Shock, by Frostfire
“So I still don’t
know why we’re here at all,” Rodney said out of the corner of his mouth.
“It’s what we do, remember?” John hissed back. “Make contact with new civilizations and see if they have anything we can use?” Rodney would be a lot more helpful if he came with a mute button, sometimes. John thought he could probably get the situation under control, but the key was the diplomat thing. Rodney sucked at that.
“Well, I suppose we might be able to use those spears, if they were in our hands and not theirs, you think?” Rodney had turned his head at that, and got poked with a spear. “Ow, dammit!”
“McKay, be quiet.” John tried a smile at the spear-guy. “Don’t make them mad. I think they were just surprised by our technology.”
“They just beat our technology with spears!”
“Rodney. They’ll probably calm down once they figure out we mean no harm. Just leave it alone until we get a chance to talk to the elders, okay?” John’s spear-guy apparently decided he was talking too much, because he got a poke too, and okay, ow. He bit back the fuck that wanted to come out and glanced back at Ronon and Teyla instead. They looked like they were wavering between worried, angry, and snickering-at-Rodney. Okay, so generally bad, but all in all, the situation was about as okay as it could get when there were spears involved.
The spear-guys’ village was only about ten minutes away. They were marched past the usual wide-eyed kids and hostile villagers-and was it sad that he’d done this enough times to recognize the players?-and into a building with very thick walls and very heavy doors. Not a prison, because no bars or cells or anything. Maybe a meeting hall of some kind, which was a good sign. Meeting halls meant the diplomat thing was going to happen, which meant probably no one was going to get shot or speared. Good.
Inside, there was a big picnic-table-thing, looked like it would give you splinters just by looking at you. Meeting table, maybe? “Sit down,” said John’s spear-guy.
Right. They sat. When Rodney got a splinter, he managed to suppress his ow to a whisper. Things were looking up. John tried another smile.
“Look,” he said. “We just want to trade. We’ve got lots of great stuff. We want basic food items in return. If you don’t want that, it’s cool, we’ll just go back to where we came from and never bother you again. I promise, we don’t mean any harm.” Spear-guy didn’t look all that moved. “Can we speak with your elders?”
“You’ll wait here,” said Spear-guy. “The council will come when they are ready.”
Great. As long as they were coming, John was fine. He settled back on the splintery bench to wait.
After a long enough time to be uncomfortable, during which they held a pointed conversation about how silly it was to be held at spear-point when all they wanted to do was trade, Rodney started complaining about the table, and John taught Teyla what a thumb war was, the council showed up. John shoved Ronon’s boots off the table and came to sitting-attention, straight, focused, and waiting.
They filed in through the door, eight older people. Men and women both, good sign about open-mindedness. They all looked kind of grim, but by this point, John had a theory that that kind of came with being a council member. The chubby jovial ones were the ones you had to watch out for; they were always hiding something.
Eventually, the council was all inside, standing at the opposite side of the table. “Identify yourselves, please,” said a woman at the far right.
Please was good. “Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard,” said John. “This is Dr. McKay, Ronon Dex, and Teyla. We’re peaceful traders.” He still felt like he was living in a fantasy novel whenever he said that, but it was familiar language to most of the people he met, so whatever.
“I see. Peaceful traders who come armed with technology far beyond our own?”
Great. He got the sarcastic tribal elder. “Only for self-defense,” and it was almost a script by now.
“And your people overpowered us pretty easily,” Rodney put in. “Look, there’s only four of us, and we aren’t spying or reconnoitering. We’re traders. We want to give you stuff, in return for which you will give us stuff. Not a hard concept.”
“What Dr. McKay means,” John cut in, “is that we understand why you might be suspicious, but none of this technology will be used against you. We only carry it in case we run into the Wraith, or hostile civilizations.” The eight of them were all staring at him, tall, thin, and grim, and Jesus, why couldn’t they run into nice people now and then? Nice people with no hidden agenda, even. He tried to look harmless and waited.
The woman on the end was frowning, but finally she said, “I am willing to consider that you are who you seem to be.”
One by one, the others nodded, until Elder Number Eight, who said, “A consensus has been reached. There will be no immediate action against you. We will take some time to deliberate, and consider discussing trading options. But first we must share a meal.”
Ronon brightened at that. Teyla smiled, and John turned the diplomat-job over to her with a relieved nod. “We would be happy to eat with you,” she said. “Is this a custom of yours?”
“A foolish superstition,” said Elder Number One, pulling her long white hair around to the front and sitting down. “Based on the idea that Wraith do not eat human food; therefore, if you eat, you must be human.”
Rodney frowned. “Wraith also look like shriveled vampires with elf hair. Or-” he glanced at Ronon-“dreads. White dreads.”
Number One looked a little less grim. Not really a smile, but go Rodney anyway. “Like I said, a foolish superstition.” She turned to one of the spear-guys. “Have a meal sent in for our potential trading partners.”
Elder Number Five sat down across from John. “Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, yes?”
“That’s it, but you can just call me Sheppard.”
Five nodded. “You may call me Ganes.”
“Ganes. Nice to meet you. I guess you want to hear about what we’ve got to offer you?”
But Ganes shook his head. “No business is conducted during the meal, only pleasant conversation. So perhaps you could tell me about your homeworld instead.”
Great. More time before they could really be sure that they weren’t going to be slaughtered, and here was the opportunity to tell a huge lie. John launched into the so-sad-Atlantis-was-destroyed speech. Elders Four and Six leaned in, while Elder Eight tried to start a conversation with Ronon while Elder Seven watched and grinned, and Elder Three and Teyla started talking about the Athosians and their customs. John kept an eye on Elder One and Rodney, who had started up an argument about something that at least looked friendly.
By the time the food got there, Elder Eight had sort of trailed off while Ronon stared at him, Elders Four through Six seemed to be okay with John, Elder Three and Teyla were best friends, Elder Two was just kind of spectating, and Elder One was pissed at Rodney about something. No real surprises there. The food looked good, at least.
Rodney was already frowning when the plates came in, and yeah, here it came. John suppressed a sigh when he started in with, “Colonel, are you sure we need to-”
“The food is fine, Rodney.” John looked down at his plate. Not even any weird-looking stuff this time. Great.
“It’s just that it smells a little-”
“Eat it, Rodney.” Elder One still looked a little pissed, and Elder Two had started to look kind of suspicious. John bet that there were some people here who didn’t think the superstition was foolish.
