A/N: A short story, continuing from where the episode "Irresistible" ended. For those who don't remember, it's where this guy Lucius has everyone wrapped around his finger using pheromones, which isn't affecting John because of his cold. In the end, Rodney apparently used some of the herbs to get John to clean up his room, and I thought I could add some more to that ending. Including, of course, some more Sheppard-whump, because his cold didn't look that bad in the episode, but could have been worse.

'Anyway, I better get back to clean your quarters before the next scout,' John said, padding Rodney on his shoulder and heading off, leaving the rest with a surprised frown on their face, except for Rodney.

As he descended the stairs, he missed the rest of the conversation his team had. All that was in his mind was cleaning the quarters. A voice in the back of his head questioned the idea, but he pushed it away with a shake of his head.

Shaking brought back another feeling though; the dull aching of his head and sharp pains in his throat. His cold hadn't become any better, and if he was being really honest with himself, he actually felt worse. His nose wasn't blocked anymore, and he could finally breathe normally again except for the slight pressure building up in his chest. It was as if the air was heavy. The whole Lucius-situation hadn't given him his much-needed rest. Even now, he felt a certain amount of stress, having to clean Rodney's quarters quickly and efficiently. He took a deep breath and rubbed his chest.

He coughed twice, wincing at the pain in his throat. He thanked the gods his voice hadn't sounded that hoarse while he was talking with the team just now. Carson would never had let him go without proper examination. Carson had already been protective of him the moment he had broken John out of jail to continue their plan, as John had coughed multiple times when trying to say hello. John had been able to wave it off though. A cold is annoying, but there's not much to do about it, as long as it doesn't develop into something worse.

He absently massaged his head when he reached Rodney's quarters. He groaned at the sight when he entered; there were papers on the floor, open books everywhere, and his bed was unmade and covered with clothing. Even a 5-year old was tidier.

He took off his gun and vest, slung it over the chair, and got to work. The voice in the back of his head and the constant throbbing made his work slow. Something was off, and it wasn't the cold that gave him that feeling. He closed one of the books on the desk, not bothering to look what it was about, and let his mind wonder back in time. Rodney had told him to clean his quarters. There wasn't anything wrong about that, was there?

He coughed multiple times, instinctively grabbing at his chest when it felt like he was going to cough up his lungs. Grumbling, he searched the bathroom for something to ease the pain, only to be confronted with even more of a mess. There even hung a piece of paper, scribbled from top to bottom with equations, on the mirror above the sink.

John groaned as he saw himself in the mirror. He didn't look like a zombie, at least, but he was noticeably paler. The others had too embarrassed from his constant teasing to have noticed, apparently.

He opened the cabinet, found some painkillers Rodney had stashed away, and as he walked back into the bedroom, he ripped the piece of paper off the mirror with force, slightly frustrated. He should be resting, preferably in bed. Not cleaning someone else's room.

Again it was the voice in the back of his head, but again he pushed the thought away. He had promised Rodney, so he would.

He was halfway through cleaning, already having thrown away all the loose papers which lay on, well, everything, when he decided he needed a break. The room was hot, Rodney probably turned on the heater high, or it was from his hard working. He took off his jacket and hung it over his vest. His shirt clung to his back, wet from the sweat that rolled down his spine. His hands felt clammy too. He was breathing fast and shallow, as if he had been running a marathon.

The urge of cleaning the room fast faded with every second. He sat down on the bed which hadn't been made up yet. He suddenly felt very tired, his body begging for even as much as 5 minutes of sleep. His chest felt heavy and if he listened closely, he could hear his breathing rattling. He felt terrible but was sure some sleep would help ease the aching.

Oh, what the hell, John thought. He was there anyway, and 5 minutes extra wouldn't hurt anyone. As long as Rodney wouldn't come back, but John figured he'd be in his lab until dinner anyway, as he usually did.

He fell back down, not even bothering to take off his boots. He didn't need the blankets either, he had enough heat around him. It was only going to be 5 minutes anyway. The responsible part of him knew he still had to set an alarm, but the bed was too comfortable to move again, and he was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

'Sheppard? What the hell?!'

John opened his eyes to someone yelling from the distance. He blinked a few times, his eyelids felt sticky, and he tried to remember where he was. The ceiling looked familiar, but the air smelled different, so he was definitely not in his own room.

He turned his head to the sound of angry footsteps towards him. Rodney rushed to the bed, disbelieve on his face.

