"Mom, do you think this cook will be good?" Johnny asked, his seven-year-old voice bearing tones of exasperation. "All the ones Dad picks aren't no good!"
"Aren't any good, Johnny," Beth corrected kindly.
"Aren't any good," Johnny repeated obediently. He frowned. "Why can't you do the interviews? You're so much better at it than Dad is."
"This way, Johnny, I can watch what the cook is doing without them putting on a show, knowing that they might be working for me."
"Oh, so this way you know what they're doing when they think you're not looking."
"Something like that, Johnny."
"But isn't that dishonest?" Johnny wondered.
Beth stopped. Johnny did too, still swinging the hand that held his mother's.
"You know, Johnny, I hadn't thought of it that way before," she told him. "I'll have to think about it."
Johnny nodded seriously, then his nostrils flared and he stood up on tippy-toes to breathe in deeply. "MMMM! That smells good, Mom! Let's go see what it is!" He started to dash off, yanking on his mother's arm.
Beth slowed him down. It wasn't because she wanted him to stop, she just couldn't keep up. "Whoa, slow down there, Eager Beaver," she chuckled. "Mom can't go as fast as you, remember?"
Johnny remembered. Mom had a limp; that meant she walked funny, and she moved slower than other people. Dad and Mom said it was from a car accident when Mom was young. Mom had scars on her face from it too, but Johnny thought she was absolutely beautiful.
"Can I run ahead, Mom?" Johnny asked impatiently.
"Yes, Johnny, you may," Beth said, "only don't make a ruckus."
The seven-year-old was off like a shot. Beth chuckled and shook her head slightly, a wide and loving smile on her face. She set after her hyper-speed son.
The kitchen smelled wonderful. Not heavenly, that seemed too light a descriptive for it, but earthy. Whatever the prospective cook was creating, it was thick and hearty. A good choice after the long and eventful day the Sheppard family was about to finish.
Sheri, the maid and Beth's dear friend, gave Beth a nod of acknowledgement and greeting. Beth returned it with a smile. The woman hoping to be hired as the Sheppard family cook—Beth felt terrible for not remembering her name, but she knew it was something German—did not give a greeting to Beth, so focused on her work was she.
Johnny snuck up beside the woman and attempted to sneak some mashed potatoes out of the bowl with his finger. He was gently but quickly slapped away, and he looked at his mother with wide eyes.
"She's fast, Mom!" he exclaimed.
Beth laughed. "Faster than me, that's for sure," she agreed. "My goodness, ma'am, you seem like a beehive all in one!"
The woman at the stove turned her face away from the steam and gave Beth a pleasantly surprised smile. "Guten tag," she said, her accented tones warm and friendly.
"Thank you," Beth smiled back, "And to you likewise."
"I do not believe I know you," the woman said.
"No," Beth replied. She offered a hand. "I'm Beth."
The woman took her hand and shook it, possessing a not-at-all surprisingly strong grip. "Magda," she introduced herself. She gestured to a little boy, perhaps five, playing with a wooden car on the floor. "That is Albrecht, my son. Hallo sagen, Albrecht."
Albrecht looked up for a moment, fixing a solemn gaze on Beth. "Hallo." Then he was back to his car.
Magda's face was pinched, and she chewed on her lip. Beth's face softened in sympathy. "You worry about him."
"Albrecht… he is too serious," Magda said carefully. "Something is wrong with him, I fear." She turned abruptly back to the meat and sauce in her pan. "Es tut mir leid," she said, then shook her head and corrected herself in English. "I'm sorry. This is not for you to fret over."
"There is nothing to apologize for, Magda," Beth replied. "I'm a mother, too." She smiled, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "In fact, it was my little scamp who tried to steal your mashed potatoes a moment ago."
An indignant squeak. "Mom!"
Beth grinned unapologetically, and it was clear she and Johnny were cut from the same cloth. Magda laughed softly, the taut look in her face easing somewhat. Beth wondered what troubled her so; it was certainly more than this job audition, or even her concern for her son's welfare. No, it ran deeper than that.