“Colonel, would you just-”
“Rodney. Eat it.”
After that, thank God, Rodney shut up and started eating. John knew that getting mad at someone about not being able to take a direct order was a little hypocritical-but he only did it when it was important, and Rodney was always almost-screwing-up the negotiations by bitching. John mentally scheduled a talk with Rodney after they got home.
The polite conversation continued over the meal, until Rodney said, “Colonel-”
“What is it, Rodney?” John snapped, turning to glare.
“I-” Rodney was staring down at the food. He looked almost horrified.
“Rodney. What. Is. The problem?” The Elders weren’t looking all that happy, and at least one of the spear-guys had stepped forward a little.
“There’s citrus in this,” said Rodney.
For a second, John didn’t get it. And then he started hoping to God that Rodney’s allergy was a hypochondria thing. Considering Rodney, the odds were for it, right? “There’s-are you sure? It didn’t taste like-”
“Help,” said Rodney, and John’s brain kicked into gear just as Teyla caught Rodney, slumping backward on his bench, and Ronon appeared next to her, helping her lower him to the ground.
Oh, Jesus, John thought, suddenly up off his bench and on the floor, as Rodney whispered, “My throat’s tickling, I’m faint, can you see swelling?”
“Around your eyes, yeah,” said John. Not hypochondria. And he’d ordered Rodney to eat. Focus. “Where’s your Epipen?” Right pocket, no, left pocket, no-
“Vest,” Rodney gasped. “In the vest.”
Which the spear-guys had taken God knew where, shit. John jumped up, turned to Elder Number Three. “Where did you put our weapons?”
Elder Three took a step back. “I’m not just going to tell you that, how stupid do you think-”
“I need one thing,” John hissed. “Send twelve spear-guys with me, I don’t care. Tie my hands. I will stand in the doorway and tell them what to get. It is not a weapon. It is something I need to keep my friend from dying. Please.” He could hear Rodney wheezing, Teyla telling him to breathe. He tried not to think about how much that wasn’t going to help.
After thirty long, agonizing seconds, Elder Three snapped, “Palo, Sitin, Leipa. Go with him, but don’t let him touch anything. Be careful.”
Thank Christ. John took off at a sprint, forcing the spear-guys to sprint after him. Outside, he stopped. “Where?”
One of the spear-guys pointed at a building. Running got him a spear-jab in the back, so he slowed to a fast walk, and stopped in the doorway. “Get one of the vests. Check the pockets.” Explosives, not Rodney’s. “That one next.” Let this be the right one-“Open the pockets-there, that’s his scanner, that’s his vest. Take it and let’s go.” And let the Epipen not have fallen out or something-he wasn’t going to think about that.
Running back to the meeting hall was apparently okay, because there were no spear jabs this time. When he stepped inside, Rodney was still conscious, holding his stomach and gasping, and Teyla was explaining to the very unamused elders that Dr. McKay had a deadly food allergy.
“I got it,” said John. “Give it here.”
The spear-guy gave him an eloquent look.
“I’m not looking for a weapon, Jesus Christ-okay. You do it. Come here, kneel down. Look for a gray tube, black on one end. Rodney-” God, he looked terrible, eyes and lips swollen, and that meant probably throat, too, and why the hell hadn’t Spear-Guy found it yet- “what pocket do you keep the thing in?”
“Left,” said Rodney, and wheezed. “I can’t-breathe-John-”
Left did not help, left included like three pockets and Spear-Guy wasn’t looking nearly fast enough, and in the meantime, Rodney’s eyes had fluttered shut, and his breathing was getting louder and slower and-God, there it was.
John grabbed for the Epipen and ignored the spear-jab. The guy shouted at him for a second, but apparently decided that he really wasn’t going to use it as a weapon and shut up. John was tearing at Rodney’s fly, briefly grateful that Rodney had sat him down way back when and insisted on showing him how to do this, and then had kept reminding him periodically. Even with tuning him out, he’d heard it enough times. Pants down, cap off, ignore the fact that he’s stopped breathing, he’s not breathing-Teyla still in the background trying to calm the Elders down while one of them shouted something about a Wraith in disguise-black end against Rodney’s thigh, press gradually harder and harder-
It clicked, loudly. Ten or fifteen seconds, Rodney had said. John waited, waited, and finally pulled it out, careful to keep his fingers away from the needle. He checked Rodney’s pulse. Too fast, and getting faster-because of the epinephrine, or because of the anaphylaxis? No breaths yet-God, if Rodney died because of a goddamn food allergy-
John was just about to start CPR, not that he could see it helping with someone whose throat was swollen shut, when Rodney shuddered and started breathing again. His pulse was still way up, and John could see some swelling, but after a second, his breathing leveled out, and a couple minutes later, his eyes opened.
John finally took a second to look over at the Elders-and whoa, there were the spear-guys, ready and waiting. Teyla was almost shouting now; he’d tuned her out entirely, somehow. He needed to deal with this. But-“Hey,” said Rodney, whispering.
“Hey,” said John. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit,” Rodney said, and he was shaking. “I-you wouldn’t listen.”
“I know, it’s my fault-look, can you stand up?”
“No way,” and it was true, all Rodney managed to do after some effort was roll on his side. He immediately curled a little, clutching his stomach.
John took a breath. Okay. “Are you still in danger?”
“Not immediately. But epinephrine can wear off, and I-I’ve been bi-phasic before, you need to get me home, John-”
“Okay. Okay,” said John, trying to sound calm. “Just a second. Let me talk to these people.”
He stood up, tried to ignore Rodney curled on the ground at his feet, and shouted, “Be quiet!”
The Elders and Teyla shut up. John said, “One of my people is in extreme danger because of a food allergy he has, to a type of fruit we call citrus. Did you have any fruit in the meal?” Maybe they’d forget the Wraith thing if they could identify a particular cause.
Elder Three said, “We used a balal fruit in the meat’s sauce. Do you want to see one?”
“No-yes. Could you bring us one? Fast?” John had no idea if that would help Beckett, but better safe than sorry. One of the spear-guys ran out at an Elder’s nod. “Look, we need to get him home now. We have medical facilities that he needs. Can we leave?”
Elder Two looked mutinous. “We don’t know that you’re telling the truth about the fruit. He could be a plant from the Wraith.”
