Pairing: Lorne/Sheppard, only briefly mentioned.
Rating/warnings: R/slash (not explicit), violence, and adult situations. And language, because Evan has a potty mouth.
Disclaimer: The 'verse is mine, but nothing that lives there is.
Notes: This is the second story in the Virus'verse AU. The first part, It All Comes Round Again, can be found in my profile. This will not make sense without it.
Summary: 'The plan was simple in theory, and mind-fuckingly complex in the details. Simple, in John's eyes, but John wasn't the planner. That was Evan's job.'
Previously:
Evan's mouth was working open and shut as he processed the information. He felt a headache starting at the back of his neck and resolutely pushed it back. "You seem remarkably calm about this," he finally managed.
"Oh, no," John said, giving Evan a charming smile belied by hazel eyes that would incinerate ice. "I'm so pissed off that I can't see straight. But I have a plan."
"A plan," Evan echoed weakly. He hoped it wasn't some sort of giant fuck you to the Air Force, a revenge thing, except he hoped that it was. He knew that whatever the plan was, he'd end up a big part of it.
"Yeah. Want to hear?"
The plan was simple in theory, and mind-fuckingly complex in the details: John wanted to leave, move away, and keep doing what he was doing. By himself. Without the backup of the SGC, or anyone else.
Simple, in John's eyes, but John wasn't the planner. That was Evan's job, and Evan only had what John knew to work with, which wasn't all that much.
They were back in their apartment, and John was ordering Chinese takeout as Evan sat on the couch, head in his hands, wondering how the fuck this was all going to play out. He heard John's voice over the phone, easy as he ordered their dinner in Chinese. The muted voice stopped, and Evan heard the refrigerator open. A minute later, John was passing him a beer, and Evan sighed and took a long pull as John sat on the other side of the couch.
"Tell me again," Evan said, diving right in. "All of it."
John nodded, for once giving in to Evan's near-obsessive need for details without ribbing. "I heard some things, met some others, while I was in with Irina. I know where the other cell is."
The "other cell" referred to a specific group, large and powerful, that the SGC knew about but couldn't find. Part of John's mission objective had been to gather as much intel about the cell as he could in the hopes that the SGC could work to take down the two largest Wraith cells in the Southwest.
"And the SGC doesn't know?" Evan asked, knowing what John's answer would be. They'd already had this conversation.
"No," John said. "It was just little pieces of information. Shit that could've been anything, nothing overly specific. I don't think they ever put the puzzle together." John was peeling the label from his beer bottle. "I only just figured it out myself. While they had me in quarantine."
His voice was neutral, and Evan knew that that meant John's seething rage at the Air Force was closer to the surface than he'd like it to be. If John was too calm, shit was about to start hitting fans everywhere in a five-mile radius.
"Vegas," Evan supplied instead of addressing the Air Force issue. John nodded.
"Yeah," he confirmed. "Don't know exactly where, but Vegas, yeah."
Evan closed his eyes. Vegas was big; worse Vegas was just crawling with people. It would be difficult to track anything down in Vegas, which, Evan figured, was probably why the cell had chosen it.
"So we're going to Vegas," he said finally, opening his eyes again. John's face stared back at him, a look of something between confusion and protest on his face.
"I'm going to Vegas," John said cautiously. "You're going to, I don't know, track down the rest of the cell here or something."
Evan shook his head. "Don't be a dumbfuck, John. You're going, I'm going. Someone has to watch your stupid ass." He tried a grin but John was frowning now.
"Evan," he said, and Evan recognized John's I'm-being-a-rational-adult voice. "You can't just quit. It's the Air Force."
"Got my twenty," he pointed out. They'd had the party last month.
"Big fucking deal," John said, and Evan heard the line of anger rising in his friend's voice. "You can have another twenty. I'm not dragging you down with me." Evan rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak.
The doorbell rang.
They both stared at the hallway for a second before John said, "Food's here," and stood from the couch. Evan half-listened to the conversation in Chinese drifting in from the hallway as he tried to carefully phrase what he needed to get through John's head.
John returned with a paper bag full of food and sat back down. They divided the contents and ate silently while they both thought.
"Look," Evan said eventually. "You're not dragging me anywhere. I think the Air Force is giving you a raw fucking deal, and if they can do that to you, they can do it to me. They're being cocksuckers, and though that's an activity I'm normally behind one hundred percent, I'd rather they not turn me around and fuck me raw when they're done."
