SGA Fic: Reciprocal Symmetry ( 5 / 12 )
Title: Reciprocal Symmetry
Author: radioshack84
Rating: T
Word Count: ~45,600
Characters: John, Rodney, Carson, Elizabeth, Ronon, Teyla
Summary: Rodney is trapped underground and running out of air. Can John remember why he’s on PX9-253 in time to rescue him and if so, can they free themselves from the deadly technological trap they’re both already ensnared in?
Back to Part 4
Part 5 / 12 - Relapse
John Sheppard awoke in darkness, though alertness was taking its sweet time coming. Everything was jumbled. He had a vague sense of déjà vu, but the location was wrong. He should’ve been in the cabin on PX9-253…right? John closed his eyes again, trying to let the free-floating images in his mind congeal into something that made sense. He remembered the cabin, Ancient ruins, pain, Rodney, a cave, snakes, more pain, wires, singed fingers, water, throbbing pain, blinding lights, the infirmary, Beckett, blinding pain…the recurring theme seemed to demand recognition as fact.
With some effort he pushed himself up on his elbows, but his muscles were lethargic and achy, and a heavy woozy feeling seemed eager to snatch consciousness away if he stayed in that position for long. Stealing a quick look around, John flopped bonelessly back onto the mattress with a sigh. That he was in the infirmary wasn’t a surprise, not when most of his recent bits of recollection involved raging agony within his cranium, but he did wonder how bad off he’d been to warrant his own room. Well, mostly his own room. The bed next to his was empty now, but had obviously been slept in. Rodney? He vaguely remembered hearing the scientist’s voice nearby on several occasions. Did that mean McKay was all right? Frustrated that he didn’t remember more, John again contemplated getting up to find some answers. The problem was he knew he’d fall flat on his face if he tried. He was royally wiped and didn’t realize he’d zoned out until Carson was suddenly standing next to his bed talking to him.
“Sorry, what?” Those were the most intelligent words John’s mind could come up with at that moment, so he went with it.
“I asked how long you’ve been awake, but I think that answers my question,” Beckett chuckled. “How’s the headache?”
“Finally gone, but it feels like my brain’s been replaced by cotton,” John said, offering Beckett a tired smile.
“Well, I can assure ya that your brain is intact, no cotton ta be found. Since ya were still asleep I decided ta get the scan out of the way early. The results came back completely normal.”
“I’m sensing a ‘but’.”
Carson sighed and nodded. “But that gives me no explanation as ta why ya were so ill last night. I’m beginnin’ ta think McKay’s right and that bloody chunk of metal you two brought back was the cause.”
“Is Rodney okay?”
“Aye, he’s fine. The snake that latched onto him wasn’t venomous. Dr. Zelenka called him away ta check on some sort of generator malfunction otherwise he’d probably still be here trifling with your souvenir.”
“Did he find anything out about what it does?”
“You’d have ta ask him for the specifics, but he seemed quite irritated that it powered itself down overnight and that he wasn’t able ta activate it again.”
“I don’t think he should activate it again. Whatever that thing is, it’s dangerous.”
Carson frowned at the trepidation and insistence in Sheppard’s voice. “Do ya remember anything more about what happened on the planet?”
John thought it over, slowly shaking his head. “No, not really. Everything just sort of runs together after yesterday morning. Mostly I remember that the headache kept getting worse as I was searching for Rodney, especially when we had differing opinions about something. Then the pain would multiply tenfold. McKay’s been known to give me a headache on more than one occasion, Doc, but never like this.”
“Yes, he mentioned something ta that effect earlier, about disagreement making your pain worse.” Beckett looked thoughtful as he recalled more of the physicist’s train of thought from the night before, “Do ya know how ya injured your leg?”
“If you’re talking about the bite, I honestly have no idea. I didn’t see any snakes where I was, and it wasn’t bleeding afterward. I mentioned it to Rodney, but then just passed it off as a muscle cramp since it didn’t really hurt as bad as the rest of my aches anyway.”
“It certainly wasn’t a cramp, Colonel, but I’m afraid I can’t explain it much beyond that either. It looks like a snake bite as ya say, but your skin wasn’t broken.”
Now it was John’s turn to look thoughtful. Something about this wasn’t adding up and it all had to do with that damn Ancient device. He needed to hash it over with Rodney. “When can I get out of here, Doc?” Sheppard asked as he sat up, trying his best to mask the lightheadedness that swept over him. He didn’t do a very good job of it, judging from the way he continued listing forward past vertical. Beckett grasped his shoulders before he could topple completely and guided him back against the bed which, curiously, was now inclined.
“I want ya ta rest here for awhile yet. If you’re a bit steadier after ya have some lunch and the headache stays away, we’ll talk.”
John gave a small nod of agreement, feeling too shaky to argue. “What about the Ancient device? Where is it?”
