Chapter 32: Blank Slate

Running.

His bare feet pressed into the ground, grit of gravel and sticks cutting into the soles of his feet.

Too slow.

"You're an interesting specimen."

He gasped, trying to draw air into his frozen lungs.

Agony flared up from his back, spreading through his arms and legs and feet, until there was nothing else.

Drowning.

"You were supposed to bring him whole."

"It won't matter when we're done with him."

The sharp whine of a repulsor gun.

He was running again.

"Run, Alex."

Tree branches whipped at his face.

There was—

He should—

Pursued.

Hunted.

The city.

The trees.

Where was—

"Get down!"

He hit the ground.

Lying on the table.

Fire in his back.

His legs…

He arched up, tried to pull away.

"What a feisty little blank slate you brought me. I guess we'll forgive the damage, but I do hate wasting valuable resources cleaning up your messes!"

Then, there was pain.

Real pain this time. Pain working grooves into his back and upper legs. Feeling like his flesh was trying to crawl off his body.

His heart hammered in his chest as he sat up so fast his head spun. The sheets trapped his legs, capturing them in a tangle as he tried to roll out of the bed. Alex threw the covers back, winning against that foe, before stumbling across the room to throw up in the toilet. He heaved as the phantom pains in his legs and back faded into a dull throb, then slumped into a heap on the cool tile floor.

At least the Ancients had used something that was easy to clean.

Blank slate.

There was no doubt in his mind that at least a good portion of the nightmare was related to his most recent kidnapping and the other part was some bastardized version of the training exercise. Theo had always said that nightmares were a natural occurrence, especially when his mind felt the most vulnerable – but then, how much he trusted Theo's advice at this point, was… debatable.

He threw out a hand and pressed it against the wall, trying to focus on the comforting hum of the city. A hum that seemed oddly muted in the presence of his nightmares, but still there. Buzzing under the surface. Steady, calm, solid. He steadied himself, trying to take deep breaths that matched the cadence of the hum, as the memories and images stopped flickering behind his eyes and his chest, gradually, stopped feeling like his heart was going to explode.

And when it all seemed to calm, as the thready beat of his heart soothed into something more natural, he was exhausted.

He wanted to crawl back into bed and go back to sleep.

But he couldn't.

Not now.

There would no doubt be another nightmare, more restless sleep, and there wasn't even a point of trying anymore.

Alex stripped off his now sweaty clothes and got into the shower, turning the heat up as far as the Ancient system would let him. Not near hot enough, because they apparently didn't want people to scald themselves. He was pretty sure he could do with scalding at this point. Burn the memories out of his mind.

It was a miracle that no one had caught on to the fact that he had been taking midnight showers since returning from off world. And if anyone did realize… it would be a surefire way to make sure Sheppard never let him off the city again.

It had been cool.

Exciting even.

The training exercise had made him think long and hard about what his instincts told him. And he could trust his instincts.

But apparently, his brain was so messed up it took even training sessions and decided that clearly people were out to kill him. Again.

He scrubbed the water out of his eyes, before rinsing his hair and letting the shower turn off with a flick of a thought. He thought off at the heated vents, before stepping back out into the slight chill of his room. The shock from hot to cold was enough to break through the last of the shudders, and he slipped into a dry pair of night pants and sweatshirt.

25:33

Not even the midpoint of the night.

Alex blew out a long breath, thought on at the small lamp beside his bed, before grabbing the tablet he had been assigned. There was no chance he was getting to sleep again. Night seven of nightmares suggested this was going to keep happening until he collapsed from exhaustion – he had learned that the hard way back in January when he had just started classes. The cure always seemed to be a good night's sleep. Which was impossible when it was always getting interrupted by the nightmares.

A self-fulfilling cycle.

And while Atlantis' hum had done a pretty good job at running off the nightmares in the weeks before, something had changed. It was no longer a competitor.