"Bonus points for imagery," John said dryly. He sighed. "Look, Evan, don't do this because you feel some sort of fucked-up sense of responsibility."
Evan stared. For a guy who pretended to have no people skills whatsoever, John Sheppard was one observant son of a bitch. "I do," he responded quietly. "And don't feed me any bullshit about it not being my fault. I understand that shit goes wrong and that you can't have a Plan B for everything." John winced and Evan made a mental note to revisit Plan B later on. "But we went with my idea instead of yours, and if either one of us should have ended up with that…" He gestured to John's chest, covered by a dark gray tee, which now sported a thin, pale line over his heart with blue tendrils creeping out from its center. "It should have been me."
John glared at him, really glared, and Evan felt the anger rolling off him in waves. "Don't you ever," he growled, "say that again."
Evan blinked as John went on. "You want this to be your fault, fine, blame yourself. But don't you dare tell me it should have been you." He spat the last part out. "I'd rather go off on my own and get my ass handed to me by all the Wraith out there than have you go through-" He broke off and raked a hand through his hair as he closed his eyes. He continued a moment later, calmer. "You want to come, come. We both know I'm not gonna last long on my own, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't want the company. But, Evan," and he looked strange, a mixture of broken and pleading and a whole host of other things that just weren't John, "don't get yourself killed trying to prove anything."
They sat in silence for a long time after that, mulling over everything that had passed between them.
-0-
John wasn't sure quite how to break the news to his friends at the SGC. Some would be easier than others; O'Neill, for instance, clapped him on the back and told him to call if he ever needed anything, and the rest of his team had quietly assured him that O'Neill really did mean anything. When John got up to his car later that afternoon, with boxes of his and Evan's shit from their office, he found an envelope atop another box in the car.
The envelope had five thousand dollars in cash and a printed-out listing for a warehouse near Vegas. John blinked at both. O'Neill, at least, had figured it out, but he'd keep his mouth shut. The box held a few handguns and some ammunition, as well as a few devices that John couldn't identify at the bottom. He plucked the single sheet of paper, with O'Neill's surprisingly tidy handwriting, from the box.
Decommissioned. The small one jams. And give the shiny things to Lorne.
John grinned, glad that at least part of his day was looking good. He shoved the box and the note at Evan as he loaded their boxes into the trunk of his car.
"You worried that O'Neill figured it out?" Evan asked as they drove home. John shook his head.
"Not even a little bit," he said. "He'll keep his eye out as best he can. Someone on the inside. It'll be good." Evan nodded as he turned one of the devices from the box around in his hands. John gestured to it. "What's it do?"
Evan grinned and fussed with the device, pulling part of it off with an audible click. He held it out to John as they pulled into their parking slot. "You're so going to love this."
John took the small round thing – it kind of felt like a rock – curiously. "At the risk of repeating myself… what's it do?"
"Look up," he heard Evan say, and he did so.
It's a communication thing McKay's been working on, John heard, and he was too busy freaking out at the fact that he could hear Evan as clear as day while the other man's lips weren't moving to focus on the message.
"Jesus fuck," he exclaimed, clutching the stone in his hand. "Mind-reading rocks."
Evan laughed out loud and held his hand out for the stone. John gave it back, staring at the device as Evan clicked the pieces back together. "Something like that," he agreed. "It's a prototype, though. It's not even the newest model, which is probably how O'Neill was able to get it to us. It's got a really limited range."
John's brain was still trying to wrap itself around mind-reading rocks. He shook his head a minute later, bringing himself back to the task at hand.
He and Evan were a two-man team, which was uncommon in the SGC; most operated in teams of four. John and Evan had been allowed to work under the radar because John had originally been brought on as a sort of rogue operative, meant to work on his own. When he'd inadvertently brought Evan in, they'd paired up, and until recently had been successful enough that the SGC hadn't forced anyone else on them.
That didn't mean, however, that they weren't close to some of the other teams around the base. O'Neill's team, for instance, often served as backup muscle when it was needed for one of John's ops. Ford's team did the same.