“Don’t worry, it’s currently under lock and key in my office, per Rodney’s instructions. I’m sure he’ll be back for it as soon as he’s done with the generator issue.”
“Good, I don’t want anyone else touching that thing. Let me know when McKay gets back too, will you? I need to talk to him.”
“I probably won’t need ta inform ya of anything if I know Rodney.”
John grinned. “Good point.”
A short time later Carson excused himself to attend to other matters, and Sheppard lay staring at the ceiling and pondering the metal device. It worried him, especially since his memories of the previous afternoon hadn’t yet surfaced, but Beckett didn’t seem overly concerned by that so he tried to focus on something else. Out of sheer boredom, since it seemed he wasn’t tired enough to sleep any longer, he settled on practicing prime/not prime by reciting the prime numbers in his head.
-----
John would have never thought it possible, but his day only got worse a few hours later when Beckett released him from the infirmary. He was on light duty until the next morning and under orders to take it easy until then, and he’d intended to do some long-overdue, non-stressful paperwork after talking to Rodney. Unfortunately, the genius in question had still been off mending generators and so it seemed the paperwork would not be put off any longer.
Upon opening his office door, however, Sheppard’s jaw dropped and he swore he could feel the migraine returning, along with a good case of fury toward his men. He generally wasn’t much for stereotypical military punishments, or fury for that matter, but certain individuals were going to be doing a lot of push-ups and extra KP, if not scrubbing down his entire office with toothbrushes when he found out who had done this. Pranks had been running rampant through the military body of Atlantis during the past several weeks, and apparently some wiseass had finally gotten brave (or stupid) enough to target his CO with the next phase of mischief. Still, this was taking it too far, especially after yesterday.
John stepped cautiously into the office and made his way to the locked cabinet behind his desk, treading carefully as if walking a minefield. He withdrew a small duffel from the cabinet along with his laptop and a few other items, which he stuffed inside the bag and zipped it closed. Slinging that over his shoulder, he grabbed his utility knife and an old Styrofoam coffee cup, grimacing in disgust as he slid the knife along the surface of the desk, scooping goo into the cup. John held the container gingerly in one hand while he stabbed his knife firmly into the object in the middle of the desk with the other. Hefting the knife and its contents like some kind of grotesque state fair meal-on-a-stick, John exited his office and headed straight for Elizabeth’s.
The expedition leader looked up from her computer when Sheppard appeared in her doorway. She dispensed with the smile and greeting that had been on her lips when he glared and stepped up to her desk, dropping his knife and its skewered burden unceremoniously in front of her and placing a coffee cup next to it. “I need a new office. I’m choosing the rec room for today. Maybe I’ll use the mess hall tomorrow.”
Elizabeth raised both eyebrows at him. “Pardon me?”
“Carson says I’m supposed to take it easy, and since I’m sure that doesn’t involve me raising my blood pressure by killing certain people under my command, I’m going to stick with my original plan of doing paperwork. However, since my damn office is completely coated in…what the hell is that anyway? Honey?” Sheppard’s tone turned briefly curious and he peered into the cup cautiously, as if the contents might suddenly burst forth and attack him. Shaking his head, he looked back at Elizabeth, still glaring, “Anyway, that and the fact that there are rubber snakes all over my desk and floor means I need a new office until mine can be cleaned. Preferably by those responsible for its current state.”
Weir directed a bemused frown at the goo-covered garden snake coiled like super-thick spaghetti around Sheppard’s knife. “It’s very life-like for a rubber snake,” she observed, reaching out to poke at it with her pen.
“That’s because this one’s real!” he growled.
“Oh.” Elizabeth pulled her pen back and suppressed a cringe, raising her eyes to John. She had rarely seen him this angry and on the occasions when she had, the Wraith, Caldwell, or someone from the IOA had usually been the cause. Behind the anger he looked worn out too, and no wonder. She was a little surprised Carson had let him go so soon since he’d been white as the sheets he was lying on and drugged into unconsciousness the night before when she’d stopped by the infirmary to see him. “All right, the rec room is yours for the rest of the day. Maybe I should send out a city-wide memo banning further practical jokes as well.”
“I think that would be an excellent idea,” John said, his annoyance slowly dissipating. He went to retrieve his knife from her desk, and succeeded, but the honey-glazed snake had stuck to some papers and remained behind on the desk. “Sorry,” he said, giving her a sheepish grin.
She shook her head, a laugh escaping at the absurdity of the situation. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. I think that was just your paycheck anyway.”
“That’s okay, I’ll steal Rodney’s. He owes me,” Sheppard said, turning toward the door.
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re feeling better...just stick to your plan and don’t go killing anyone, okay?”
John gave her his best innocent look. “Military justice does not necessarily demand the traditional military solution.”
