Tin Man (2/4)

[kristen999]

“I thought you said you could walk?”

Ronon's words rang his bell and John shook his eyes open to find himself tilting sideways within the man's grip. John's arm was wrapped over the other man's broad shoulder and they made a great impression of two drunks lurching down the hall.

“I can walk,” John growled, his head killing him.

“You're not doing a good job of it.”

They were almost to the infirmary and John didn't recall leaving the gym or entering the transporter.

A nurse greeted them and took John's other arm without asking. “What happened?” She directed her question at Ronon.

“Sparring accident. He didn't duck.”

“I did too,” John defended, recalling how the stick had skipped across his temple now that the cobwebs were clearing.

“Not fast enough,” Ronon countered, moving out of the way.

Amy—Amanda?—ushered him to sit on an exam table. She was a few years older than him with dyed strawberry blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. He couldn't recall her name with all of the recent transfers as she tilted his head to study the area above his right eye.

Sounding motherly, she said, “You've got a nasty goose egg, Colonel.”

She then proceeded with a neurological exam that he had memorized.

Yes, she was holding three fingers. No, he wasn't dizzy. Yes, he did lose a few minutes of time. And yes, the penlight hurt his vision!

Smiling, she shook her head in amusement at his efficient answers. “Alright, you know the next drill. Date of birth?”

“June 14th, 1970.”

“Your name.”

“Colonel John Sheppard.”

“What's the capitol of the United States?”

“D.C.”

“What was your first car?”

“What?” he asked, perplexed.

Peering up from her PDA, the nurse looked at him speculatively through her wire-rimmed glasses. “What was the first car you ever owned?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“One for patients who have this exercise memorized.” She frowned at him for the first time. “Can you answer the question, Colonel?”

John stared off in the distance, mind racing.

“Colonel?”

What the hell was it? Not Dad's Classic ‘77 Porsche or the beamer. It was black… no, blue. Shaking his head and wincing at the pain, John muttered, “I don't remember.”

---




Jennifer scanned through her notes on Colonel Sheppard's baseline neurological evaluation. Sipping at her cold cup of coffee, she pulled up the results of his most recent post mission checkup, searching for any anomalies or issues. Sighing, she noticed a small notation about an accident on board a non-moving craft, that Doctor Fowler had given an all clear on site.

Walking over, she pulled aside the curtain and smiled at the colonel as he sat there on the bed, kicking his feet in a classic sign of nervous energy. “Morning, Colonel.”

“Doc.”

Ronon hovered in the corner, practically vibrating with tension. The current incident in question was a result from a sparring accident, and she nodded at him. “If you don't mind, I need to conduct my exam.”

“I'll let you know if I need backup,” Sheppard reassured his teammate.

Ronon stalked away without a word, and Jennifer pulled out a penlight, checking his pupils, pleased to find them equal and reactive. “How did this happen?”

“Ronon clobbered me.”

Jennifer moved over the examination light, adjusting it to get a better view of a knot forming at his temple. “Do you remember anything before that?”

“I cracked him across the knuckles. Must've pissed him off,” was his reply.

Returning the light back into place, she stepped back. “And what happened after you got struck in the head?”

He gave her one of his sheepish smiles. “That part's fuzzy. I got hit and then I was in the hallway.”

About two or three minutes loss of conciseness, Jennifer mentally filed away. “And do you remember the name of the nurse who cared for you?”

“Since we returned, I haven't gotten the names of everyone here, Doc.”

Jennifer didn't mark that against him. Pulling out a stool she took a seat in front of him, ignoring the colonel’s chuckle. “I know you went through this earlier, but just humor me. What is your father's name?”

“Patrick.”

“Your mother's?”

“Martha.”

“What did you have for breakfast?”

“Oatmeal and waffles, but they had the nerve to be out of blueberry,” he joked, kicking his feet again.

“Where did we go for your birthday on Earth?” Jennifer asked, mixing things up. After all, she'd been there.

He smiled fondly. “The Medieval Times dinner show.”

“What was the name of your first pet?”

The smile vanished.

Jennifer remained calm and relaxed. “Was it a cat or a dog?”

“It was....” Sheppard clenched his jaw, brow furrowing. “Come on, John,” he muttered to himself. “It was…” And he shook his head. “Damn it!”

“It's okay,” she soothed, trying to keep him focused. “Do you know your rank?”

“Colonel. Full bird.” He lifted his chin proudly.

“And who was the first military commander of Atlantis?”

“Colonel Sumner.”

“And when did you take over command?”

Sheppard gripped the edge of the bed with both hands. “It was...after we first arrived. After...” he fixed her with a hard stare. “What happened?”

Keeping her voice even, Jennifer never broke eye contact. “He was killed in the line of duty. You took over the next day.”

He nodded but it was half-hearted. She gave his wrist a squeeze, noting the uptick in his pulse. “We're going to get you taken care of. See what's going on.”

“Think this is some type of concussion?”

There was a desperate hope to his voice, because anything else was an unknown to him.

“I don't know yet,” she answered honestly. “There's a good chance it is. I'm going to get you under the scanner and conduct a few more tests, see where that takes us.”

Ronon was waiting for them behind the curtain, guilt and anger written all over his face.

“Perhaps you could keep the colonel company in between tests?” Jennifer suggested.

“He doesn't have to,” Sheppard commented.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Ronon answered, giving his a friend a you can't make me stare.

There was no doubting him and Jennifer left to find Dr. Kertesz.