Ellia had eaten food, but mentioning that he personally had seen Wraith eat human food with no ill effects probably wouldn’t be a selling point. “Look, we’ve known him for years,” almost, “and he’s not a spy. We can’t afford to lose him. You can keep our weapons, you can keep this,” he tossed the Epipen onto the table, “and if you have any science at all, I bet you can confirm that it’s not a Wraith drug. We just had a medical emergency and all we want is to go home. He could still die.” He was exaggerating. He hoped he was exaggerating. Rodney was making little moaning sounds, high and weak.
And then, thank God, Elder One stepped in and said, “Look at the man, Lacish. He was dying a few minutes ago. Let them go. We will examine this drug, and if they come back, we will be ready for them. Surely letting them go home wouldn’t do any harm.”
“They could report to their people that they found a rich settlement here!” Elder Two glared.
“And if they go missing, are their people not more likely to come looking-with weapons?” Elder one nodded at Rodney. “And what if he dies. They would be angry with us. We are much more likely to have peaceful relations with these people if we do not let one of their primary negotiators die of negligence, hm?” Dry sarcasm. John breathed slowly and hoped it would work.
Elder Two thought for a few seconds, while Rodney’s breathing echoed through the room. John clenched his fists and didn’t say anything. Argument wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t. After a second, Teyla’s hand clamped onto his arm, which helped. She knew that the smart thing to do was pipe down while Elder Two decided whether Rodney was going to live or die-calm. Down.
Finally, Elder Two said, “I am willing to let them go.”
And then they went down the line again, nodding or shaking their heads-six for, two against. Please God let them not need a unanimous decision.
And, “A consensus has been reached,” said One. “You may leave.”
“Great,” said John, and snagged Rodney’s IDC out of his vest. “Ronon, get Rodney.”
Ronon wrestled Rodney’s pants back on, while Rodney bitched weakly, “You didn’t have to take them off, you know. If you’d listened at all when I was telling you before, you’d know that it works through clothes…” which made John feel better, that Rodney was complaining again.
The run to the Stargate seemed to take forever. Ten minutes’ walk to the village, John reminded himself. They weren’t stuck in a time warp.
Dammit, I ordered him to eat. How much of an idiot-he didn’t need to think about this now. He needed to concentrate on getting home. He needed to not squeeze the sample balal fruit so hard he crushed it.
About halfway there, Rodney started struggling. “Stop,” he said. “Put me down, stop-”
Ronon stopped short at John’s nod, and set him on the ground.
“What is it-” John started to ask, but Rodney was already crawling to a bush and throwing up.
“Normal,” he said quickly once he was done, and John stopped trying to crawl out of his skin. Rodney spat and wiped his mouth. “Normal. Side effect of the epinephrine. It’s okay. Let’s go.”
John was just waiting for something else to go wrong before they got home, but the Gate dialed without a hitch, and John was yelling, “Medical emergency! Medical emergency! Get Dr. Beckett to the gateroom!” even while they were running up to the event horizon.
Beckett ran in with his people just after they got there, and all John had to say was, “Citrus,” and hold up the balal fruit. Ronon laid Rodney onto the gurney, and Beckett instantly started monitoring things, asking John questions and checking Rodney’s vitals, and after a couple of minutes, he looked up and said, “Don’t worry, Major. He’s going to be fine. You did everything right.”
And that was the perfect end to it. John left the gateroom abruptly, with a sick feeling in his stomach.
~~~
Life sucked. Life sucked in, like, galactic proportions, and he hated the universe and his head hurt and his stomach hurt and his hands were shaking and he hated how the epinephrine made his heart beat like it was going to jump out of his chest and run away, and life sucked a lot. Except for how it was a wonderful, beautiful thing, and he was so very happy to have it, and he really wanted to keep it for a long, long time. But it still sucked.
“I hate this,” he told Carson, who was in for the half-hour checking of Rodney’s vitals. “It’s stupid. Fruit can kill me. How ridiculous is that? Why do they even let me go on away missions? I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before now.”
“Why did you eat the food, is my question,” said Carson, looking exasperated. “Really, Rodney, you’ve been allergic to citrus since you were a child, you know what it can do to you. Why did you eat it if you didn’t know what was in it?”
“Sheppard made me,” Rodney complained, jittering. “He told me to shut up and eat.”
“Then he was being an idiot, and I’ll be having a talk with him later. You, on the other hand, are responsible for your own health, no matter how much epinephrine makes you act like a five-year-old. If you don’t know what’s in it, don’t eat it.”
He couldn’t sit still, which sucked because moving wasn’t all that fun, really. “I’ve gotten used to following Maj-I mean, Colonel Sheppard’s orders, in the field. Besides, we were in a delicate situation. Like with the Genii.”
“Those people were like the Genii?” Carson’s eyebrows went up.
“No, someone ordering me to eat food I didn’t recognize was like the Genii. Only difference is I didn’t almost die that time. I guess I’d been-lulled into a false sense of security.” It was always depressing, when he went forever without a reaction, almost forgot what it was like, the sudden tingling, swelling, nausea, and then can’t breathe oh God and the knowledge that if he or someone didn’t act fast, he was going to suffocate, or possibly choke on his own vomit, and die.
Some people who had anaphylactic reactions got half an hour or more to deal with this shit. He didn’t just get stuck with a food allergy, he got the quick-onset. Official life-suckage, right here.
Carson was frowning. “I may have to talk to Elizabeth about this,” he said.
Rodney frowned. He’d lost track of the conversation, again. “About what?”
“Never mind. You look fine for now. Heart rate not elevated enough to be dangerous, blood pressure all right-you said you’d been bi-phasic in the past?”
“Just once.” And hadn’t that been a treat, thinking that it was over, hanging out in the hospital for six-hour observation, trying to figure out how to convince his date that he didn’t usually almost die during dessert, and then it had started again, oh God. He’d been panicking for days after that one.
God, he hated this.
And he couldn’t concentrate on anything, he couldn’t sit still, he couldn’t even follow a conversation, it wasn’t, he didn’t-“Carson,” he tried.
“You’re fine, Rodney. You’re just fine. Take a deep breath.”
He tried, but his heart was pounding in his ears, his hands were shaking. “I-I can’t. I’m not fine.”
“You are. It’s just anxiety. That’s a side effect, remember? Anxiety, tension, trembling, elevated heartrate. All natural after you’ve been injected with adrenaline.”