John and Evan were both closer to the members of Ford's team than O'Neill's, if only because O'Neill's team was, as the flagship team of the SGC, always fucking busy. Ford's team was just as oddball as the other, but in ways that made them more familiar to John and Evan. John liked Ronon's skills and McKay's brash honesty; Evan appreciated Teyla's silence and Ford's enthusiasm. The two teams had developed a friendship that extended past the walls of the mountain, which was why the four were coming to dinner that night.
It was going to be ugly. John could just tell.
-0-
By an unspoken agreement, all the food prepared in their kitchen was done so by Evan. John had offered several times to help over the course of their friendship; Evan had accepted once, and they'd ended up ordering pizza. Evan was pretty sure there was still oregano stuck to the ceiling.
Tonight, Evan was going for simple. He'd pulled spaghetti sauce from the freezer and it was now heating on the stove next to a pot of boiling water. He put the pasta in and watched as it sank down, turning the water slightly cloudy as some of the starch released. He checked on the garlic bread in the oven and moved to the counter to chop onions for the salad.
"You are going with him," Teyla's voice said quietly from behind him, and Evan nearly sliced his finger open.
"Yeah," Evan said, not turning around as he inspected his finger. Teyla didn't say anything else, and for a moment Evan wondered if she'd left the kitchen, but there was suddenly a warm pressure on his shoulder and he looked up into her understanding face.
"Good," she said simply, and Evan found himself reaching out to pull her into a hug before he realized what he was doing. She embraced him fiercely, and Evan tucked his head into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent. They stood like that for a long moment before Evan finally pulled back.
"Thanks," he offered, unsure of what, exactly, he was thanking her for. Teyla simply smiled at him and retreated to the corner of the kitchen watching as Evan returned to his chopping.
Dinner was, as usual with this group, a loud affair; Ford was trying his hardest to entertain John by annoying McKay, and the two had devolved into arguing over sports. Ford was an avid football fan; McKay preferred hockey.
"You would like football," McKay snarled. "Such a grunt game. Player see little man with ball, player smash into ground, player take tiny ball and do silly dance!"
Ford rolled his eyes. "Hockey's barely a game, McKay," he taunted. "Men on ice skates? Seriously? They're one step removed from tights and sequins." John let out a laugh at that and Ford's expression turned pleased.
McKay glared at the pair, muttering about Americans and hobbies and real sports, and Evan realized with a sudden twist in his stomach that he was going to miss this.
-0-
"So," McKay asked later, "why the dinner?"
Teyla and Ford sent him twin glares, but John shook his head and smiled.
"I'm leaving," he announced, and McKay stared at him.
"I thought they offered you a desk job," he whined. "So you could stay."
"They did," John replied. "Seriously, McKay, you didn't think I was going to take it, did you?"
The look on his face was answer enough. "But where will you go?"
"I know where the other cell is."
There was silence for a moment before Ronon smirked. "Hot damn, Sheppard, you kept it from them?"
"Not exactly," John grinned back. "I gave them all the pieces. It's not my fault if they suck at putting shit together."
"Vegas?" McKay sputtered about three seconds later. "They're in Vegas." John nodded. "And you're going to Vegas to take on the cell? By yourself?"
"Well, no," Evan cut in, and every eye focused on him. "I'm going, too."
The silence was much shorter this time, punctuated by Ford's exclaimed "What?" and McKay's "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
"So both of you are going to die, instead of just you," McKay continued, gesturing to John. "Great. Just great."
"Dying's not really on the list of things to do, Rodney," John said, smiling briefly. "And, seriously, I think I've got a better chance of making it if I'm not out there on my own."
"When are you leaving?" Teyla asked, trying to steer the conversation into slightly safer ground. John shrugged.
"We're still looking for a place," he admitted. "Plans are still coming together." He fingered the listing that O'Neill had given him; he'd been carrying it around all evening, stopping to read through it every hour or so. "We've got a couple solid leads, though."
McKay grabbed the paper from John's hand and scanned through it. "Hm," he grumbled as he read, clearly unimpressed. "What's so special about this place?"
"Location," Evan said sliding smoothly into the conversation. "Close to the city, but not in it. Also, it has enough space for what we need."
"Space," McKay repeated, sounding even less impressed. "Why do you need space?"
John shifted uncomfortably. "It's probably better if you don't know, Rodney."