---

Four hours of pouring over data had her eyes crossing and fingers clenched around another cup of coffee. No sooner has she rubbed away the tensions at her temples did her office door slam open, Rodney steamrolling inside.

“Were you just going to wait until dinner to tell me, oh by the way, Sheppard's been admitted to the infirmary?”

“The answer is no, because he hasn't been officially yet. And is there any point in telling you he was here undergoing tests when I don't have any answers?”

“What's wrong with him?”

Jennifer leaned back in the chair, the polar opposite to Rodney's pacing. “I don't know. That's why I didn't call you.”

“Ronon and Teyla told me he has some type of memory loss. Sheppard's been knocked in the head a few times before and hasn't ever suffered memory loss as a result.” Jennifer opened her mouth to disagree, being she was the colonel's physician, but Rodney bowled right over any rebuke. “And that's not counting the times he's forgotten who he was for a day or two off-world. Because he's always bounced back.”

“Rodney, take a deep breath before you hyperventilate. As of now, all we know is that Colonel Sheppard is missing a few occurrences and we're working very hard on the cause.”

“Is it retrograde amnesia?” he asked fearfully.

“Sit,” she ordered, unable to stand the dread in his eyes.

For the first time since he barreled in, Rodney actually obeyed and slumped in the chair. “I'm sorry. I was up all night talking to Ten about his visual sensor array and I forgot to eat dinner, unless you call those cupcakes you left in my lab food. And then I was on my way to breakfast, which happened to be lunch, and I ran into Teyla.”

Pulling out an apple she was saving for later, Jennifer shoved it into his hands. “Eat this and don't talk. Listen.” Verifying she had his attention, Jennifer went on. “We've run a head CT and an MRI and have ruled out any type of brain injury or trauma. After the colonel has completed a full neurological exam with Dr. Kertesz, I'll consult his opinion and we'll go from there.”

“So, it's not a concussion?”

“No. I said there was no obvious signs of bleeds or tears in the brain. His memory loss is sporadic, but it's all long term, which rules out most major types of amnesia.” Her answers weren’t alleviating his agitation and Jennifer regretted not being able to calm him.

“He smacked his head in some incident during our last mission. Could it be that he's just been hit two times in succession?”

“Secondary concussive syndrome is on my list.”

His eyes got real big and he switched to his default defense mechanism when faced with stressful situations. “I told him that his brains was going to swell up like a balloon!”

Moving closer, she kneaded his neck. “Ever since your experience with Second Childhood last year you’ve been very...sensitive to this stuff.”

“Oh, no. Have you—”

“I've ruled out the parasite you were infected with and Kirsan Fever, including any variations that we know of,” Jennifer reassured him.

Rodney rose to his feet and she planted her hands firmly on his shoulders. “Look. I know how much you hate not being in control of things, but you're going to have to do something you're not very good at. And that's be patient.”

“Right. I'll just go run a diagnostic on the city's plumbing,” he replied flippantly.

“Just because your expertise doesn't involve medicine doesn't mean you can't help. If anyone knows what the colonel is going through, it's you.”

Jennifer watched him deflate, wishing she had a magic wand to make everything better.

“You know I'm good at fixing things with my brain not with...you know...”

“Words?” Jennifer ruffled his hair. “Yeah, but this time, why not give it a shot?”

----

They had Sheppard in the back of the infirmary, but Rodney had tuned out the reasons why. The colonel sat in a chair dressed in scrubs, trying not to look like a man quietly freaking out while Ronon and Teyla kept him occupied with small talk.

“What did Keller say?” Ronon demanded.

“Nothing useful. Did the other quack mention anything relative?” Rodney countered, taking a seat on the bed.

“No,” Sheppard answered. “He asked me a million questions and scribbled in his notebook.”

“And?” Rodney prodded.

“And what?” Sheppard snapped. “Seems I have more holes in my memory than a piece of Swiss cheese.”

“But you remember us,” Teyla stated. “You remember Atlantis and your duties.”

“But not my first girlfriend or my favorite music...among other things,” Sheppard muttered and looked away.

“Those don't matter,” Ronon challenged.

“Yeah?” Sheppard growled. “And how long before I forget how to shoot a gun or fly a jumper?”

A nurse and two male techs moved aside the curtain and hesitantly wheeled a machine inside. “Colonel, are you ready?” the older nurse asked.

“Do I have a choice?” Sheppard sighed, running a hand through his hair. Resigning himself to his fate, he nodded to Rodney to get off the bed. “You want me here?” he asked them.

“Yes, Colonel. This is an EEG machine, we're going to attach a dozen leads to your head, and all you just have to do is sit back and relax,” one of the burly techs instructed way too cheerfully.

“Relax, huh?”

Watching Sheppard being forced to lie still while court jesters wired him up like Medusa wasn't exactly a laugh a minute. Each lead took an excruciatingly long time to attach with all that hair in the way, while Sheppard pretended it didn't bother him.

One of the nurses came over, opening up the curtain wide in a none too subtle gesture. “I'm sorry, but the colonel can't be distracted during the monitoring. We need to record a complete cycle of alpha, beta, and delta waves.”

“You honestly think he can fall asleep like that?”

“He will eventually Dr. McKay. Until then, Dr. Kertesz would like all three of you to fill out a questionnaire.”

-------------

After taking their fill-in-the-blank quiz, Rodney snuck back to Sheppard's fabric-draped cubicle and froze outside the curtain. The lights were dimmed and his friend's head was obscured by a spider web of wires like something out of a horror movie. My God, was that how he'd appeared last year, skull swallowed up by machinery?

“Stop staring.”