Weir opened her mouth to comment, then shook her head. “You know what? I don’t even want to know what you’re planning.”
“Good, ‘cause I don’t know yet myself. See you later, Elizabeth.”
John left Weir’s office and headed for the rec room at a leisurely pace. When he arrived he found a couple of the marines playing a video game. Still irritated about his office and therefore annoyed with the rest of his men in general, he kicked them out of the room without explanation, even though he knew they were likely not the ones responsible. Finally alone, Sheppard quickly took measures to ensure that he wouldn’t be further interrupted and then sank into one of the sofas.
Three hours had passed by the time he put the finishing touches on his last overdue report and hit ‘send’. All that remained of the paperwork now was to sign off on a folder full of miscellaneous leave and equipment request forms. Since the Daedalus wasn’t due back for two weeks, those could wait. Besides, he was still sore from yesterday’s activities and figured he’d earned a break.
Sheppard set his laptop on the low table nearby, tossed his radio beside it, and stretched out on the worn sofa. He rolled around for a moment, trying to find a position that put the least strain on his aching back and neck, then settled with a long sigh. What a day. John absently dimmed the lights to half with a thought and moments later he was asleep.
-----
Carson Beckett was also having a nice quiet afternoon in his office doing paperwork, which included his final report on Colonel Sheppard’s condition. Since scans and blood work had proved inconclusive, he had ruled John’s illness as a severe migraine brought on by prolonged interaction with Ancient technology and officially returned the colonel to active duty, effective the next morning.
Quiet moments in Atlantis rarely lasted for long, though, and Carson instinctively felt this one grinding to a halt the moment he slid open his desk drawer and saw a bluish-grey glow coming from within. Tugging the drawer open the rest of the way, he confirmed his suspicion that the touch plates on Rodney’s mystery machine were once again lit. He tapped his radio. “Beckett to McKay.”
“Carson, can this wait? I’m up to my elbows in generator parts.”
“You be the judge. That bloody chunk of metal ya left in my office is puttin’ on a light show again.”
“What did you do to it?” McKay demanded. “I thought I told you to leave it alone!”
“I haven’t done a thing to it, Rodney. I was lookin’ for something and noticed it was glowing.”
“Oh. Well, I’m on the other side of the city right now, so it’s going to have to wait until I get back. I shouldn’t be terribly long, but let me know if it does anything else. What color are the lights?”
“Pale blue, same as last night.”
“Hmm. Is Sheppard still okay?”
“I assume so, but I haven’t talked ta him since early this afternoon. Is there a reason he wouldn’t be?”
“No, no, he should be fine…I think. I’ll take a look at it as soon as I can. McKay out.”
Carson ran a hand through his hair and pushed the drawer closed again. Ancient technology made him nervous, and this piece was no exception. They knew so little about it, and Rodney’s uncertainty had only served to fuel the worry itching at the back of his mind. He tried to go back to his paperwork, but ten minutes of scattered thinking later he sighed in frustration and tapped his radio, giving in to anxiety. “Beckett to Sheppard.”
When no response was forthcoming, Carson debated calling again. If the colonel was asleep he didn’t want to disturb him. Then again, he had returned the man to light duty, so how likely was it that he was napping? “Beckett to Colonel Sheppard. Please respond.” Again, nothing. “Beckett to Dr. Weir.”
“This is Weir, go ahead Carson.”
“Elizabeth, I’m tryin’ ta reach Colonel Sheppard. Have ya seen him recently?”
“Not for a few hours. Is something wrong?”
“Probably not, I just wanted ta ask him something…would ya happen ta have an idea of where he is?”
“In the rec room I would imagine. Some of his men decided to do a little redecorating of his office and I told him he could work there for today.”
“Thanks, love. I’ll try him there. Beckett out.”
Carson was already on the move, picking up his medical bag as he clicked off the radio. Call him paranoid, but two years in Atlantis had taught him to trust his hunches. It only took about five minutes to reach his destination, and he would have been there faster had he not forced himself to walk at a casual pace.
The door to the rec room was closed, and a sheet of paper was taped to it. Beckett stepped closer to see the handwritten sign which read:
LT. COL. SHEPPARD’S NEW OFFICE
If your name is not Elizabeth, Rodney,
Carson, Teyla, or Ronon, and you are
not in mortal danger
GO AWAY!
Or you will be.
“At least I’m on the short list,” Carson chuckled, knocking on the door. Several seconds passed without a response, and Beckett’s mirth edged toward concern. He swiped his hand over the door controls and stepped into the half-lit room. Shadows obscured the minute details of the space, but it was still light enough that he easily made out Sheppard’s form on one of the sofas.
