Abruptly, he was awake again, breathing; cool air flowing into his lungs and he just lay there for a moment, letting it fill him, reminding him how it felt.
Beckett was looking down at with concern, and he nodded.
"Better," he said. "Carson." He couldn't get more than a few words out at a time, but he had to tell someone. "Check Sheppard." He drew another breath and held up a finger, forestalling Beckett's words.
"Check head. Goa'uld." He concentrated on breathing again, panting in the oxygen from the mask.
Beckett blinked, tilted his head.
"Rodney, there are no Goa'uld in this galaxy."
"Infiltrators. Need to know. Don't tell."
Beckett had worked with the military long enough to understand the shorthand, and he nodded.
"I understand, but Rodney, John is not a Goa'uld. I had to scan him when he returned from his most recent mission. Something about knocking himself out with an improvised surfboard."
The penetrating fear eased, and he relaxed. Sheppard wasn't a Goa'uld. His friend didn't have a snake in his head; his psyche wasn't warring with another for control…
He was embarrassed to feel a dampness sliding from the corner of his eyes, and he blinked hard.
"So that's what you were researching." Becket said slowly. "I'd heard you had a project you wouldn't share, we thought it was something from the mission. You were trying to research a way to remove it, here, on Atlantis, weren't you?"
He gave up, closed his eyes and nodded. Hours of research, trying to figure how to merge Ancient and Human technology to create something designed by the Tok'ra. And always, in the back of his mind, the memory of what a benign presence had felt like, knowing how much pain a Goa'uld could inflict on a strong willed host, terrified for Sheppard and of him, and always hot and tired and coughing. But he was safe, they were safe, John was safe…
"And Caldwell, and his need to know…damn him, anyway." The Scot sounded furious, and he shook his head.
"Don't tell," he managed. "You …trouble."
"Oh, lad, I'll give him trouble…" Beckett glanced down again, met his eyes, and nodded. "Aye, I'll keep my mouth shut. Until he deems me worthy to be told. And, so you know, I had a scan just before I left the SGC, I was a guinea pig for the new doctors coming in. It's on record, if you like."
He smiled, or tried to. The tickle had started again. The coughing returned, soon after.
xxxxxx
Beckett tried never to let worry colour his words, but for those who knew him there were signs.
Sheppard and Weir knew him well. When he appeared at the door of the waiting room, Sheppard stood, gesturing wordlessly towards his vacated chair. They'd brought McKay in only an hour ago, he'd been semi-conscious, but the deep hacking cough seemed to persist, awake or not. It had been quiet, now, for a few minutes.
The Scot sat, aiming a glance of thanks at the Lieutenant Colonel, not letting his surprise at seeing Caldwell show. Teyla and Dex were there as well, as he'd expected.
"Something has settled in his lungs," he said without preamble. "The cough is an outward manifestation of it. But from his state, he's been ill for a few days." There was a bite to his next words. "Did you not notice?"
There was an uncomfortable silence. Sheppard broke it.
"We only saw him again this evening. I had to drag him off some project to come have supper with us." He glanced at Caldwell. "Was he behaving oddly?"
"I'm sorry, Sheppard," and the tone said he really was, "but I don't know him well enough to make that determination. No one on Daedelus does."
Beckett sighed. "I know. I know. But he had to be exhibiting symptoms - shortness of breath - for a good while. Right now he's barely able to breathe, the effect is pneumonia but I haven't any idea yet what the cause is. I have some of my people trying to find out what's causing it."
"Is it communicable?" Weir asked.
"The city says no. He's been moving freely about since he returned. If it were - and I hate to rely on technology to that extent, but it's been trustworthy in the past - the lockdown would have occurred."
Caldwell's expression tightened, but he said nothing. Beckett looked at him a second, then glanced over at Sheppard and his team. "And before you ask, yes, you can see him."
xxxxxx
Winter. Cold, clean air, snow so frigid it creaked under your boots, the same sort of eerie, tooth-chilling sound that cotton batting made coming out of the aspirin bottle. Walking on a path made compact by the passage of snowmobiles, crunching over the neat pattern the tread left behind. Trees like blue veins traced on the pallid skin of a grey-clouded sky, pregnant with snow.
Or standing on the top of a mountain, a peak so tall that clouds found it a convenient place to stop and rest. And the sun, filtering through brittle branches, to turn the forest into a misty hall of glass.
Even just a city winter, rush hour stalled into bustling parking lots, fat white flakes drifting down to settle quietly on an unquiet people. Slush like a cake, creamy white frosting on top with a soft brown beneath, prime to be jumped in, spraying far and wide.