Carson’s voice was quiet, spoken like someone who knew what he was doing-and he’d better, after all the medical articles on anaphylaxis Rodney had emailed to him right at the start-but it was still hard to believe him, hard to believe that he wasn’t going to go into heart failure right here. “I hate this,” he whispered. “I hate it so much.”
“I know, Rodney. It’s all right. You’re fine.”
~~~
Debriefing with Elizabeth was one of the more painful experiences of John’s life to date, if only because he had no excuse, and he knew he had no excuse.
And because she didn’t yell. She just stood there, and said quietly, “I’ll expect better out of you in the future, John. You know what the consequences could have been,” and that was it.
He felt like a little kid who had screwed up big, and he was pissed at himself for being an asshole CO and pissed at everyone in the universe for knowing about it, and pissed at Rodney for no reason, really, for being Rodney. Which was usually enough reason to be mad at him, but not today.
He went back to his room and changed, and went for a run, pushing himself as hard as he usually did with Ronon, pretending that there was someone with legs just a little longer, always ahead of him. He ran until he wasn’t thinking about Rodney slumping on the bench, of his face swollen and his breathing getting slower and slower until it stopped. Until he wasn’t mad anymore. And then he dropped down to the floor and stared up at the ceiling and thought, Fine. You made a mistake. Get over it and get better, Lieutenant Colonel. And for God’s sake go see if he’s okay.
Twenty minutes later, he was in the infirmary. “Hey,” he said to Beckett, who was working on something other than Rodney, good sign. “Is he all right? Can I see him?”
But Beckett had a look in his eye promising that John wasn’t going to be able to get over it and get better anytime soon. “You can see him after you and I have a talk about what it is all right to order Rodney to do offworld,” he said, “since you seem to have a different view of this than most sane people-”
And there followed five minutes of reassuring Beckett that yes, he knew he’d screwed up, and no, he wouldn’t do it again, and by the time he finished, he was starting to get pissed again. But then Beckett finally let him in to see Rodney, and he took a deep breath and willed himself to stop it.
Rodney looked up when he came in. “I hate you,” he said. “I hate you so much. I have never hated anyone more in my life and why did you make me do this?”
He was curled up in his hospital bed, shaking. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was glaring.
John really didn’t want to apologize again, but it slipped out before he could stop it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I-won’t do it again.”
“It’s not going to matter again, because screw what you say when I could die. Oh, God.” Rodney buried his face in his hands. “I feel like crap.” He twitched back upright. “I’m sweating all over, I can’t sit still,” he twitched again. “And yet I am grateful to be sweating, because I could have never sweated again-is that the past tense of sweat, really?-I can’t-” His hands were moving, little not-really-gestures in the air in front of him. “I hate you.”
John tried, “I-”
“I hate this. I’ve hated it my whole life. Do you know what it’s like to be a little kid with a food allergy? Explaining to all the other kids at the birthday party why you can’t eat the lemon cake, never getting cafeteria meals unless your mother had called and checked all the ingredients first, having a reaction in front of all your friends and freaking them the fuck out-”
“Rodney-”
“You shut up. You almost killed me, you get to listen to me talking about my terrible childhood. I hate the universe, I can’t-”
John really, really needed to make this stop-please-and Rodney’s hands were still shaking and twitching in the air between them, so he did the first thing that came into his head and reached out to grab them.
Rodney stopped instantly, staring. “Um. What was I talking about?”
“Nothing.” John rubbed Rodney’s left hand with his right, massaging the palm and fingers. It was chilly and clammy, and he could feel Rodney’s pulse through the skin, still too fast. “How does this feel?”
“Good,” said Rodney, looking a little lost. “It feels good.”
“So maybe I’ll do this until you don’t hate me anymore.”
“That could take a long time. But-don’t stop.”
So he sat there, rubbing, until his hand cramped and his fingers started going numb, and eventually Beckett came back in and made him leave.
~~~
Six hours took a hell of a long time, especially when you spent the first part of them hyped up on adrenaline, but eventually they passed the recommended observation period and Carson let Rodney leave. By then it was dark out, and Rodney wandered the hallways for a little while appreciating life. He still didn’t feel all that fabulous, and pretty soon he was going to have to go sleep for a day or two, but it was better than being dead, no question.
It was weird how different this was from the normal offworld near-death experiences. And this was something that had been happening to him for decades before Atlantis. “I should get combat pay all the time,” he muttered, and turned a corner and found himself in front of Sheppard’s door. He hit the chime.
“Yeah, come in,” and he went inside. Sheppard was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, but when Rodney came in he stood up, came forward. “Rodney, hi. Are you-feeling better?”
“I’m fine, thanks, no problems except for the almost-death earlier today. I-look,” said Rodney, and panicked for a second when his throat tightened. But no, just plain emotion. “Look,” he tried again. “Remember a few weeks ago when we had that talk about you no longer trusting me?”
“Yeah.” Sheppard was unreadable.
“I think-we need to have another one.”
That got a reaction. “Rodney, I said-”
“I know you’re sorry, I know you don’t think you’ll do it again. But-I no longer trust you to think of something like my deadly food allergy before you think of the mission. And actually, I should have said this a year ago, because you never have thought of it. And now that I really understand that, I-” Rodney paused. “I don’t feel safe around you, anymore,” he said, and the words hurt, but they were true. “I used to, as much as I ever do. But now I don’t.”
The next pause stretched out and out and out, until Sheppard said, “Do you-want to leave the team?”
He didn’t know. “No,” he said. “I-no. Because I know you’ll be watching, now. But just knowing that isn’t the same.” He took a deep breath. “You said I could earn your trust back. I think-I’m almost certain that you can, too.”
“I.” Sheppard looked lost. “Okay.”
“Good. And…now I have to go.” Rodney turned, and then turned back, and grabbed Sheppard’s hand. “This,” he said. “This felt nice.”
“But not safe.”
“No. But-good.” He tried a smile, wasn’t sure if it worked, and turned and left for real.
end
Notes: Both I and my beta--thanks, tinnny!--researched anaphylactic shock, so everything should be in order; however, if you know more and I did something wrong, please let me know. This is a topic that I really think the show has overlooked--I mean, they're eating so much alien food. And Rodney really is ordered to eat unidentifiable Genii food in Underground. So I wanted to do something to highlight that, and here it is. Hope you liked it.
