eat again. "Yeah," John answered.

It was odd waiting for his mystery guest; normal sounding footsteps echoed in the darkness, and Elizabeth entered from the shadows.

"Hey, John," Elizabeth said, approaching the bed, one eye on him and the other on Teyla, looking for a hidden signal.

"Guess you always wanted to see the scenic side of the city," he joked.

Elizabeth let her eyes wander their surroundings, arching an eyebrow. "I think it needs a little redecorating." She stood there, hands clasped in front. "Does having two people here at the same time bother you?"

"No, I knew someone was coming. I've been able to train my reactions into reflexes somehow." He didn't elaborate how; the fact that it seemed like such a simple matter excited, yet worried, him.

"So, you can't hear what I'm thinking?" Elizabeth stepped closer.

"No." If he wanted to was a different story.

She paused, thinking about her words. "And you've been able to control it?"

"Yes, I can... at least in this setting."

Elizabeth moved over, eying the computer and monitoring equipment with disdain. "The goal is so you don't have to be in this type of environment."

"Agreed." John looked between them. "I'm fine now. No more attacks. In fact, I want you to think of something. A number or color," he said, wanting to prove things were fine.

"O-kay."

John smirked. "Twenty-one. Purple, and you're thinking that this might come in handy when meeting new, potentially bad guys."

"Yes, it would," Elizabeth admitted.

"And I won't use this to pry into anyone without permission," John said before the topic was brought up. "I'm a gentleman."

"I don't know about that," Elizabeth teased back.

John felt his earlier anxiety dissipate; this was familiar and what he really needed.

Elizabeth turned to Teyla. "What do you propose as the next step?"

---

Walking down the halls had a circus sideshow feel to it. Obviously the rumor mill was running full swing so he'd expected the curious expressions or a few surprised looks from people. It wasn't every day that the military commander of Atlantis freaked out and collapsed in the mess hall. They took the less traveled corridors where he still bumped into random people for practice.

For the most part things were calm; occasionally a random stranger's thoughts popped in his head before it was silenced. Emotions felt stronger, like walking through cold and warm spots of air as each person passed by them. Tingling sensations or butterflies vanished as quickly as they sprung in the back of his head.

Teyla and Elizabeth followed him, observing his reactions and keeping attentive eyes on the people in the halls. They were getting closer to the more populated areas of the city.

--how are we ever going to --

Why is it--there has to be--I--

--stupid--

It was all about fine tuning things, his brain doing most of it automatically. "So far, so good," he told his silent entourage.

They were on their way to his quarters for a Beckett house call. Carson didn't want to risk having him go to the infirmary with all the white noise that it emitted. The physician waited for them outside John's room, laptop in one hand, medical bag slung over his other shoulder.

"Colonel," Carson greeted.

John didn't need to read minds to pick up on the physician's anxiety. "Relax, doc. I'm fine." He turned to Teyla. "Thanks to some guidance."

She returned his warm grin. "I'm glad to be of some help. I know you are in good hands, and I will let the three of you talk in private." Teyla nodded at Carson and Elizabeth.

The 'in private' comment got his attention, and it was annoying the amount of silent communication going back and forth between everyone. This was one of those moments where he felt compelled to 'listen in' but refrained as he walked into his quarters.

"Why don't you have a seat," Carson instructed him.

Elizabeth hovered nearby, arms crossed tightly in front. It didn't take an astute observer to recognize another serious situation. "You have some news?" John asked. That you've been keeping, he thought.

"I've been working on the translations from the machine," Elizabeth began. "There is a lot of information. It's going to take days to even breach the surface, but from what I can tell, the main function is to mutate DNA."

Carson froze upon the word; John mentally cringed. "We already knew that, though. Right?" he asked, looking at the physician.

"We knew that your brain was demonstrating increased neural function, aye. But we weren't sure why – if it was a side effect or the true intention of the machine."