McKay spluttered for a moment before his face cleared. "Oh, right, I'm the enemy now." John's face fell, but McKay kept talking. "Well, if you two idiots are damn set on getting yourselves killed, the least I can do is come along and try to keep you alive a little longer."
John felt like absolute silence was becoming another guest at the dinner table. "What?"
McKay blinked. "You'll need me," he said matter-of-factly. "I can help."
"McKay," Evan interjected. "Not that we don't appreciate the offer, but you have a job here. They won't just let you-"
"Not military," McKay cut in. "They can't yank a chain they aren't holding. I'll tell them where to stick it and they can deal with it." He nodded as if it were that simple. Although, John reflected, to Rodney, it probably was.
"We can't pay you," Evan tried, and McKay rolled his eyes.
"I solved three Millennium problems in my spare time this year," he said, waving his hand around like that wasn't going to cause more shocked silence. "I just need to submit the proofs and I'll be good for a while."
"Three?" John echoed faintly, and McKay nodded eagerly.
"P versus NP was fun," he said, getting a gleam in his eye that would, John suspected, lead to a long explanation that nobody here would understand. He hurried to interrupt before McKay could confuse the living fuck out of everyone at the table.
"That's great, Rodney," he said, honestly proud of his friend. "But if you walk away from the SGC now, especially with us, that's it with them for you. When the Millennium money runs out you'll have to find a job or something."
McKay looked utterly unconcerned. "I'm halfway to disproving the Riemann hypothesis," he stated. "And I had a job before I joined up with the SGC. I'm sure I can find another."
John rubbed at his eyes, mentally cordoning off a section of the space they needed for Rodney.
Teyla spoke up from the end of the table. "I would like to accompany you, as well."
John's head whipped around. "Teyla, I-"
"I am a civilian consultant with your government, just as Dr. McKay is," she said. "I can provide additional support."
"I'm in, too," Ronon said from the end of the table, which surprised no one. Where Teyla went, Ronon followed, like a big, angry shadow.
John looked at Ford. "I suppose next you're going to tell me you'll give the Force the finger and join our merry little band?" he said sarcastically. Ford grinned.
"My enlistment's up in two months," he said. "I'll be along."
John shook his head and mentally sectioned off more of the warehouse for living quarters. He glanced at the paper in McKay's hands and sighed. They were going to need a bigger place.
-0-
The place they found was larger, farther out from Vegas proper, and conveniently located far enough away from police patrols or nosy neighbors that they could go about their business in relative privacy. In short, it was perfect.
John and Evan moved at the end of August when their lease terminated. The warehouse was open, and they spent a solid month putting up walls and installing floors and converting the space into their headquarters.
"Atlantis," John said one night as they collapsed onto the couch. "We're calling it Atlantis."
Evan raised an eyebrow. "You want to call our secret base of illegal operations Atlantis?" he asked. "Why?"
"I like it," John responded casually. "Reminds me of what we're doing. We were lost, but we're rising up and getting back in the fight."
"You're a fucking poet," Evan drawled. "Atlantis rising from the ashes. Right. Why not Phoenix?"
"That's in Arizona," John replied seriously, and Evan threw a pillow at him.
But the name stuck, and by the time the rest of their ragtag team arrived, it was as official as they could make the name of their so-called secret base of illegal operations.
They totaled seven at first. John and Evan had approached Carson separately; he was the only one who they'd asked to come along, promising lab space and funding and less bullshit than the SGC. It hadn't taken much convincing.
They weren't openly recruiting, but soon found themselves with Adam Stackhouse and James Markham, two fresh-faced college graduates whose childhood neighborhoods had been overrun by the Wraith, and Laura Cadman, who had been kicked out of the Marines for what she would only describe as "a complete and total overreaction and lack of a sense of humor." O'Neill said she'd been thrown out for blowing something up; Evan liked her immediately.
McKay quickly brought another scientist into the fold, a Czech named Zelenka, claiming that he was the only other person on the planet who could interact with McKay on an intellectual level. Radek was friendly and charming, and could keep McKay happy and satisfied most of the time, so the Lanteans were happy to welcome him into their fold.
It was six months after John had been stabbed by the time they got settled into a routine. The scientists spent their time working on technology that would help the field operatives; Carson spent his time trying to engineer a retrovirus to bleed the Wraith drug out but retain the human within. He had already created a form of gene therapy, delivered via injection, that mimicked the ATA gene that he'd discovered. In effect, as long as they got their booster shots, their team was immune to the Wraith virus.