“What? Oh, no, I was...” Rodney hurried inside, ensuring the curtain was closed. “I...um…didn't want to disturb you.”

“I've got sticky leads taped to my scalp, and anytime I move, they tug on the skin. Don't think you can do any worse.”

“I'm not sure how to take that.” Rodney pulled out a chair and sat on the edge, trying not to let his eyes linger on the sideshow. “I took that questionnaire. It's not surprising you couldn't answer everything. I mean who remembers their first home address?”

“That was on yours?”

“No, but you know who much I suck at pep talks.”

He got a snort in reply and Rodney smiled. It wasn't so bad talking to Sheppard in the dark. It actually made it easier somehow to ask what had been burning at him. “Can you...” he paused and cleared his throat. “Can you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

His mouth dry, Rodney swallowed, the gulp loud in the air. “Your...your memories. I mean....are you aware of them going away?”

There was a long pause and Rodney berated himself for asking such a question when he was supposed to be here for support.

“No, not really,” came Sheppard's voice . “It's like someone asks me a question and I know the answer, but when I go to reply, there's nothing there.”

“So, you remember remembering it? But when you think about it, it’s gone?

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Huh.”

The next stretch of silence lingered a bit longer and Rodney couldn't find anything else to stare at. He fumbled for words, finding his choices either too cheesy or too morose.

When he finally settled on something neutral, a whoosh of fabric revealed an annoyed nurse and he was forced to leave with a wave good-bye and a mumbled “I've got to go.”

And it was only when he'd been ushered out that Rodney realized Sheppard probably hadn't heard him.

------

A meeting was held the following day around Sheppard's bed, which was all kinds of disconcerting because the man didn't appear sick. He sat straight up with a t-shirt and sweat pants, arms crossed over his chest, all the usual protective barriers in place. There was no asking him how he felt, because he was perfectly fine—except for the whole not remembering certain things.

Woolsey and Lorne had joined the party, and they waited for Keller and her PDA of doom. Because really, why did she carry it around? It wasn't like it stored the Rosetta Stone of answers. If anything, they were left with more questions.

“The good news is that there are no signs of tumors, contusions, or any known disease. I've also conducted an ICD and Processing Speed Test this morning to rule out post-concussive syndrome.”

While Sheppard outwardly appeared relieved at Jennifer's words, he'd started digging his fingers into his biceps.

“If that is the good news, what is the bad?” Woolsey inquired, breaking the ice.

“After a battery of neurological and cognitive tests, and imaging studies, we're not sure what has caused these memory problems,” Jennifer answered.

“These lapses have been confined to long-term issues?” Lorne asked.

“Dr. Kertesz conducted a five-hundred question survey of which the colonel was unable to answer 25 percent. 21 percent of those questions fell in a time frame of more than ten years ago, while 4 percent were about the last five years during his time on Atlantis.”

“Just in case anyone was wondering, I feel fine,” Sheppard huffed, clearly annoyed at all the people stuffed around his bed, all discussing his fate as if he wasn't there.

“You did complain of a headache the other day,” Jennifer reminded him.

“Probably from all these damn tests,” Sheppard muttered.

“Is there no other way to narrow down a prognosis?” Teyla asked, sounding desperate.

Yes, of course there was, Rodney wanted to sputter. Clearly, Jennifer was all about holding them in suspense for her amusement. But he knew better, and he tried to reign in the adrenaline and fear riding shotgun through his brain.

“There are psychological exams, and the Ancient scanner helps alleviate the need for more invasive types of procedures, like a lumbar puncture or resonance angiography,” Jennifer spouted off as if everyone in the room knew exactly what she was saying. “However, there are a few more imaging studies that map the electrical activity in the brain and a PET scan to label glucose molecules.”

“We still have our mission to M2P-263 in two days to sign the treaty with the Goft,” Sheppard reminded them, re-directing their attention.

“Can't it be postponed?” Lorne asked, looking about the room.

“If we postpone the mission, we'll have to postpone the other six treaties. They're all dependent on each other,” Teyla reminded them all wearily, her eyes resting on Sheppard almost in apology.

“And it took months of going back and forth with gestures and formal declarations and I forget how many ceremonies,” Sheppard complained. “This was the final one and believe me, I'd like to forget how much time we've wasted there.”

“Perhaps Major Lorne could go in your place?” Woolsey suggested.

Teyla shook her head. “The Goft stand on formality. Colonel Sheppard was the one who signed the first three parts of the agreement and he must be the one to sign the final.”

“I don't remember my high school graduation or the reasons why I can't stand clowns,” Sheppard told them bluntly. “I can do my job, but there's no crystal ball into the future. I could get worse. If we don't do this now, when all I have to do is sign my name and drink a glass of wine, than the last six months of negotiations goes down the drain.” Sheppard pinned Woolsey with a hard stare. “I read in yesterday's report of a raid on another ally. If we don't get these treaties in place, then we can't set up a spy network to track down those assholes.”

“Give Colonel Sheppard a cognitive questionnaire over the next two days,” Woolsey announced, looking over at Jennifer. “If you feel he's fit for the mission, then it has a go. If not, we'll scrap the whole thing and start from scratch.”

The meeting dragged along like fingernails on a chalkboard, Rodney tuning out all the chatter.

When things started breaking up and people dispersed, he ignored the way Jennifer bore holes in the back of his head. Teyla had to feed Torren and Ronon was needed to do something or other, although he had to be dragged away. It wasn't like Rodney had time to keep up with everyone's schedules. In the end, it was just him and Sheppard and the whole ‘slowly losing the pieces of your life’ issue.