He tapped through the latest slew of assignments Dr. Z had given him, before settling on a particularly promising one regarding differential equations and power output modules.

Just… seven and a half more hours until Greg showed up to go running.

He would definitely be able to knock a few assignments out before then.

"Determine whether the series is convergent or divergent and—"

The door chimed.

Alex blinked blearily, before refocusing on the time.

06:07

Crap.

He was late.

"One moment!" He hoped his voice carried through the door, as he rapidly saved the last of his progress and shoved the tablet back underneath his pillow. He stripped off the pants and swapped it for a pair of shorts, decided that leaving the sweatshirt was probably for the best, then slid some socks on and crammed his feet into his sneakers.

He all but fell through the door, as it anticipated his hurried mental command to open.

Greg had an amused expression on his face, before giving Alex a quick once over. "Overslept, some?" He smirked, focusing on Alex's hair. "Trying to impersonate the Colonel?"

Alex scowled at Greg, before swiping an annoyed hand through his hair. It had dried in whatever state he had left it after the shower – which was clearly messed up – and running his hands through it as he tried to focus on equations probably hadn't helped any. "Something like that."

He wasn't about to admit that he had gotten a grand total of five hours of sleep in the past week and was probably due a mental breakdown somewhere in the next couple of days.

Wouldn't do to disturb the natives too much.

He would kill for a cup of coffee though, before this run. Dr. Z was slowly but surely converting him to the wonders of coffee and he certainly could do with a substantial caffeine kick at this point.

"Alex?"

He blinked rapidly, then realized that they were still standing just outside his room. Which… yeah. He turned to stalk off down the hall, because they needed to get out to the outer ring before starting their run, and clearly, waiting for Greg to take the lead today wasn't going to get them anywhere.

Besides, maybe if he had an hour or so, he could catch a nap before going down to the labs…

"Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

Alex bit back a grumble. If only he had woken up today.

A very slow and ineffective three miles later, Alex was done with the day. Greg didn't seem to care that they had had the slowest three miles on record – okay, perhaps exaggerating a bit – and was probably chalking it up to Alex still being in recovery. Not that Alex was sleep deprived and putting one foot in front of the other was starting to become a challenge.

He hadn't stumbled once though.

It took all his effort to not nod off into his breakfast – the week of Christmas apparently meant the mess was breaking out some of the carefully hoarded earth goodies, which meant overly sweetened American breakfast cereals galore. As it was, he stealthily downed an entire cup of coffee before Greg noticed, then mixed another cup of coffee and lurie. For added potency.

And for once, Alex didn't even bother protesting when Greg pulled him over to a table full of Marines.

It wasn't like they were strangers, anyhow.

"What've you got this morning?" Greg asked, chowing through his bowl of highly processed, highly sweetened cereal. How there was supposed to be anything nutritious in there…

"Personal projects." Which was code for educational assignments to ensure he had a chance at graduating sometime in his future. "Dr. Z is on the mainland, so Dr. Kusanagi is supervising." And even then, she was just supervising the lab, not Alex personally.

Greg nodded, looking pensive for a long moment. "I'd take that over inventory."

Alex snorted, then took another long drink. The coffee and lurie mixed together were almost tolerable. It did seem at times like the base was in perpetual inventory taking mode – but there was also only one last communication with earth before the Daedalus left – hopefully for real, this time. One last chance for all the departments to get their final supplies requests in before another long, six- to eight-month stretch of no resupplies. And the most recent one had already been stretched by three extra months.

Greg raised an eyebrow in Alex's direction. "You going to need a mug of that to-go?" There were a few knowing smirks from the others at the table because, yes, this was how all the scientists acted. Strung out on caffeine highs.

Alex fought back the reluctant flush, before shrugging. It certainly helped to blend in more.

"And here we were thinking that not all scientists were alike." Sergeant Pilkes said, sending a knowing grin in Alex's direction. "But even the innocent ones can be taken over by the sway of caffeine."