'What are you doing in my bed!'

'Uhm,' John croaked. His voice did sound hoarse this time, but he convinced himself it was because he just woke up. 'Sleeping?'

'Yes, I can see that, but why in my bed and not your own?' Rodney answered annoyed, crossing his arms angrily.

John was about to answer when he coughed, feeling slime come lose somewhere in the back of his throat, which made him cough again. He ran a hand over his face, trying to come up with an answer, but his brain was fuzzy. It indeed didn't make any sense. Why was he-?

Then he remembered. He left his hand covering his face but glared at Rodney through his fingers.

'Someone,' he said, squinting his eyes and letting the word hang in the air for emphasis, 'convinced me to clean his room. Someone with the knowledge of say, some herbs?' He cleared his throat, not happy with the way his voice came out, and his breathing was raspy. And why was it still so hot in the room?

He saw Rodney blush as he remembered what he had done. He struggled to find a comeback, opening his mouth a few times before closing it again. John, in the meantime, struggled to sit up. He felt slightly out of breath when he swung his legs over the side of the bed, and he let his head hang forward while trying to suck some more oxygen in. His chest felt heavy, as if someone had been sitting on it, but he couldn't remember such a thing happening. He felt fine before his nap. Well, fine wasn't the right word, but not as crappy as now.

'Why do you look like you're going to keel over any minute? And don't tell me cleaning my room left you breathless, because I know it's a mess, but it's called organized chaos. I can find everything back in seconds,' Rodney said, his irritated tone masking what could be concern.

John felt lightheaded from not getting enough air through his clearly irritated throat, but pushed himself to his feet anyway, ignoring the slight sway he had to correct by grabbing the cabinet next to the bed.

'This is not organized McKay, and don't change the subject. You used some of Lucius's herbs and took advantage of my cold finally passing, didn't you?' He barely got the words out, but they still sounded as pissed off as he intended. He took another raspy breath and let go of the cabinet.

'No, well, maybe, but only a tiny bit. And it doesn't sound like your cold is completely over anyw-' His eyes suddenly went wide when he realized something. 'Oh god, you've contaminated my entire room with your bacteria! You need to go, now, I have to disinfect everything you have touched. What have you touched?' As he rambled, eyes scanning the room as if he could actually see the bacteria on his things, he grabbed John's arm and pulled him towards the door. John, however, wasn't prepared for the sudden change of movement, and he stumbled, nearly crashing to the floor if Rodney hadn't steadied him.

'Hey, whoa, careful. How sick are you really?'

'Not sick,' John rasped, 'Just a bit-' and he tapped his chest while drawing in a wheezing breath. Rodney hesitated, then gave a deep irritated sigh, and pushed John backwards until he hit the bedframe and fell back onto the bed.

'Stay,' he ordered John as if he was a sick puppy. He then touched his earpiece. 'Beckett, I have a clearly not sick,' he rolled his eyes, 'yet stubborn, pale and wheezing case of a walking bacteria-dispenser in my quarters.'

'Is it colonel Sheppard?' Carson asked back. John tried to get up, but Rodney pushed him down with one hand, and he didn't have the breath to verbally protest at the moment.

'Of course it is, who else can walk around with pneumonia or god knows what for days,' Rodney answered annoyed.

'I'm on my way Rodney.'

'That's unnecessary,' John groaned, having found his voice back. Rodney crossed his arms, scanning the room but keeping an eye on John in case he tried to make a run for it. Not that he would get far anyway.

'I'll let Carson be the judge of that. By the way, you did do a good job of cleaning my room, too bad you spread your bacteria everywhere and now I need a proper clean-up crew to decontaminate this room.'

John huffed, then coughed, and glanced up at Rodney.

'Thanks, I guess?' he said frowning.

'Not that I needed it to be cleaned, but a bit of tidying up couldn't hurt. Besides, I wanted to see what those herbs would do on you,' Rodney continued, suddenly turning red again. 'Just for science. I would've stopped you, of course, if it had not been for dr. Weir and Beckett who ordered me to burn the herbs.'

'So it's all gone now?'

'Yes.'

'McKay?'

'Yes, yes, it's all gone, burned it all, nothing but a pile of ash, I swear!' Rodney said sounding offended, moving his hands accordingly. John smirked and nodded, then rested his head in his hands.

