Dark Conversion Chapter 2, a stargate: atlantis fanfic

Author's Note: Italics signify thoughts or emphasis. Part 2 of 5.

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John picked at a string on the bottom hem of the shirt he was wearing. Luckily, he'd been able to talk Carson out of putting him in a backless gown just for an exam and a few tests. His eyes strayed to the mottled blue skin on his arm and quickly darted away. The dire news Carson had already given him before asking permission to tell Elizabeth and the team flitted through his mind. Okay, so maybe it wasn't just some tests.

It had been more than ten minutes since he had seen Elizabeth join the others in Carson's office. Ronon had been the only one to leave so far, and the Runner had gone straight to the hall without even glancing John's way. Not that John blamed him. Ronon had suffered more than most people in the Pegasus Galaxy did at the hands of the Wraith. Losing his entire planet, having them attempt to feed on him, and then being hunted for sport for seven years, knowing through one mistake that staying even one night with other people would result in more deaths. John didn't know how Ronon had stayed sane. Most people wouldn't have.

And at least John could count on Ronon being able to take the necessary steps without any hesitation if things went horribly wrong.

He looked up as Rodney and Teyla left Carson's office, each of them giving him an encouraging smile, Teyla's more hopeful than Rodney's, before following down the hall in the direction Ronon had gone. Elizabeth exited the room next, alone, but headed straight for him. Just as she reached him, he saw Carson head from his office to the room behind the infirmary John knew the Atlantis doctors used for medical research. It had probably now become the stop-Sheppard-from-turning-Wraith headquarters.

"How are you feeling?" Elizabeth asked, her arms crossed.

John shrugged. "A little wired. The area around the wound is tender, but I don't really feel any different. That almost worries me more than feeling sick would."

"We'll beat this thing," she assured him.

But the way she was holding onto herself told him that she was at least as worried as he was, if not more so.

"You really suck at this whole bedside manner thing," he told her, smiling crookedly to take the sting out of his words.

Elizabeth's stance relaxed a bit as he had hoped it would. She even grinned back at him. Some of the tightness in his chest eased.

"There's a reason I'm a diplomat and not a medical doctor."

"I can tell," he teased. John paused for a moment before adding, "You know Beckett will do everything he can to make sure this thing gets stopped."

"I know," Elizabeth confirmed. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you off active duty for the time being. Carson thinks stress will speed the transformation process. I'm going to have Major Lorne take over your duties unless you have someone else in mind."

John valiantly ignored the sting of not being able to do his job. "Lorne's a good choice. He's a good man, and he respects you and your authority."

Unlike Caldwell. The higher ranked CO of the Daedalus wasn't mentioned aloud, but John knew they were both thinking of how much he would enjoy taking advantage of the current situation if he were here for it. Thankfully he wasn't.

When Elizabeth continued to stand beside the bed he was sitting on, looking a bit more lost by the second, John nudged her gently as he stood. "Go on, Elizabeth. If Lorne's going to be taking over for me, you need to keep him updated. Besides, you have a city to run."

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On the fourth day since their encounter with Ellia, John showed up in the room designated for Teyla's stick-fighting sessions as she began a practice session. John was wearing long sleeves to hide the worst of it, but Teyla knew, along with Elizabeth and the other members of Atlantis' flagship team, that his transformation had progressed. The patches of skin that were blue and scaly had increased in number and size, and in some places on his forearms, thorn-like protrusions had begun to form. There were hints of blue skin tone on his face as well, making Teyla wonder how much of his covered skin was getting worse.

"Colonel Sheppard," she greeted. "Is there something I can help you with?"

John lifted the duffle bag in his right hand. Beginning to feel uneasy, Teyla recognized it as the one John kept his own set of sticks in.

"Thought I'd get in some practice since I have the time," he answered.

"I am unsure that is a good idea, Colonel Sheppard. Doctor Beckett said that stress is not good for your condition. I cannot condone participation in something that may cause your condition to worsen."

"Practice isn't stressful," he corrected her. "Sitting around and doing nothing but wait is stressful."

"Very well," Teyla relented. "But it will have to be a short session, or Doctor Beckett will be very angry."

She couldn't help wanting to ease John's boredom. He had done so much for her and her people that she knew she would forever be in his debt. And she could understand his feelings about not being able to do what his job. It was in his nature to protect and he was being forced to go against that.

Teyla had noticed in the many months she had known him that John had a definite childlike side to him. When he liked something, he tended to get very excited over it. It was at odds with his position as a military man and the seriousness with which he undertook his duties, but Teyla thought maybe it was his way of dealing with all of the things he had seen and experienced. To take as much joy as he could where and when he could. When John bounced into position on the mat with a smile, he reinforced Teyla's belief.

A smile briefly touched her own lips as she got into position as well. She decided as she waited that she would let him attack this time instead of defend. He never exerted himself quite as much in offense against her as he did in defending himself, and she still had misgivings about the wisdom of giving into him. It would be best to 'go easy on him' as the Earth saying went.

When the usual allotted time passed and Teyla hadn't moved toward him, John realized what was going on and took up a combat-ready position instead of the defensive one he had been in. A few seconds later he launched himself at her, his sticks coming down hard against hers. Teyla twirled away from him, surprised when he followed closely, more grace evident in his movements than there usually was. As the mock fight progressed, Teyla was forced to switch strategies, defending heavily but occasionally going on the offensive to throw him off a bit. John was doing much better than he usually did.

John executed a move she had used in demonstrations but never actually taught him, and Teyla found herself with both hands, along with the sticks they were holding, trapped above her head. Dropping the weapons so she could get away, she spun closer to him to get out of the hold. She jerked back when her forearm ran against his, a stinging pain telling her that the skin had been broken.