"The machine is programmed to help people ascend, John," Elizabeth cut to the chase.

John nodded. "Makes sense. The Ancients were always looking for shortcuts. Now we know the reason for it. Explains my abilities."

"Your brain is showing increasing signs of advancements even more than the initial scans."

"Yeah, started in the temporal and occipital areas. That's why my senses are all jacked up. Now you're seeing changes in my cerebrum and frontal lobes. All my higher brain functions are increasing. I can feel it," John finished for him.

Carson stared, mouth hung open before closing it to nibble his bottom lip. "Aye, you have fifteen times the number of neurotransmitters than any other human. The changes within those chemicals are responsible for your advancements." He pointed at the laptop. "These flashing dots are all your neurons. The receptors inside them are changing and altering the properties of your synapses. That's what's enhancing your brain."

"It's not just super abilities, John. You're really becoming superhuman," Elizabeth said, her voice awed.

The joke about getting a cape died on his lips. This was serious. "There has to be a way we can use this to help the city." John noticed their shocked expressions. "Don't you see? We need to find as many uses as possible. I need to test out what I can do, how we can make this," he waved his hand in the air, "more useful."

"You're doing no such thing until we fully understand what is happening to you and Rodney and Zelenka finish examining that machine. I'm not going to allow you to go around testing things in some unorthodox matter without having all the facts," Elizabeth interjected.

"I agree. We still have no idea what this is doing to you." Carson grabbed his medical bag, pulling out a stethoscope with vigor.

"And we can't let this opportunity slip through our fingers. Who knows what I'm capable of and what I can do."

"Oh, please, you're not Captain America," Rodney huffed, walking inside. "I hit the chime, but I think all of you were too busy debating on what color shield Sheppard wants for his costume."

Carson sighed. "Please, Rodney, not now." He turned to John. "Come on, I want a vitals check."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue more but tapped her comm when it chirped and walked to a corner to have a conversation. John didn't fidget during the brief exam; his brain was busy working on a priority list of needs for the city.

"John, I have to go. I need to deal with an urgent diplomatic dispute that Captain Haskins has reported." She looked at the group, clearly upset at being dragged away at a critical moment. "I think it would be a good idea if--"

"--someone stuck around?" John finished.

"Just to be on the safe side," she replied, looking at McKay.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll babysit."

John knocked him on the back of the head.

"Ow!"

"Stay out of trouble, both of you," she warned. "And John? We'll finish this conversation later."

Be cool. Stay cool. One theory at a time. We'll let him start off easy.

Rodney's frazzled trains of thought were more tedious to block; there was no rhyme or reason to the ideas bustling in his head like heated popcorn. It took longer, but John put up a wall, and his mind was absent of outside noise again except for the increasing output of ideas demanding his attention.

The volume and speed of his internal thoughts were harder to ignore. He needed to focus on something before the restlessness drove him crazy.

"You feeling alright, lad? Your pulse has just jumped up."

John smoothed down his shirt after Carson finished listening to his heart. "It's nothing, just thinking."

"I've got you a brown bag lunch," Carson said, rummaging though his knapsack. "There are three sandwiches – all made with enriched bread, roast beef, turkey, and ham with everything on it. Bacon, tomato, lettuce, dressings, and mayonnaise for extra calories. There's also a bag of mixed nuts, and I want you to drink lots of milk and juice," he explained, pulling out the drinks.

Rodney's eye grew large. "Jeesh, why not bring the kitchen sink."

"I want you to eat again in three hours, Colonel. Ask Mandy in the mess hall; she's going to have specially prepared meals."

Carson stood there awkwardly after the examination finished. There was a fine line they hadn't crossed yet. John knew he was a rare find; their expedition was created for the search of knowledge, and he was a walking, talking Nobel Prize. He wasn't a machine to be taken apart and tinkered with to see how he worked. He could be studied, though, and he knew some of the geeks were wrestling over how to do it without sticking him under a microscope.

