Fic: Conduit [SGA] [Shep Whumpage] [Secret Santa Challenge]

[alipeeps]

Chapters: 1
Word Count: c.10,200
Rating: K
Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Yikes. Much belated, ye olde Secret Santa fic, written for vecturist. Sorry for the appalling lateness, hon! I will admit that I struggled with this fic and, tbh, I'm still not sure about it. It did the usual and dragged on far, far longer than I intended - one of these days I really must learn to write concisely. Anyway, hope you like it and that it at least partly fulfills your prompt of "a gen fic, something focusing on Sheppard and the ATA gene/chair/Atlantis and maybe the ATA gene carriers as well"...

Edit: Huge thanks to the wonderful lorien_79 who made me an incredibly beautiful cover for this story! :)






“It’s not working.”

“How can it not be working?!”

“I don’t know, McKay! It just isn’t!” John opened his eyes and the Chair powered down, the blue glow fading and the seat tilting him back into an upright position.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” McKay was crouched beside the Chair platform, the epicentre of a tangle of connecting wires, tapping furiously at his datapad. “There’s no reason for it not to work!”

Sheppard grimaced, pinching at the bridge of his nose; his head was starting to ache from the effort of prolonged concentration.

“Try again,” Rodney ordered grumpily. “You need to think about the sensor network…”

“I’ve tried, McKay,” John growled. “And tried and tried and tried. It’s not working.”

“Well, you must be doing something wrong…”

Okay, that was it. John levered himself out of the Chair, his grip tightening on the arms as his head swam for a brief moment. Whoah. Stood up too quickly. He shook it off and straightened. “If you think you can do better, McKay, you’re welcome to try,” he informed Rodney sweetly.

“What?” McKay looked up, apparently only now noticing that his favourite ATA slave was on the verge of departure. “Oh hey, no! Wait! You just need to…”

“Let me know when you’ve fixed it.” John headed for the door.

“It’s not broken! Everything here is working exactly as it should, there is absolutely no reason why the programme wouldn’t run! This doesn’t make sense…” Rodney’s frustrated monologue followed John down the corridor, echoing off the metallic walls of the Ancient city.

John’s head was really pounding; he’d spent over an hour in the Chair, trying to implement Rodney’s latest idea to use the Chair to access and monitor, maybe even remotely repair, citywide systems. It had been an exercise in frustration, and pointless concentration, as the Chair had refused to respond to his commands. It had been unnerving too; John had never really thought too hard about his ATA ability. It was simply a part of him, something he’d never been without - from the moment he’d stepped through the gate, the city of Atlantis had responded to him. This was the first time the Ancient technology hadn’t reacted to his commands; and according to McKay there was no fault, no damaged crystals, no problems with the coding of the sub-routine he’d written, nothing… He felt a vague discomfort at the thought. Using the gene, feeling that connection, was second nature to him. It disturbed him on some deep, subconscious level that it hadn’t worked.

But no. McKay would fix it. There must be a fault somewhere, something small, something they hadn’t found yet. McKay would find it and find a work-around and they’d try again. He smiled even as he rubbed a hand at his aching temples. Even after all this time, he knew Rodney was still at least a little jealous of John’s natural gene; although he had the artificial gene, Rodney still couldn’t activate Ancient technology with the same ease as John, it still required a level of concentration. John suspected that that lingering jealousy, as much as simple expediency, was part of what made him Rodney’s favourite choice when he needed someone to pick something up/touch something/sit in the Chair and obey impatient commands.

He’d been planning to head for his office and catch up on some overdue paperwork but the nagging headache forced a change in tactics. It didn’t seem to be getting any better so he altered course and headed for the infirmary, thinking he would beg a couple of Tylenol and maybe hit the mess for an early lunch.

Carson looked up from his desk as John walked into the infirmary, rising to his feet with a smile. “Colonel. And what can we do for you today?”

John shrugged casually; the last thing he wanted was to make a fuss. “Bit of a headache,” he explained. “Rodney’s had me doing my ATA thing for half the morning. Was kinda hoping I could grab a Tylenol or something.”

“Okay.” Carson patted a nearby exam bed. “Hop up for a moment and let me have a look at you.”

John perched on the edge of the mattress resignedly; he should have known Carson wouldn’t let him escape without at least a cursory exam. It was a waste of both their time - he felt fine other than a stupid tension headache - but if that’s what it took to get some painkillers and get on with his day, then so be it. He sat patiently while Carson poked and prodded and ran through the standard questions, answering promptly; nope, no other symptoms, haven’t hit my head, no blurred vision, no loss of consciousness. Just a headache. Carson reported that his blood pressure and temperature were both fine and shone his slim flashlight into John’s eyes.

John cringed, flinching away as he screwed his eyes shut with a hiss of protest. The bright light stabbed into his eyes like a knife and the headache escalated a notch or two.

“Sorry, son.” Carson’s voice was full of apology, his hand on John’s shoulder, and John grunted in acknowledgement, cracking his eyes open reluctantly. He squinted at Carson’s concerned expression, grimacing at the renewed pounding in his skull.

“Headache worse?”

“Yeah,” John breathed. He could really do with those Tylenol.

“Okay. Well, you seem otherwise healthy. It most likely is just a tension headache, as you thought.” Carson was moving as he spoke and John heard the jingle of keys and the rattle of a cabinet door.

“Take these with water and go get something to eat.” John closed his hand around the proffered blister pack of tablets. “I’d advise you take it easy for a couple of hours, avoid any activities that require prolonged concentration. Let me know if things don’t improve.”

John slid off the exam bed with a murmur of thanks, only to find Carson’s hands steadying him as once again he wobbled momentarily, his head spinning.

“Colonel?”

He shrugged off Carson’s concern, already feeling steadier. “I’m good,” he insisted. “Just stood up a little too quickly.”

Carson didn’t look entirely convinced but, short of confining him to the infirmary for having a headache, John knew there wasn’t much else he could do. “You should try and get some rest,” the doctor compromised. “And I want you straight back here if things haven’t improved within a couple of hours.”

“Sure thing, doc.”

John did as advised and headed straight for the mess, where he grabbed a bottle of water and a sandwich and took them with him back to his room. The headache wasn’t getting any better but at least it didn’t seem to be getting any worse. It was bad enough though that he was willing to follow Carson’s advice and forgo the paperwork for today. He left the lights low in his room, setting the water and sandwich beside him on the bed as he sat down and unlaced his boots. His head spun for a moment again as he sat back up and he grimaced as he toed the boots off, letting them topple to the floor. He dug the painkillers out of his pocket and washed them down with a good swallow of water, before digging into the sandwich. He washed it down with more water and stretched himself out on top of the neatly-made bed, trying to will his limbs to relax as he waited for the painkillers to kick in.