The combatants in the group spent their time tracking the cell, which was easier said than done. John had done a good job in piecing together the information he'd gathered from Irina to get to Vegas, but the reality of the situation soon dawned upon the team: Vegas was a big damn place, and the cell was being really fucking careful. Most cells were small – between ten and fifteen –and willing to recruit by force or willing participant, eager to swell their ranks. This cell was different.
From what they'd gathered, the cell was huge. There were somewhere around a hundred Wraith, all led by one woman (for whatever reason, Wraith cells were always led by women. The SGC had codenamed them "queens"). Since they were the largest cell in the area – at least, the largest that anyone in Atlantis or the SGC knew about – they didn't seem concerned with recruiting more; rather, it seemed that they were trying to stay hidden, trying to stay off the SGC's radar.
The thing about leading his own little anti-Wraith militia, John realized, was that the Wraith, at this point, didn't even know they existed. They were on the lookout for people from the SGC – people with the right kind of weapons and connections and movements. They'd never see something like Atlantis coming. It could be their way in.
If, John thought with a sigh, they could just find the fuckers.
-0-
"I think I've got it!"
Evan looked up from the papers spread out in front of him and blinked. He'd spent the last few hours – seven, he realized as he looked at his watch, holy shit – going through their data again, poring over details, trying to find something they'd missed. The Wraith were proving very elusive. Carson stood in the doorway, holding a clear tube with a bright pink liquid inside.
Evan blinked again. "Um," he said, not really knowing how to react. "Looks like Pepto Bismol, Doc."
Carson laughed and practically bounced over to sit in the chair by Evan's desk. He put the vial down, almost squirming in his excitement. "It's much better than that, Major."
Evan shook his head. "Not a Major anymore, Doc," he reminded Carson, and the other man waved him off.
"Evan, then, fine," he said, his Scottish accent thickening in his exuberance. "I think I did it."
"More words, Doc." Evan tried to go back through in his mind to figure out what, exactly, Carson had been working on that would be this important, this exciting, this-
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
"Is that-" he breathed suddenly, reaching out to touch the vial reverently. Carson beamed and nodded.
"I think so," he said, and Evan could no longer blame the man for vibrating in his seat. This was huge. This was the biggest leap forward they'd had in a long time. Evan reached for the communication stone that O'Neill had given them when they left the SGC and thought, John.
McKay had tinkered with the device, upgrading it to work like the newer model he'd left at the SGC, and then toying with it again a month or so later. Its range extended throughout the entire complex and, with work, Evan could make it transmit brief images as well as words. John and Evan both carried one of the small communication stones with them at all times.
Yeah, Evan heard a second later. What's wrong?
Evan thought about how he must sound, and tried to send images of the vial, of Carson, as he thought, My office, now.
John appeared in the door a moment later, panting. Evan frowned – John usually did his running in the morning – then realized that John had probably run all the way here from wherever he'd been. Judging from the workout clothes, Evan figured he'd been sparring with Teyla.
As soon as John's eyes took in the scene (Carson beaming, Evan amazed, the small vial of liquid), he simply said, "The retrovirus."
Carson nodded back. "It's not ready, not completely," he said, picking the vial up from the table. "But I've got some promising results."
"How promising?" John asked, reaching out to take the vial from Carson. Evan watched as John turned it over and over in his hands, as if trying to decipher exactly what its contents were, how they worked, if they worked.
"All the simulations I've run have come back," Carson replied. "And I tested it with the sample and got the same results."
"The sample" was one of the most prized possessions in Atlantis. When they'd made their mass exodus from the SGC, they'd left the place in such a mess that nobody had noticed when part of the Wraith virus sample had gone missing. John figured that he had a right to some of it; after all, he was the one who had nearly died getting it. And if O'Neill had stepped in and misled some higher-ups who were actually upset over it, well, that was neither here nor there.
"The problem is," and now Carson looked uncomfortable, "that I'm stalled."
"Stalled how?" Evan asked, looking at the doctor, who was staring at the vial John still held.
"I need to test it," he responded. "On a Wraith."
"Oh," was all Evan could think of to say. They didn't have a Wraith. They couldn't even find any to try to capture.