“It’s what we do, remember?” John hissed back. “Make contact with new civilizations and see if they have anything we can use?” Rodney would be a lot more helpful if he came with a mute button, sometimes. John thought he could probably get the situation under control, but the key was the diplomat thing. Rodney sucked at that.
“Well, I suppose we might be able to use those spears, if they were in our hands and not theirs, you think?” Rodney had turned his head at that, and got poked with a spear. “Ow, dammit!”
“McKay, be quiet.” John tried a smile at the spear-guy. “Don’t make them mad. I think they were just surprised by our technology.”
“They just beat our technology with spears!”
“Rodney. They’ll probably calm down once they figure out we mean no harm. Just leave it alone until we get a chance to talk to the elders, okay?” John’s spear-guy apparently decided he was talking too much, because he got a poke too, and okay, ow. He bit back the fuck that wanted to come out and glanced back at Ronon and Teyla instead. They looked like they were wavering between worried, angry, and snickering-at-Rodney. Okay, so generally bad, but all in all, the situation was about as okay as it could get when there were spears involved.
The spear-guys’ village was only about ten minutes away. They were marched past the usual wide-eyed kids and hostile villagers-and was it sad that he’d done this enough times to recognize the players?-and into a building with very thick walls and very heavy doors. Not a prison, because no bars or cells or anything. Maybe a meeting hall of some kind, which was a good sign. Meeting halls meant the diplomat thing was going to happen, which meant probably no one was going to get shot or speared. Good.
Inside, there was a big picnic-table-thing, looked like it would give you splinters just by looking at you. Meeting table, maybe? “Sit down,” said John’s spear-guy.
Right. They sat. When Rodney got a splinter, he managed to suppress his ow to a whisper. Things were looking up. John tried another smile.
“Look,” he said. “We just want to trade. We’ve got lots of great stuff. We want basic food items in return. If you don’t want that, it’s cool, we’ll just go back to where we came from and never bother you again. I promise, we don’t mean any harm.” Spear-guy didn’t look all that moved. “Can we speak with your elders?”
“You’ll wait here,” said Spear-guy. “The council will come when they are ready.”
Great. As long as they were coming, John was fine. He settled back on the splintery bench to wait.
After a long enough time to be uncomfortable, during which they held a pointed conversation about how silly it was to be held at spear-point when all they wanted to do was trade, Rodney started complaining about the table, and John taught Teyla what a thumb war was, the council showed up. John shoved Ronon’s boots off the table and came to sitting-attention, straight, focused, and waiting.
They filed in through the door, eight older people. Men and women both, good sign about open-mindedness. They all looked kind of grim, but by this point, John had a theory that that kind of came with being a council member. The chubby jovial ones were the ones you had to watch out for; they were always hiding something.
Eventually, the council was all inside, standing at the opposite side of the table. “Identify yourselves, please,” said a woman at the far right.
Please was good. “Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard,” said John. “This is Dr. McKay, Ronon Dex, and Teyla. We’re peaceful traders.” He still felt like he was living in a fantasy novel whenever he said that, but it was familiar language to most of the people he met, so whatever.
“I see. Peaceful traders who come armed with technology far beyond our own?”
Great. He got the sarcastic tribal elder. “Only for self-defense,” and it was almost a script by now.
“And your people overpowered us pretty easily,” Rodney put in. “Look, there’s only four of us, and we aren’t spying or reconnoitering. We’re traders. We want to give you stuff, in return for which you will give us stuff. Not a hard concept.”
“What Dr. McKay means,” John cut in, “is that we understand why you might be suspicious, but none of this technology will be used against you. We only carry it in case we run into the Wraith, or hostile civilizations.” The eight of them were all staring at him, tall, thin, and grim, and Jesus, why couldn’t they run into nice people now and then? Nice people with no hidden agenda, even. He tried to look harmless and waited.
The woman on the end was frowning, but finally she said, “I am willing to consider that you are who you seem to be.”
One by one, the others nodded, until Elder Number Eight, who said, “A consensus has been reached. There will be no immediate action against you. We will take some time to deliberate, and consider discussing trading options. But first we must share a meal.”
Ronon brightened at that. Teyla smiled, and John turned the diplomat-job over to her with a relieved nod. “We would be happy to eat with you,” she said. “Is this a custom of yours?”
“A foolish superstition,” said Elder Number One, pulling her long white hair around to the front and sitting down. “Based on the idea that Wraith do not eat human food; therefore, if you eat, you must be human.”
Rodney frowned. “Wraith also look like shriveled vampires with elf hair. Or-” he glanced at Ronon-“dreads. White dreads.”
Number One looked a little less grim. Not really a smile, but go Rodney anyway. “Like I said, a foolish superstition.” She turned to one of the spear-guys. “Have a meal sent in for our potential trading partners.”
Elder Number Five sat down across from John. “Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, yes?”
“That’s it, but you can just call me Sheppard.”
Five nodded. “You may call me Ganes.”
“Ganes. Nice to meet you. I guess you want to hear about what we’ve got to offer you?”
But Ganes shook his head. “No business is conducted during the meal, only pleasant conversation. So perhaps you could tell me about your homeworld instead.”
Great. More time before they could really be sure that they weren’t going to be slaughtered, and here was the opportunity to tell a huge lie. John launched into the so-sad-Atlantis-was-destroyed speech. Elders Four and Six leaned in, while Elder Eight tried to start a conversation with Ronon while Elder Seven watched and grinned, and Elder Three and Teyla started talking about the Athosians and their customs. John kept an eye on Elder One and Rodney, who had started up an argument about something that at least looked friendly.
By the time the food got there, Elder Eight had sort of trailed off while Ronon stared at him, Elders Four through Six seemed to be okay with John, Elder Three and Teyla were best friends, Elder Two was just kind of spectating, and Elder One was pissed at Rodney about something. No real surprises there. The food looked good, at least.
Rodney was already frowning when the plates came in, and yeah, here it came. John suppressed a sigh when he started in with, “Colonel, are you sure we need to-”
“The food is fine, Rodney.” John looked down at his plate. Not even any weird-looking stuff this time. Great.
“It’s just that it smells a little-”
“Eat it, Rodney.” Elder One still looked a little pissed, and Elder Two had started to look kind of suspicious. John bet that there were some people here who didn’t think the superstition was foolish.