With his eyes closed it was harder to ignore the dull throbbing in his head and he forced himself to focus on his breathing, making his breaths deep and slow, trying to consciously relax the tension in his body. He didn’t really think he’d be able to sleep with this headache but slowly, as he breathed rhythmically in and out, his eyelids began to feel heavier and the pounding in his head seemed to become muffled and a little more distant, easier to ignore. He smiled drowsily and the last conscious thought that crossed his mind was that the painkillers were working.

*****

“McKay to Sheppard.”

John felt oddly groggy when he awoke, his limbs heavy, his head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton wool. For a moment he was disoriented, blinking sleepily at the shadowed ceiling, before he remembered the headache and the Tylenol and coming back to his quarters to rest. He rolled over with a groan and reached for his earpiece.

“What is it, McKay?” he rasped.

“I need you down here.”

He frowned, rubbing at his forehead. “Down where, Rodney?” He still felt half asleep, his mind struggling to catch up.

“The Chair room. Where else?” Even over the radio, McKay’s exasperation was clear.

With a grunt, John pushed himself up to a sitting position, taking a moment to collect his thoughts, try and kick-start his body into action. “Mm. 5 minutes,” he mumbled, looking around vaguely for his boots. They were on the floor, and he remembered kicking them off earlier.

“You sound terrible. Where are you?” McKay’s voice was impatience mixed with suspicion, a combination that spoke of concern, to those that knew him well enough.

“5 minutes, McKay.” John switched the radio off. His head was feeling clearer already and he rolled his head on his shoulders and stretched a little, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. The Tylenol had worked its magic and his head was no longer pounding. He checked his watch; he’d been asleep for maybe an hour or so.

He leaned over to snag his boots and roughly pulled them on, lacing them quickly yet firmly. With a sigh he pushed to his feet, only to wobble and drop ungracefully back to his seat as vertigo sideswiped him, his arms flailing as he tried instinctively to regain his balance. Dammit. This was getting annoying now. Maybe he should see Carson. He stood up carefully, slowly, one hand on the mattress until he was sure he was steady. He’d go see what Rodney wanted and then go have a word with Carson, he decided.

He found Rodney in much the same place he’d left him; crouching beside the Chair platform, surrounded by cables and control crystals, muttering to himself as he pecked at his datapad, his fingers stabbing at the screen as though it had personally offended him. He looked up as John walked in and his frown changed from one of frustration to one of suspicion.

“Oh. You look terrible too.” Rodney informed him sourly. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m fine,” John shrugged. “Had a bit of a headache. It’s gone now.”

“Well, you look like death warmed over.” Rodney pronounced and turned back to his screen.

John strolled over to peer at the datapad over Rodney’s shoulder, something he knew was guaranteed to bug his friend, and commented, a little pointedly, “Well, someone interrupted my rest to demand that I come down here to the Chair room.” McKay sighed in exasperation and shifted the datapad to block it from view and John stepped back with a smile, enjoying his minor victory. “So what did you want me for, McKay?” he pressed.

McKay looked up at him blankly, his expression quickly morphing into impatience, as if John had just asked him something utterly imbecilic. He waved a hand vaguely, the gesture encompassing the Chair, the tangle of cables and crystals that surrounded him, saying, “I need you in the Chair,” as if surprised at having to explain something so patently obvious.

John favoured Rodney with a long look. “Have you fixed it yet?” he asked mildly.

“What? No. There’s nothing to fix!”

“Then you don’t need me.” John picked his way past the tangle of cables in the direction of the door.

“Sheppard, wait!” Rodney struggled to his feet to chase after him and John turned, lingering in the doorway as McKay tried breathlessly to explain. “Seriously, I’ve checked everything I can and there’s no reason for this not to work. We just need to give it one more try - I can’t do anything more without having someone in the Chair so that I can monitor the interface and…”

Sheppard gave a reluctant grimace. He’d spent over an hour doing just that this morning and the only thing it had gotten him was a pounding headache. He really wasn’t looking to repeat the experience. “And the reason that someone has to be me is…?” he interrupted.

“Well, you know… you have, um…” McKay’s mouth tightened a little, as though having to force out the words, “…you have the strongest gene and if we’re going to get this to work, then you’re… probably… our best chance of doing so.” His chin lifted defiantly, as though daring John to make any kind of comment.

John sighed and manfully resisted the temptation. He looked consideringly at the Chair and thought about Carson’s recommendation to avoid anything requiring prolonged concentration. Then again, the Tylenol had done the trick and his headache was gone; he felt fine. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped around a hopeful McKay, walking resignedly back into the room.

“You’ve got 10 minutes,” he stated as he lowered himself into the Chair. “If it isn’t working by then, it’s not going to.”

“Okay. Great.” McKay was a bustle of activity, scurrying back to his perch beside the platform and diving straight in as though John was going to time those 10 minutes exactly and he didn’t want to lose a single unnecessary second. “Just let me hook this up to… and I’ve got to check that.. aaaand okay. We’re good to go. Power it up.”

John closed his eyes and laid his hands on the arm pads of the Chair, feeling the familiar connection kick in as the Chair shifted beneath him, tilting him backwards. The active link was like a low-grade hum in the back of his mind, a feeling that was hard to describe. There was a sense of expectation to it, of the Chair waiting for his instruction. He let himself settle into the connection as Rodney’s instructions came thick and fast.

“Think about the sensor network. See if you can bring up the schematic..”

He thought about it, picturing in his mind what he was looking for. Nothing. He frowned and concentrated. The connection was there; he could feel it. It just wasn’t responding. He shifted a little in the chair, tension beginning to gather in his shoulders, and focused his mind, envisioning the schematic, telling the Chair what he wanted, and concentrated hard on the connection. After a minute or so the ache was beginning to build behind his eyes and he let the tension go with a gasp, opening his eyes and letting the real world intrude once again.

McKay was muttering to himself. “This can’t be right… there’s no reason for that to…”

“McKay?” John interrupted. “I’m getting nothing here. You?”

Rodney’s voice was subdued, caught between frustration and bemusement. “This makes no sense. The connection is active…”

”I know that,” John complained.

“…but nothing’s happening. It’s almost like something is blocking the interface, preventing the commands from getting through.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Well it’s not as simple as that…”

“Rodney?!”

“Yes, yes.” John could didn’t need to turn his head to see the dismissive hand wave, he could hear it in McKay’s voice. “I’ll need to check the coding in the neural receptors. I need to run a diagnostic while it’s active. Try and connect again.”