Alex gave a pointed look at the man's filled mug – lurie, if Alex wasn't mistaken – before taking another pointed sip of his own. "And you think Marines are any different?"

There was a short pause, before Pilkes started roaring in laughter, the others joining in on the ruckus. Greg just slanted a grin in his direction, as if Alex had achieved some personal win.

Alex downed the last of his coffee mixture and pondered whether he would actually be able to get away with taking a mug to the labs. No, it would probably require a thermos – anything open topped would probably just give Rodney a heart attack – and Alex wasn't quite sure where to find one.

He would just have to survive.

For all that he had hoped that some downtime in the labs would be enough to wake him up, by the time lunch and the afternoon passed and Greg was back to drag him to the end-of-week sparring session, Alex was dragging. The labs didn't have a coffee maker and Alex certainly didn't have a high enough status to have anyone get any for him. And he still wasn't allowed to roam Atlantis on his own, though that was supposedly more for his safety than anything else.

Whatever the case, he had far too little caffeine in his system.

And Greg had far too much energy to work off.

Alex just waved him away when they got to the practice room, content to just spend the session stretching things out. Beyond the exhaustion, he felt tense, on edge, waiting for something to happen in the background.

Paranoia, a helpful little voice that sounded suspiciously like Theo chimed in his head. Sleep deprivation only makes your preexisting neuroses even worse. So, get some sleep.

Right.

As if it were that easy.

And it grated on him that pre-goa'uld, or whatever, Theo had actually been a decent guy. Good advice. The only therapist Alex hadn't immediately clashed with.

Goes to figure it was only those that had little aliens telling them what to do actually seemed to understand anything about Alex's psyche.

Alex dropped into a set of push-ups, determined to shove those thoughts out of his head.

It was enough to make a person crazy.

The motion pulled on his back in an unfamiliar way – five weeks out and there were almost no residual effects from the surgery. Aside from the shrapnel still present in his back and abdomen… Alex was pretty sure that there was some sort of alien technology being used to speed up healing, because he had been laid out and felt it for longer than that when he had been shot in the chest. And that had only collapsed a lung and chipped a rib.

He eased down onto his stomach, letting his face mash into the ground. It wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't exactly uncomfortable either. Much better than the option of getting up and letting Greg spar with him.

Probably safer too…

Something nudged him in the ribs and Alex barely suppressed the flinch.

Normal.

Safe.

These were guys he had spent weeks around, by this point.

Grudgingly, Alex turned his head to the side to look up at whoever was bothering him.

Greg, of course.

Greg grinned down at him, setting his hands on his hips. "How about some holds, then?"

They had been doing throws before he had gotten injured and while Alex certainly didn't feel ready for that at this point, he was also a little annoyed with the coddling. He knew holds. Greg knew he knew holds.

Alex pushed back up into a push up, held it for a long moment, feeling the burn in his arms, then pushed back into a crouched position. He shook his wrists out and buried how much he really didn't feel like doing anything – because then questions would be asked. He took Greg's offered hand as a help up, then followed him over to the slightly more padded section of the mats.

The others were already more or less paired off – and by implicit agreement, Greg was the only one who ever paired off with Alex. The two oddities of the group.

Someone had been designated trainer for the day – today happened to be Sergeant Pilkes, though they frequently rotated the responsibility regardless of rank – and was circling around the room correcting postures and grips here and there. And while there never quite seemed to be one specific discipline of martial arts going on, every day seemed to have a theme. For example, jujitsu, since the apparent focus was holds and locks for the time being.

Alex shook out his shoulders, focused on the task at hand, and met Greg's slow-motion attempt at a hold. He resisted the urge to block out of it – that wasn't the point. The point was getting the technique correct. Ingraining the proper muscle movements into memory.

He had found it soothing at one point in his life.

If he could reach that point again…

"Ready?"

Alex stepped through the hold, a little faster. Tried to let the muscle memory take over.