“Colonel, would you just-”
“Rodney. Eat it.”
After that, thank God, Rodney shut up and started eating. John knew that getting mad at someone about not being able to take a direct order was a little hypocritical-but he only did it when it was important, and Rodney was always almost-screwing-up the negotiations by bitching. John mentally scheduled a talk with Rodney after they got home.
The polite conversation continued over the meal, until Rodney said, “Colonel-”
“What is it, Rodney?” John snapped, turning to glare.
“I-” Rodney was staring down at the food. He looked almost horrified.
“Rodney. What. Is. The problem?” The Elders weren’t looking all that happy, and at least one of the spear-guys had stepped forward a little.
“There’s citrus in this,” said Rodney.
For a second, John didn’t get it. And then he started hoping to God that Rodney’s allergy was a hypochondria thing. Considering Rodney, the odds were for it, right? “There’s-are you sure? It didn’t taste like-”
“Help,” said Rodney, and John’s brain kicked into gear just as Teyla caught Rodney, slumping backward on his bench, and Ronon appeared next to her, helping her lower him to the ground.
Oh, Jesus, John thought, suddenly up off his bench and on the floor, as Rodney whispered, “My throat’s tickling, I’m faint, can you see swelling?”
“Around your eyes, yeah,” said John. Not hypochondria. And he’d ordered Rodney to eat. Focus. “Where’s your Epipen?” Right pocket, no, left pocket, no-
“Vest,” Rodney gasped. “In the vest.”
Which the spear-guys had taken God knew where, shit. John jumped up, turned to Elder Number Three. “Where did you put our weapons?”
Elder Three took a step back. “I’m not just going to tell you that, how stupid do you think-”
“I need one thing,” John hissed. “Send twelve spear-guys with me, I don’t care. Tie my hands. I will stand in the doorway and tell them what to get. It is not a weapon. It is something I need to keep my friend from dying. Please.” He could hear Rodney wheezing, Teyla telling him to breathe. He tried not to think about how much that wasn’t going to help.
After thirty long, agonizing seconds, Elder Three snapped, “Palo, Sitin, Leipa. Go with him, but don’t let him touch anything. Be careful.”
Thank Christ. John took off at a sprint, forcing the spear-guys to sprint after him. Outside, he stopped. “Where?”
One of the spear-guys pointed at a building. Running got him a spear-jab in the back, so he slowed to a fast walk, and stopped in the doorway. “Get one of the vests. Check the pockets.” Explosives, not Rodney’s. “That one next.” Let this be the right one-“Open the pockets-there, that’s his scanner, that’s his vest. Take it and let’s go.” And let the Epipen not have fallen out or something-he wasn’t going to think about that.
Running back to the meeting hall was apparently okay, because there were no spear jabs this time. When he stepped inside, Rodney was still conscious, holding his stomach and gasping, and Teyla was explaining to the very unamused elders that Dr. McKay had a deadly food allergy.
“I got it,” said John. “Give it here.”
The spear-guy gave him an eloquent look.
“I’m not looking for a weapon, Jesus Christ-okay. You do it. Come here, kneel down. Look for a gray tube, black on one end. Rodney-” God, he looked terrible, eyes and lips swollen, and that meant probably throat, too, and why the hell hadn’t Spear-Guy found it yet- “what pocket do you keep the thing in?”
“Left,” said Rodney, and wheezed. “I can’t-breathe-John-”
Left did not help, left included like three pockets and Spear-Guy wasn’t looking nearly fast enough, and in the meantime, Rodney’s eyes had fluttered shut, and his breathing was getting louder and slower and-God, there it was.
John grabbed for the Epipen and ignored the spear-jab. The guy shouted at him for a second, but apparently decided that he really wasn’t going to use it as a weapon and shut up. John was tearing at Rodney’s fly, briefly grateful that Rodney had sat him down way back when and insisted on showing him how to do this, and then had kept reminding him periodically. Even with tuning him out, he’d heard it enough times. Pants down, cap off, ignore the fact that he’s stopped breathing, he’s not breathing-Teyla still in the background trying to calm the Elders down while one of them shouted something about a Wraith in disguise-black end against Rodney’s thigh, press gradually harder and harder-
It clicked, loudly. Ten or fifteen seconds, Rodney had said. John waited, waited, and finally pulled it out, careful to keep his fingers away from the needle. He checked Rodney’s pulse. Too fast, and getting faster-because of the epinephrine, or because of the anaphylaxis? No breaths yet-God, if Rodney died because of a goddamn food allergy-
John was just about to start CPR, not that he could see it helping with someone whose throat was swollen shut, when Rodney shuddered and started breathing again. His pulse was still way up, and John could see some swelling, but after a second, his breathing leveled out, and a couple minutes later, his eyes opened.
John finally took a second to look over at the Elders-and whoa, there were the spear-guys, ready and waiting. Teyla was almost shouting now; he’d tuned her out entirely, somehow. He needed to deal with this. But-“Hey,” said Rodney, whispering.
“Hey,” said John. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit,” Rodney said, and he was shaking. “I-you wouldn’t listen.”
“I know, it’s my fault-look, can you stand up?”
“No way,” and it was true, all Rodney managed to do after some effort was roll on his side. He immediately curled a little, clutching his stomach.
John took a breath. Okay. “Are you still in danger?”
“Not immediately. But epinephrine can wear off, and I-I’ve been bi-phasic before, you need to get me home, John-”
“Okay. Okay,” said John, trying to sound calm. “Just a second. Let me talk to these people.”
He stood up, tried to ignore Rodney curled on the ground at his feet, and shouted, “Be quiet!”
The Elders and Teyla shut up. John said, “One of my people is in extreme danger because of a food allergy he has, to a type of fruit we call citrus. Did you have any fruit in the meal?” Maybe they’d forget the Wraith thing if they could identify a particular cause.
Elder Three said, “We used a balal fruit in the meat’s sauce. Do you want to see one?”
“No-yes. Could you bring us one? Fast?” John had no idea if that would help Beckett, but better safe than sorry. One of the spear-guys ran out at an Elder’s nod. “Look, we need to get him home now. We have medical facilities that he needs. Can we leave?”
Elder Two looked mutinous. “We don’t know that you’re telling the truth about the fruit. He could be a plant from the Wraith.”