John closed his eyes again, tried to relax his body and mind, and tried again to bring up the sensor network schematic. There was no response. The connection was there but still nothing happened and the more he tried to concentrate and force a response, the more the connection seemed to slip away from him, becoming muted and oddly dislocated. Pressure was building in his temples and his head was starting to throb again already.

He took a deep breath and focused his thoughts on the sensation of connection, the odd hum at the back of his mind that was waiting for a command. He held on to that tenuous feeling and pushed.

This time there was a response; something pushed back. And suddenly the connection flared, hot and bright, more powerful than anything he’d experienced before, a stab of white light straight into his brain, neurons firing in their millions, and he screamed as every muscle in his body tensed. For a moment time was suspended and all he was aware of was the pain and the connection, overpowering him, burning through him, washing away all sense of self, consuming him utterly. Then everything went dark.

*****

Rodney was utterly focused on the scrolling data on his screen, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, when suddenly the readout jumped, the figures skewing wildly. He hadn’t even time to form his surprise into words when a hoarse scream rent the air and he looked up in horror to see Sheppard shuddering in the Chair, his entire body rigid. Panic sliding icy cold down his spine, Rodney tossed the datapad aside and scrambled to his feet.

“Sheppard? Sheppard!” There was no response to his frantic shout; Sheppard’s eyes were clenched shut, his face twisted in pain, his mouth open in a terrible agonised scream. His body was shaking, muscles trembling with tension, and yet Rodney noticed that his hands were still flat on the sensor pads of the Chair. He was still connected.

Then, with a suddenness that startled him, the awful scream cut off and Sheppard’s body went limp, his head lolling to one side as his muscles relaxed. For a moment Rodney was paralysed, terrified that Sheppard was dead, almost too scared to find out for sure.

“Sheppard?” he asked faintly, uncertainty trembling in his voice.

Nothing. Sheppard was sprawled in the Chair, his long legs dangling, his eyes closed. Rodney leaned forward anxiously, relieved beyond measure to see the slow rise and fall of his chest; he was breathing. That was good. Cautiously, he reached out and pressed his fingers to Sheppard’s neck; his pulse was racing, his skin cool and clammy. Rodney leaned back and was reaching for his radio when a terrible realisation hit him; throughout everything that had just happened, the Chair hadn’t moved. It was still tilted into a reclined position, the blue glow showing that it was still active. He fumbled clumsily for his datapad and staggered backwards, reading the scrolling data in horror. Sheppard was still connected; even now, in unconsciousness, the ATA link was still active and Colonel Sheppard was still connected to the city’s systems.

Rodney tapped a finger sharply against his earpiece and, as soon as the connection opened, shouted, “Get Carson down to the Chair room! Now!”

*****

Carson stepped out of the transporter and immediately broke into a hasty jog, his medical bag bumping against his leg as he ran. It was a five minute walk from the nearest transporter to the Chair room; he made it in two, his chest heaving a little as he slowed to a halt beside the still glowing Chair.

“What took you so long?” snapped Rodney.

Colonel Sheppard was sprawled loosely in the reclined Chair, his hands splayed on the interface panels, his head tilted to one side. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be unconscious. Carson dumped the bag by his feet and got straight to business, questioning Rodney as he leant over the Colonel to check his pulse.

“What exactly happened?”

Rodney’s face was pale and tense, his mouth pulled into an unhappy line. His eyes never left Sheppard as Carson quickly and thoroughly checked the Colonel’s vitals.

“We were trying to get the program running, the one to utilise the Chair’s sensor systems to…” Rodney cut himself off, shaking his head as he dismissed the details as irrelevant, “…whatever, he was trying to activate the programme but the systems weren’t responding and then… then he just suddenly started screaming and kind of shaking all over and I couldn’t get him to answer me and then he just fai… he passed out.”

Carson spared Rodney a brief glance as he continued his assessment. His slim flashlight in hand, he gently lifted the Colonel’s eyelids to check his pupil reactions. “Did anything happen that might have caused this?” he asked.

Rodney’s expression was troubled. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve been having problems getting the system to respond to commands but I can’t find any reason why it’s not working the way it should.” He grimaced. “And uh, there were some unusual readings just before Sheppard started screaming…”

Carson looked up at Rodney incredulously. “Are you saying the Chair caused this?” Carson regarded the glowing contraption with trepidation ; he’d never liked the damn thing anyway and preferred to stay well away from it.

“I don’t know, Carson,” Rodney repeated in frustration. “I need to check the logs and go over the data.” He gestured vaguely at the datapad abandoned amongst a tangle of cabling around the Chair’s base but made no move to actually pick it up.

Carson stepped back from the Chair just as his team arrived with a gurney. He zipped his bag closed decisively and nodded at his staff to bring the gurney alongside. “Well, you’d better make a start on that,” he told Rodney, “while I get the Colonel to the infirmary and run some tests.”

“What?” Rodney looked shocked for a moment before his expression hardened into a familiar frown of impatience. “Nonono!” he argued, “You can’t move him!” He waved a hand jerkily at the glowing Chair. “Don’t you understand? The Chair is still active. Colonel Sheppard is still connected. There’s no telling what could happen if we try and disconnect him!” He glared angrily at the medical team who stopped their preparations, looking uncertainly to Carson for a decision.

Carson’s heart sank as he realised the implication of the blue glow of the Chair’s surfaces, the low hum of the active circuits. “But… how can that be?” he demanded. “The ATA requires a mental component to activate… how can it possibly be active if the Colonel is unconscious?”

“I told you Carson, I don’t know yet!” Rodney snapped, bending over to pick up his datapad. He was already muttering to himself as he straightened, something about checking lines of coding and a reference to the neural receptors, when he abruptly swayed, flailing with his free arm for balance and grabbing hold of the back of the Chair.

“Rodney? Are you alright?” Carson hurried to his side, reaching out to steady him as the scientist wobbled again, his face suddenly ashen.

“Whoah. Vertigo,” Rodney mumbled shakily. He blinked a couple of times and then seemed to recover, pulling out of Carson’s hands as he straightened. “I’m okay,” he declared. “It’s gone now.” He turned his attention to the datapad, ignoring Carson as he began to scroll quickly through the information.

Carson hovered for a moment, an uneasy suspicion beginning to grow in his mind, and a moment later, to his concern, Rodney winced and pressed a hand to his forehead.

“Rodney?”

“Ngh. Headache.” He swayed again suddenly and Carson grabbed hold of him, turning him and guiding him down to sit on the base of the Chair.