Somewhat relieved, Carson moved closer and noticed the colonel’s laptop and a couple of file folders scattered on a table, along with his radio. That explains why he didn’t answer, Beckett thought. It was obvious Sheppard was asleep, and the doctor considered slipping back out of the room and leaving him as such, but something was off. Carson had unfortunately observed the colonel during sleep often enough to know his habits, so he quickly recognized the subtle differences that were present now.
John was curled on his side, not sprawled on his back as he usually was while napping. One arm was pillowed beneath his head, he shifted uncomfortably now and again, and his shallow breathing was sporadically interrupted by low moans. Beckett would have been convinced the man was having a bad dream, except he’d witnessed that on several occasions as well. “Colonel?” he called softly, not wanting to startle Sheppard. “John, wake up.” He reached out and gave the colonel’s shoulder a gentle shake.
Beckett knew the instant John awoke because the room plunged into complete darkness. After several moments the lights came on again, slightly, but not to the level they’d been at. The illumination was just barely enough for Carson to see John pushing himself upright.
“Doc? What’s going on?” Sheppard asked, his voice groggy, one hand reaching up to rub at his eyes, then his neck. “What time is it?”
“Early evening. I just wanted ta check in and see how ya were doing, Colonel. Would ya mind turnin’ the lights back on?” Beckett kept the concern from his voice, though he knew what the colonel’s sudden, almost subconscious dimming of the lights probably indicated. In fact, he was slightly surprised when Sheppard complied with his request, but then he noticed that John’s eyes were still closed. “I take it the headache’s back?”
Surprise caused Sheppard’s eyelids to pop open, and Carson caught a brief glimpse of glassy hazel-green irises before the colonel winced and squeezed them closed again. “Maybe a little,” he conceded. After all, his ATA gene had given him away so there was no point in lying about it. If John was being completely truthful, he felt like crap. The muscle aches were back along with the throbbing in his skull and he was starting to feel a little dizzy. “I thought sleep was supposed to get rid of this,” he groused as he submitted to Carson taking his pulse.
“Under ordinary circumstances that may well be the case, Colonel, but I’m afraid this hardly falls under that category.” Beckett let go of Sheppard’s wrist, not liking the too-quick fluttering beneath his fingers, and continued to check blood pressure, finding it low.
“You mean because of the Ancient device,” Sheppard stated.
“It’s a good possibility.”
“Wonderful. Does Rodney know what it is yet?”
“No, but he should be on his way soon ta take another look. Lean forward a bit so I can listen ta your lungs.”
“What for? I’ve got a headache, Doc, not pneumonia.”
Beckett sighed. “Colonel…”
“Fine, I’m leaning.” Sheppard bent forward, burying his face in his hands while the stethoscope traveled over his back. Suddenly, pain was rocketing back and forth between his temples and he felt like he was falling. “Shit,” he muttered, blindly grabbing for the coffee table in front of him as he pitched forward slightly. His fingers found purchase on the table at about the same moment that Beckett grabbed his arm. John squinted at the doctor in the dim light, since having a focal point seemed to ease the vertigo a little. “I’ll take that shot that deactivates my ATA gene now,” he joked weakly, feeling himself listing again, but he was too worn out to do anything about it.
“Aye, I bet ya would at that,” Beckett murmured, taking advantage of John’s sideward momentum to ease him back down onto the couch. He was helping the colonel swing his legs up when John suddenly grunted and jerked away from his touch, slowly curling onto his side, face scrunched in pain. “Colonel? What’s wrong?”
“Sorry…hurts.”
“What hurts? Tell me what’s happening, son.”
“Everything aches. Knees, back, arms…” John kneaded at the muscle of his left forearm with his opposite hand, trying unsuccessfully to ease the tension. “It was like this before, when we got back from the planet…thought the drugs had taken care of it though.”
“They should have,” Beckett agreed. “I think it’s time we got ya back ta the infirmary, lad.”
Sheppard winced as another muscle ache hit, but nodded and cautiously started to rise. “No ya don’t,” Carson scolded gently, his hand resting firm on John’s shoulder until the man relented and lay back down. “Ya wouldn’t make it five steps before I’d have ta send for a gurney anyway.” John grumbled something in return, but Carson chose to ignore it. The colonel didn’t look well at all and he figured Sheppard was within his rights to be a bit grumpy given his condition.
Beckett glanced away for a moment while he keyed his radio to call for a med team, and in doing so missed the look of utter shock that began to form on Sheppard’s face. It wasn’t until a pained groan coincided with John’s right hand clamping tightly onto his wrist that Carson looked back. John’s eyes were wide and panicked, and though the light was dim, the doctor could see why. Even if he could never hope to explain it. For a moment he too just stared as a jagged gash opened up, splitting the skin of Sheppard’s left forearm from wrist to inner-elbow. Beckett suddenly found his shirt soaked with too much red and John’s vice-like grip on his wrist slackened as the ashen colonel slipped rapidly toward unconsciousness.