Ellia had eaten food, but mentioning that he personally had seen Wraith eat human food with no ill effects probably wouldn’t be a selling point. “Look, we’ve known him for years,” almost, “and he’s not a spy. We can’t afford to lose him. You can keep our weapons, you can keep this,” he tossed the Epipen onto the table, “and if you have any science at all, I bet you can confirm that it’s not a Wraith drug. We just had a medical emergency and all we want is to go home. He could still die.” He was exaggerating. He hoped he was exaggerating. Rodney was making little moaning sounds, high and weak.
And then, thank God, Elder One stepped in and said, “Look at the man, Lacish. He was dying a few minutes ago. Let them go. We will examine this drug, and if they come back, we will be ready for them. Surely letting them go home wouldn’t do any harm.”
“They could report to their people that they found a rich settlement here!” Elder Two glared.
“And if they go missing, are their people not more likely to come looking-with weapons?” Elder one nodded at Rodney. “And what if he dies. They would be angry with us. We are much more likely to have peaceful relations with these people if we do not let one of their primary negotiators die of negligence, hm?” Dry sarcasm. John breathed slowly and hoped it would work.
Elder Two thought for a few seconds, while Rodney’s breathing echoed through the room. John clenched his fists and didn’t say anything. Argument wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t. After a second, Teyla’s hand clamped onto his arm, which helped. She knew that the smart thing to do was pipe down while Elder Two decided whether Rodney was going to live or die-calm. Down.
Finally, Elder Two said, “I am willing to let them go.”
And then they went down the line again, nodding or shaking their heads-six for, two against. Please God let them not need a unanimous decision.
And, “A consensus has been reached,” said One. “You may leave.”
“Great,” said John, and snagged Rodney’s IDC out of his vest. “Ronon, get Rodney.”
Ronon wrestled Rodney’s pants back on, while Rodney bitched weakly, “You didn’t have to take them off, you know. If you’d listened at all when I was telling you before, you’d know that it works through clothes…” which made John feel better, that Rodney was complaining again.
The run to the Stargate seemed to take forever. Ten minutes’ walk to the village, John reminded himself. They weren’t stuck in a time warp.
Dammit, I ordered him to eat. How much of an idiot-he didn’t need to think about this now. He needed to concentrate on getting home. He needed to not squeeze the sample balal fruit so hard he crushed it.
About halfway there, Rodney started struggling. “Stop,” he said. “Put me down, stop-”
Ronon stopped short at John’s nod, and set him on the ground.
“What is it-” John started to ask, but Rodney was already crawling to a bush and throwing up.
“Normal,” he said quickly once he was done, and John stopped trying to crawl out of his skin. Rodney spat and wiped his mouth. “Normal. Side effect of the epinephrine. It’s okay. Let’s go.”
John was just waiting for something else to go wrong before they got home, but the Gate dialed without a hitch, and John was yelling, “Medical emergency! Medical emergency! Get Dr. Beckett to the gateroom!” even while they were running up to the event horizon.
Beckett ran in with his people just after they got there, and all John had to say was, “Citrus,” and hold up the balal fruit. Ronon laid Rodney onto the gurney, and Beckett instantly started monitoring things, asking John questions and checking Rodney’s vitals, and after a couple of minutes, he looked up and said, “Don’t worry, Major. He’s going to be fine. You did everything right.”
And that was the perfect end to it. John left the gateroom abruptly, with a sick feeling in his stomach.
~~~
Life sucked. Life sucked in, like, galactic proportions, and he hated the universe and his head hurt and his stomach hurt and his hands were shaking and he hated how the epinephrine made his heart beat like it was going to jump out of his chest and run away, and life sucked a lot. Except for how it was a wonderful, beautiful thing, and he was so very happy to have it, and he really wanted to keep it for a long, long time. But it still sucked.
“I hate this,” he told Carson, who was in for the half-hour checking of Rodney’s vitals. “It’s stupid. Fruit can kill me. How ridiculous is that? Why do they even let me go on away missions? I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before now.”
“Why did you eat the food, is my question,” said Carson, looking exasperated. “Really, Rodney, you’ve been allergic to citrus since you were a child, you know what it can do to you. Why did you eat it if you didn’t know what was in it?”
“Sheppard made me,” Rodney complained, jittering. “He told me to shut up and eat.”
“Then he was being an idiot, and I’ll be having a talk with him later. You, on the other hand, are responsible for your own health, no matter how much epinephrine makes you act like a five-year-old. If you don’t know what’s in it, don’t eat it.”
He couldn’t sit still, which sucked because moving wasn’t all that fun, really. “I’ve gotten used to following Maj-I mean, Colonel Sheppard’s orders, in the field. Besides, we were in a delicate situation. Like with the Genii.”
“Those people were like the Genii?” Carson’s eyebrows went up.
“No, someone ordering me to eat food I didn’t recognize was like the Genii. Only difference is I didn’t almost die that time. I guess I’d been-lulled into a false sense of security.” It was always depressing, when he went forever without a reaction, almost forgot what it was like, the sudden tingling, swelling, nausea, and then can’t breathe oh God and the knowledge that if he or someone didn’t act fast, he was going to suffocate, or possibly choke on his own vomit, and die.
Some people who had anaphylactic reactions got half an hour or more to deal with this shit. He didn’t just get stuck with a food allergy, he got the quick-onset. Official life-suckage, right here.
Carson was frowning. “I may have to talk to Elizabeth about this,” he said.
Rodney frowned. He’d lost track of the conversation, again. “About what?”
“Never mind. You look fine for now. Heart rate not elevated enough to be dangerous, blood pressure all right-you said you’d been bi-phasic in the past?”
“Just once.” And hadn’t that been a treat, thinking that it was over, hanging out in the hospital for six-hour observation, trying to figure out how to convince his date that he didn’t usually almost die during dessert, and then it had started again, oh God. He’d been panicking for days after that one.
God, he hated this.
And he couldn’t concentrate on anything, he couldn’t sit still, he couldn’t even follow a conversation, it wasn’t, he didn’t-“Carson,” he tried.
“You’re fine, Rodney. You’re just fine. Take a deep breath.”
He tried, but his heart was pounding in his ears, his hands were shaking. “I-I can’t. I’m not fine.”
“You are. It’s just anxiety. That’s a side effect, remember? Anxiety, tension, trembling, elevated heartrate. All natural after you’ve been injected with adrenaline.”