Did that mean Magda was the sort of woman Beth didn't want in her house? She didn't think so.
Johnny ventured out from his hiding place behind one of the counters, approaching Albrecht. He was sneaking, Beth could tell from the way he walked, the same way he did when he crept up behind his little brother David. She opened her mouth to tell Johnny to stop, it wasn't nice to frighten strangers, but he jumped and shouted "Boo!" before she could utter a word.
Strangely enough, Albrecht gave no response. Magda bit her lip again and turned back to her cooking, that worried look returned to her face.
Johnny's head tilted in puzzlement. "Hey, what's wrong with you?" he asked.
"Johnny," Beth began, a scolding note in her voice until she realized that Johnny was just being curious. "Johnny, say hallo. That's hello in German."
"Oh." Johnny shifted his feet, then leaned his chin forward just a mite, clearing his throat. "Hallo," he said hesitantly.
Albrecht's head lifted a little, and he turned to look at Johnny. "Hallo," he replied.
Johnny grinned happily, excited at the prospect of a new friend. "Hi!" he said. "I'm Johnny!"
Albrecht looked at him blankly. Johnny paused, then pointed at himself. "Johnny," he said again. "I'm Johnny."
Albrecht tentatively pointed at himself. "Albrecht," he answered.
"That's a weird name," Johnny stated. He looked at Albrecht for a moment. "But I guess it's normal in Germany."
A lesson learned so early on. Beth felt very proud of her boy. Johnny looked over at her. "What do I say next?"
Beth stopped. She barely knew any German, and well, wouldn't it be best to ask—
"Was haben Sie?" Magda said, looking over at Johnny. "Say that."
"Was haben Sie?" Johnny repeated haltingly.
Albrecht's face lit up with a smile, and Beth wondered why Magda released a tiny sob. "Das ist mein Auto!" Albrecht said excitedly, holding his wooden toy up. "Es ist von meinem Zuhause in Deutschland, aber Deutschland ist nicht mehr mein Zuhause. Mama nicht sagen warum."
Magda translated, but Beth had the feeling she didn't relate all of it.
Albrecht paused a moment, then held out his car in offering. "Spielen?" he asked. Johnny smiled. This was something both of them could understand.
…
"Colonel?"
John's eyes struggled open, and through his pounding headache he peered at Major Lorne. Well, that was different. Usually it was Teyla or Rodney sitting there, or Elizabeth—
No. Not thinking about Elizabeth.
"Lorne?" John rasped, and instantly regretted it. His throat felt like a rabid cat had been dragged through it. He vaguely remembered something about trying to escape, a body pile and something sinking into his arm.
"You know who I am, that's good," Lorne said dryly. "Thought you might have forgotten who I was too while you were taking your nap."
"Why would I forget you?" John puzzled.
"You've been tentatively diagnosed with trauma-induced amnesia," Lorne explained.
John snorted. "Trauma-induced? Are you serious? If anything was going to do me in, it would have been that time four years ago when a giant bug attached itself to my neck."
Lorne's smile shared in John's wry attitude. "I know what you mean, sir. Nevertheless, the fact does stand that you don't remember anything that happened today."
"I don't?" John asked. He paused. "What day is today?"
"Tuesday," Lorne answered. "And yes, you don't. Before you went all raging Wookiee on us, you could barely even recall the planet you had gone to some hours before."
"Huh." John winced as he became increasingly aware of how sore he felt. "Hey Lorne, did someone take a hammer to my bones? Cause it sure feels like it."
"Something like that."
John stopped, looked at Lorne with an alarmed expression. "Where's my team."
Lorne lifted his hands in a wary, settle-down-boy gesture. "Colonel, please don't try to attack me again, you'll only hurt yourself."
"Lorne, where is my team?"
