"Um, John? This is me you're about to impale."
(The sword was not, of course, cold steel. Being made of focused energy, it was in fact almost painfully hot, and Rodney was momentarily quite certain that it was burning a hole through his skin. It wasn't—the tip hadn't even pierced him—but for a split second he simply couldn't doubt it.)
When that initial fear had passed, Rodney raised his head carefully, and could've sworn he saw the irises of John's eyes suddenly lighten from a near-black to their usual clear hazel. The sword went down—he continued to watch it all the way—and then disappeared.
John shoved the handle hastily into his belt. "Are you okay?"
Rodney reached up and touched his throat cautiously. It was tender, but otherwise intact. "I was until you scared the shit out of me," he snapped, immediately regretting it when he saw the look on John's face.
"Sorry," John said brusquely, regathering at least a semblance of composure. "You startled me. I should've been paying more attention."
Ford stepped forward. "Something wrong, sir?"
"You seem distracted," Teyla elaborated.
John shook his head slowly. "No, I'm fine. Let's go. We're striking camp."
"Going back to Atlantis?" Rodney asked. "Why?"
"If there are Wraith here, probably all we're going to find is more Wraith. I'm sorry," he repeated, this time directing it at Teyla.
"As am I," she said softly. "They were good people."
As they trudged dejectedly back to the Stargate, Rodney stared bewilderedly at John's back, wondering what the hell was going on. Then again, he reasoned, maybe there simply wasn't anything going on. Certainly, he'd thought he'd seen the color of John's eyes change. But there was nothing unusual about that. People's eyes changed color slightly with their mood, right? He must've imagined it somewhat, though, because they couldn't have been absolutely black. It was dark, after all.
Of course there was an explanation. There had to be something,
"Dial the damn thing already!" John called out, and Rodney broke off his train of thought to discover that he was standing directly in front of the DHD.
He dialed it.
At the same time, he decided he was going to talk to Dr. Beckett when they got back. Because, no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't convince himself that John was quite all right.
And somehow, he didn't think confronting John about it directly would do much good.
-----
Carson, however, was also unable to shed light on the subject. "I'm sorry, Rodney," he said regretfully. "When I checked the major out, he was as normal as you were. Meaning he was fine," he added hastily, anticipating panic.
For once, though, Rodney was too focused to have interpreted his friend's comment any other way. "Are you sure? He didn't seem particularly normal to me. The way in which he was behaving—"
"Yes, I know," Carson interrupted. "And you thought his eyes changed color."
"I didn't think they changed color. I saw them myself," Rodney retorted. "Don't tell me that that's impossible, either. It's a documented fact that the eyes of Goa'uld hosts glow periodically.
"Yes, they do." Carson folded his hands atop his desk. "I've looked into it—the glow is a side-effect of the buildup of naquadah in the host's bloodstream. You know perfectly well I do blood work routinely as part of my post-mission checkup. No naquadah—or anything else strange, for that matter. Are you sure you didn't just imagine it?"
"I'm sure."
"It was dark," Carson pressed. "Pretty hard to see, wasn't it? And as for the incident with the sword, that's not exactly hard to explain. If you surprise someone who's just been in a fight like that, what do you expect?"
"I'm perfectly aware of all of this. I've considered it already, believe me." Rodney folded his arms, wearing an alarmingly stubborn frown with which Carson was only too familiar. "But I still suspect something isn't right with John."
Carson looked up, taking in the creases on his friend's forehead. "You're seriously worried about him, aren't you?" he asked, a tad more gently.
Not answering at first, Rodney turned on his heel to leave the infirmary. "Of course I am," he snapped back over his shoulder as he reached the door. "Why else would I be in here harassing you?"
"Where are you going?"
"To talk to Elizabeth," Rodney said shortly, and vanished into the corridor.
-----
Rodney arrived too late and found that John had preceded him to Elizabeth's office and was waving his arms around enthusiastically. "And they actually stayed dead for once!" he was saying.
"So they did," Rodney agreed absently, studying John more closely than usual. He was behaving like himself, certainly, and his eyes were undoubtedly hazel—at the moment, in any case. Nothing seemed to be wrong with him at all. Maybe I was wrong, Rodney thought. Still, he couldn't afford to take any chances. "Elizabeth, can I talk to you alone for a minute?"
For a second, Elizabeth looked about to reprimand him for interrupting, but then she saw how grim he was and nodded. "Of course." She gave John a small smile. "John, can you finish telling me about this later?"
"That's all right," Rodney said quickly. "I won't take that long. I just wanted to ask permission to keep the sword in my laboratory for now."
"Why?" John asked immediately, his expression darkening just a bit. (Had a shadow fallen over his eyes as well? Rodney couldn't decide.)
Rodney took a deep breath. I'm already becoming paranoid. "Well—as John's been telling you—it's an enormously potent weapon. I think it'd be best to keep it somewhere secure." God bless half-truths.
"That makes sense," Elizabeth agreed.
"I'll go find it," John said, and left so abruptly that neither of them could stop him.
Elizabeth stared after him in surprise for a moment, then turned back to Rodney. "Exactly how secure is your lab?"
"It's alarmed," he explained. "If anyone forces the lock, an alarm bell goes off in my quarters. I'd know immediately."
-----
When the alarm did in fact sound that night, he was waiting for it; he'd sat up late reading for just that reason. Nevertheless, when he got to his lab only two or three minutes later, it was too late. The door was wide open. He went in, and one glance told him that the sword, which he'd made sure was actually there before going to his quarters, was gone. Rodney turned around to go get someone—or try and find John, if he could— slipped in something, and looked down to see what it was.
He recognized them both instantly: Doctors Braun and Hamilton, two of the younger scientists who had found the locked room yesterday morning.
Judging by their appearances and the quantity of blood covering the floor, they were quite indisputably dead.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: WAHAAHH! VIOLENCE!
I think I've been reading too much Stephen King.
I wrote this while listening to French pop music and enjoying it very much. It's funny, actually; if I hear this kind of music here, I run away screaming with my hands over my ears. (I used to like the Backstreet Boys, I'm sorry to say, but I haven't for about five years.) But just because it's in French, it's somehow so much cooler. (In addition to French pop, I also recommend Scottish punk, German techno, and Japanese rock. I'm told Mexican rap is good too.)
By the way, I'm absolutely certain of the color of John's eyes. I checked this time.