Carson’s voice was quiet, spoken like someone who knew what he was doing-and he’d better, after all the medical articles on anaphylaxis Rodney had emailed to him right at the start-but it was still hard to believe him, hard to believe that he wasn’t going to go into heart failure right here. “I hate this,” he whispered. “I hate it so much.”
“I know, Rodney. It’s all right. You’re fine.”
~~~
Debriefing with Elizabeth was one of the more painful experiences of John’s life to date, if only because he had no excuse, and he knew he had no excuse.
And because she didn’t yell. She just stood there, and said quietly, “I’ll expect better out of you in the future, John. You know what the consequences could have been,” and that was it.
He felt like a little kid who had screwed up big, and he was pissed at himself for being an asshole CO and pissed at everyone in the universe for knowing about it, and pissed at Rodney for no reason, really, for being Rodney. Which was usually enough reason to be mad at him, but not today.
He went back to his room and changed, and went for a run, pushing himself as hard as he usually did with Ronon, pretending that there was someone with legs just a little longer, always ahead of him. He ran until he wasn’t thinking about Rodney slumping on the bench, of his face swollen and his breathing getting slower and slower until it stopped. Until he wasn’t mad anymore. And then he dropped down to the floor and stared up at the ceiling and thought, Fine. You made a mistake. Get over it and get better, Lieutenant Colonel. And for God’s sake go see if he’s okay.
Twenty minutes later, he was in the infirmary. “Hey,” he said to Beckett, who was working on something other than Rodney, good sign. “Is he all right? Can I see him?”
But Beckett had a look in his eye promising that John wasn’t going to be able to get over it and get better anytime soon. “You can see him after you and I have a talk about what it is all right to order Rodney to do offworld,” he said, “since you seem to have a different view of this than most sane people-”
And there followed five minutes of reassuring Beckett that yes, he knew he’d screwed up, and no, he wouldn’t do it again, and by the time he finished, he was starting to get pissed again. But then Beckett finally let him in to see Rodney, and he took a deep breath and willed himself to stop it.
Rodney looked up when he came in. “I hate you,” he said. “I hate you so much. I have never hated anyone more in my life and why did you make me do this?”
He was curled up in his hospital bed, shaking. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was glaring.
John really didn’t want to apologize again, but it slipped out before he could stop it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I-won’t do it again.”
“It’s not going to matter again, because screw what you say when I could die. Oh, God.” Rodney buried his face in his hands. “I feel like crap.” He twitched back upright. “I’m sweating all over, I can’t sit still,” he twitched again. “And yet I am grateful to be sweating, because I could have never sweated again-is that the past tense of sweat, really?-I can’t-” His hands were moving, little not-really-gestures in the air in front of him. “I hate you.”
John tried, “I-”
“I hate this. I’ve hated it my whole life. Do you know what it’s like to be a little kid with a food allergy? Explaining to all the other kids at the birthday party why you can’t eat the lemon cake, never getting cafeteria meals unless your mother had called and checked all the ingredients first, having a reaction in front of all your friends and freaking them the fuck out-”
“Rodney-”
“You shut up. You almost killed me, you get to listen to me talking about my terrible childhood. I hate the universe, I can’t-”
John really, really needed to make this stop-please-and Rodney’s hands were still shaking and twitching in the air between them, so he did the first thing that came into his head and reached out to grab them.
Rodney stopped instantly, staring. “Um. What was I talking about?”
“Nothing.” John rubbed Rodney’s left hand with his right, massaging the palm and fingers. It was chilly and clammy, and he could feel Rodney’s pulse through the skin, still too fast. “How does this feel?”
“Good,” said Rodney, looking a little lost. “It feels good.”
“So maybe I’ll do this until you don’t hate me anymore.”
“That could take a long time. But-don’t stop.”
So he sat there, rubbing, until his hand cramped and his fingers started going numb, and eventually Beckett came back in and made him leave.
~~~
Six hours took a hell of a long time, especially when you spent the first part of them hyped up on adrenaline, but eventually they passed the recommended observation period and Carson let Rodney leave. By then it was dark out, and Rodney wandered the hallways for a little while appreciating life. He still didn’t feel all that fabulous, and pretty soon he was going to have to go sleep for a day or two, but it was better than being dead, no question.
It was weird how different this was from the normal offworld near-death experiences. And this was something that had been happening to him for decades before Atlantis. “I should get combat pay all the time,” he muttered, and turned a corner and found himself in front of Sheppard’s door. He hit the chime.
“Yeah, come in,” and he went inside. Sheppard was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, but when Rodney came in he stood up, came forward. “Rodney, hi. Are you-feeling better?”
“I’m fine, thanks, no problems except for the almost-death earlier today. I-look,” said Rodney, and panicked for a second when his throat tightened. But no, just plain emotion. “Look,” he tried again. “Remember a few weeks ago when we had that talk about you no longer trusting me?”
“Yeah.” Sheppard was unreadable.
“I think-we need to have another one.”
That got a reaction. “Rodney, I said-”
“I know you’re sorry, I know you don’t think you’ll do it again. But-I no longer trust you to think of something like my deadly food allergy before you think of the mission. And actually, I should have said this a year ago, because you never have thought of it. And now that I really understand that, I-” Rodney paused. “I don’t feel safe around you, anymore,” he said, and the words hurt, but they were true. “I used to, as much as I ever do. But now I don’t.”
The next pause stretched out and out and out, until Sheppard said, “Do you-want to leave the team?”
He didn’t know. “No,” he said. “I-no. Because I know you’ll be watching, now. But just knowing that isn’t the same.” He took a deep breath. “You said I could earn your trust back. I think-I’m almost certain that you can, too.”
“I.” Sheppard looked lost. “Okay.”
“Good. And…now I have to go.” Rodney turned, and then turned back, and grabbed Sheppard’s hand. “This,” he said. “This felt nice.”
“But not safe.”
“No. But-good.” He tried a smile, wasn’t sure if it worked, and turned and left for real.
end
Notes: Both I and my beta--thanks, tinnny!--researched anaphylactic shock, so everything should be in order; however, if you know more and I did something wrong, please let me know. This is a topic that I really think the show has overlooked--I mean, they're eating so much alien food. And Rodney really is ordered to eat unidentifiable Genii food in Underground. So I wanted to do something to highlight that, and here it is. Hope you liked it.