Seeing the pain on her face, John immediately dropped his own sticks and stared in horror at the blood welling from a scratch a few inches long on her arm. It was obvious from the timing and position of the wound that it had been caused by one of the protrusions on his own arm.

"Let's get you to Beckett," John said grimly.

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John paced the part of the infirmary furthest away from Teyla. Carson was in the next room, putting a rush on Teyla's test results. John had apologized to the Athosian woman numerous times in the trip from the gym to the infirmary and she had forgiven him, but John didn't think he could extend himself the same courtesy. Nor could he be that close to her knowing what he might have done.

He had just been so bored cooped up in his room. His first thought had been to go visit with Elizabeth, catch up on all the goings-on in the rest of Atlantis, but then he had caught sight of himself in the mirror. After several minutes of simply staring in shock at how much he had changed, he had realized that everyone he met along the way would look at him the same way, many would react much more negatively. And there were a lot of people between his room and Elizabeth's office.

So he had decided to go see Teyla in the gym where she conducted her stick fighting practices instead. John could get to that part of the city the long way, and the chance of running into someone else would be so much lower. He didn't like taking the coward's way out, but he did anyway. John regretted the choice even more now that Teyla was injured and possibly infected like him. His emotional discomfort was nothing when held up against the health and safety of a member of his team. He didn't know how he would ever forgive himself for this.

Carson emerged and bustled over to Teyla. They spoke briefly and John watched Teyla thank the doctor before leaving the infirmary. John felt a presence beside him and turned to see Elizabeth. She put a gentle hand on his arm, a worried but supportive expression on her face. Carson approached them, urging both of them into his office.

"First of all, you should know that Teyla is going to be just fine," he told them. "There is no sign of the virus in her blood work."

The two leaders of Atlantis sighed in relief almost in unison.

John couldn't help asking, "How is this possible?"

"I'm not entirely sure about the cause, it could be because of your Ancient gene or perhaps because of an unforeseen side effect of your previous encounter with the Iratus bug, but the virus present in your system isn't contagious."

John perked up considerably. "Well, that's good news."

But Carson was still frowning. "Good for Teyla, yes. Not so for you, son."

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked before John could, her voice tense.

Carson held up two pieces of paper as visual aids. There were a handful of pictures on both sheets, easily distinguishable as some sort of samples seen under a powerful microscope. Each one was markedly different from the next if one looked close enough to note the details. Carson began pointing to the different squares.

"This is a sample of the original retrovirus. This next one is what it became in Ellia's system. The rest are the different samples I've taken so far from you, Colonel."

"They're all different," John pointed out the obvious. He'd never excelled in sciences that weren't math-based, but he had taken high school biology, and he was sure this wasn't good.

"Aye, they are. The virus is mutating at an astonishing rate. Every time my team thinks of a possible treatment, the virus has already changed so much inside you that it's back to square one. If we don't find some way of slowing it down enough so that we can find a cure…"

"We will find a way," Elizabeth interrupted firmly.

But all John heard was the hopelessness in Carson's voice. When he got back to his room later, he pulled out two sheets of paper and began writing.

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From then on, John stayed in his room except for his check ups with Carson and for meals. He would go to the mess to retrieve his rations and then join Elizabeth in her office. She set the time aside each meal to spend it with only him, but he still had to pass a lot of the populated areas of the city when getting to and from and while getting his food. People stared, some in disgust, most in good old-fashioned horror.

John took to wearing a voluminous cloak with a hood that hid most of his features. On the second day after the close call with Teyla, he had woken to find his eyes had changed to a yellowish green with vertical, slit pupils instead of round ones. He was becoming more alien everyday, and most of the time he avoided mirrors. John glanced at the clock. It was about an hour before the time he usually went to get lunch, but his stomach was growling loudly.

Unable to ignore his hunger anymore, John shrugged into the cloak he had taken to wearing and headed for the door. He almost walked right into it; he was so sure it would open automatically. It always had before. It was a rude awakening to almost smash his nose into the blue-gray structure. He backed away a few steps and walked up to it again. Nothing.

A surge of anger ripped through him, and John used his new claws to get his fingertips into the crack where the two sides of the door met. With a small huff of exertion, he began prying the doors open with his hands. He was almost exultant when the door was open half way. Until he looked up.

Elizabeth stood on the other side of the now open doorway, her mouth hanging open and her small fist raised as if to knock. John blinked at her shocked expression.

"What? It wouldn't open," he said defensively.

Elizabeth found her voice. "I know you're used to Ancient technology automatically working for you, but did you try using the controls?"

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John's jaw tightened and he looked away from her. Elizabeth stepped closer to him with a soft sigh and lightly touched one of his clenched fists. It was hard not to flinch or otherwise react to the scaly texture of his skin, but Elizabeth knew she had to be strong for him for once. When he didn't pull away, she pressed her fingers more firmly around his hand. She was surprised but relieved when his fingers relaxed and turned to wrap her smaller hand in his.

"I'm sorry," he said so low she almost didn't hear him.

Elizabeth squeezed his hand in reply and told him the reason she'd come to see him, "Carson is still working on finding you a cure, but Rodney thinks he's found a way to give him more time."

She didn't add that Carson desperately needed that time, but they both knew it was true. John nodded and pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head. Elizabeth wanted to reach up and pull it off, to show him that she knew it was still him despite the physical changes, but if it helped him feel less exposed and judged, all she could do was let him have the small illusion of anonymity. She shifted her hand in his only enough so that they could walk comfortably. She ignored the looks their joined hands got as they walked the halls, tightening her grip only once when John made a half-hearted attempt to pull away.