On to Part 6
Author: radioshack84
Rating: T
Word Count: ~45,600
Characters: John, Rodney, Carson, Elizabeth, Ronon, Teyla
Summary: Rodney is trapped underground and running out of air. Can John remember why he’s on PX9-253 in time to rescue him and if so, can they free themselves from the deadly technological trap they’re both already ensnared in?
Back to Part 4
Part 5 / 12 - Relapse
John Sheppard awoke in darkness, though alertness was taking its sweet time coming. Everything was jumbled. He had a vague sense of déjà vu, but the location was wrong. He should’ve been in the cabin on PX9-253…right? John closed his eyes again, trying to let the free-floating images in his mind congeal into something that made sense. He remembered the cabin, Ancient ruins, pain, Rodney, a cave, snakes, more pain, wires, singed fingers, water, throbbing pain, blinding lights, the infirmary, Beckett, blinding pain…the recurring theme seemed to demand recognition as fact.
With some effort he pushed himself up on his elbows, but his muscles were lethargic and achy, and a heavy woozy feeling seemed eager to snatch consciousness away if he stayed in that position for long. Stealing a quick look around, John flopped bonelessly back onto the mattress with a sigh. That he was in the infirmary wasn’t a surprise, not when most of his recent bits of recollection involved raging agony within his cranium, but he did wonder how bad off he’d been to warrant his own room. Well, mostly his own room. The bed next to his was empty now, but had obviously been slept in. Rodney? He vaguely remembered hearing the scientist’s voice nearby on several occasions. Did that mean McKay was all right? Frustrated that he didn’t remember more, John again contemplated getting up to find some answers. The problem was he knew he’d fall flat on his face if he tried. He was royally wiped and didn’t realize he’d zoned out until Carson was suddenly standing next to his bed talking to him.
“Sorry, what?” Those were the most intelligent words John’s mind could come up with at that moment, so he went with it.
“I asked how long you’ve been awake, but I think that answers my question,” Beckett chuckled. “How’s the headache?”
“Finally gone, but it feels like my brain’s been replaced by cotton,” John said, offering Beckett a tired smile.
“Well, I can assure ya that your brain is intact, no cotton ta be found. Since ya were still asleep I decided ta get the scan out of the way early. The results came back completely normal.”
“I’m sensing a ‘but’.”
Carson sighed and nodded. “But that gives me no explanation as ta why ya were so ill last night. I’m beginnin’ ta think McKay’s right and that bloody chunk of metal you two brought back was the cause.”
“Is Rodney okay?”
“Aye, he’s fine. The snake that latched onto him wasn’t venomous. Dr. Zelenka called him away ta check on some sort of generator malfunction otherwise he’d probably still be here trifling with your souvenir.”
“Did he find anything out about what it does?”
“You’d have ta ask him for the specifics, but he seemed quite irritated that it powered itself down overnight and that he wasn’t able ta activate it again.”
“I don’t think he should activate it again. Whatever that thing is, it’s dangerous.”
Carson frowned at the trepidation and insistence in Sheppard’s voice. “Do ya remember anything more about what happened on the planet?”
John thought it over, slowly shaking his head. “No, not really. Everything just sort of runs together after yesterday morning. Mostly I remember that the headache kept getting worse as I was searching for Rodney, especially when we had differing opinions about something. Then the pain would multiply tenfold. McKay’s been known to give me a headache on more than one occasion, Doc, but never like this.”
“Yes, he mentioned something ta that effect earlier, about disagreement making your pain worse.” Beckett looked thoughtful as he recalled more of the physicist’s train of thought from the night before, “Do ya know how ya injured your leg?”
“If you’re talking about the bite, I honestly have no idea. I didn’t see any snakes where I was, and it wasn’t bleeding afterward. I mentioned it to Rodney, but then just passed it off as a muscle cramp since it didn’t really hurt as bad as the rest of my aches anyway.”
“It certainly wasn’t a cramp, Colonel, but I’m afraid I can’t explain it much beyond that either. It looks like a snake bite as ya say, but your skin wasn’t broken.”
Now it was John’s turn to look thoughtful. Something about this wasn’t adding up and it all had to do with that damn Ancient device. He needed to hash it over with Rodney. “When can I get out of here, Doc?” Sheppard asked as he sat up, trying his best to mask the lightheadedness that swept over him. He didn’t do a very good job of it, judging from the way he continued listing forward past vertical. Beckett grasped his shoulders before he could topple completely and guided him back against the bed which, curiously, was now inclined.
“I want ya ta rest here for awhile yet. If you’re a bit steadier after ya have some lunch and the headache stays away, we’ll talk.”
John gave a small nod of agreement, feeling too shaky to argue. “What about the Ancient device? Where is it?”