“Sit down before you fall down, Rodney,” he chided.

Rodney grunted, dropping the datapad to press the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Urgh. My head’s pounding,” he mumbled.

Carson didn’t like the implications of that; first Colonel Sheppard and now Rodney, both of whom had been working on the malfunctioning Chair, were experiencing headaches and dizziness. He straightened up, intending to have his team bring the gurney around for Rodney, and found himself grabbing for the arm of the Chair as he also wobbled, the floor seeming to tilt beneath his feet. He hung on for a moment until the sensation passed, leaving him shaken and breathless.

“Dr Beckett?” Dr Xiu was at his side, her hand on his shoulder.

“Argh!” The cry of pain came from Rodney and Carson looked down to see him clutching at his temples, his eyes screwed shut. “My head!” he cried.

Before Carson could take a step towards Rodney, he grimaced as dull pain flared in his own head - a sensation of pressure behind the eyes, an angry pounding in his temples.

“Carl!” Xiu was quick to respond, directing one of the EMTs to Rodney’s side as she took charge of Carson, guiding him to sit beside Rodney on the dias. Vertigo unbalanced him again as he lowered himself unsteadily and the throbbing in his head was increasing in intensity. He struggled to think clearly, to make sense of this - something was very wrong here and he had to figure out what.

He moaned as the pain in his head spiked angrily.

There was a sudden commotion beside him as Rodney abruptly pushed the EMT away, his face white with pain, his expression one of dawning horror. Looking around wildly, he gasped, “Oh no. Oh no!” before turning to Dr Xiu and telling her urgently, “Get Zelenka and Keller here! Now!”

Before anyone could ask for an explanation, Rodney stiffened, his mouth opening in a hoarse scream as his back arched and he toppled jerking to the floor. The room erupted in chaos as the medics ran to help. Carson clutched his head, groaning helplessly as waves of pain washed over him. Rodney’s screams seemed distant, hollow, as if the world around him were receding, and then hot, white pain spiked in his head, an angry buzzing filled his ears and his muscles spasmed viciously. He wasn’t aware of falling, wasn’t aware of anything but the pain and the trembling of his body as his muscles jerked helplessly. He was vaguely aware of someone screaming, maybe even distantly realised that it was him, and then everything went black.

*****

Elizabeth found the Chair room a scene of controlled chaos; medical staff were clustered around two gurneys and the Chair itself, Dr Keller moving between them, Dr Xiu at her side as she checked vitals and conferred with the teams; Dr Zelenka’s team was gathered around the Chair platform, Radek himself crouched beside the open panels, his face a frown of concentration as he focused his attention on a datapad. In the centre of the confusion, looking frighteningly pale in the cold blue light, Colonel Sheppard was sprawled limply in the still-active Chair.

“Okay, let’s get them to the infirmary please!” Dr Keller’s voice rose above the hubbub and Elizabeth stepped to one side to make space for the gurneys that rolled by her, first Rodney, then Carson, each of them pale and still, strapped carefully into place.

“Dr Keller?” Elizabeth moved to intercept as the gurneys left and Dr Keller turned her attention back to the Chair and its unconscious occupant. “How are they?” she asked quietly.

The young doctor turned to face Elizabeth, her expression grave. “It’s hard to say,” she replied carefully. “I need to run some tests. For the moment, they’re stable enough but we don’t know what is causing this… or how to treat it.” She offered Elizabeth an apologetic smile and moved back to the Chair, stepping up onto the raised platform to join the medical team gathered around the city’s military commander. Elizabeth followed slowly, keeping far enough back so as not to be in the way. John looked… he looked broken, his body slumped loosely in the Chair, head tilted to one side, one long leg dangling where it had slipped off the footrest. He was white as a sheet and even in unconsciousness his face carried a faint frown.

“What happened here?” Elizabeth asked.

Dr Keller looked up from her work, running a distracted hand through her hair as she explained, “We don’t know exactly. Carson attended an emergency call from Dr McKay,” she gestured meaningfully at John, “and shortly after that both he and Dr McKay also fell ill…”

“They both developed the same symptoms within moments of each other, “Dr Xiu offered. Elizabeth had not had many dealings with the Xiu Lin but she knew Carson thought very highly of her. “We had responded with the gurney to Dr McKay’s call,” she explained, “and Dr Beckett wanted to move him to the infirmary but Dr McKay said it was dangerous to move him…”

“Dangerous?” Elizabeth murmured.

“Yes. Dangerous.” Elizabeth had almost forgotten about Radek, hunched at the base of the dais, until he stood up suddenly, absently pushing his glasses further up his nose as he explained hurriedly. “The Chair is still active and somehow - we don’t know how - the Colonel is still connected. It could cause untold damage to both Colonel Sheppard and the Chair’s systems if we were to attempt to disconnect him forcibly,” he warned.

Elizabeth grimaced. “Is there a way to shut the connection down?” she asked. “Have you any idea what caused this?”

Radek should his head regretfully. “I need to go through the data Rodney recorded from the Chair.” He waved the datapad. “It could take some time. I’m sorry. I think Rodney may have found something but…” He shrugged helplessly. “He’s not able to tell us anything, right now.”

“Wait. Why do you think Rodney knew something?”

“He told us to get Dr Zelenka and Dr Keller,” Dr Xiu answered, Radek nodding in agreement. “Right before he went into convulsions, he ordered us to get them down here straight away. A moment later, Dr Beckett also began to convulse and lost consciousness.”

Elizabeth frowned. She was missing something important here; something about Keller and Zelenka and about Rodney and Carson… She looked up, her gaze falling on John. John was first. Not just Rodney and Carson but Rodney and Carson and John. Two was a coincidence, three was a pattern. A chill ran through her.

“The ATA gene!” she realised.

“What?” Radek looked up from his datapad and Elizabeth saw understanding dawn in his eyes as she explained, “Rodney, Carson and John all have the ATA gene!”

“Rodney must have realised what was happening,” Radek agreed, “and he asked for me and for Dr Keller…”

“…neither of whom have the gene!” Elizabeth finished. “He knew you wouldn’t be affected!”

“Yes.” Radek frowned at the datapad. “But affected by what?”

“And what’s it doing to them?” Elizabeth asked worriedly, her gaze drawn back once again to John’s pale face. She looked at her watch; McKay’s call to Carson had gone out over 25 minutes ago.

“Infirmary to Dr Keller.”

Dr Keller didn’t take her attention from her patient as she tapped her earpiece. “Yes, Jan. What is it?”