He shuddered, knowing his body would have been dissected if the retrovirus had killed him. Carson must have sensed what was going through his mind.

A pat to the shoulder, a few more instructions, and it was just him and Rodney. "What?" John demanded. McKay was bouncing ball of energy.

"You up for some cool equations?"

John plopped down on his bed and unwrapped the first of his sandwiches. "Let's see 'em."

Maybe doing complex math could alleviate the growing feeling of antsyness. The roast beef appeased his stomach's desire, but his mind was starving.

They debated the Thurston conjecture which led to arguing over the Poincare conjecture. They tossed words like three-dimensional manifolds and three-dimensional spheres. Rodney paced back and forth, going over the boundaries of the four-dimensional ball.

John grabbed a sheet of paper, scribbling the equation like he would his name.

"No, compact basically means closed and bounded," he argued.

The tangent turned towards Mersenne Prime numbers, and no, he wasn't going to try to calculate any new ones, thank you. "It took a computer forty-seven days to spit out the last one, and I'm not going to even try," he said, rolling his eyes.

"I bet you don't know the largest perfect number," Rodney challenged.

John knew the formula; it flashed in his mind without even trying. "Wouldn't you like to know," he teased.

His brain wanted more, needed more like some kind of drug. He baited his friend with controversial topics in theoretical physics and tearing apart Einstein's theory of relativity. John was about to draw a diagram to demonstrate his latest point when he realized Rodney was staring at him.

"What?"

Rodney was never good with subtle. "How smart are you now?"

"Very," John replied, and he felt conflicted saying so. It was a large, shiny spotlight in his eyes. He wanted to avert it and shy away to the corner, but the burden of the stuff spinning in his head was heavy. "I need your help. We can use this to our advantage. I think I can solve things that Atlantis desperately needs.

Rodney opened his mouth, but his radio silenced his reply. "What!" he said, slapping his comm.

Listening to a one sided, heated exchange wasn't a satisfying way to pass the time. John contented himself by finishing his last sandwich, licking his fingers after Rodney was done roasting one of his minions.

"This whole place would fall apart if it wasn't for me," Rodney grumbled.

"What now?"

"The idiots screwed up a very simple program; now the code is corrupting internal communication protocols."

"I didn't know you were updating those areas," John commented, throwing his thrash away.

"I wasn't! Dr. Zercho was trying to implement a search engine for the Ancient database, and now some random line of code is screwing everything up!"

"You guys were trying to install Google?"

"Oh, har, har. This is serious. I need to get down there and fix this mess before the program interferes with more important systems." Rodney snatched the bag of nuts and stuffed a handful in one of his pockets. "Brain food. You don't need it." He rocked on the back of his heels. "What you were saying… I mean before I was rudely interrupted?"

"We'll talk about it when you get back." John smiled.

"Maybe I should get Ronon or someone. Elizabeth didn't want you to be by yourself."

"I'll be fine."

"Oh. Okay, sure. Then I'm going... to you know..." Rodney jerked his head towards the door. "Leaving now."

The door closed, and John was alone with his roaring thoughts, numbers leaking out of his ears and the property behind light sounding as simple as the workings of a coffee machine. He should have explained things to McKay, Carson... hell anyone! The need to work on things was incredible, and before he knew it, he was in front of his laptop, and the damn thing couldn't keep up.

He was out the door, notebook in hand even though most of its contents were memorized. John needed a lab. It didn't matter which one as long as there was space, multiple computers, and a white board.

None of the scientists asked why the military commander of Atlantis had taken over a workbench. He knew that the city's biggest problem was the lack of enough ZPMs to power everything sufficiently. The search had led them astray too many times, and, yes, making one was impossible. They couldn't go down to the market to buy some negative energy.

The problem with producing great amounts of energy was the byproducts. There was no known way to release fusion energy as heat instead of radiation. The laws of relativity got in the way.