“Don’t worry, it’s currently under lock and key in my office, per Rodney’s instructions. I’m sure he’ll be back for it as soon as he’s done with the generator issue.”
“Good, I don’t want anyone else touching that thing. Let me know when McKay gets back too, will you? I need to talk to him.”
“I probably won’t need ta inform ya of anything if I know Rodney.”
John grinned. “Good point.”
A short time later Carson excused himself to attend to other matters, and Sheppard lay staring at the ceiling and pondering the metal device. It worried him, especially since his memories of the previous afternoon hadn’t yet surfaced, but Beckett didn’t seem overly concerned by that so he tried to focus on something else. Out of sheer boredom, since it seemed he wasn’t tired enough to sleep any longer, he settled on practicing prime/not prime by reciting the prime numbers in his head.
-----
John would have never thought it possible, but his day only got worse a few hours later when Beckett released him from the infirmary. He was on light duty until the next morning and under orders to take it easy until then, and he’d intended to do some long-overdue, non-stressful paperwork after talking to Rodney. Unfortunately, the genius in question had still been off mending generators and so it seemed the paperwork would not be put off any longer.
Upon opening his office door, however, Sheppard’s jaw dropped and he swore he could feel the migraine returning, along with a good case of fury toward his men. He generally wasn’t much for stereotypical military punishments, or fury for that matter, but certain individuals were going to be doing a lot of push-ups and extra KP, if not scrubbing down his entire office with toothbrushes when he found out who had done this. Pranks had been running rampant through the military body of Atlantis during the past several weeks, and apparently some wiseass had finally gotten brave (or stupid) enough to target his CO with the next phase of mischief. Still, this was taking it too far, especially after yesterday.
John stepped cautiously into the office and made his way to the locked cabinet behind his desk, treading carefully as if walking a minefield. He withdrew a small duffel from the cabinet along with his laptop and a few other items, which he stuffed inside the bag and zipped it closed. Slinging that over his shoulder, he grabbed his utility knife and an old Styrofoam coffee cup, grimacing in disgust as he slid the knife along the surface of the desk, scooping goo into the cup. John held the container gingerly in one hand while he stabbed his knife firmly into the object in the middle of the desk with the other. Hefting the knife and its contents like some kind of grotesque state fair meal-on-a-stick, John exited his office and headed straight for Elizabeth’s.
The expedition leader looked up from her computer when Sheppard appeared in her doorway. She dispensed with the smile and greeting that had been on her lips when he glared and stepped up to her desk, dropping his knife and its skewered burden unceremoniously in front of her and placing a coffee cup next to it. “I need a new office. I’m choosing the rec room for today. Maybe I’ll use the mess hall tomorrow.”
Elizabeth raised both eyebrows at him. “Pardon me?”
“Carson says I’m supposed to take it easy, and since I’m sure that doesn’t involve me raising my blood pressure by killing certain people under my command, I’m going to stick with my original plan of doing paperwork. However, since my damn office is completely coated in…what the hell is that anyway? Honey?” Sheppard’s tone turned briefly curious and he peered into the cup cautiously, as if the contents might suddenly burst forth and attack him. Shaking his head, he looked back at Elizabeth, still glaring, “Anyway, that and the fact that there are rubber snakes all over my desk and floor means I need a new office until mine can be cleaned. Preferably by those responsible for its current state.”
Weir directed a bemused frown at the goo-covered garden snake coiled like super-thick spaghetti around Sheppard’s knife. “It’s very life-like for a rubber snake,” she observed, reaching out to poke at it with her pen.
“That’s because this one’s real!” he growled.
“Oh.” Elizabeth pulled her pen back and suppressed a cringe, raising her eyes to John. She had rarely seen him this angry and on the occasions when she had, the Wraith, Caldwell, or someone from the IOA had usually been the cause. Behind the anger he looked worn out too, and no wonder. She was a little surprised Carson had let him go so soon since he’d been white as the sheets he was lying on and drugged into unconsciousness the night before when she’d stopped by the infirmary to see him. “All right, the rec room is yours for the rest of the day. Maybe I should send out a city-wide memo banning further practical jokes as well.”
“I think that would be an excellent idea,” John said, his annoyance slowly dissipating. He went to retrieve his knife from her desk, and succeeded, but the honey-glazed snake had stuck to some papers and remained behind on the desk. “Sorry,” he said, giving her a sheepish grin.
She shook her head, a laugh escaping at the absurdity of the situation. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. I think that was just your paycheck anyway.”
“That’s okay, I’ll steal Rodney’s. He owes me,” Sheppard said, turning toward the door.
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re feeling better...just stick to your plan and don’t go killing anyone, okay?”
John gave her his best innocent look. “Military justice does not necessarily demand the traditional military solution.”
Weir opened her mouth to comment, then shook her head. “You know what? I don’t even want to know what you’re planning.”