“We may have a problem here, Dr Keller. I’ve had 15 people… make that 17… report to the infirmary within the last quarter hour complaining of headaches and dizziness.”

Dr Keller straightened, looking worriedly to Elizabeth.

“I heard,” Elizabeth nodded. “Do any of them have the ATA gene?”

“Jan, do any of those 17 have the ATA gene?”

There was a moment’s silence; long enough for Elizabeth’s heart to sink in anticipation of the response.

“Yes, Doctor Keller. They all do.”

*****

By the time Jennifer got to the infirmary, another 22 patients had been admitted with the same symptoms and four of the earliest admissions had suffered apparent seizures and lapsed into unconsciousness. Just like Carson and Dr McKay. Every single one of them had the ATA gene.

It was obvious that the problem was spreading, and rapidly, with yet more members of the expedition reporting to the infirmary even as Jennifer conferred urgently with the staff on duty. They were short-handed themselves; three of the current duty shift were ATA-positive and had already taken ill.

”Call in everyone on the medical staff who doesn’t have the gene,” Jennifer instructed, “and start setting up extra beds in the mess hall. This is going to get worse before it gets better.”

She’d checked the personnel records as soon as she reached the infirmary; with routine administration of Carson’s gene therapy, which was on average about 48% effective, roughly 53% of the expedition members were ATA positive.

With Carson incapacitated, responsibility for dealing with this entire mess had fallen to Jennifer and she had to admit, the thought freaked her out just a little. If they didn’t find a way to stop this, and soon, half of the expedition would be affected. Trying to stay calm and think on her feet, she quickly ran through everything with her team; projected spread, containment measures, everything she could think of, and then she left them to implement her measures. She would have to trust Carson’s staff to manage the outbreak because it was her responsibility to stop it; and the only clue they had was that it was something to do with Colonel Sheppard, and the Chair.

Nothing had changed in the Chair room, at least on the surface. Dr Zelenka and his team were still conferring over the data from the Chair and Lin and her team were gathered around the unconscious Colonel Sheppard. As they couldn’t move him from the Chair, they’d had to bring the infirmary to him and a variety of monitors had been set up around the dais, readouts displaying scrolling lines and figures. The Colonel’s shirt had been unbuttoned and pushed aside, the black t-shirt underneath sliced up the middle to reveal his bared chest; thin, coloured wires connected the pads on his chest to the heart monitor. More cables dangled from pads placed at his temples, feeding data that registered on the screen of the EEG machine. Jennifer stepped up onto the dais, scanning over the readings on the various monitors as she asked Lin, “How’s he doing?”

Lin’s lips twitched downwards a little, her voice serious as she told Jennifer quietly, “Not so good. Respiration and blood pressure are slowly declining, pulse is thready. It’s as though his body is slowly shutting down.”

Jennifer nodded, adding the information to what they already knew. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t much. “Any sign of awareness?” she asked.

Lin shook her head. “Nothing. He’s completely unresponsive.”

Jennifer frowned at the EEG readout. “Have these readings been consistent?” she queried.

“Yes.” Lin’s voice betrayed her confusion over the readings, mixed with her frustration at not being able to decipher what they meant. Jennifer shared her sentiments. “Given the level of unconsciousness, we would expect delta waves but we’re getting a consistent reading of high levels of theta waves.”

“Maybe it’s something to do with the active connection,” Jennifer murmured, her gaze straying to the Colonel’s pale face, the faint frown on his face. She wondered if he was in any way aware of what was happening to him, if he was in pain. Pursing her lips thoughtfully, she took one last scan of the readouts before stepping around the dais to where Dr Zelenka was engrossed in a screen of scrolling data.

“Dr Zelenka?”

He actually physically jumped when she spoke, startling from his absorption with a distracted, “Eh? What?”

She couldn’t help a small smile as he looked around wildly for a moment. “Oh, Dr Keller,” he stuttered, “Sorry. I was, uh… I was checking through…”

“I know,” she smiled. “Have you found anything yet?”

He gave a cautious shrug. “Maybe,” he admitted reluctantly. “I’ve been checking through Rodney’s data from the test and there are some very odd readings which, if I’m reading the time frame correctly, first appeared just before Rodney called Carson down here.”

“So these readings might be connected to whatever is affecting Colonel Sheppard?”

“Almost certainly. I just need to find out what is causing these readings…” He turned back towards the screen, the scrolling data reflecting on his glasses, his words tailing off as he once again lost himself in the flow of figures.

Jennifer watched him for a long moment, a feeling of unaccustomed helplessness washing over her. She was a medical doctor and, if she said so herself, a good one. But right now she had a spreading contagion that she couldn’t contain and her primary patient was slowly but steadily declining and there was nothing that she could do about it. The answer, it seemed, lay not in medical science but in the complex coding of the Ancient technology… and that was something she couldn’t help with. She was forced to wait, depending on Dr Zelenka and his team to find the answers that would save Colonel Sheppard - and every other gene carrier in the city.

*****

Elizabeth had done all that she could in her office. She’d contacted the SGC and informed them of the crisis; she’d agreed and implemented containment procedures; she’d reviewed all the information they had on the Chair technology and the project Rodney and John were working on when this crisis had struck. And they were still no closer to an answer. More and more people were falling ill, nearly 40% of the expedition now, and nothing they did seemed to halt the progression of the contagion. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the spread; it didn’t follow any patterns, there was no correlation to air ducts that might suggest an airborne pathogen, it wasn’t spread by touch - gene carriers who had isolated themselves and avoided contact with any other expedition members had still fallen ill. And the condition of those affected was still worsening; nearly half of those who had reported to the infirmary had now slipped into comas.

She’d slipped quietly into the infirmary, not wanting to get in the way of the remaining medical staff - those who weren’t gene carriers - as they did their best to cope with the growing disaster, and sat for a while with Carson and Rodney. It had scared her to see them so unnaturally still and pale. Unconscious, Rodney looked somehow younger, more vulnerable, his usually animated face slack and relaxed, his perpetual energy missing, his relentless intellect silenced. She’d held his limp hand and found herself thinking almost fondly of his usual strident, acerbic complaints about the standard of care in the infirmary. And usually Carson would be there, calmly ignoring Rodney’s griping whilst making sure he got the very best care that Atlantis had to offer, as he did with each and every patient.

Yet more patients had been trailing into the infirmary as she’d left.

In the Chair room the central dais had been transformed into a miniature infirmary, banks of machines arrayed around the Chair, beeping and humming gently, wires and cables trailing. In the centre of it all, John Sheppard lay unmoving on the reclined Chair, his shirt cut open, pads dotting his chest, an IV in his arm. In the blue glow of the Chair, he looked sickly pale. Like a corpse, she thought with a shiver.

