When I started my shift in the infirmary, there was little for me to do. I studied Carson's research notes on the virus and the printouts of John's test results. Blood, urine, cerebrospinal fluid -- he was shedding the virus everywhere. However, I was kidding myself if I thought I was going to figure something out. I was way out of my league here.

I looked up at the sound of footsteps. John entered the infirmary, followed closely by a guard. "I think I'd better stay here for now," he said softly.

I nodded at the guard to stay by the door and walked with John over to an exam bed. "What happened, Colonel?" I took his vitals as he told me about his confrontation with Elizabeth. Pulse, blood pressure, and respiratory rate were all elevated.

"It was weird," he said. "Like there were two people in my head: me and a bug-man. The bug took over for a minute when I got frustrated, and now I'm constantly fighting to keep him from doing it again." John looked down at his hands, which were starting to scale over. He shuddered and quickly tucked them into his sleeves.

All right, surely I could figure out something to do. "Any headaches, nausea, vomiting?" He shook his head. "Good. I'm going to double your dose of combivir and give you an IV dose of interferon, which is a nonspecific viral inhibitor. Sorry, but then I'm going to have to stick you every few hours for blood."

"Do I have any left?" he joked weakly.

I smiled, although I didn't much feel like it. "Oh, you're not even close to being drained, don't worry about that. Hang on a sec, and I'll get things started."

One of the nurses, Judy Henning, came over to us. I quickly told her what I had in mind, and she went to take care of it. Before she left, though, she said, "I'm glad you decided to stay, Dr. Schwartz."

I shook my head, wondering if I should remind her that I was only here until we solved the retrovirus problem (or didn't, but I wouldn't let myself think about that). I turned back to find John looking at me sharply. "What's she mean, doc?"

I sighed. "Nothing for you to worry about. Just a difference of opinion."

"What did she mean about staying?"

He obviously wasn't going to let it go. Fine. "Carson and I don't agree about the development and use of the retrovirus. I don't think we should be going down this path, and, frankly, you're exhibit A for the plaintiff. I resigned, but I'm going to stick around until we find a cure for you."

John's eyes were beginning to alter, but I could still read determination in them. "I don't blame Beckett, and neither should you." He stopped as Judy came back with the supplies and I started the IV. (John wasn't kidding about the high number of blood draws; his arm was starting to look like a pincushion.) I had him lie back on the bed while I hung the bag of interferon. He was probably going to feel like he had the flu while the drug was going in.

When I was done, John picked up the conversation where we left off. "Seriously, this wasn't Beckett's fault. He had no idea that Ellia was going to use the virus on herself."

I thought of all the arguments I might use to convince John otherwise, but settled on asking him one question. "Just tell me this. A few months ago, if you knew you would be infected and the retrovirus didn't work, would you still want to develop it?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

"Why?"

"You weren't there on that hive ship. You didn't have to shoot Sumner. I did. We need to get rid of those Wraith bastards."

There wasn't much I could say in response to that, so I settled for fiddling with John's IV and telling him to yell out if he needed anything.

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John was stable again for now, so I left him under the care of one of my colleagues and went to talk to Elizabeth Weir. As expedition leader, she needed to know what was going on. She wasn't in her office, though. The Canadian guy in the control room (again, I can never remember his name!) said that she had left abruptly after looking over some memos from Colonel Caldwell.

Oh, boy. Now there was a working relationship made in hell. The two of them were cordial to each other during the siege, but have been at each others' throats ever since the Daedalus returned from its first trip back to Earth. I heard that they've been sending a series of nasty memos back and forth to each other (it's amazing what gossip comes through the infirmary), and the score was reputed to be Weir 2, Caldwell 1. From the looks of it, I might have a ringside seat at the latest bout.

Sergeant Macdonald was standing guard outside Caldwell's office. One of the new personnel from the SGC, I'd met him when he received the gene therapy and promptly threw up all over me. Today he looked equally as miserable. Behind him I could hear shouting coming from inside the office. All in all, if I was smart, I would have hightailed it out of there.