“Good, ‘cause I don’t know yet myself. See you later, Elizabeth.”
John left Weir’s office and headed for the rec room at a leisurely pace. When he arrived he found a couple of the marines playing a video game. Still irritated about his office and therefore annoyed with the rest of his men in general, he kicked them out of the room without explanation, even though he knew they were likely not the ones responsible. Finally alone, Sheppard quickly took measures to ensure that he wouldn’t be further interrupted and then sank into one of the sofas.
Three hours had passed by the time he put the finishing touches on his last overdue report and hit ‘send’. All that remained of the paperwork now was to sign off on a folder full of miscellaneous leave and equipment request forms. Since the Daedalus wasn’t due back for two weeks, those could wait. Besides, he was still sore from yesterday’s activities and figured he’d earned a break.
Sheppard set his laptop on the low table nearby, tossed his radio beside it, and stretched out on the worn sofa. He rolled around for a moment, trying to find a position that put the least strain on his aching back and neck, then settled with a long sigh. What a day. John absently dimmed the lights to half with a thought and moments later he was asleep.
-----
Carson Beckett was also having a nice quiet afternoon in his office doing paperwork, which included his final report on Colonel Sheppard’s condition. Since scans and blood work had proved inconclusive, he had ruled John’s illness as a severe migraine brought on by prolonged interaction with Ancient technology and officially returned the colonel to active duty, effective the next morning.
Quiet moments in Atlantis rarely lasted for long, though, and Carson instinctively felt this one grinding to a halt the moment he slid open his desk drawer and saw a bluish-grey glow coming from within. Tugging the drawer open the rest of the way, he confirmed his suspicion that the touch plates on Rodney’s mystery machine were once again lit. He tapped his radio. “Beckett to McKay.”
“Carson, can this wait? I’m up to my elbows in generator parts.”
“You be the judge. That bloody chunk of metal ya left in my office is puttin’ on a light show again.”
“What did you do to it?” McKay demanded. “I thought I told you to leave it alone!”
“I haven’t done a thing to it, Rodney. I was lookin’ for something and noticed it was glowing.”
“Oh. Well, I’m on the other side of the city right now, so it’s going to have to wait until I get back. I shouldn’t be terribly long, but let me know if it does anything else. What color are the lights?”
“Pale blue, same as last night.”
“Hmm. Is Sheppard still okay?”
“I assume so, but I haven’t talked ta him since early this afternoon. Is there a reason he wouldn’t be?”
“No, no, he should be fine…I think. I’ll take a look at it as soon as I can. McKay out.”
Carson ran a hand through his hair and pushed the drawer closed again. Ancient technology made him nervous, and this piece was no exception. They knew so little about it, and Rodney’s uncertainty had only served to fuel the worry itching at the back of his mind. He tried to go back to his paperwork, but ten minutes of scattered thinking later he sighed in frustration and tapped his radio, giving in to anxiety. “Beckett to Sheppard.”
When no response was forthcoming, Carson debated calling again. If the colonel was asleep he didn’t want to disturb him. Then again, he had returned the man to light duty, so how likely was it that he was napping? “Beckett to Colonel Sheppard. Please respond.” Again, nothing. “Beckett to Dr. Weir.”
“This is Weir, go ahead Carson.”
“Elizabeth, I’m tryin’ ta reach Colonel Sheppard. Have ya seen him recently?”
“Not for a few hours. Is something wrong?”
“Probably not, I just wanted ta ask him something…would ya happen ta have an idea of where he is?”
“In the rec room I would imagine. Some of his men decided to do a little redecorating of his office and I told him he could work there for today.”
“Thanks, love. I’ll try him there. Beckett out.”
Carson was already on the move, picking up his medical bag as he clicked off the radio. Call him paranoid, but two years in Atlantis had taught him to trust his hunches. It only took about five minutes to reach his destination, and he would have been there faster had he not forced himself to walk at a casual pace.
The door to the rec room was closed, and a sheet of paper was taped to it. Beckett stepped closer to see the handwritten sign which read:
LT. COL. SHEPPARD’S NEW OFFICE
If your name is not Elizabeth, Rodney,
Carson, Teyla, or Ronon, and you are
not in mortal danger
GO AWAY!
Or you will be.
“At least I’m on the short list,” Carson chuckled, knocking on the door. Several seconds passed without a response, and Beckett’s mirth edged toward concern. He swiped his hand over the door controls and stepped into the half-lit room. Shadows obscured the minute details of the space, but it was still light enough that he easily made out Sheppard’s form on one of the sofas.