He stood there, staring at Sheppard's fingers as they played with the end of his sheet. While not physically ill, the man had pulled the blanket across his lap as he stared off into space.

“Just because I'm not cleared for duty, doesn't mean you don't have things to do,” he said.

Rodney opened his mouth to dismiss such a gesture, eying the empty chair next to the bed, but Rodney's brain had other ideas and he found himself babbling. “I have to check in on the progress with the fighter ship. See if any of my minions accidentally blew anything up.”

Sheppard’s fingers stilled in thought and for a moment Rodney panicked. Had Sheppard forgotten about it?

As if reading his mind, the colonel growled, “I remember the fighter ship and our guest Robbie the Robot. Go ahead. Check on how everything's going. When I get out of here, I want to take that bird for a test flight.”

Instead of telling him no, he was going to stay, Rodney nodded. “Yeah, I think you're right. Besides, I'm sure you want to be alone to ...you know. To process things.”

Before Sheppard responded, Rodney was out of the room.

---

“I bolted on Sheppard. Twice,” Rodney added, pacing in a small circle. “And why did I flee? Because every time I see him trying to act all stoic and calm, I know deep down he's not, and I don't know what to do.”

Spinning on his heel, he continued pausing only for breath. “What if he gets worse? What if...” Shaking his head, he steeled himself. “I won't let it.”

He stood looking up at Ten's neutral expression, its mouth a flat row of dots, programming cued to Rodney's distress. Wasn't it sad how he could pour out his feelings to the one thing that couldn't comprehend them?

“Can you not re-boot his programming?”

“It doesn't work like that,” Rodney sighed. “But thanks for the suggestion.”

“Which memory is missing? Virtual or backup?”

Snapping his fingers, Rodney smacked Ten on the shoulder, shaking his fingers from the sting but grinning ear to ear. “You may be right! The brain is just a complex machine, and memories are stored like a hard drive, so to speak,” he perked up. “Maybe I could see if there's a pattern to Sheppard's memory loss, and if there is one....”

Then what? All his gusto started leaking into a whirlwind of uncertainty.

A metallic hand whirred toward him and rested gently on his shoulder. “You must gather all data before you can analyze the results.”

“Yes, do not get ahead of myself.” Rodney stared at five giant fingers touching him. “Good point. I ...um...have to go,” he said, hooking a thumb backward. “Thank you and I...well...I hope you find your accommodations alright. I'm sure after a while, the restrictions to the hanger bay will be lifted and you'll be allowed to walk around more.”

Ten’s area was just an empty space, a desk, a toolbox, and a computer with a few basic programs.

“My facility is functional. I will be pleased to see the fighter ship operational. With the proper interface, it will fulfill its purpose.”

It lifted up its giant hand in a semblance of a good-bye wave, and Rodney awkwardly waved back at Ten before nodding at the guards to release the electromagnetic shield for him to leave.


-----

John sat in a stiff, plastic chair across from Dr. Kertesz, a man in his fifties with thick salt-and-pepper hair and a plump round face. John laid his hands on the table, keeping them perfectly still despite the adrenaline thrumming through him, demonstrating to the doc that he was up for this week's outing.

He answered the man's questions with a false casualness, smiled when he knew an answer, and kept smiling when he fumbled over another, because if he really was losing his mind, this was his last chance to help Atlantis.

“What’s six times six?”

“Thirty-six. But that has nothing to do with my memory.”

“You're right,” Kertesz said, scribbling in his notepad. “I’m trying different types of questions.”

They played math games for a while.

“The square root of 169?”

“Thirteen”

“What's the g-force acting on an object in a vacuum?”

“Zero.”

Then the good doctor tried a fast one.

“Why do you enjoy flying?”

“Because it's what I'm good at,” John answered in all honesty.

“Is that all?” Kertesz prodded.

“I love to go really damn fast.”

The doc quirked his lips before sliding over a piece of paper. “Draw me your favorite aircraft in the Air Force.”

Seriously? Was he expected to play with crayons next?

“I can't draw, Doc.”

“Humor me.”

John wasn't much of an artist, but he’d sketched out his fair share of aeronautic designs. He took the pencil and paused, unsure what to do. He thought hard, trying to get the image in his head to paper. Slightly annoyed, he ending up using Kertesz's notebook as a ruler, cheating a little.

Studying it, Kertesz sat back. “Why did you change your mind about free drawing?”

Looking down at the picture, John studied his series of triangles and lines. “Because this was easier.”

The problem was, he hadn't meant to do something so simple.

-----

Sleeping tethered to a machine was an exercise in hell, long wires confining his head to the pillow. His skin itched, and beads of sweat mixed with the leads glued to his scalp. John resisted the urge to rip them away. Focusing on his breathing, he stared up at the ceiling, the tiles barely visible in the darkness. Counting them distracted his wandering thoughts, because he was scared to death that at any moment, they'd evaporate into the ether.

He selfishly wished a member of his team was here, but with the type of monitoring he was undergoing, visiting was only permitted during certain hours.

A drop of perspiration ran down his forehead and he wiped it away with the side of his hand, surprised to find his palms were sweaty. Drying them on the sheets, his ears twitched at something outside the curtain and he strained, listening for the footsteps.

Nothing.

Closing his eyes, he willed tense muscles to relax, but his heart hammered in his ears, slowly drowning out everything in an overload of the senses. His eyes flew open and he pressed at his sternum, the flailing muscle underneath slamming against his ribcage. He imagined his heart bursting out of his chest like one of those aliens from the movie the other night, causing him to gasp for breath.

