A/N: John Doe is owned by the Fox Network and not by me. Also, this is my first attempt at writing a fanfic so please be kind.

Special thanks goes out to fellow fan Booklovr for pointing out the flaws.

Hopefully the formatting is now right on this.

John Doe: A Weekend Without Information

Chapter 1

Dawn broke over the Cascades and bathed Seattle in an eerie yellow light. John Doe took in the sight, knowing it was nothing more than how sunlight reflected off the atmosphere. He was glad for the distraction, though, since it took his mind off of the computer screen.

I can't believe it's been six months, he thought to himself.

Stifling a yawn, John got up and went to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. He'd had another sleepless night in front of the computer, still trying to solve the mystery of who he was. The only clue he had was that he was the Phoenix, whatever that meant. Aside from the mythical bird and the city in Arizona, it could have meant anything. Thus, he'd spent endless nights searching all over the Internet, in chat rooms, anywhere trying to find out everything regarding the Phoenix.

Moreover, John had been avoiding sleep to keep from having to dream about Karen. It'd been six months since they'd killed her. They'd taken her out of his life for no reason other than the fact that she knew him. He'd promised her that he'd avenge her death, no matter how long it took. So far, he'd had no luck tracking down the Phoenix group. They seemed to always be on the move.

He knew they were watching him, at least out in public. As a precaution, he'd taken to doing a sweep of his apartment every few days to locate any bugs that they might have planted. So far, his precautions had paid off. He'd already found numerous bugs, ranging from microphones to miniature cameras. He'd pretty much ensured no one could watch him from inside his computer room. Frank and Digger were the only ones allowed in there now.

He was glad to have his friends. They kept him anchored in the real world. They were constantly concerned about his health, especially since he wasn't sleeping right anymore. Despite that, he still helped out on cases at the Seattle PD.  A few of the officers still distrusted him, but John could tell they were slowly, but surely starting to appreciate his help. And John still went down to The Sea to play piano for Digger, though Digger had told him he didn't need to come if he didn't feel like it. Still, it was an added distraction from his personal hell.

John finished his breakfast and put the dishes in the sink. They were piling up again. Washing dishes had been Karen's job, when she was around. She'd been the one who kept John closer to reality than the rest of his friends. She always had a cute comment whenever he was engrossed in some case or babbling on about obscure facts.

Facts, he thought. All these facts are like a curse to me.

Frustrated, John went back to his computer and began another seemingly fruitless search on information about the Phoenix. And, as with the previous thousand or so searches, all that came up was "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix".

Why? Why did J.K. Rowling have to write a book about the Phoenix? John thought.

It was as if she were part of the Phoenix group, purposely titling a children's book after the very bird he was seeking information about. Karen would have said it was a mere coincidence, which it was. There were scores of books about the Phoenix myth, the city, all its sports teams, and, now, a children's book. He'd even found bookstores with the name.

Frustrated, John closed the search engine and left while his other program tried to find a match to the symbol that was on his right side. Even that puzzled John. All he knew was that no symbol in all of human history matched it and that it was constantly setting off the metal detector at the Seattle PD. He'd once thought about extracting the metal himself. He had the knowledge to perform surgery, after all. But, obtaining the materials to create an anesthetic was next to impossible, especially in an age where everyone considered everyone else a potential terrorist.

Tiredly, John staggered over to his bed. He knew he needed sleep and absolved himself to not dream while he did. After a few minutes tossing, sleep finally came. He awoke suddenly after what felt like only a few minutes. And it did. He'd always known exactly what time it was, ever since he woke up a year ago. But now, now he didn't know what time it was. Worried, John checked his clock. He'd been asleep for fifteen hours.

Something's wrong, he thought. I've always known what time it is.

He got dressed and went down to see Digger. If ever he needed a good answer, Digger was the man to talk to. Luckily he was working the bar that night.

"Hey, John, glad to see you're out for a change," Digger quipped as John took a seat.

"Digger, I'm worried. I woke up a few minutes ago and didn't know what time it was."

"Didn't you check a clock?" Digger asked.

"Yes, but the point is, I've always known exactly what time it is." John told him.

"I never knew that. So, why's this make you worried?"

"Ask me a question," John said.

"Hey, now, I know what happens when I ask you questions," Digger said, slightly backing away.

"No, just ask me a question. I need to make sure it's not just the time I've forgotten."

"Ok," Digger thought for a moment. "What's the population of Vegas?"

John thought, and thought, and thought.

"I don't know," he answered, finally.

"What do you mean, 'I don't know'?" Digger asked, incredulously.

"I simply don't know." John told him.

"That's not like you, John," Digger said, calmly. "You sure you're feeling well."

"Well, I haven't been sleeping well, as you know."

"There's your problem," Digger told him. "You haven't slept well for six months. The stress is getting to you, John. It's killing you."

"But I haven't had this problem until now," John said.

"John, you've been exhausting yourself and your brain the past six months. For all you know, the other parts of your brain are still asleep. You might know everything, John, but your still human. Humans require sleep and you know that. But you wouldn't listen to your mind when it was

begging for rest and now it's punishing you for it."

"So what are you saying, exactly?" John asked, almost knowing what Digger was going to say next.

And he was right. "You need a vacation, John. A real one. Get out of Seattle for awhile. Don't think about Karen, the Phoenix, Frank, me, or anyone else. Just go somewhere and relax."

"But what if something comes up?"

"We'll deal with it like we did before you came around, by ourselves." Digger told him.

"But?"

"Hey, have I ever told you wrong?" Digger asked.

John knew he was right. Digger had never told him wrong. Even in the first weeks after Karen's death, Digger had been there for John, giving him inspiration. And he'd always taken Digger's advice. This was as good a time as any to take it.

"You know, you're right," John finally said. "I do need to get away. Maybe I'll take a camping trip."

"That's the idea. I know of a good place up across the border in British Columbia. It's right on the river, has plenty of hiking and good fishing. You'll love it." Digger told him.

"Thanks," was all John could say.

John had never been camping before. Well, not that he knew of anyway. For all he knew he used to go camping all the time before he lost the memories of who he was. Still, it was something new to try. Maybe he'd like it, maybe not, but it would get him away.

He decided to leave on a Saturday. That gave him plenty of time to pack the things he'd need for the trip. Digger helped him on that, since he couldn't recall anything on camping. Thankfully, it was a quiet few days at the Seattle PD and Frank didn't need his help on anything. John didn't know how he'd explain to Frank that all his information was gone. He was sure Frank would believe Digger's explanation, but wasn't so sure Lt. Avery would believe it. And the last thing he needed was to get on Lt. Avery's bad side.

Saturday came and John packed all his gear into the back of a truck that Digger let him borrow. He had everything for a nice quiet weekend: a tent, sleeping bag, fishing pole (Digger had told him to wait until he got to the campsite to find bait), lantern and kindling to start a fire. No computer, no radio, no TV, nothing of the modern age. Nothing to distract him.

John went back and checked his apartment once more before leaving. Digger would be staying the whole time he was gone. He just didn't trust to leave the apartment empty for so many days. Satisfied all was well, John got in the truck and headed for Interstate 5 and Canada.