She stepped closer, Dr Keller acknowledging her presence with a nod as she moved amongst the banks of machinery that monitored the slow slipping away of John’s life. The room was oddly quiet, the medical team around the Chair conversing in the quiet murmurs that seem to be instinctive in hospitals the world over. The huddle of scientists across the room didn’t speak at all, utterly absorbed in their work.

“Do prdele!”

Radek’s exclamation fractured the hushed atmosphere and every head turned his way. He lurched to his feet, pushing his chair carelessly aside, and hurried over to the Chair pedestal, crouching down beside it with a datapad in his hands. Elizabeth was moving without even thinking, rounding the dais to find Radek fumbling with an array of cables, finally plugging one of them into the datapad.

“Radek? Have you found something?” Dr Keller was hovering too, her open face shining with hope.

“Okamžik!” he muttered. “One moment…” The datapad bleeped and Radek breathed out a heartfelt stream of Czech. Elizabeth’s Czech wasn’t quite fluent enough to catch every word but the inflection made the meaning more than clear.

“Radek?” she prompted.

He jumped to his feet fast enough to startle her, his face alive with the thrill of realisation, his speech rattling out so fast that it barely sounded English. “It’s a trap!” he exclaimed. “A virus, hidden in the coding, waiting for the right circumstances to activate!”

Elizabeth felt her stomach drop. “A virus?”

“Yes!” Radek stared at the datapad almost in wonder. “It’s incredibly complex, hidden within the coding itself of the sub-routines that access city-wide systems. This is why Rodney couldn’t get his programme to work; the virus blocked any attempts to access those systems and then it reversed the active connection, feeding back through the neural receptors!”

“So this is what is affecting Colonel Sheppard?” Dr Keller asked the question before Elizabeth could.

“Yes. And everyone else with the ATA-gene.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth demanded.

“The virus has reversed the ATA-connection,” Radek explained breathlessly. “Instead of receiving input from the mental link with the gene carrier, the Chair is now broadcasting through the neural link; it’s overloading the Colonel’s brain and nervous system and creating effectively a neural feedback loop and the virus is using the Chair’s connection to the city-wide systems to spread the feedback signal!”

“My god,” Elizabeth realised, “that’s how it’s spreading. The conduits spread throughout the entire city, inside the walls, and the Chair is connected to the network…”

“Exactly! It’s like… like…” Radek struggled for the words and Elizabeth felt a momentary pang of absence for Rodney; so many times she’d been confronted by the two of them, bouncing ideas off each other and practically finishing each other’s sentences as they bombarded her with rapid-fire explanations.

“It’s like a radio signal!” Radek blurted at last. “It’s like the Chair is broadcasting white noise through the city’s systems and the signal is being picked up by any radio tuned to the right channel… anyone with the ATA gene,” he explained.

“What’s it doing to them?” Keller demanded and Radek shrugged helplessly.

“It’s hard to say. The feedback loop is… is like a sensory overload in their brains, like… like the white noise is cancelling out the normal functions of the radios that pick up the signal.”

“It’s going to affect every single gene carrier in the city,” Elizabeth stated. “So how do we stop it?”

“There is only one way to stop it,” he explained solemnly, “…at the source. We have to disable the primary connection, the conduit that is transmitting the signal.”

Radek’s expression was grave as he told her regretfully, “We have to disconnect Colonel Sheppard.”

*****

“You said it would be dangerous to disconnect him…” Dr Weir’s face was pale, betraying her concern, but her voice was calm and confident and Jennifer found herself envying the other woman’s composure. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to fit what Dr Zelenka had told them into the symptoms she had observed in her patient, trying to look for solutions, treatment options.

“Nevertheless,” Dr Zelenka replied, “it is the only way to break the feedback loop. The longer he is connected, the more the signal spreads and the more people fall ill…”

“Dr Keller,” Jennifer tried not to jump when Dr Weir unexpectedly turned to her, “what is Colonel Sheppard’s condition?”

Jennifer grimaced a little. “It’s not great,” she admitted. “He’s non-responsive to stimuli and his blood pressure and respirations are continuing to drop. The longer he is exposed to this… this feedback loop, the weaker he becomes. It’s like his body is just slowly shutting down.”

“And the other gene carriers?”

“Similar progression,” Jennifer confirmed, “although it seems to be affecting them more slowly than the Colonel.”

“Perhaps the signal is attenuated somewhat by distance,” Radek suggested. “The further it has to travel through the conduits, the more it weakens, and the slower its effects accumulate?”

“And John is ground zero,” Dr Weir murmured, her gaze straying to the Chair’s silent occupant. When she looked up her face was set, her lips thinned with determination. “Okay, assuming Dr Zelenka’s theory is correct, lets take advantage of that. We need to move all those affected, get them to a location as far away from this room as possible. The further this signal has to travel to get to them, the more time we have to find a way to stop it.”

Jennifer hurriedly radioed the infirmary and passed on the instructions, conferring briefly with Dr Cole on the logistics of moving so many patients, many of them already comatose. She didn’t voice the lingering concern that this move, whilst buying more time for the rest of the gene carriers, wouldn’t help Colonel Sheppard; one look at Dr Weir’s face as she discussed ideas with Radek, made it clear that she was well aware of that.

“Is there any way to shut down the virus and disconnect John that way?” Weir asked.

Dr Zelenka was scrolling furiously through the information on his datapad, his face a frown of concentration. “I don’t know…” He sighed as he scanned the data, scrubbing a hand through his untidy hair. “It’s possible,” he acknowledged, “ but it will take hours to work through the coding and find a way to deactivate the programme.”

Dr Weir looked over at Jennifer, a silent question in her eyes and Jennifer shook her head unhappily. Colonel Sheppard didn’t have hours. IV drugs were barely keeping his blood pressure stable and if his respiration dropped much further, they’d be forced to ventilate him.

“We can’t wait that long,” Dr Weir decided.

“I’d suggest we don’t wait at all,” Jennifer suggested, meeting the two surprised gazes with all the composure she could muster. “Colonel Sheppard is getting weaker and weaker as time goes by - if disconnecting him is risky now, it’s only going to be more risky the longer we wait.”

She met Dr Weir’s gaze confidently; this was her area of expertise, this was where she could take action instead of standing uselessly by waiting for someone else to find a solution. Dr Weir nodded.

“So how can we disconnect him with the least amount of risk?” she asked. “Can we simply remove him from the Chair?”