Needing to bolt, he ripped off the covers and sat straight up, snapping wire leads from the machine. The room spun around dizzily and John grabbed the IV pole when the curtains flew open. The metal pole slipped right out of his hands and the whole room came to life in a rush of bright light and loud voices.

“Colonel?”

“Colonel, are you alright?”

A small noise escaped his throat and he flinched as something plastic was forced over his mouth and nose.

“Breath slow and easy, Colonel. Slow and Easy.”

Suddenly exhausted, he found himself being eased back, his breathing easier, the sound of his exploding heart receding.

“There you go,” the older nurse told him.

Looking up, pieces of wire dangled over his face, and he was surprised at how much his hands shook when he tried removing them from his forehead.

“Miller is on call and he's on his way. Do you need some help?” another staff member asked.

“The colonel's freezing. Get him an extra blanket,” the nurse answered. “And you should page Keller. She'll want to be notified.”

“Right away.”

Feeling like someone had wiped the floor with him, John's eyes grew too heavy to keep open. Before he succumbed to sleep, he laughed at how his brain worked. “Thanks, Amy,” he muttered, proud at recalling her name.

--

“What the hell happened last night?

“Keep your voice down.”

“I wouldn't be shouting if someone learned how to use the radio.”

“Last I checked, you didn't have an MD after your name.”

“No, I have two actual real degrees.”

“You'll have to wait for Dr. Keller.”

“I should have known better than to pull an all nighter doing everyone else's jobs for them.”

The voices were outside the curtain and John stared through heavy lids as the shadows moved away.

----

He woke up the next day to find Keller and the rest of his team standing around his bed. “What happened to me?” John asked bluntly.

Pulling up a stool, Keller sat next to him. “We're still trying to figure that out. The closest we can determine was you had some sort of panic attack. We ran a series of blood and chemical tests and found indications that your system was flooded with cortisol and corticosterone ”

John rubbed at his gritty eyes. “What are those?”

“They're hormones produced by your adrenal gland, normally in response to stress,” she explained.

“But I was sleeping,” John growled.

“I know,” Keller answered, looking as tired as John felt. “We're going over the EEG data to analyze the brain activity prior to the event.”

“Does this have something to do with his memory problems?” Teyla asked before anyone else could.

“I honestly don't know. The pituitary gland regulates cortisol levels, which is governed by the hypothalamus. They share nothing in common with memory function.” Keller plastered on her physician’s smile for John. “But it might be a clue to a larger picture.”

John didn't like the sound of that. “You think there's more to my memory loss?”

“I think that what happened last night opens the door to other areas for us to focus on.” Pulling out her PDA, she entered in her notes. “We'll begin with additional tests later this afternoon.”

Translation: they had no clue what was wrong with him and he better prepare for a full day of inkblots and being stuck inside machines.

And tomorrow he was supposed to go on a mission? But they hadn't scrapped it yet and Woolsey wasn't around to deliver the grim news. “Are we still going to sign the treaty?”

Keller crossed her arms tightly over her chest, biting her bottom lip. That was a red flag of contention.

“Something happened?” John looked to his team, reading their answers in their grim expressions.

Ronon leaned over the other side of his bed, speaking for the first time. “One of our allies caught two of the raiders. They claimed to be working for us.”

That was the last thing they needed. John felt a headache returning. “They're pretending to be hired thugs?”

“And that we are paying them to stir distrust” Teyla said in disdain. “Some members of the Coalition are trying to use the whole thing as propaganda against other planets reestablishing ties with us.”

In other words, the treaty signing with the Goft became even more important.

“I'll be fine,” John told them.

“I wouldn't call having your brain flooded with hormones for no reason a sign of complete health,” McKay mumbled.

Teyla sent a daggered look at McKay before settling her gaze on John. “We have told the Goft council that you are unwell, but despite risks to your health, you are going to sign it. They are deeply honored.”

All he had to do was sign his name, shake hands, and leave.

Piece of cake.

-----

Traveling in the jumper, away from prying questions and beeping machines should have given John a reason to be excited. Instead, he was a knot of tension and misery. Being relegated to the co-pilot’s seat only rubbed him the wrong way as he scowled at Lorne, who kept giving him weary looks. McKay sat directly behind John, which really bugged the shit out of him. He could practically feel the man’s eyes drill holes into the back of his skull.

“Will you stop it,” he snapped at him.

“Stop what?”

John dug his fingers the armrest.

“The weather should be pleasant,” Teyla spoke from the back. “It is the height of spring on the planet.”

John wasn’t in the mood for idle discussion of the weather or crop yields. His knee bounced impatiently, and he found himself leaning forward to inspect the stars. The Goft were real assholes for not allowing them through the gate on their world until they were officially allies, which forced them to travel to a nearby space gate in a neighboring system. Travel time was short, less than an hour there, but the seconds crawled by like millions of ants across his skin.

“You alright, sir?” Lorne asked.

“Fine.”

“You’re kind of fidgeting.”

“It’s a bit stuffy in here,” John replied, undoing the first button of his uniform.

“Environmental controls are normal, sir.”

“Are you feeling alright, John?” Teyla inquired.

Just dandy, how are you? But John kept his bark in place. “I’m good. Just…you know. Want to get this over with.”

Unraveling right before the mission wouldn’t be a good thing, so John bit his tongue when Lorne entered the atmosphere at a sharper angle than he preferred. John practically punched holes through the armrest at the mediocre landing. If they ever got some of his marbles back, he was going to order his XO to complete a refresher course on jumper piloting after today's sloppy performance.