"That's what we're trying to find out," Lorne said. "Now sir, please stay calm, this is where you freaked out the last couple times and we had to sedate you. Your team went through the 'Gate this morning, and you dialed back an hour early, but you came through alone."
"Then, my team?" Gone, gone, something inside of John wailed.
Lorne shook his head. "We don't know," he said quietly. "We sent Major Crawford and his Marines to look for them, but…" He shook his head. "All we're getting through the 'Gate now is massive radiation readings."
"Define 'massive'," John said.
"More than enough to fry any Jumper or MALP we may send through, if not completely disintegrate it," Lorne replied. His face was grim and guilty as he held John's eye. "I recommended Crawford's team for the mission, sir. Now they're dead."
John's stomach dropped. Dead. But, if Crawford's team was gone, then…
"And my team?" he whispered, afraid to hear Lorne's answer.
Lorne sighed. "If they were still on that world, Colonel, I have no idea how they could have possibly survived. But we don't know what happened, you can't remember, and it'll be months before radiation levels are low enough to send even a MALP."
"What about the Daedalus?"
"Daedalus is in the Milky Way right now, it'll be another two months before it's here again."
John cursed helplessly. "There's got to be something we can do!" he exclaimed.
"There is," Lorne agreed. "You can remember."
"I can't," John said. He scrabbled around his head, snatching for anything, but all he could remember was a few words exchanged with Carter, an address, stepping through the 'Gate with his teammates…
"Dangit, I can't! Can't," John burst out in frustration. "I want to remember, but I can't."
"That's the thing with trauma-induced amnesia, Colonel," Lorne said. "Your brain doesn't want to remember. You may be consciously trying to recall, but your subconscious is in control of the whole thing."
"Well, how am I supposed to fix that?" John demanded.
"I don't know, sir," Lorne admitted. "Maybe Dr. Crane knows something. He'll probably be here any minute."
John scowled. "Shrink's the last thing I want, Lorne."
"You're not the only one, Colonel." Lorne rose from his chair, and it looked like he was about to go.
John decided to let him leave. Not like he needed Lorne for anything anyway. He paused as a thought occurred to him. "Lorne?"
Lorne didn't move from where he had just stood. "Sir?"
"Why'd you wait?" John asked. In the three-some years he had known Lorne, the man had never sat out the hours by an injured John's bedside. So why do so now?
"I couldn't help out in the field, sir," Lorne explained himself. A dry smile. "Dead, you know. And I know it's always better to come to with company. So I figured I'd at least make an inadequate substitute for your team."
John tilted his head down slightly in gratitude. "Thanks, Major."
"No problem, Colonel."
Dr. Crane appeared at the door and Lorne made himself scarce. While Heightmeyer had been a little too prying but overall well-liked, Crane was downright terrifying. John had no idea how he had gotten here, three doctorates aside.
"Colonel Sheppard, I see you're awake," Dr. Crane made his astute observation as he approached.
John restrained from calling him Captain Obvious and nodded in affirmative. "Major Lorne filled me in on what's happening," he told the shrink. "You here to help me remove the amnesia?"
"Yes, of course, Colonel," Dr. Crane said, setting up the electric notepad before him. "Now, let's begin, naturally, at the beginning. What do you think your motivations could have been, for your subconscious to so strongly want to suppress these events?"
John had no idea what that had to do with the current situation.
So, hello everyone! I'm back.
Mostly because good ol' sateda has been persistently prodding me off my patootie, and as a result I realized I've neglected you for three months. *horror* Oy. Can I blame The Avengers for this? No? Oh well, worth a try.
As always, I use the translator section of for my conversation pieces in other languages. So if you want to know what's being said, just go there, copy-n-paste, and voila! And if there's anyone out there who actually knows German and this is wrong, I would love to hear from you. I really, really would. Because frankly I only have the vaguest idea of what I'm doing.
One of the very few pros about Stargate Atlantis being cancelled before its time is that much of the personal history of the main characters is unknown, John to a surprising extent. So… headcanons and original characters. Yes.