Oh well, I never said I was a genius like McKay.

The office door opened, and Macdonald and I had about two seconds' warning to scatter before Elizabeth stormed out. Caldwell followed, looking after her with an unreadable expression on his face. I nodded to both men, as if the sight of two of the expedition's senior members fighting was routine, then quickly followed Elizabeth.

I caught up to her at one of the transporters. "What!" she snapped as I followed her inside. She looked sheepish, though, when she realized I wasn't Caldwell or one of his aides. "Sorry, Dr. Schwartz. It hasn't been a good few days for any of us. How's John?"

"So-so. I came to tell you that he's holding his own for now on the higher doses of viral inhibitor, but we're not going to be able to increase them much further without running the risk of fatal drug toxicity." It was true. The last batch of test results showed that John's liver was beginning to fail and that his kidneys weren't thrilled with us, either.

"Understood," said Elizabeth. "Is there anything else you can do?"

"Right now, no. What's the status of the bug hunt?"

"Major Lorne radioed in that they found a cave. That was about thirty minutes ago. He didn't say how long they thought it would take."

"Okay." Suddenly, I wasn't sure what else to say. "Um... well, I just wanted to keep you posted."

"Thank you for that." It was Elizabeth's turn to hesitate. "Tell me honestly. Do you think this thing has a chance of working?"

I've never pulled any punches when it comes to discussing prognosis, and people respect that. "It's an excellent idea in theory. But when you're dealing with genetic therapy, there are so many unknown variables. We saw that with the virus itself. I can tell you this, though," I said as her face fell. "Beckett will pull it off if anyone can."

And despite all of my anger and misgivings, that was still the truth.

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John was pacing the length of the isolation room when I got back to the infirmary. Judy met me at the door with undisguised relief. "He started doing that about ten minutes ago," she whispered. "He won't say why, just that he needs to keep moving. I was going to page you if you hadn't come back."

There was no doubt that John had worsened in the short time it took me to update Elizabeth. The rough patches on his hands were more prominent, and he kept unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. His eyes were almost those of a cat and there was intermittently somthing alien behind them. I felt even more helpless than before.

"John? What are your symptoms?" I asked as I leaned against the doorjamb. I kept my voice and posture deliberately casual to avoid spooking him.

"You mean besides turning into a bug?" he snarled.

"If you could be more specific, yes," I said calmly.

"Skin's on fire. I feel like I'll explode if I stand still. And that inner bug I told you about is trying to break loose! STOP!" he suddenly screamed. He shuddered and took a few deep breaths. "I can feel my humanity dying," he said. "I don't recognize some of the thoughts in my head. I don't think the inhibitors are working anymore."

"No," I agreed. "We'll discontinue them." At this point, the best thing to do was keep John as calm as possible. Who knew if his agitation wasn't speeding up the mutation? I explained that to him. "At the moment, you're the best judge of what you're feeling. What do you think would help you the most?" I was hoping I could avoid pumping any more drugs into his system.

"Let me go back to my quarters," he said after a minute. His voice was becoming hoarse. "This place... it even smells wrong."

I looked at the guard standing in the corner, whom I hadn't even noticed until now. "Can we make them secure?" I asked.

The guard spoke quietly into his radio, then nodded. "We'll have a security detail ready when you get there."

I turned back to John. "All right, we'll try that. But I want you to let me know if it's not working." The three of us left the infirmary, sticking to less well-traveled corridors. I made sure that John was comfortable, then turned to leave.

Suddenly John grasped my wrist with a grip of surprising strength. "My life is completely in your hands now. Yours and Beckett's. If I transform into something completely alien, if what makes me John Sheppard is lost, I want you to promise to kill me."

Like I said before, I don't pull any punches. "I don't know what's going to happen, but we're not there yet. Whatever does happen, we won't let you suffer. I give you my word on that."

Only after I reached the safety of the infirmary did I let myself think about the enormity of the whole situation and what I had just promised. We were all sliding down that slippery slope, weren't we?

TBC