It wasn’t very spring like when they disembarked into the balmy midday air, and John swatted irritably at a buzzing insect near his ear.

Teyla walked beside him as they neared the path toward town. “We will not be long. You are not required to do anything more than sign the treaty and shake hands with Almar.”

“Got it. No sightseeing,” he smiled breezily at her.

Ronon hung back in the rear, his looming presence like an oppressive weight across John's shoulders. Rodney flanked his other side, face pinched in worry. It was suffocating.

A wall ten meters high protected the square and they walked a few hundred meters through a guarded entrance. The town was robust for Pegasus, brick-and-mortar shops and businesses made up the center, small homes farther south. A population of thousands were spread out over an area the size of a small state, and John wondered how long their steam-powered little slice of heaven would escape the eye of the Wraith.

An entourage greeted them outside of a building ordained by statues and plush gardens. Almar was a squat, little man with long, braided hair and a fake smile. When the head of their council stuck out his hand in greeting, John resisted the urge to punch him in the face.

Gentle fingers gave his shoulder a squeeze. Teyla. For a second, John felt himself beginning to snap like a rubber band, but the sun felt nice on his face and the pounding of an impending migraine receded. The moment Teyla broke contact, another damn insect buzzed around his face, and all John wanted to do was swat it into oblivion.

----

The ceremony was blissfully simple and to the point. John scribbled his name on a thick piece of parchment paper and clanked glasses of bubbly wine. They were given a copy of the treaty, and a small troupe of people started singing and dancing. Almar came up behind John and clapped him on the back, laughing a cloud of smoke from a putrid cigar.

Something snapped inside. John poured out his glass and almost broke it over the man's head when he turned around.

Ronon came out of nowhere, twisted John's wrist and knocked the glass out to the ground. “It's time to leave.”

None of the team questioned why and they hurried out of the meeting room, passing dozens of happy and cheerful people as news spread of the new alliance. John's pulse raced. How many other treaties had hinged on this one, and how many had died waiting for the agreement?

“Ronon, what is wrong?” Teyla asked, eyes on alert for danger.

“Can we use the ring now?” was Ronon's reply.

Lorne had taken point was they were outside of town. “Yes.”

“I'm taking Sheppard back to Atlantis,” Ronon announced. “We'll meet the rest of you there.”

John had just about enough of this bullshit. He jerked out of Ronon's grip, but anything he was about to say was lost in a hail of gunfire. He ducked to the ground in the opposite direction of his teammate, popping up to return fire, his fingers grasping an empty holster.

He was unarmed.

With bullets flying and voices shouting everywhere, John froze. Because this was familiar—like a horribly deep itch in the brain, one he couldn't reach no matter how hard he tried. The smell of burnt flesh and ozone and how the sun beat down on him, small arms fire echoing in the distance.

Vivid images of men screaming collided with an intense black pall of anger building inside his chest—and then it was gone. Replaced by an icy chill down his spine. Filling his beating heart.

There was movement everywhere and three men beat a path toward him. Weaponless, all he could do was bug out. Run and crawl and fight his way back to safety.

But he didn't. Because in a single moment, he knew nothing could stop him and he was going to kill every one of these fuckers. Heedless of frantic shouts and screams, John grabbed the nearest fallen tree branch the size of a baseball bat and charged.

Bullets whizzed all around, dozens missing him as he marched unscathed. It wasn't like they could hurt him. “What is it? Can't aim?” he snarled.

John whacked the nearest guy over the head then jabbed the stick sideways into the other raider's throat.

Hearing the cock of a gun, he turned and faced the end of a pistol. “You're dead,” the raider sneered.

John didn't think, didn't say a word. He threw all of his weight into the guy, knocking them both onto the ground, the gun skittering away.

Pinning the man's shoulders, John earned a sharp explosive knee to the groin. Face twisted in a sneer, he growled, “Nice try.”

And retaliated by pounding his fist into the face below, again and again and again.

“Enough!”

Strong hands hauled John off the bloody mess, and he turned and smashed the person in the jaw.

“Colonel, it's Lorne!” the man screamed.

Except John didn't really care who it was and lunged, catching only empty space. He spun around in time to catch a red burst in the chest and collapsed in a heap of twitching limbs.

–

Rodney stood by Sheppard's empty bed, laptop clutched to his side. For the last five years, he'd seen his friend almost turn into a bug, tortured by a Wraith, willingly fly a bomb into a hive ship, and countless other nightmares. Never had Rodney ever seen him act so reckless or have so little care for his safety. And when Ronon had pulled the colonel off the raider he had beaten to a pulp, Rodney had never seen such rage before—not on John Sheppard's face.

He heard Jennifer approach and he turned to greet her. Gone was his bluster and desire to toss her version of science under the bus. All Rodney wanted were answers. “How are the tests going?”

“Slowly. Dr. Kertesz is conducting more extensive imaging studies.”

“Didn't you already scan his brain?”

“Yes, but it was a catch-all. As you know, the brain is a complex organ. With the event on the planet and the near panic attack the other night, we went back and studied our preliminary EEG results. We're focusing on his amygdala for defects or any abnormal metabolic activity.”

“The thing shaped like an almond?” Jennifer's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Don't give me that look. After my own version of Flowers for Algernon, I read up on the anatomy of the brain. That's the nuclei in the temporal lobe that regulates emotion. Keeps us from becoming instant psychopaths.” Oh, God. “Is that what you think is wrong with Sheppard?”