Canadian winters - Toronto, Winnipeg, Ottawa. US winters - Colorado, New York. Russian winters - St. Petersburg, Krasnoyarsk. And, Antarctica, the father of all winters.
He had never known a year without a winter. He had loathed it as a child. It was entirely too easy for bullies to force handfuls of snow down his collar, wash his face with it, hit him with rock-cored snowballs. He'd vowed, with the determination of the young, to find some way to live somewhere without winter.
He made peace with the season as he grew older, though. He learned to appreciate the beauty of it, the way a coat of white perfected even the most flawed of scenes.
Area 51 would have been a dream come true for his younger self. The boy he had been would have been pleased with the heat, the lack of snowflakes. Even there, though, he'd managed never to have to survive twelve solid months without winter - called back to the cold to lecture, assigned to special projects in freezing, isolated places, and what had seemed to be the nadir of his career - being sent to Russia, then to Siberia, then to the bottom of the world.
Then out of this world - but the chill of the wormhole was nothing compared to true cold.
Without a tilt to its axis, Atlantis had no winter, and hardly any seasons. Warm breezes each night, sun or rain but steady temperatures each morning. He remembered standing on the balcony outside the gateroom and feeling the ghost of a chill ripple along his spine - not cold, but the memory of it.
Shivering in his down coat, standing on the platform waiting for the commuter train, feeling the wind slice through even the thick material and soft insulation. He could feel it, that cold, and he was shivering hard in his mind, wishing the train would show up. Peering down the tracks, the winter day leaned in around his vision with gray slabs of cloud, snow slanting through the icy air so it was like looking through a tunnel, and there was the light from the train now…
"Rodney?"
The light disappeared and he blinked muzzily, in his mind still on the platform…no.
He was in Atlantis.
Beckett's voice, then.
He blinked again, and his vision steadied. He was in bed, and he felt terrible. Neither of which were particularly encouraging. He opened his mouth to make the observation, but something caught in his lungs and he was coughing, hard, and the pain in his ribs told him it wasn't the first time he'd coughed that way. The muscles were protesting and, against his will, he felt his eyes fill. He squinted them shut, clearing them. He tasted blood.
Beckett reset the oxygen mask; he felt tendrils of coolness brushing against his face. He tried to control his breathing, and the faintly medicinal smell helped. His throat appreciated the dampness of the mist. The cough eased, then stopped.
He risked opening his eyes again, feeling the chill of fever in his aching muscles.
Beckett smiled. "There we go. That should help."
He nodded, focussed his gaze beyond the doctor. Sheppard was there, and Teyla, and Elizabeth, and behind them all Ronon Dex loomed like a shaggy bear. Sheppard met his eyes, raising one hand in a small gesture of greeting. He blinked in response, and Sheppard let his hand rest on Teyla's shoulder, expression carefully neutral. McKay knew from the very neutrality that things were not going well. Sheppard only found it necessary to put on the 'crash test dummy' face when his own expression would give too much away.
"Hey," Rodney croaked.
"Don't talk." It was Dex, surprisingly, who rumbled the caution, but Sheppard nodded.
"You picked up a bug somewhere," he said calmly. "We're going to find the source, Rodney. Carson's going to be here with you. Don't give him too much trouble, ok?" He manufactured an approximation of his usual grin, and McKay managed a small nod in response. He was seeing the snow now, falling in front of his eyes. It started as a light dusting, progressed to a blizzard, and he succumbed to the blank whiteness with a kind of shivery pleasure.
Chapter 5"No, gie me everything!" Beckett tapped his comm off again, irritated. "A simple file dump from th' medical records, would'na think it would be so hard…"
"He is still speaking our language, isn't he?" Dex asked in an aside to Sheppard, who grinned slightly and nodded.
"It's the part of earth he's from. They developed their own version of English. The more irritated he gets, the thicker his accent is."
"He," Beckett said irritably "is standing right here. I'm going to get my lads on this lot of hogwash, but I need you to think. Whatever is affecting our man is evidently not contagious, not read by the city as something to be alarmed about, and it's causing symptoms similar to pneumonia. I think whatever it is must have been inhaled. Is there anything Rodney was exposed to that you weren't, on any of the last - say five - missions?"
"The puffball?" Dex suggested.
Sheppard nodded at the observation. "The puffball. He stepped on something and it blew some sort of spore all over him. The locals called it good luck, like having a bird crap on your shirt."