Holds were easy.

Holds were safe.

There were no untoward memories regarding holds.

SCORPIA had never—

Alex stepped back, ran a hand over his face and tried to push away those memories. Because that was the last thing he needed.

They repeated the hold two more times, before Sergeant Pilkes circled through and approved their stance. Alex fought back an eyeroll at that, because it was clear that Greg had trained at some point in his life and none of this was new-hat for Alex.

The next steps though, involved the hold being turned into a lock though a bastardization of moves that Alex could only attribute to the Marines style of martial arts. Hands, to shoulder, to wrists, to lock.

The sequence made perfect sense.

Alex repressed a shudder of unease, when Greg grabbed his wrists and pulled – gently, they were still in the first stage. It felt like ants crawling up his spine when the lock part settled in. Thankfully, Greg let him go as soon as the movement was completed.

Who knew getting his wrists grabbed would be a trigger?

He plastered a neutral expression his face – and really, no one would notice that anything was off – and pulled Greg through the same motions. Hands, to shoulder, to wrists, to lock.

"Good, make sure your grip isn't too loose though," Sergeant Pilkes appeared just as Alex finished the motion. He repositioned Alex's hand, before nodding approvingly. "And you'll be able to make the dear lieutenant do whatever you want with the right lock."

Alex fought the urge to roll his eyes, then wondered what exactly Greg had done to become the only navy officer in the midst of the Marines?

"Again."

This time Alex took the initiative and sped them up some more. Because maybe the sooner they got through all the steps, maybe Greg would take pity on him and let him off.

"Uh, Alex?"

Alex blinked rapidly, before dropping his hands quickly. Right. Practice. No need to rush.

"You need a break?"

Alex glared at Greg. They hadn't even done enough to work up a sweat. "No."

Greg gave him a skeptical look, pausing for just a moment longer than necessary, before stepping forward and taking charge of the hold and lock again.

Hands.

To shoulder.

To wrists—

Grip. Tight.

Promise of pain.

Fingers pressing into tender tendons, nerves.

"Whoa—"

Release.

There was no other chance.

They had him.

He swung, fist making contact, shocks running up his arm.

Wait—

They weren't—

His hand throbbed, clenched tight.

Something wasn't—

He wasn't going to let them—

"What the hell, man?" The outraged cry in his direction broke through the fog and Alex took a couple of hasty steps backwards. Straight into someone else.

Alex jerked away, arms curling in on himself. "Oh, fuck," he breathed. Because that was when he realized just what he had punched. Who he had punched.

Greg was doubled over and there was no mistaking the blood that was dripping through his fingers onto the mats. And the horrified, wide-eyed looks from several of the Marines.

Alex wanted nothing more than to run from the scene, but… "Fuck." His legs felt wobbly, like they were going to collapse right out from underneath him.

I didn't…

It wasn't…

I don't…

Fuck…

Someone had dragged him down to the infirmary, a tight grip on his bicep that he hadn't even attempted to protest. Because this was…

There wasn't…

He was pretty sure the only reason he got dragged along was because he was technically Greg's responsibility.

Not for much longer…

They had pressed him down into one of the empty chairs beside the infirmary bed, and made it clear in no uncertain terms that he was supposed to stay there. Someone else had magicked up an icepack for Greg and Alex was studiously not looking in his direction.

The blood…

"I—" The words caught in his throat. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. He turned his hand over in his lap, studying the faint bruising visible on his knuckles. Poor technique, but it had felt so… real.

So wrong.

That someone was coming for him.

Hurting him.

Just remnants of half remembered nightmares.

He let his shoulders hunch more, all but curling in on himself.

He shouldn't be feeling sorry for himself. Greg was the one injured.

Maimed.

But not dead, so there was that.

"Alex?" A hand touching his shoulder had him flinching away. "Sorry, sorry." Dr. Beckett was hovering just behind him, looking apologetic. "How about you come with me, lad? Let Kennedy clean up the lieutenant, hmm?"