John nodded and gave the vial back to Carson. "Let me make a phone call," he said, as casually as if Carson had expressed a desire for a pizza delivery, and stepped outside the office.
-0-
John knew all about bad days. He thought he'd probably experienced every kind of bad day there was, from the fuck-I-almost-died day to the just-got-dumped day to the everyone's-pissed-at-me-and-I-don't-know-why day and all the stops in between. He was less familiar with good days, but figured that this would count as one of those.
The thin pink liquid in Carson's vial could literally be the end of the Wraith, the end of the monumental clusterfuck that had consumed his life. Carson had developed an immunization and an antidote, one of which he knew worked and the other in which he believed.
O'Neill had graciously agreed to part with three of the Wraith prisoners that the SGC had locked up in their basement dungeons. He'd sounded almost gleeful at the prospect of screwing over the organization, and John idly wondered if he'd be adding another stray to his collection. Or collection of strays; where O'Neill went, his team followed. John shook his head. O'Neill would arrange for three of the Wraith to disappear from the SGC and appear in Atlantis, and nobody would be any the wiser.
To top it all off, Ford was skidding through the doorway to John's office looking like he'd just been handed a gift-wrapped M203 and enough rounds to take out all the Wraith. "Got 'em!"
He slapped a map down on John's desk and jabbed a finger into the center. "Fuckers have been right under our noses," he said almost gleefully. John studied the map.
Ford was right; the area he'd outlined on the map was less than ten miles from Atlantis. John frowned as he tried to picture the area. "Is that in the warehouse district?"
"Yeah," Ford confirmed. He tapped the map. "Here and here," he said, "are two warehouses owned by the same person." He paused as if waiting for something, and John looked up expectantly.
"And this person is…" John said after a moment when it because clear that Ford was waiting for him.
"Ellia Zaddik," he said with a flourish. John kept his gaze level and Ford wilted slightly. "Look, I asked McKay to check it out, because I couldn't dig anything up on my own. He and Zelenka tracked down a picture of her." Ford tossed another piece of paper onto the desk, and John found himself staring into the face of a young girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen. She had short, dark hair, pale green skin, and yellowed eyes.
"Do pice," John heard from behind him, and turned to find Evan standing behind him, looking down at the picture. John handed it to him and the younger man took it. "They're turning kids now. Zkurvysyne."
"You're spending too much time with Radek," John said mildly, pulling the photo back from Evan's grasp before he could tear it into shreds. "Apparently they're turning kids now, yeah." He looked back to Ford. "What made you check into these places?"
Ford shrugged. "I was talking to a guy at the gas station," he said, smiling a little. "Said he saw a really weird looking kid walking through town the other day, said she lived up there. Figured it was worth checking out, at least."
"Dumb luck," John muttered and Ford shrugged.
"Better than shit luck, which is what we've had till now."
John had to agree.
-0-
The three prisoners arrived on a Thursday morning. Evan had set Radek and McKay to the task of Wraith-proofing three separate rooms and a lab area; he didn't want to keep the three together, for fear they'd try to figure out a way to escape. The result, he had to admit, was impressive; the two had managed to rig up a system keyed to the ATA gene. People with the gene, be it naturally or artificially, could enter or exit at will, but anyone without it would be stuck in or out of the field.
Carson was looking at his subjects with an air of clinical detachment, surveying each in turn and making notes on a datapad he carried with him. Evan followed him as he went; the Wraith couldn't get out, but Carson had a tendency to forget that they wanted to kill him and Evan was afraid he'd wander in to get a closer look.
When Carson had finished, Evan followed him back to the infirmary-slash-lab that the doctor had set up. Evan sat in front of Carson's desk as the other man sat heavily behind it.
"I have some… reservations," he said haltingly. "About the retrovirus."
Evan raised an eyebrow. "What kind of reservations are we talking about here, Doc?"
"It might kill them," he stated, looking from the datapad to meet Evan's eyes squarely. "I'd say it's about a fifty-fifty chance that the retrovirus will work, and I think it depends on strength and specific body chemistry. There's a good chance that the cure will kill them."
Evan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Eighty percent chance the virus kills you before you turn, fifty percent chance you die from the cure." He opened his eyes and looked at Carson. "Those odds suck, Doc."
Carson let a brief smile pass over his face as he nodded. "Aye, Evan, that they do."
