Chapter 24: An Interesting Story

"Let's go, Rodney," John called, entering the room Rodney had all but secluded himself in for the past five hours. He was pretty sure none of them had slept since almost getting flooded out by the faulty environmental sensors – so they were all on hour 40-something-or-more of being awake. He just wanted to get back and sleep in his bed for a few hours, before taking back over from Lorne. He was definitely questioning his decision to take back over the reins a few weeks early, but it seemed to be their only hope for getting Woolsey back in line.

Rodney was frantically typing on his laptop, still hooked up to whatever the machine was. "In a minute."

"Now, Rodney." He took a glance at the screen, as if that would answer his question of what he was actually typing. It just looked like gibberish and scrolled across the screen far too fast for any human eye to follow. "Grab what you need and we'll come back later."

Later being a time when it wasn't still trying to pour buckets outside and they were actually prepared for the overnight. It was supposed to be a daytime mission – not two days later trying to prevent the absolute destruction of the outpost just because John had a fancy gene.

"Fine, fine." Rodney snapped the laptop lid shut and start unplugging wires. "But there had better not be a crisis next time."

John raised a careful eyebrow, before glancing over at the hodgepodge of wires and generators Rodney had cobbled together to give the outpost enough power to accept the changes they had made to the environmental sensors. It wasn't his fault that the Ancients liked to make things light up in their presence. It just backfired epically well when the ZPM was all but depleted on arrival.

Rodney stuffed the last of his things into his pack, before shoving the mess of wires into the depths of an emptied-out console and snapping the cover back in place. "Just make sure you lock this place on your way out," he said, shouldering on his pack and pushing past John.

John rolled his eyes and followed him out, thinking lock with a precise set of exceptions. They had learned the hard way that sometimes when he locked things, no one else could get back in. They wanted the right people to get in – but not the Wraith. Luckily, the fixes to the environmental sensors would just make the externals of the place look even more uninhabitable – but inside would stay just fine.

Ronon and Lieutenant Simmons were already waiting by the entrance, just outside the reach of the torrential rain.

"Dial it up, Simmons," John called, approaching the group. He ignored the plaintive look Simmons gave him at being asked to venture out into the rain. They would all have to go out there to get through the gate.

Ronon followed him out, seemingly unbothered by the rain, and kept watch for any strange activity as he dialed. There weren't any inhabitants on the planet – as far as they knew. And John was hopeful that the weather conditions would keep the Wraith from ever trying to explore it.

The wormhole exploded into life and a moment later, Simmons yelled out over the rain. "IDC sent, sir!"

"Let's go then." John prodded Rodney into movement, jogging through the rain to the wormhole. Any drying they had achieved in the few non-emergency hours in the outpost, was lost.

Stepping through to Atlantis, John couldn't help but shake the dripping water out of his eyes and shiver at the sudden warmth. Dry clothes, were priority number one. He could do with a towel to start with…

"Ah, Radek! The readings were correct, it looks like a research station for third generation power modules—" Rodney broke off and John glanced up from where he was trying to shake water out of his P-90.

Both Lorne and Zelenka were waiting for them, looking rather serious.

"What happened?"

"It's Alex, sir."

John stepped back from the bed and slipped through the curtain to where Carson and Lorne were waiting for him. "What the hell happened? Why does he look like he was in a fight?" There were blossoming bruises on Alex's face and neck, like someone had choked him. Signs of a previously bloody nose. But that wasn't the most disturbing part – even in his sleep, he looked to be in a considerable amount of pain.

"He was fell out of a transporter on the fifth level in Sector L." Lorne shook his head, looking slightly haunted. "He said he couldn't feel his legs. But really, it was just his left leg."

Just his left leg. Like that was any better.

Carson beckoned them toward the small office he had claimed in the infirmary, shutting the door behind them.

John pulled the towel Lorne had all but shoved at him as he rushed to the infirmary tighter around himself. "What. Happened."

"We don't know."

John blew out a long breath. "Where was Private… Martins?"

"On duty, outside of Alex's room." Lorne ran a tired hand through his hair. "He had no clue that Alex had left and denied leaving his post during the evening. Dr. Zelenka is reviewing the security logs."

Right. Because Alex was a spy and likely knew how to get out of places he didn't want to be in. Though why he had chosen to leave and then apparently gotten beat up was beyond John. "And what did Alex say?"

Carson shook his head. "The lad was in too much pain. He agreed to painkillers and muscles relaxants without much protest, which…"

Was unusual for what they knew about Alex. Given his experience in the SGC, John had doubted Alex would ever visit the infirmary voluntarily – even if he was seriously injured. If anything, he would've expected Alex to sooner bleed out than ask for help. That perception was apparently wrong.

Small mercy, at least. Who knew how long it would've been before someone noticed Alex was missing and injured.

"He's in bad shape," Carson said, pulling up his tablet and swiping through what looked like scans. "Though it's clear that whoever he met with last night was the cause of the injury, it was rather inevitable." He set down the tablet and turned it so John could see it.