Somewhat relieved, Carson moved closer and noticed the colonel’s laptop and a couple of file folders scattered on a table, along with his radio. That explains why he didn’t answer, Beckett thought. It was obvious Sheppard was asleep, and the doctor considered slipping back out of the room and leaving him as such, but something was off. Carson had unfortunately observed the colonel during sleep often enough to know his habits, so he quickly recognized the subtle differences that were present now.
John was curled on his side, not sprawled on his back as he usually was while napping. One arm was pillowed beneath his head, he shifted uncomfortably now and again, and his shallow breathing was sporadically interrupted by low moans. Beckett would have been convinced the man was having a bad dream, except he’d witnessed that on several occasions as well. “Colonel?” he called softly, not wanting to startle Sheppard. “John, wake up.” He reached out and gave the colonel’s shoulder a gentle shake.
Beckett knew the instant John awoke because the room plunged into complete darkness. After several moments the lights came on again, slightly, but not to the level they’d been at. The illumination was just barely enough for Carson to see John pushing himself upright.
“Doc? What’s going on?” Sheppard asked, his voice groggy, one hand reaching up to rub at his eyes, then his neck. “What time is it?”
“Early evening. I just wanted ta check in and see how ya were doing, Colonel. Would ya mind turnin’ the lights back on?” Beckett kept the concern from his voice, though he knew what the colonel’s sudden, almost subconscious dimming of the lights probably indicated. In fact, he was slightly surprised when Sheppard complied with his request, but then he noticed that John’s eyes were still closed. “I take it the headache’s back?”
Surprise caused Sheppard’s eyelids to pop open, and Carson caught a brief glimpse of glassy hazel-green irises before the colonel winced and squeezed them closed again. “Maybe a little,” he conceded. After all, his ATA gene had given him away so there was no point in lying about it. If John was being completely truthful, he felt like crap. The muscle aches were back along with the throbbing in his skull and he was starting to feel a little dizzy. “I thought sleep was supposed to get rid of this,” he groused as he submitted to Carson taking his pulse.
“Under ordinary circumstances that may well be the case, Colonel, but I’m afraid this hardly falls under that category.” Beckett let go of Sheppard’s wrist, not liking the too-quick fluttering beneath his fingers, and continued to check blood pressure, finding it low.
“You mean because of the Ancient device,” Sheppard stated.
“It’s a good possibility.”
“Wonderful. Does Rodney know what it is yet?”
“No, but he should be on his way soon ta take another look. Lean forward a bit so I can listen ta your lungs.”
“What for? I’ve got a headache, Doc, not pneumonia.”
Beckett sighed. “Colonel…”
“Fine, I’m leaning.” Sheppard bent forward, burying his face in his hands while the stethoscope traveled over his back. Suddenly, pain was rocketing back and forth between his temples and he felt like he was falling. “Shit,” he muttered, blindly grabbing for the coffee table in front of him as he pitched forward slightly. His fingers found purchase on the table at about the same moment that Beckett grabbed his arm. John squinted at the doctor in the dim light, since having a focal point seemed to ease the vertigo a little. “I’ll take that shot that deactivates my ATA gene now,” he joked weakly, feeling himself listing again, but he was too worn out to do anything about it.
“Aye, I bet ya would at that,” Beckett murmured, taking advantage of John’s sideward momentum to ease him back down onto the couch. He was helping the colonel swing his legs up when John suddenly grunted and jerked away from his touch, slowly curling onto his side, face scrunched in pain. “Colonel? What’s wrong?”
“Sorry…hurts.”
“What hurts? Tell me what’s happening, son.”
“Everything aches. Knees, back, arms…” John kneaded at the muscle of his left forearm with his opposite hand, trying unsuccessfully to ease the tension. “It was like this before, when we got back from the planet…thought the drugs had taken care of it though.”
“They should have,” Beckett agreed. “I think it’s time we got ya back ta the infirmary, lad.”
Sheppard winced as another muscle ache hit, but nodded and cautiously started to rise. “No ya don’t,” Carson scolded gently, his hand resting firm on John’s shoulder until the man relented and lay back down. “Ya wouldn’t make it five steps before I’d have ta send for a gurney anyway.” John grumbled something in return, but Carson chose to ignore it. The colonel didn’t look well at all and he figured Sheppard was within his rights to be a bit grumpy given his condition.
Beckett glanced away for a moment while he keyed his radio to call for a med team, and in doing so missed the look of utter shock that began to form on Sheppard’s face. It wasn’t until a pained groan coincided with John’s right hand clamping tightly onto his wrist that Carson looked back. John’s eyes were wide and panicked, and though the light was dim, the doctor could see why. Even if he could never hope to explain it. For a moment he too just stared as a jagged gash opened up, splitting the skin of Sheppard’s left forearm from wrist to inner-elbow. Beckett suddenly found his shirt soaked with too much red and John’s vice-like grip on his wrist slackened as the ashen colonel slipped rapidly toward unconsciousness.
On to Part 6