John needed to rewrite those. Yeah, piece of cake... except the stuff spilling out of his head contradicted that doubt.

---

He began working out the complexities involved with overcoming a nucleus' natural repulsion and tried thinking of ways to fuse them together. However, that created more complex theories to solve the problem. His thoughts kept fracturing onto other topics as entire realms of science were cracked open for him to explore.

John worked out the quantum mechanics and special relativity involved in understanding cold fusion with one computer. When ideas regarding super-string theory kept butting in, he grabbed another computer with his left hand and began typing up solutions with that one.

"Um... Colonel?

Colonel Sheppard?"

He looked up for the first time in hours to spot Zelenka standing nervously near him. "What's up, Radek?"

"I was curious about what you were working on," the smaller man inquired, peering over at both laptops.

"Trying to fix our energy problem without finding another ZPM," John replied.

"Oh. Well... that's very adventitious," Zelenka said, clearing his throat.

"If we didn't have to worry about ZPMs, we could power the city's shields, weapons, the star drive." John's thoughts drifted. "Think of the ships we could power... or how we could help other planets with cloaks or defenses."

"Yes, that would be phenomenal, but--"

"—The hyper-drive!" John jumped up. "I know... I think I understand how the Asgard use it."

He needed an additional computer... something to download the data streaming through his mind. There was another laptop on the opposite table, and, before he knew it, the thing floated over and landed in front of him.

"Oh, my," Zelenka breathed.

John wasn't sure what the Czech was impressed by; he had already zoned out with the new flux of information. He followed the man's line of sight, watching the buttons on the third laptop type out all his thoughts.

"That's helpful," John muttered.

He didn't freak out over being linked to the third device telepathically, not when he was having a breakthrough about the transference of energy in his hypothesis.

Zelenka hovered nearby, going from computer to computer and staring at the screens. "You're inputting things too fast; the processors cannot keep up with amount of equations you are loading into them."

John noticed the backlog, the screen flashing information that he'd typed over five minutes ago.

"You've crashed the left computer twice and have rebooted it. Were you aware that you did that?"

"No... I mean. I must have." John glanced at the Power Mac, frowning. "I need something that can keep up. We got anything faster?"

"What you are working on can handle five million operations per second," Zelenka explained. "We do have a few supercomputers that do more."

John got up and packed his stuff. "Show me."

---

"What the hell is going on?"

"He has been doing this for the last hour."

"And nobody bothered to inform me that you two were going to drain a significant amount of power by linking all... are you kidding me? That's all five of our Blue Genes!"

Rodney argued with Zelenka before stomping over and yanking the keyboard away from John's fingertips. "Stop it! What the hell are you doing? Each one of these very, very expensive, and very powerful, machines can do 35 trillion calculations per second! Per second, Colonel!"

"They're still too slow."

"What could you possibly be working on that requires all of this?" Rodney gazed at the screens. "Will you stop typing for just a second? You're going to give me a seizure."

John rested his hands in his lap, but all five keyboards still clacked away.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, just chill out. You're going to burn up your brain," McKay snapped.

Zelenka read over Rodney's shoulder, scratching his head from time to time. The two geeks huddled together, taking John away from his needed distraction. Even though he had mastered the ability to ignore most outside noise, there had been an insistent droning sound prickling at his senses. It was hard to pinpoint the exact nature of the noise; there was a pattern to the distraction. It was so incredibly fast, putting all of Atlantis' supercomputers to shame in the speed of its chatter.

"You're really making headway on low fusion theory. It'd take some time to read all these equations but..."

"A while, Rodney? It could take months if not years to go over all these. And that's if any of us can follow it all," Zelenka interrupted.

"The math, yes. Maybe. I mean I'm sure with some time and..."

"He's leapfrogged past all the latest research," Zelenka cut off his fellow geek again. The smaller man turned to John after transferring some of the information onto a laptop and read it out loud. "The concepts of source and quantum action principles are used to produce the Green's function appropriate for an initial phonon vacuum state. An application to the Mössbauer effect is presented."