There was no guessing at what the x-ray was showing. It was clearly the lower back. John knew enough anatomy to know that. But… "What are those?" There were darker shapes, seemingly floating around the spine and pelvis area, that John didn't think were supposed to be there.

"Shrapnel and bone fragments." Carson flipped to another image, this time a closeup of the spine. "And that little bugger there, is what's causing all the problems."

"And that is…?" Because it just looked like a very out of place bright white spot in the midst of an otherwise normal looking spine. In his unprofessional opinion.

"Shrapnel, perhaps a complete bullet, just… stuck there in the spinal canal. Pressing on the spinal cord, blocking cerebrospinal fluid, causing pain and weakness in his left leg. It's a miracle that it isn't worse."

"But… how?" While he hadn't had access to the underacted version of Alex's medical file, Byrne had supposedly skimmed over the important parts. A few previously broken bones and a sniper bullet to the chest. And hadn't that been a horrifying one to hear about. There had been no mention of back injuries. Or remaining shrapnel.

Carson's lips set into a firm line. "These injuries are consistent with an incomplete cycle in a sarcophagus. There are enough bone fragments present that his back was likely shattered when someone shot him. That he made it this long without any side effects… it's not unheard of, but whatever he did last night aggravated it."

Fuck.

John sat down heavily. The Trust. That would explain the unaccounted days that Alex had been with them. He had been missing for three days – but had only really been aware for the last day before Colonel Stadler had shown up. If they had placed him in a sarcophagus just to get him back to a functioning level…

"And now you see the problem we have," Lorne said, leaning against the wall. "If anyone learns Alex has an incomplete injury from a sarcophagus… Woolsey will have a cow."

John grimaced. Right. Because then there would be questions raised as to what, exactly, the Trust had done with Alex while they had him. And what they had actually been planning. And whether the SGC had played right into their hands by bringing him here.

Especially with Alex apparently slipping his leash at a most inopportune time.

"The lad needs surgery, but…" Carson shook his head, "We don't have a specialist. Protocol dictates that he should be sent back to the SGC for treatment, but…"

"That's exactly what we can't do." John let his head drop to his hands, pressing at his temple. It was a clusterfuck. Damned if they did, damned if they didn't. "So, what are our options?"

"Painkillers, muscle relaxants, steroids to try to bring down the swelling for now. But it's not a permanent solution. He needs the shrapnel removed, if he's going to get any sort of relief."

And who knew what side effects there were to just leaving it all in place. John looked up at Carson. "Which we can't do…?"

Carson slumped in his chair. "It's a delicate area. And I'm a geneticist. I can do standard trauma, but this… is beyond my skill set."

John massaged his temples once again. Okay. Carson was out of the running then. "Does anyone else have the right skills and… do you trust them?"

Because that's what it came down to. If they were going to try to sneak something past Woolsey, and Dr. Madsen, they were going to have to work the system. Cover story, upon cover story. It was going to be a logistical nightmare – and it was probably a miracle that Woolsey hadn't already come demanding answers.

Probably hadn't because he hadn't gotten up for the morning yet.

"Dr. Florence… she's our orthopedic trauma surgeon. Neurosurgery would be better for this, but…"

Beggars can't be choosers. "If you trust her, fill her in and see what she thinks." Because John doubted that there was any way they could get a specialist in from the SGC and sending Alex back was out of the question. "What does… Alex know about all this?"

Carson snorted. "I explained it to him, but he's pretty high on painkillers. I don't think you're going to get any answers about what exactly he was doing from him any time soon."

The other half of the mystery. John could feel a headache blooming in his head. Kid was supposed to keep his head down and out of trouble.

Trouble maker. Of course.

He yanked the towel closer, shivering slightly as the damp clothes pressed closer to his chilled skin.

Literal. Nightmare.

"Go get a couple hours of rest, warm up, sir." Lorne said, breaking into his thoughts. "I'll run interference if it's needed."

John nodded and shoved to his feet. A couple hours would be all they could afford. Whatever balls that needed to get rolling and whatever cover stories needed to be decided on quickly. Before Woolsey got even more suspicious. Before Dr. Madsen tried to nose her way into the business of her own infirmary.

He stopped by Alex's bed on his way out. He was still asleep, and likely would be for a while if Carson was to be believed, but the outward injuries only seemed to be getting worse. Someone had done this, even if the worst injuries really were just aggravated previous injuries.

Someone in the city had attacked Alex and John was going to have to get to the bottom of that problem too.

"You're supposed to be smarter than this," he muttered at Alex, before shuffling out of the infirmary to his quarters.

An absolute clusterfuck.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

John heard his earpiece buzzing and felt around on the nightstand for it. He squinted an eye at his watch and suppressed a groan. A grand total of two hours of sleep. He shoved the earpiece into his ear and grumbled out a, "Colonel Sheppard here."