"Do you want to, I don't know, delay your trials or something?" Evan offered. He'd heard Carson say that he was pretty much stuck until he could test the drug on an actual Wraith, but he also knew that deep down, Carson hated the idea of hurting anyone. And if he was right – if the Wraith were really still human under all of that, could still be changed back…
But Carson was already shaking his head. "That wont be necessary," he said firmly, and Evan almost believed that Carson wasn't thinking about the people beneath the virus. "I'll begin with the first dose tomorrow morning."
Evan blinked. "First dose?" he asked, wondering what he'd missed this time. Carson nodded.
"The idea is to drain it out of them slowly," Carson explained. "I think that part of the reason that the original virus kills more than it turns is because of the speed involved."
Evan nodded. That made sense. "So you're doing it in stages," he deduced, and Carson smiled.
"Aye, stages. And we can start the first in the morning."
-0-
John was up late that night.
He had a location, he had a name, he had proof that they were turning kids. Now all he needed was a plan. Unfortunately, after hours of staring between the map and the picture that Ford had given him, he was no closer to thinking one up.
John, he heard in his head. Where are you? He reached for the stone he kept in his pocket.
In my office, he thought, and Evan walked through the door a minute later, glancing around.
"You're never in your office," he drawled. "It's pretty much the last place I'd ever look for you. In fact," he said, looking thoughtful, "it is the last place I went looking for you. I even called you first because I was pretty sure I'd just missed you somewhere else."
"Ha fucking ha," John grumbled, shoving a chair out with his foot. "I'm trying to figure out how to get in."
Evan studied the map and the photo as John had been doing for the past few hours. John rested his forehead in his hand as he hovered over the corner of the map, eyes straying down and around.
"John?" Evan's voice came a minute later, and John blinked his eyes open. Christ, he was tired. "How long have you been sitting here, exactly?"
John lifted one shoulder. "Five hours?" he estimated. "Maybe six."
Evan rolled his eyes and stood yanking John to his feet. "Dinner time," he said above John's protests. "Feed the body, feed the mind. Come on. James made Sloppy Joes."
John followed Evan to the commissary without real protest. He was, he decided, pretty hungry, and he could definitely use a break from that goddamned map. No matter how he stared at it, the answers refused to come to him.
Evan set two trays on the table and John reached forward almost mechanically, taking three bites of the sandwich before he looked at it in surprise. "This is really good."
"Thanks," he heard a cheery voice say, and looked to his right to see James setting down his own tray. "Just like my momma used to make 'em."
John smiled and kept eating, but his mind was throwing up a projection of the map, the surrounding areas, the information they had, the picture of the kid Wraith queen…
"Penny for your thoughts?" James' voice interrupted again, and John blinked, realizing that he was holding his half-eaten sandwich in one hand while he drummed his fingers against the table with the other.
"Oh. Um. We found the cell." James nodded; the news had spread pretty fast around the small compound. "I'm trying to figure our way in."
James shrugged. "If I were in charge…"
John grinned. He liked the kid. James was absolute shit at subtlety, though he tried.
"Lay it on me," John said, and James explained his plan.
It was mostly recon work, which, John berated himself, he should have been able to come up with on his own. They needed to get inside, but before they did, they needed to know what else would be in there. They needed hard numbers and detailed drawings of the place, needed to know exactly what they were up against before throwing themselves at it.
They set up a rotation schedule, teams of three, and two hours later, John was going over the details with James, Laura, and Radek before they left.
"Don't engage them," he said again, and Laura rolled her eyes.
"Sheppard," she said, and he was pretty sure he'd never heard his own name in that particular tone of voice before, "lay off it. We know."
John frowned. "I just – look, Cadman, I've been there. It blows more than anything you could possibly imagine." His right hand drifted up across his chest to trace the line that they'd all seen there. "I'd rather you guys not have to get the tattoo if we can help it."
"Yes, Papa Bear," Laura said, but her tone was more subdued. John nodded and stood from the table.
"Report in every hour," he said, turning to Radek. "You have the phone?"
Radek brandished a secure cell phone at him. "I have it," he said succinctly. "McKay does not think it will work. It will," he hastened to add as John's eyes narrowed. "McKay thinks I am incompetent scientist some days, but it will work. He has no faith. Debil," he added, almost under his breath.
John let out a breath. "Every hour," he said, and he left the room.