Rodney snapped his fingers. "You're screwing with the Mössbauer effect?"

John nodded, his answer automatic. "The absence in the g-ray energy field within the red-shift causes recoiled energy to--"

"Yeah, yeah. I get it," Rodney stared at John. "But do you, really? Is it just all a bunch of words, or is everything... I dunno. Does it all make sense to you?"

It took a moment; he had to slow down everything. When John focused on how to make all the stuff in his head sound reasonable, the weird white noise doubled, and he tried to ignore it.

"It's all inside. Everything. It's natural like chewing gum or thinking about the schematics of a Black Hawk." John rubbed at his temple. "It's a cracking dam; every time I stick a finger in a hole, a leak springs from five others."

John began pacing; the keyboards to all the computers began typing away the things running through his head. "And it's stuff I've never known about. How we can use beaming technology more efficiently and at longer distances. Or the easiest way to modify the jumpers with hyper-drives."

A hand gripped his shoulder, and he stared at a set of wild blue eyes. "It's okay… I mean I think it will be. Just take a moment to get a grip," Rodney pleaded. "Supersmart or not, I think even your brain deserves a rest."

"It's not that easy. If I think about a car, every engine of every model vehicle begins filling my head. Then it jumps from car engines to jets then space propulsion. I started thinking about Dustin Hoffman in Rainman, and now I think I know the exact genetic defect that causes Autism. The genome just..." John scrubbed at his face. "Little helixes came to me out of nowhere." John started wearing away a strip in the floor and stopped to stare at both of them. "And everything's perfectly clear. It just gets really complicated when I try to take it from here," he tapped his head, "to paper, so to speak."

Zelenka looked thoughtful, McKay only pained.

"Maybe you could learn meditation," Radek offered.

Rodney was less than enthused by the idea. "Can't you just think off?"

John laughed and shook his head. "I wish."

The undercurrent of noise in the background of his mind peaked into a sharp-pained whine. John winced, temporarily unable to keep it at bay.

"What's wrong?" Rodney was instantly next to him.

John shook his head; the sound becoming a high-pitched shrill. "It's... It's..."

"Oh, what now!" Rodney tapped his comm. "I'm busy; this is going to have to... what? Are you sure? Oh, crap!"

The sounds, the noise – it all came to him. "It's Atlantis. Something's wrong."

"Yes, well aware of that. Stupid shell program is screwing things up majorly. Move out of the way; I need to get to a console." Rodney shoved things, almost knocking stuff to the floor. He logged in and looked up as if John's words just dawned on him. "And how did you know that the city was in trouble?"

"What's going on?" John asked, ignoring the question.

"I already told you; that stupid search engine had a line of corrupted code, and now it's affecting programs it has no business interacting with."

"And that means?" John demanded. He looked over to Zelenka who was also connected to the mainframe on the other side of the room.

"It means... damn it! The main transformer in section B thirty-eight is overloading!" Rodney was frantic, tapping his comm and issuing a warning.

John gripped the table with white knuckles, the whirring noise of the city screeching in his head. The noise was like a billion electronic screams. Whatever was happening, it was too late.

"We've got an explosion!" Zelenka shouted. "It looks as if the transformer became unstable from a massive power surge."

"That's not the only problem; the fire safety protocols are not working. There's no Halon gas to put out the fire!" Rodney shouted and relayed the emergency to Elizabeth over his radio.

"I can't override anything. Nothing is responding to my commands!" Zelenka yelled.

John looked back and forth between both men and grabbed Rodney by the shoulders and bodily moved him out of the way. "I know what to do!"

"What the hell? This isn't a time for heroics, genius or not. You can't fix a spiraling corruption error!" Rodney seethed, trying to get back to the console.

"Yes, I can," John explained. He closed his eyes, opened up his mind and touched two of the ports to the console right in front of him.