"Sorry to bother you, sir." And at least, Lorne really did sound apologetic. "But I've got Sergeant Jamison with me in your office and he's got a story you really need to hear."

He wracked his brain, trying to remember what he knew about Jamison. Marine. One of the more recent waves. Came from the SGC, but hadn't ever made it onto a gate team. He was under Master Sergeant Clements, one of the base security teams. "Okay." He ran a hand over his face, before rolling out of bed. "Give me twenty. Sheppard out."

Because if he wasn't going to get to sleep his full four hours, he was at least going to get a shower and look presentable.

Showered, dressed, and looking slightly more the part of Colonel, John headed through the halls toward his office. Or really, Lorne's office, because he made more use of the room than John ever did. He also spent more time dealing with the day-to-day issues with the marines and air force – so it just made sense.

It was also a convenient place to just conveniently forget about paperwork in.

He paused outside the door for a moment, querying the internal sensors. Two individuals. So, just Lorne and Jamison. He didn't bother knocking – it was his own office, after all – and was pleased to see that Lorne had saved him his chair.

Jamison was about what he remembered, unremarkable. Just like every other marine that hadn't really proved their place on Atlantis. He would get a twelve-month rotation and if nothing remarkable occurred, would likely be rotated back to earth.

John settled into his chair, wishing that he had thought to snatch a cup of coffee on his way in. He had a feeling that this meeting wasn't going to be a good one. Lorne looked suspiciously serious and Jamison just looked… smug.

Right.

Perfect.

"Good morning, sir. Sorry for interrupting you," Lorne's expression turned slightly annoyed in Jamison's direction. "But I figured it best you heard this directly from Sergeant Jamison right away."

John just leaned forward and clasped his hands on the desk. "Sergeant?"

Jamison squared his shoulders, but the smug expression didn't disappear from his face. "Sir, Rider was spotted outside of his quarters without his escort, last night." He nodded toward the life signs detector that was on the desk. "He had that device with him. Sir."

Oh.

"I suspect he must've stolen it from the labs, sir."

Well, that explained a lot. If Alex had figured out how to use it to navigate the city, he would have easily slipped through any patrols. He knew showing Alex all the gadgets back in that hotel room was going to come back and bite him…

But it didn't explain why Sergeant Jamison now had a hold of it.

"And how did you obtain the device?"

"I took it from him, sir. And told him to return to his quarters." There was an elongated pause, before he added, "Sir."

"And where was the last location that you saw Rider?" John had the distinct feeling that he really didn't want to know the answer to that question.

There was a moment of hesitation, just long enough that John knew Jamison was weighing his response. "Sector I, sir."

Nowhere near where Lorne had found Alex, but… transporters made it very easy to traverse from one sector to another in a moment's notice. He would have to get someone to cross reference which sectors were accessible from the transporter Alex had been found in.

"And why did you not escort Rider back to his quarters?" John picked up the life signs detector, hefting it and noting that it was in proper working condition. Even if Alex had stolen it, he wouldn't have given it up without a fight. "You're aware that he's supposed to be under escort, but you just… let him go?"

"I had urgent base duties required on the other side of the city. He assured me he would go straight back to his quarters, sir." Jamison shrugged.

John raised an eyebrow in Lorne's direction. Urgent base duties, were, well, frankly uncommon.

"Sergeant Jamison and his unit were called in for EOD at one of the Sector D labs," Lorne looked rather perturbed, "Just after 2300 hours."

Fuck.

There was a timeline that didn't add up.

The medical emergency had been called at 2230.

John sat up slowly, fixing Jamison with a stare. "And Sergeant Jamison's team was on roster for…?"

"Volunteer. Master Sergeant Braxley was already dealing with a minor issue on the patrols." Right, the medical emergency. And it also meant that everyone under Master Sergeant Clements was on stand down for the evening.

"Prior to volunteering, your unit was in Sector I?"

"Yes, sir."

"And if we check the logs?"

Jamison's eyes widened for a moment, before darting between Lorne and John. "Sir?"

"Where was your unit at, say, 2200 hours?"

Jamison flinched back, ever so slightly, before his mouth pressed into a thin line. "I'm sure you can check the logs, sir."

And not giving anything away. Probably for the best. "Thank you for your assistance, Sergeant. For the time being, you will be restricted to quarters. Major Lorne, please escort him to private quarters." John grinned a predatory smile at him. "I'm sure you understand."

Jamison's jaw set, but he didn't argue as he followed Lorne out.

John had no doubt that he would be receiving a request for a lawyer in short order and that was just going to be another hullabaloo he really didn't want to deal with. On the other hand, Jamison had unwittingly turned himself in.

That at least saved them a step.

John let out a sigh, then pulled out the tablet he had hidden in a drawer in the desk. He had a sinking feeling he was going to have to refresh himself on UCMJ protocols.

A/N: Fun fact, the injuries Alex has, are based on a real case study – obviously, sarcophagus healing is the made-up part. The plot thickens with Jamison though.