Dr Zelenka shook his head. “Not a good idea. There may be failsafes written into the virus; we’ve no idea what might be triggered if we try to separate him from the neural receptors while the virus is still in control.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“A full systems shutdown.”

Dr Weir frowned. “Is that even possible?”

Zelenka nodded. “It will take some time but it’s the only way to sever the connection and shut down the virus at once. Like with the Wraith virus on the Daedalus,” he reminded her. “The only way to regain control of the systems was to shut down everything and do a clean reboot.”

“And you can reboot the Chair?”

“Effectively, yes. As I said, it’s going to take a bit of time to set up the protocols; it’s not like there is simply an off switch…”

“Okay. Then get started. Let me know as soon as you’re ready.” Zelenka was moving almost before Weir had finished speaking and Dr Weir turned quickly to Jennifer, her expression grave. “What’s likely to happen to John when the system is shut down?” she asked quietly.

Jennifer shook her head. “It’s hard to say,” she temporised. “We don’t even know for certain what this connection, this signal, is doing to his brain. Severing that connection abruptly is going to be a severe shock; it could even cause his heart to stop.”

Dr Weir nodded, processing the information, her eyes straying once again to Colonel Sheppard, lying still and pale in the glowing Chair. Jennifer let the moment stretch, unwilling to intrude, and then Dr Weir seemed to gather herself, offering Jennifer a warm, if strained, smile and stepping back from the dais. “Do what you need to, Dr Keller. Let’s be ready.”

Jennifer turned back to her team, knowing they had overheard the gist of what was about to happen, and together they ran through what they knew, what they could expect, trying to anticipate every possible complication and prepare for it, if not forestall it. Now that the waiting was over, now that they had a course of action decided, the atmosphere within the Chair room had altered dramatically. The subdued hush of anticipation was gone, replaced by a noisy hubbub as the scientists and medics gathered into two distinct groups, each working on their part of the process, preparing for the moment of truth; kill or cure.

Dr Weir, Jennifer noticed, hovered in the background, keeping out of everyone’s way but carefully observing, taking everything in, keeping abreast of developments.

It took Dr Zelenka and his team nearly 40 minutes to prepare the shut down protocols for the Chair room and by the time they announced they were ready, Jennifer was practically grinding her teeth with impatience. They were doing their best to keep him stabilised but with every passing moment, Colonel Sheppard’s condition gradually declined and if they left it too much longer, his body would be too weak to cope with the kind of shock the shutdown was liable to cause.

“If we’re going to do this, it has to be now!” she warned them.

Dr Zelenka signalled that he was ready and Dr Weir nodded. It was now or never.

Her team were in position and everyone knew their role in this; if they were lucky, most of the preparations they’d made wouldn’t be needed. If the worst came to the worst, everyone had to be prepared to play their part without hesitation.

“Remember,” she murmured quietly, “as soon as the connection is broken, I want him on the gurney and Beth, you’re ready to intubate if necessary.”

Jennifer stood beside the Chair, taking one last look at her patient, one last check of the readouts. He was white as a sheet, his skin cool and clammy, his limbs splayed loosely, his head drooping to one side. He was festooned with wires and cables and IVs. With a sigh, Jennifer looked up and saw Dr Weir looking at Colonel Sheppard, her face drawn and pale. As though sensing Jennifer’s gaze, Dr Weir turned her head and their eyes met for a moment.

“Okay.” Announced Dr Zelenka. “Initiating shut down… now!”

There was a hum of fading power, a flickering of the overhead lights, and then, abruptly the chair went dark. The blue glow cut off and the body of the Chair shifted, tilting into an upright position.

Hands were waiting to continue the motion the Chair had begun, pulling Colonel Sheppard forward and out of the seat, lifting him quickly and swinging him over to the waiting gurney. The whole procedure took less than 5 seconds; alarms began to blare before they’d even laid him down on the gurney. Jennifer scanned the monitors urgently; blood pressure dropping rapidly, pulse erratic, respiration intermittent. His breathing was stuttering, his throat working as he choked and hiccupped.

“Intubate. Now,” she ordered.

Beth was quick and efficient, tilting the Colonel’s head carefully back and opening his mouth to insert the laryngoscope. She’d only got it part way into his mouth when suddenly his jaw clamped shut and his entire body began to jerk and shake, the gurney rattling noisily.

“He’s seizing! Ativan! 5mg!”

Dr Cole pushed the dose into the Colonel’s IV but still he continued to shake helplessly. “Another dose, 5mg!” Jennifer shouted.

The seizure lasted a frighteningly long time, despite repeated doses of Ativan, and the team were forced to use brute force to pin him to the bed, struggling to hold onto his flailing limbs to prevent him from injuring himself in his uncontrolled jerking. Finally, slowly, the spasms eased and Colonel Sheppard’s muscles relaxed as he breathed out in an audible sigh. And didn’t breath in again.

Beth continued where she had left off without being prompted, tilting his head back again into the proper position and prying his law open to slide the laryngoscope into place. Her movements were precise and efficient and within seconds she had the tube in place and was connecting an ambu-bag.

For a long moment there was an almost calm, everyone carrying out their duties quietly and effectively, the alarms quieted, the monitors’ regular beeping a reassuring sound, as Jennifer listened carefully to the Colonel’s chest and abdomen. Everything seemed fine. She straightened, settling the stethoscope around her neck and breathed a cautious sigh of relief.

Then his heart stopped.

The shrilling alarm was loud, piercing, and suddenly the room was full of noise once again, voices shouting.

“Charging to 200!”

“Clear!”

“Check for pulse.”

“No pulse.”

“Charging to 300.”

“Clear!”

The repeated snap of the electrical discharge made her heart jump in sympathy, adrenalin running hot in her veins, and she found herself murmuring under her breath, “Come on, come on, come on!”

A they fought to stabilise him, Jennifer was only peripherally aware of their audience; Drs Weir and Zelenka, and the rest of the science team, hung back silently, staying out of the way. One way or another, the attention of every person in that room was focused on Colonel Sheppard.
“We have a pulse!”

The beeping on the monitor started off slowly but quickly picked up pace, a reassuring beat telling them that they’d done it, they’d staved off death for another moment, another hour, another day.

“Okay, let’s get him to the infirmary as quickly as possible please!”

Equipment was quickly packed up and the gurney rolled out of the room surrounded by a cluster of medics, people holding IV bags aloft, rhythmically squeezing the ambu-bag, pushing the gurney along with them. Jennifer moved with them, her attention focused on her patient. They’d done it, they’d disconnected him from the Chair, severed the connection that had slowly been killing him. All that remained to do now was to keep him alive… and to find out just what, if any, damage had been done.