"And you didn't tell me that little bit of information?" Beckett was miffed, and Sheppard knew he had the right to be.
"It brushed off, Doc, and he didn't even sneeze."
Beckett turned his back. "I need a 'puffball' to test."
Sheppard glanced at the other two. "You'll have it."
xxxxxx
Weir had seen them off, said all the good things, been the strong leader. But now she sat, quietly, in the infirmary, listening to the hoarse breathing that told her McKay was still with them.
The coughing had eased, but that wasn't good news - it meant his lungs were getting used to being filled, that there was no longer an annoying tickle making his chest try to rid itself of the material that was clogging it. Beckett was riding herd on his technicians, desperate to find out something, anything, that could help.
And Caldwell had retreated to the Daedelus.
Something about how he was reacting to the whole issue just didn't sit well with her. She had long ago learned to listen to that little voice, and when it told her someone - though not lying - wasn't telling the whole truth, the only thing for it was to compel them to.
She squeezed the limp hand, stood, and headed to Beckett's office. There was a bit of information she needed before she confronted the commander of the Daedelus.
xxxxxx
Sheppard, Teyla and Dex had arrived with the sample, and Beckett had advised her testing was well underway. Caldwell had informed her he would be at her disposal within two hours.
It was a way of establishing his boundaries, she knew. A lesser person would have called it the opening volley in a pissing contest, but the only way to win this was to refuse to play. She declined, politely, signed off without further comment, and began the hour's trip to the ship.
xxxxxx
"It's not the source of infection, no. We found no antibodies to this material in his blood."
Sheppard stood at parade rest, and it struck Beckett he'd been half-expecting the bad news. He showed little reaction beyond a tightening of his jaw.
"Now what?"
It was a question Beckett had been dreading, and he looked steadily at the Colonel.
"We are still analyzing the nature of this. All we can do is keep him breathing, resting as comfortably as possible, and wait until the results are in. We have eliminated one source of contagion. Hoffman is supervising a team testing everything in his lab and in his room, under Dr. Zelenka's supervision."
Sheppard cut his eyes sideways, to where McKay had been lying. It had alarmed him to see the bed empty, but Beckett had assured him the physicist had simply been moved.
"I put a small ICU together. I wanted to keep him somewhat isolated, he doesn't need any further infection to make his life difficult."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Sit with him. Keep his mind engaged. That's all I can think of for now."
Sheppard closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain, then drew a deep breath. "I need to pick something up, and - tell the others. I'll be there soon."
xxxxxx
Beckett had conveyed the bad news to her on her comm, and promised to inform Caldwell. She strode out on the pier and stood a moment, holding her hand to shade her eyes, knowing they would know she was there.
Fifteen minutes later, with no contact from the ship, she called them and demanded to be ringed aboard. After a short delay, she was confronting Caldwell on his own bridge.
"I believe you are withholding information from me, Colonel. I do not believe it's in our best interest, or in Rodney's, to continue to do so."
Caldwell looked up at her, glowered. "Not the time or place, Doctor."
"I don't believe there is a better time, Colonel. As to the place…" she glanced around at the crew studiously ignoring them, "that part is up to you."
He stood. "My office."
Chapter 6"If it isn't the puffball, what is it?"
Sheppard hadn't expected to hear the anger in Dex's voice, and he stared at the man a second.
"I'm used to him." Ronon shrugged, and Sheppard almost grinned.
"There is nothing further we can do?" Teyla asked.
"According to Beckett, no. He assures me McKay's not contagious, and right now all he can suggest is that we sit with him."
"I'll take first watch." Dex said, but Sheppard shook his head.
"I'll do it," he corrected. "You two go and get cleaned up, have some down time. Come by in a couple of hours."
xxxxxx
"Colonel, you are keeping something from me, and I think it might have to do with what's happening to Rodney. I have to know, and I have to know now."
Caldwell seated himself, and nodded. "Agreed."
She didn't let his quick concurrence startle her, merely nodded and looked expectant.
"We found another base. A large complex, with several labs, and possibly a ZPM lab as well."
"But…"
"McKay pulled us out at short notice. He found another biolab, and evidence of another virus like you encountered before."
Weir blinked. "And you didn't consider this worth telling us?"
"A potential weapon that could wipe out all humans without the ATA gene? In the hands of the Goa'uld that could be devastating. We can't let it go further."
Weir pulled out an envelope, dropped it on the desk, spun it to face Caldwell.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Proof that Sheppard is not a Goa'uld. You have to tell him, Caldwell. Everything. Now."
xxxxxx
The scope didn't lie.