“We don't know, but research has shown that the amygdala performs a primary role in processing emotion.” She took a seat on the bed, sweeping her eyes over all the monitoring equipment that had been hauled in. “It's also responsible for stress hormone release, which might explain the sudden release of cortisol.”

Rodney huffed. “Would that explain why he thought he was bullet proof when he went after those raiders with a chopstick?” He was going to have nightmares about that one for a while. Just another on the pile.

“Maybe, but an overstimulation of the amygdala can effect the regulation of emotion. He might not have been aware of what he was doing.”

“Oh, that's just peachy. So, the military commander of Atlantis has a short circuit in his brain that can reduce him to a puddle of goo on the floor or turn him into Ted Bundy.”

“Rodney.”

“What about his memory issues?”

Sighing, Jennifer rubbed at her eyes. “It is possible. The amygdala does have a function with memory and the memory of emotional reactions, but we’re still combing through the interviews that Dr. Kertesz conducted to see if we can find something that connects the various incidents of memory loss.”

“Then why aren't you doing that?”

“Rodney, we're trying, but we have hours of EEG data and imaging studies to go over, and there are only a very small handful of us who are qualified to analyze these tests. Right now, we have more raw data than hours in the day to investigate.”

“I'm sorry...I just…” Clearing his throat, he fumbled for words. “How is he? I mean... is he—”

She rubbed his arm up and down. “He's scared, like we all would be to learn that there is something wrong with your brain that you have no control over.”

“But he's not like he was on the planet?” Could he face that version of Sheppard?

“No. He doesn't remember much of the mission, but he knows what he did and he's shaken.”

She didn't say anything else. Jennifer didn't need to, because the implication was clear enough.

---

John Sheppard, larger-than-life folk hero, was quite small when curled up in a chair in pale blue scrubs, flipping through a photo album with a look of absolute loss. It was quite the opposite of the raging lunatic acting as target practice for a group of raiders and beating them single-handedly. Rodney shook his head; at least this dispelled the rumors that the raiders and Atlantis were in cahoots. Go them. Their other 'allies' were waiting in line to have new treaties signed.

John stared at each page of the album with an intense type of concentration, as if trying to memorize the contents. Rodney had better things to do, like figure out what was causing the fuses in Sheppard's brain to blow.

But he couldn't leave, not with Sheppard appearing so...so fragile.

“Hey,” Rodney said, hovering by the curtain.

Flipping the book closed, Sheppard straightened, slippered feet brushing the floor. “Hey.”

A soft spoken, embarrassed colonel was wrong in so many ways. Rodney flopped down on the bed and gestured at the object in Sheppard's lap, noting all the bruises that marred his fingers. “What's that?”

Drumming his fingers over the leather-bound book, Sheppard shrugged. “A picture album. The one Elizabeth started during the first year.”

Heart sinking a little, Rodney sighed. “She did have a thing for real photos.”

“Yeah,” was Sheppard's reply, rubbing his fingers over the binding. “I don't want to forget these.”

“You won't,” Rodney said, hopping off.

Sheppard gripped the book like it might disappear with his fading memory. “For how long?” Hazel eyes locked with his. “Will I wake up in the morning and wonder who these people are?”

Rodney broke contact, focusing on the book in question, the fear a familiar quiver in his stomach. Sheppard closed his eyes, chewing on his bottom lip. “I still have fuzzy recollections of what it was like when we were all sick with Kirsan Fever. Not knowing who anyone was...not knowing who I was,” he swallowed thickly. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. “I...God. I don't want to be returned to Earth as some kind of zombie, thrown in some VA hospital and...”

Forgotten.

“I'd rather eat a bullet,” Sheppard whispered.

Oh, hell no! Rodney's head shot up. “Don't say that! It'll never get that far. Jennifer's got a lead on what's going on inside that gerbil wheel of yours, and it's only a matter of time until she figures out how to fix things.”

“Right...But just in case she doesn't...”

“She will,” Rodney insisted. “And she's not alone. I'm on the case and I won't...

“Did you become a brain surgeon when I wasn't looking?”

Flinching, Rodney looked Sheppard in the eye this time and never wavered. “No, but I am the smartest person here. And while this might not be a cave and I prefer a computer to a power drill, I'm going to help you.”

Sheppard clenched his jaw. “I can't be allowed to hurt anyone.”

“You're not going to—”

“I didn't feel a thing on that mission!” Sheppard tossed the book away, revealing an icepack in his lap. “It's agony to stand because I got hit so hard in the groin, but it didn't hurt a goddamned bit on the planet. Do you understand? I should have passed out or upchucked my breakfast from the pain. You make sure that whatever happened on the mission doesn't get repeated here.”

“It won't.” Sheppard pinned Rodney with such intensity, it took a few seconds to gather his conviction. “I promise.”

“I can't lose control like that again.” Sheppard's voice shook. “I...” he trailed off, averting his gaze.

Rodney knew too damn well what Sheppard meant and it was more than having his emotions slip through his fingers. It was about losing totally who he was.

“I want you to make me a promise.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no! Rodney forced himself to meet Sheppard's gaze, dreading the next words, seeing and hearing a rare mix of fear and trust. “If things get real bad...if there's no hope of a cure...”

“Do you trust me?” And this time it was Rodney's voice that trembled

“Always.”

Rodney's chest hitched. Sheppard hadn't hesitated. “I'm not going to let you down.”

-------

Ronon and Teyla were waiting for him in his lab, and Rodney glared at them for being in the way. “I have work to do.”

Teyla blocked his path to his computer. “We want to help.”