There was a corpsman clearly waiting rather impatiently, but Greg was just studying Alex with an intense expression. Like he was waiting to uncover the secret.

Alex suddenly couldn't take it anymore. "Sorry," he choked out, before pushing up from the chair and turning his back on Greg.

Dr. Beckett studied him for a long moment, before leading the way to one of the offices off of the main infirmary. He waved Alex into a chair crammed between the desk and wall, before closing the door.

Alex let his head fall into his hands, fingertips pressing harshly into his forehead. This was bad.

It was exactly the sort of thing that certain people who wanted him off the city were waiting for. An unprovoked attack. Even worse, an unprovoked attack on the very person who was supposed to be keeping watch over him.

He felt sick.

Woolsey was already out for his blood. This would be like throwing chum into the water. The sharks were coming.

There was a soft noise as something ceramic was set down on the desk in front of him, and Alex peeked through his fingers to see the steaming tea cup. Dr. Beckett was, once again, studying him with a curious expression. He nodded toward the teacup. "I know you're not a fan of heavily sweetened teas, but you look like you're going to pass out on me. And I'd rather not have to explain that one to Dr. Madsen."

Alex took a cautious sip, grimacing at the sugary flavor, but did have to admit that it settled his stomach some. Made him feel a little more alive.

They sat in silence until Alex had finished the cup, just leaving the dregs.

Dr. Beckett took the empty cup, before pulling his chair out from behind the desk, until he was just a few feet away. "Hand," he demanded.

There was no questioning what Dr. Beckett wanted. Alex held out his hand which was still throbbing in tune with his heartbeat.

Dr. Beckett turned it over, pressing here and there on his knuckles. It only earned a light wince. "I think you've managed to keep from injuring yourself too badly." He pressed down a little harder on a bruised knuckle, before nodding to himself. "Ice it for a few days." He released Alex's hand, then leaned back in the chair. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" There was no option in his statement. Alex was going to give an answer, whether he wanted to or not.

Alex shrugged. "I…" His eyes skittered around, trying to think of a better way to phrase it. Less blunt. "I… think I broke his nose."

"On purpose?"

Alex shrugged.

Dr. Beckett frowned at him. "You were sparring though. Practice?"

Alex shrugged again. Which was exactly why it shouldn't have happened. Practice was supposed to be safe. That's why they practiced.

"Alex…"

Alex jerked his chin down, refusing to make eye contact.

"You seemed to genuinely like Lieutenant Simmons, so I doubt you just decided to punch him for the fun of it." There was a long pause, before Dr. Beckett continued, as if waiting for Alex to contest the statement. "Unless… something happened? He hasn't been… mistreating you, or—"

Alex's head jerked up, aghast that someone would even dare— "No!"

Dr. Beckett just crossed his arms and gave Alex a very patient expression. "Then what happened? Because everyone else is going to be jumping to the wrong conclusions."

Alex grimaced. "It was… an accident. I didn't mean to."

"Aye, now that I believe."

"I just… I slipped."

"You… slipped with enough force to break his nose?"

Right. That was a poor excuse.

But they wouldn't…

No one would…

"I… It was…" The right explanation was on the tip of his tongue. But no one really believed a teenager could be that traumatized. "Ihadaflashback." He hunched his shoulders, waiting for the recrimination, for the denial that that explained any of his behaviors.

"Hmm…" Dr. Beckett just studied him for an interminably long time, mouth turned down in a frown, before rummaging in his desk and pulling out a power bar. He tossed it at Alex. "Eat, before you pass out on me."

The power bar really was about the last thing he wanted to eat – rehydrated cardboard with a slight chocolate flavoring wasn't exactly what he considered good, but…

"Prior to coming here, you were in therapy for PTSD."

It wasn't a question, more a statement of fact, so Alex shrugged, before choking down another bite of the power bar.