*****

The first thing John was aware of was pain. His head was pounding horribly, a thumping, throbbing beat that made him want to whimper. He settled for a groan.

He slowly became aware of things other than the pain; a soft mattress under him, crisp sheets pulled up to his chest, a sterile, antiseptic smell. And voices, the murmur of voices nearby. After while his aching brain out those pieces together and came up with infirmary.

He thought about that for a moment and realised he didn’t remember coming to the infirmary.

The pain in his head spiked and expanded and he groaned again. The sound came out muffled. Something… something on his face.

Then the voices were nearby and they were talking to him.

“Colonel Sheppard? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me, Colonel?”

He growled his displeasure, wanting the voices to leave him alone, let him slip back into the darkness where the pain couldn’t follow.

Fingers on his face and then bright, too bright, spiking into his brain and the pain roared and snarled and this time it was definitely more a whimper than a groan.

His body had tensed instinctively, cringing from the pain, and it seemed like an eternity had passed before his muscles began to relax, almost against his will. He shivered, feeling suddenly cold, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. He tried to move but nothing happened. He thought about this, and decided he should be scared by that but oddly he wasn’t. Everything felt distant, muffled, and he realised with relief that the pain was slowly receding, becoming distant and muffled too. He breathed out gratefully.

“Colonel? I’ve given you something for the pain. Can you hear me, Colonel?”

He grunted tiredly.

“Can you open your eyes for me, Colonel?”

He really didn’t want to, he wanted nothing more than to float away on this nice cloud of numbness, slip into the darkness before the pain came back. But the voice was insistent; it kept on asking him, kept on saying his name.

And there was another voice, asking different questions.

“Is he going to be alright?”

“Rodney. A moment, please… Come on, John. Open your eyes for me please.”

With a gargantuan effort, he managed to blink his eyes open just a crack. Enough to see pale green walls and a worried face hovering nearby.

“Hey! You’re back! How’re you feeling?” The worried face split into a pleased smile. John watched the face for a moment and saw the smile fade. He blinked drowsily.

“Colonel Sheppard?” The voice again. With superhuman effort, he rolled his head a little to the side and found another face. This one had bright blue eyes. “Welcome back, Colonel,” the face smiled cautiously. “You’re in the infirmary.”

John blinked. I know that, he thought mildly.

The blue eyes were piercing, the face serious now. “D’you know what day it is, Colonel?”

He thought about that for a moment. Then a moment more. “No,” he mumbled. It came out muffled and his breath misted around his mouth, a warm, cloying sensation. Plastic. A mask over his mouth and nose. He grimaced, wanted to move it, but his arm was too heavy to lift. He sighed.

“Okay.” The voice had an odd lilt to it, something he recognised, something he knew somewhere deep inside was not the way most voices sounded. He frowned. That lilting sound had a word that went with it; Carson.

“What’s the last thing you do remember, son?”

That was an odd question. John couldn’t remember not remembering. What did he remember? There was… mmm, headache. Headache now. No. Not headache now. Headache before. Tylenol. Sleep.

He breathed the word out on a puff of warm air. “Tylenol.”

“Tylenol? What does that mean?” The other face wasn’t smiling anymore. Its mouth slanted downwards and John rolled the word Rodney around in his mind.

“He had a headache the morning of the test. I gave him Tylenol.”

“What?! That was… he doesn’t remember anything since then? The Chair, everything that happened?”

“Rodney. He’s been unconscious for nearly a week, give him some time. In any case, it’s not uncommon in cases of trauma for the patient never to remember the accident or events just before…”

“Hardly an accident, Carson!”

None of it made any sense to John and he frowned. He didn’t remember not remembering. He didn’t remember anything about a Chair…

…and suddenly a shiver of pain ran through him, a phantom of a memory of a flood of information, drilling into his brain, pushing consciousness aside. He cried out, sucking in a shuddering breath.

“Colonel?”

“Sheppard? Are you okay?”

“Carson…” His lips felt numb, the name coming out slurred, but things were making more sense now and the names were wrapping around the faces and binding with them and becoming Carson and Rodney and…

“Whthappnd?”

“There was a problem with the Chair, Colonel. Do you remember?”

The Chair. John had a fleeting sensation of his hands spread on the interfaces on the arms of the control Chair. “Mmmm,” he murmured noncommittally.

“A virus,” Rodney clarified, “a really nasty one too. See? I told you there was nothing wrong with my programme!”

“Rodney…”

Programme. Programme wouldn’t run, Chair wouldn’t work. “Gave m’headche,” he muttered.

“That’s right, son,” Carson smiled.

John looked up at Rodney, feeling a drowsy grin on his face, “You fix the virus?”

Rodney didn’t smile back, instead sharing a look with Carson. “No,” he said quietly. “I didn’t fix it. Zelenka did. I was busy being in a coma at the time.”

John was feeling more awake by the minute. He frowned. “What? What coma?”

Carson glared at Rodney before quickly explaining, “The virus used the Chair as a conduit, John - used you as a conduit. It spread throughout the city and affected every ATA gene carrier. They all developed headaches and dizziness, just as you did, and as time went on they began to lose consciousness.”

John had a vague memory of intense pain followed swiftly by the darkness. He looked up at his friends and saw the same memory in their eyes.

“All the gene carriers?” he whispered. “How did you stop it?”

“We weren’t around at the time,” Rodney assured him, “but apparently the only solution was to manually disconnect you from the Chair by performing a complete systems shut down. They risked frying your brain of course, or a billion other complications, but amazingly it seems they managed not to kill you…”

“Rodney!”

John was still stuck on the part where every gene carrier in the city had been affected. “Is everyone okay?” he breathed.

Rodney huffed like he’d been personally offended and Carson just smiled. “Everyone is fine, son. Once the connection was broken, symptoms began to improve immediately and for people woke up naturally, on their own.”

“What about him?” Rodney demanded, pointing at him imperiously. “How much of his brain did they melt?”

Carson ignored Rodney and addressed his answer to John. “You’re going to be fine. Your scans look good, there’s no scarring or tissue damage. I’d like to run through a few neurological tests with you, if you feel up to it, just to be sure.”

John murmured his consent and Carson promised he’d be with him in just a moment as he moved around the bed to chase away a still-hovering McKay. Then a thought occurred to John.

“McKay?”

Carson and Rodney paused in their argument.

“Where did the virus come from? And how did it get in the control Chair?”

Rodney’s mouth twisted and his voice was quiet as he said. “We don’t know. We just don’t know.”