---

John moved in between commands, seeking out a way to turn on the Halon gas but encountered the same thing Rodney was slamming his head against.

/..Safety Protocols

Off line

!--ERROR--Loading (882.333.22464.) Access is denied--!

!--ERROR--Reloading (882.333.22464.) Access is denied--!

!--REDIRECTING--(site 235.543.835.)--!

!--ERROR--(redirect failure)--!

This wasn't the way; he needed to get past normal coding.

/..Recognize new program

!--INITALIZING Direct Connection--(Site 317.846.021)--!

Matching to Database

!--RECOGNIZE ENITY. Human. Ancient John Sheppard--!

01001010011011110110100001101110001000000101001101101000011001010111000001110000011000010111001001100100

--(Confirm Atlantis Subroutine)--

Open Communication Window

010010000110010101101100011100000010000100100000010001010110111001100011011011110111010101101110011101000110010101110010011010010110111001100111001000000110010101110010011100100110111101110010001000000110001101101111011001000110010101110011001011100010000001010011011110010111001101110100011001010110110100100000011001100110000101101001011011000111010101110010011001010010000001101001011011100010000001110011011000010110011001100101011101000111100100100000011100000111001001101111011101000110111101100011011011110110110001110011001011100010000001010011011110010111001101110100011001010110110100100000011001010111001001110010011011110111001000100000011010010110111000100000011100000111001001101001011011010110000101110010011110010010000001110000011100100110111101100111011100100110000101101101011100110010111000100000010001100110000101101001011011000111010101110010011001010010000001101001011011010110110101100101011001000110100101100001011101000110010100101110001000000101000001101111011101110110010101110010001000000110111101110110011001010111001000100000011011000110111101100001011001000111001100100000011010010110110101101101011001010110010001101001011000010111010001100101001011100000110100001010000011010000101001000101011100100111001001101111011100100010111000001101000010100000110100001010010001010111001001110010011011110111001000101110

John was flooded with Atlantis' screams for help. He interrupted the binary numbers that directed him towards all the corrupted files. He filtered line after line of information in search of tiny pieces of bad code. The city kept downloading programs with errors, and he tried tracing it back to the original problem.

The data dump was a tidal wave, and it took every bit of effort to keep from drowning in it. John forced things to slow down as he searched for the breakdown in safety protocols. He needed to put out the fire before anything could be done to repair the widespread corruption caused by the search engine.

/..Safety Protocols

Off line

!--ERROR--Loading (882.333.22464.) Access is denied!

John forced his way in.

!--ERROR--!

!--ERROR--!

!--ERROR--!

!--ERROR--!

!--ERROR--!

!--MASSIVE FAILURE--!--(error code)-

1826472.987237.9765202.976639.7622.34344.2321.5762325.23216.1312.45233.838468.231.1826472.987237.9765202.976639.7622.34344.2321.5762325.23216.1312.45233.838468.231.1826472.987237.9765202.976639.7622.34344.2321.5762325.23216.1312.45233.838468.231.1826472.987237.9765202.976639.7622.34344.2321.5762325.23216.1312.45233.838468.231.

John could feel the corruption; acid and metal filled his mouth. A sensation of heat and sickness invaded his body. His joints ached; his stomach churned. He found the specific protocol and switched it back on.

/..Safety Protocols

On line

There was chatter in the background, a flurry of feet and voices.

"The Halon gas is working!" Rodney shouted. "Colonel, um… can you... maybe... ohhh. You are."

John shut down all power transformers and cleansed the bad programming then started them back up. Zelenka was talking to someone, sounded like he was on the radio with Elizabeth to let her know what was going on.

There was no way to avoid the infection in all of the city's programs, and he attacked them one section at a time. Manually rewriting code was exhausting, and he got lost in between all the numbers. Beneath the complexity of Atlantis, John could make out her voice talking to him. It was a myriad of beeps and pulses, but this time he could understand each sound as the very binary numbers he was using to fix her.