"Anxiety, hyper-vigilance, nightmares, and the occasional flashback – but that had all subsided substantially before you were brought here."

Someone had been doing their research on his mental health records. But it wasn't like he could just waltz down to the headshrinkers here. They weren't cleared to know anything about his mental health.

"Something triggered you during the sparring this afternoon?"

Alex shrugged, picking at the last quarter of the power bar. Looking back, it didn't even make sense. He had been grabbed by the wrist multiple times. It had never triggered an immediate punch, fight, escape response. Hell, he had been handcuffed and hadn't been pushed into a flashback that strong… One where he was absolutely sure that whoever had him wanted him dead.

He let his head fall back, resting against the wall. There was no good way to explain anything.

It would just bring more questions.

He let his eyes close for a long moment, trying to gather his thoughts. Trying to find a way to just… make them understand.

He hadn't wanted to hurt Greg. It would've been whoever was there.

Whoever was trapping him…

Alex blinked rapidly, jerking away from the wall.

Dr. Beckett was quietly working on something on a tablet and he looked up when Alex sat forward in the chair. He set the tablet aside – which, where had that come from – then assessed Alex in one sweeping gaze. "When did your nightmares start up again?"

Alex jerked back. How—

"I'm assuming it is nightmares, since I can't fathom otherwise why you're suddenly not sleeping." He nodded in Alex's direction. "Your adrenaline crashed out and took you right along with it. It's been nearly an hour. So, nightmares?"

Alex shrugged, letting his gaze drop to the front edge of the desk. As if it were the most interesting thing in the room. "Few days…"

"And you've gotten how much sleep?"

"Five… hours?"

"In how many days?"

Alex blew out a long breath, then grimaced. "A week?"

Dr. Beckett pinched the bridge of his nose, as if the next question physically pained him. "And is that a cumulative five or…?"

"Cumulative."

There was a soft swear before Dr. Beckett regained his composure. "I'm sorry. I never thought that you might be one of the ones affected."

Alex glanced up. "Affected?"

"Recently, several personnel throughout the city have reported sleep disturbances. We've dealt with these before, usually triggered by some sort of device – and most everyone knows to check in when they notice something out of the ordinary. Rodney's looking into it, but… well. Sleep deprivation and nightmares, triggering flashbacks and out of character responses. It's not like anyone can hold that against you."

As much as he would like to blame it all on whatever this device was… Alex had been through this a few times before. It was his own mind playing tricks on him.

Dr. Beckett blew out a long breath, before studying Alex closely. "I'll admit, we've dropped the ball here, with you. I've had a look at your treatment outline – not the session notes, mind you, just the goals and interventions."

Alex grimaced at that. He understood it was part of the natural progression of switching providers, but… that didn't mean he was any more comfortable with someone looking into his history.

"Based on those notes, you were making fairly good progress. At least, as far as Mr. Cheswick was concerned."

Alex snorted. "Until he turned into a goa'uld and tried to kill me." He was still bitter about that.

Dr. Beckett raised a dangerous eyebrow. "He what?"

Whoops.

Apparently that particular cat hadn't been out of the bag. "Kind of the impetus for all of this starting." He waved a general hand at their surroundings. "Theo liked to keep Ancient trinkets in his office, said trinkets liked me, and he found that out. Apparently, ATA gene is highly in demand for up and coming goa'uld system lords."

Dr. Beckett just stared at him for a long moment, before seeming to shake himself. "Yes, well… Uh. If I were to prescribe you a few days of sleeping pills, would you take them?"

It was clear he wasn't asking if Alex trusted him enough for that – that was already clear since he had let the man drug him to high heavens already. The real question was, whether Alex was willing to help himself. The sleeping pills usually helped – a fact most likely noted in his records. Short-term only, though. If he went too far in the other direction… it wasn't pretty.

But was he willing to do that here, now?

Alex curled his fist, feeling the ache in his knuckles. From punching Greg.

He was going to be a social pariah.