“And do you know anything about neurology?”

“Do you?” Ronon countered.

“I know enough.” Placing his hands on his hips, he rolled his eyes. “Fine, it's a learning curve, but they can take as many pictures of Sheppard's brain as they want. I don't think they're looking in the right place.”

“And you have an idea to explore?”

It was hard to be a cocky asshole when Teyla was so hopeful.

“Well no, but I'm not allowing inconclusive tests to dictate my investigation. It's limiting.” Walking around Teyla, he sat in front of one of the computers. “I'm going back to Sheppard's first symptoms.”

“His memory problems,” she said, watching him.

“Exactly, there's a pattern we're not seeing, and all of those quacks are too busy running around in circles to go back to the original set of problems.” Pulling out a flash drive, he inserted it into the mainframe. “These are the three questionnaires Sheppard was given. Each one indicates an increase in memory loss.”

“We can go through them, see if we can find this pattern.”

He hadn’t expected that, but splitting the work three ways would expedite things. And there was no way he could talk Teyla out of anything she had her mind set on. “Sure. I'll set each of you up on a computer station. You've worked with spreadsheets I hope, because that'll help with the cataloging.”

“I have,” she smiled. “It will only take a few minutes to teach Ronon the basics on setting up columns and rows within the sheet.”

Ronon pulled out another chair. “Whatever it takes.”

---


Graphing Sheppard's memories was a voyeuristic invasion of privacy. While Rodney was glad he didn't know how old John was when he'd lost his virginity, he felt a pang of sadness that such a moment had been wiped away. The same could be said about the death of the colonel's mother, an event he'd been aware of but not the when or how.

Happy and sad, traumatic and life-changing—there wasn't a common thread in the things that Sheppard had lost versus the things he could recall vividly. Sheppard could name every aircraft he'd ever flown, including the pros and cons of how each handled in the air and down to exact speeds and payload.

But he couldn't describe what they looked like or how flying them made him feel. That was from the latest Q&A, and it pinged on Rodney's radar.

Scrolling through the most recent questionnaire, Rodney gave Kertesz a few points for a set of handwritten notes that were the most telling.

Q: Is your favorite flavor ice cream strawberry?
A: I'm not sure

Q: Who is your favorite musician?
A: Johnny Cash

Q: Can you name your favorite songs?
A: No


Sheppard had been given strawberry ice cream and he loved it. And when he'd been played the Johnny Cash song that was the most repeated on Sheppard's iPod, he sang along to the lyrics.

It was like he was suffering a glitch in how his memories were stored. The name of the file was there, but when Sheppard tried accessing it, the link was broken.

Ronon pushed back his chair in frustration. “He doesn't remember things with a lot of meaning. The things that stick with us.”

Teyla rubbed at her eyes. “I agree. The memories that shape and define us are the ones he does not recall. It is like he has been stripped of the very things that make him John.”

“What do his memories have to do with what happened when the raiders attacked?” Ronon asked in frustration. “Sheppard's a solider, but he acted stupid. Suicidal.”

“No, he acted impulsively.” Rodney stared at them. “And not in the normal, Sheppard way of thinking of others before himself, but because something in his brain wasn't working properly. He was acting on pure aggression.” Sheppard's words from earlier echoed in his head. “To the point where he didn't feel a damn thing. Emotionally or physically.”

“Still don't see the connection,” Ronon growled in defeat.

“One of the amygdala's primary roles is the formation and storage of memories associated with emotional events.” Rodney had both Ronon and Teyla's complete attention. “Research indicates...” but he wasn't the expert he needed to be.

“Research indicates that memories of emotional experiences imprint their reactions in the nuclei through connections with the central nucleus of the amygdala,” Jennifer finished for him as she walked into the room. She looked a bit sheepish for interrupting, but Rodney waved at her to go on and she smiled in thanks.

“These connections result in physical reactions such as tachycardia, increased respiration, and stress-hormone release. Following any learned event, the long-term memory for the event is not instantaneously formed. Rather, it's slowly assimilated into long-term storage over time until it reaches a relatively permanent state. The greater emotional arousal following a learned event enhances a person's retention of it.”

“Well, that's a mouthful,” Rodney concluded.

Teyla put the results of her chart on the overhead LSD screen for Jennifer's review. “All of John's missing memories are the result of very emotional events. Ones he may have based a learned response on. The first time he kissed someone or the first time he learned how to fly. If this amygdala is responsible for these formed responses, maybe that is why only these strong memories have been affected.”

Jennifer studied the charts, eyes widening. “Damage to the amygdala impairs both the acquisition and expression of emotional responses. Such damage might also explain why the pre-frontal cortex is experiencing disruptions in neurotransmitter and hormone release.”

“Will discovering these connections help John?” Teyla asked, fingers gripping the console.
Jennifer's expression was neutral. “We are focusing our study on the colonel's amygdala. He's scheduled for a more extensive PET scan that will produce a three-dimensional image of the functional processes of his brain.”

“But you didn't come by to regale us with your knowledge, did you?” Rodney felt his gut twist. “What happened?”

Taking a deep breath, Jennifer schooled her face into perfect professionalism. Except that Rodney could see right through it, at the lines of worry under her eyes and the way she thinned her lips. “The colonel experienced another set of episodes. He was connected to the EEG during both of them so we were able to record an over stimulation of the amygdala.”

“Did he become violent again?” Ronon asked.

Jennifer put on a brave face for the team. “No, the exact opposite. From all conversations and outward appearances, Colonel Sheppard is completely docile.”

----

“Chapter Three”