Zelenka stared at the laptop, seeing the two images side by side. Beckett had flipped the image from his microscope to the screen, and he swore softly.
"This is from Rodney?"
Beckett nodded. "Lung tissue sample. I've found a few of them, but we can't see them in his blood or sputum."
"That is like nanovirus from last year. But different."
"Absolutely." Beckett sat. "The one last year, we had the advantage of a clean sample to work from, not to mention all the information from the Ancient database, everything their researchers had already discovered about it. We knew what we were looking for. But this... I checked with the rest, and the lung tissue is the only place they've shown up."
"They're not moving."
Beckett pointed to the image, showing tiny spots on the coating of the virus. "I think these might be flawed, perhaps, nanites that never activated. The thing is, Rodney's body hasn't shown antibodies to any particular infection."
"If no antibodies…"
"…it's very hard to locate the virus. And harder still to track what it does, and near-impossible to find a cure."
Zelenka was silent for a moment. "Have done impossible before," he said finally, firmly.
Beckett dredged up a smile in response.
xxxxxx
The temporary ICU sat behind a clear, figured wall. The bright, transparent colours followed a familiar geometric style.
Caldwell caught a glimpse of himself, dimly reflected in the cerulean blue that dominated this pattern, and paused a second to, again, appreciate his presence here. How rapidly admiration turned to expectation, he thought.
A movement, and the sudden quieting of a low, constant mutter he hadn't noticed at first, made him shift his gaze to the other side. Through the colours, he saw Sheppard stand, stretch, lean over McKay. He adjusted the O2 mask, settling it a bit more comfortably, then sat and lifted the book. The muttering began again.
Caldwell took another step and found a clear spot. Sheppard was reading aloud. Squinting, he made out the title - "A Brief History of Time", by Stephen Hawking. To one side, a desk had been set up and one of Beckett's best sat there, watching the monitors.
He stepped back. Beckett had encouraged Sheppard to stay, while they continued to research, and Caldwell knew why. 'He can reach Rodney when no one else can.' the doctor had said, standing at the doorway, arms folded, deceptively composed.
Caldwell knew better. He was beginning to know these people, and the more he knew them, the more he found he respected them. 'I'm his friend,' Beckett mused aloud, 'but John is his friend and commander - in the best sense of the word. Rodney questions me, always. But he's learned, in some circumstances, to simply trust John and do what he says.'
He stood at the doorway quietly, waiting. A second later, Sheppard glanced up, alert to his surroundings, Caldwell noted with approval, even though distracted.
He met the Lt. Colonel's gaze neutrally, inclined his head toward the hall in a clear request. Sheppard nodded, closed the book and put it down. He leaned forward and retrieved his boots, put them on, and then spoke quietly in McKay's ear. Patting his friend's shoulder, he stood and, when Caldwell didn't move, stepped by the Colonel of the Daedelus into the hall beyond.
Caldwell watched the physicist's still form for a moment longer, then turned.
"You've been here a while."
"Yes, sir," Sheppard replied. Caldwell hadn't asked a question, and so anything more than a confirmation wasn't needed. The older officer noted that the younger stood at ease, feet apart, hands clasped behind him. His body language telegraphed a lazy confidence. It was probably unintentional by now, an automated response carefully honed over the years. Caldwell had to examine the man's eyes to see the sorrow.
"Why?"
"He's a member of my team, Sir." Sheppard's response was textbook, neutral. It was a master of succinctness, giving no allusion to anything more. Perfect answer for a superior officer still considered an unknown quantity.
Caldwell met the steady gaze, not speaking, and Sheppard finally dropped his eyes. "He's my friend," he admitted.
Caldwell leaned on the wall, and it was if not looking at him let Sheppard slump slightly, his worry showing now.
"Think it's..." Caldwell nodded at the book, "helping?"
Sheppard lifted it, stared at it as if he'd forgotten he had it. "We used to debate bits of it," he replied, wearily. "I thought as long as I kept his mind active..." he dropped his arm. "I don't know what else to do. I don't know if anything I can do can help."
His fatigue was palpable, and Caldwell sighed inwardly.
"Dr. Beckett seems to think you're helping. He has his best people on it, trying to ID the virus, but a cure is no good if the patient's dead. He believes you're buying them time."
He saw a flash of appreciation cross the tired face.
"But I think you could be even more helpful."
"Sir?"
"Your teammates will be here shortly. Follow me."