And it was just going to cause Sheppard even more issues.

"Okay."

If Dr. Beckett was surprised by his easy acquiescence, he hid it well. He just tapped something out on his tablet, before looking up with a serious expression. "You realize John needs to know the whole story, not just what the Marines saw."

"Yeah…" Though when they were all going to realize he was more trouble than he was worth…

Maybe they would do the decency of at least dropping him off on an uninhabited planet…

"Right, I'll have Kennedy escort you back to your quarters. Get some rest, and we'll revisit this topic tomorrow. If meditation is your thing, I'm sure Teyla would love to have another student."

Alex knew better than to waste time arguing. And really, things had been going remarkably well until he had dared set foot off the city.

"Now, one more thing, since this will hopefully be the only time you come down to the infirmary in the next few weeks. I finally got around to sequencing your blood sample for the gene database, however it seems that it was stored improperly. All we need is a finger stick and a cheek swab, if you'll agree."

Alex huffed, but shrugged. Dr. Beckett had had plenty of time to convince him about the merits of being added to the gene database – namely, they were still trying to figure out what made an average gene carrier and a strong gene carrier. To better improve their gene therapy for military and civilians living in the city.

It only took a few minutes, then Dr. Beckett herded him back into the main part of the infirmary and pulled a blister pack of tablets out of a locked cabinet.

Greg wasn't anywhere in sight.

"You can take two tonight, and two tomorrow night. We'll reassess tomorrow if we need to change anything." He pressed the pack into Alex's hand, then waved over another member of the medical staff. "Kennedy will make sure you make it back to your quarters. Colonel Sheppard will be sending someone along in a little while." The latter part, he aimed toward Kennedy.

There was a snapping sound on the opposite side of the room, as a door opened and another doctor marched across the room, absolute anger in her eyes.

"Oh, bloody hell…" Dr. Beckett muttered under his breath, then gave Alex a not so gentle push in the direction of the main doors. "Go on, then."

The woman shot a poisonous look in Alex's direction, before turning on Dr. Beckett with a glare. "Dr. Beckett! He assaulted—"

"An accident," Dr. Beckett corrected, just as sharply, before maneuvering her toward his office.

Kennedy just looked on with a grimace, before pulling Alex toward the doors. Once they were outside – and out of earshot – Kennedy leaned in conspiratorially. "Word to the wise, stay clear of Dr. Madsen. She loathes all of Dr. Beckett's pet projects."

"Dr. Madsen?" He knew he had seen her, had crossed paths more than once, especially during his first few days. But there wasn't anything particularly memorable about it…

"CMO. She takes exception that Dr. Beckett was allowed back." At Alex's raised eyebrow – back? – Kennedy shrugged. "He died during the… second…? Third…? Whichever, year of the expedition. Or so everyone thought. They went through a couple of CMOs, before Madsen came on a year ago. Dr. Beckett's only been full time in the city for the past six months."

And that certainly created an interesting dynamic in the infirmary. Certainly, it explained why Sheppard trusted Dr. Beckett and only Dr. Beckett.

"And anything that makes Dr. Beckett, Dr. McKay, or Colonel Sheppard look bad… she's all over it."

Alex grimaced. Not the qualities for a CMO that people were supposed to trust with their lives. "So, uh, breaking… Lieutenant Simmons' nose is probably a… big deal."

"Understatement."

"And you?" The question slipped out before Alex could stop it.

Kennedy regarded him closely for a second, before shoving him toward the transporter. "Marine, through and through. Training accidents happen." He let the door slide shut, before hitting the button that Alex now knew led to the executive living hall. "Anyone with a brain knows you're not a normal kid. They wouldn't have sent you out here if you were normal. Besides, I've got bets on Colonel Sheppard losing it with her and shipping her back with the Daedalus."

A/N: Figured I would squeeze this out before the weekend. What did you think? There are good things and bad things about alien technology, that is for sure.