01000011011100100110010101100001011101000110010100100000011000010010000001101110011001010111011100100000011100000111001001101111011001110111001001100001011011010010111000100000010100000111010101110010011001110110010100100000011101000110100001100101001000000110011001100001011010010110110001110101011100100110010100101110

Of course. John could create a new program to purge the rest out. Soon he was working with Atlantis to fight back the disease that had damaged so many systems. The city had fought hard; McKay's patches from earlier had been barely enough to keep the sickness as bay.

"He's repairing all the bad coding. It's amazing; the search engine we put in has been wiped away and reinstalled," Zelenka spoke next to him.

His body melted in the office chair, and his head felt fuzzy. The assault on his body was gone, and all that white noise now sung in a beautiful harmony. He followed the voice through billions of energy signatures and color.

Atlantis was blue like the sea that surrounded her. The city was a perfect balance of machine and intelligence. Flying through her, John felt a sense of belonging and contentment. At every turn there was sound and light.

"John, you can disconnect."

He recognized McKay's voice, but it was off in the distance.

"Any time now."

Tiny, that voice was so tiny, swallowed by the massive chorus directing him further away.

"This... this isn't good. We need to do something."

"Maybe disconnect him?"

"He's not plugged in, Radek!"

"It could be a new type of bio-interface. Just move his hands."

"Okay, okay."

"Sheppard! Come on, don't do this!"

There were more errors in power consumption and output. He could help repair that. John connected to the main power core and analyzed the way the ZPM was being used. There was also a problem with lag in the command tower.

/..Request Permanent Link

Of course, he could do that. It would make things easier.

"This does not look good, Rodney."

"Cut off the power to this console. Now!"

"It is not working!"

"Damn it! Sheppard! Sheppard, wake up!"

He felt a shaking, warmth and sorrow. It was strange; there was no feeling where he was, but there was a strong urgency to return to his origin point.

"Sheppard! Disconnect yourself now! Or I'll have Ronon kick your ass!"

There it was again. Warm spots where every other part of him was cold. John began drifting back and opened his eyes. He saw row upon row of numbers. The coding seemed upset... no, that wasn't right. Programming didn't experience emotion.

"There you go; look at me."

"He does not appear to be really seeing you, Rodney."

"Shut up, Radek. Sheppard, come back. Can you feel me squeeze your arm here? I know Atlantis must be a very fascinating place, but you belong here with us. And if I have to start shutting down parts of the city then I'll do it!"

He finally made out what he was seeing. It was Rodney in ones and zeros. How weird. Atlantis called back to him, but John was drawn to the heat of emotion and shook away the strongly inviting connection.

John slumped sideways, nauseated. Someone caught him and prevented him from falling to the floor.

"It's okay. Hold on."

He blinked and moved his heavy hand towards his face to wipe at his clammy skin. "God... this sucks," John groaned. His arms were trembling; his whole body quivered. "What's going on?"

Rodney sighed in relief which was strange since he wasn't the one shaking like a leaf. "Zelenka, grab one of the candy bars stashed somewhere in here!"

"On it."

John took a long breath, trying to keep his stomach from rebelling.

"I think you're experiencing a crash like a diabetic. You need some glucose, and you'll be fine," Rodney reassured him. "Just eat one of my chocolate bars; you'll feel better. I'm sure Carson's on his way with like a whole buffet for you."

Zelenka was next them, and John realized he was sitting on the floor with a piece of candy shoved into his right hand. He started chewing it. "Everyone okay?"

Rodney seemed to cave in on himself. "Yes, yes. Fire's under control. There were only minor injuries. While you played Hal 9000, you fixed the corruption and I bet even made the search engine work."

John nodded, feeling incredible drained. "Good."

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

He looked up to his friend's angry face. "Yeah." John munched on the rest of the Hershey bar and took a long shuddering breath. "But I'll never forget it."