They listened to the sound of John's breathing while waiting for the doctor. Just as Rodney was about to radio him again, the doors to his quarters opened and Carson stepped inside. John looked behind Carson, seeing nurses hovering just outside the door, two of them holding a gurney. John glared at them and they quickly turned their backs to him.

'Don't put on that face son, ye always manage to get in a situation where ye need one,' Carson said as he saw John's look.

'Not this time,' John breathed. He felt annoyed Carson had brought one. He felt annoyed he sounded like he needed one. He actually just felt annoyed by the whole situation. Clenching his fists, he leaned backwards a bit as Carson listened to his lungs. Carson then put a hand to his forehead, frowned and used a thermometer for a more accurate reading.

'Ye're hot.'

'Thanks doc,' John said grinning. The grin quickly faded when he had another round of deep, barking coughs. He put a hand to his aching chest and ignored the look Carson shot him.

'I need to run some blood tests, but I think ye got bronchitis as a result from yer cold, judging by the sound of yer breathing and the fever,' Carson said. He put away his tools. 'Allright lad, let's get ye to the infirmary.'

To John's surprise, he held out his hand. He gratefully took it; glad the gurney was not needed.

'Thank you for calling it in Rodney. Did ye burn the-'

'Yes, I did. Now scoot, I think I can already feel a tickle in my throat as well,' Rodney interrupted, grabbing his throat and clearing it a few times while gently but firmly pushing John out of his room.

John was out of breath the moment they stepped out, yet stubbornly ignored the gurney, but he let Carson hold him by his elbow as they walked to the infirmary. Carson must've known he wouldn't make it though, because not even one corridor further John had to pause, and he didn't make a comment. He just looked at John, with both pity and amusement.

'I'm fine,' John breathed quietly, one hand now constantly to his aching chest.

'Sure ye are son,' came the sarcastic reply.

John managed to get through another corridor, hoping he would make it all the way, but he recalled the layout of this place and knew at this pace they would maybe make it there by dinnertime.

He coughed again, grasping his shirt tight. He felt the hand on his elbow tighten as well.

'Colonel..,' Carson began, but John had already decide to give in. He let his head hang a little as he gave a small nod. Carson motioned the nurses that had followed them from a careful distance over to them.

John was secretly glad he could sit/lay down. Carson pulled out an oxygen mask to which he didn't protest either. He lay his feverish head down on the pillow and stared at the ceiling that went by as they rolled him to the infirmary.

He had closed his eyes somewhere along the ride, he realized, as he opened them to find himself settled in an infirmary bed. The oxygen mask lay on his blanket. They had even managed to set up an IV without him waking up. A band-aid on his other arm told him where they had pricked to take blood for testing. He quietly rubbed his chest, feeling that the pain had now settled into a dull ache. Guess fluids weren't the only thing Carson had given him.

'Ah, awake son?'

John raised his head, seeing Carson walk over, his tablet in hand. He must've had a questioning look on his face, because Carson smiled.

'Ye were pretty out of it, son. Didn't ye get enough sleep last few days?'

John took a careful breath before answering.

'Didn't have the time. While you were swooning over our friend Lucius, I was trying to come up with answers. And getting stunned doesn't count,' he said, grimacing as he recalled Ronon's blast to the chest.

'Aye, I'm sure that wasn't pleasant either. Ye stunned me too,' Carson said, putting a hand on where John had shot him. John felt a pang of guilt.

'Sorry doc, but you were this close to becoming Lucius's, what, sixth wife?'

'Seventh,' Carson automatically corrected him, before turning red from ear to ear. John laughed, but his laugh quickly turned into a series of hard coughing. Carson put the oxygen mask to his mouth, and he took some deep breaths to calm down his lungs. He still couldn't help his grin after his coughing subsided.

'Please stop reminding me of it, colonel. Try to get some sleep. I don't think I need to keep ye here long, the bronchitis should go away on its own, with proper hydration and rest. But for now I want to keep an eye on yer temperature.'

John groaned quietly. He was slightly annoyed he had to stay in the infirmary again.

'Not that sleepy anymore,' he tried. Carson was about to answer when they heard someone shouting against one of the nurses.

'Where is Sheppard! I need to see him, now! Not only has he possibly passed over his cold to me, he has removed all of papers on the - well, never mind on what, you wouldn't understand anyway - but I need to see him! I need to know where he put them, it's of the highest possible urgency!'

A short silence, in which John and Carson looked at each other. Then the ranting started again.

'No, I don't want Carson to look at my throat! Well, yes, but not now. Tell me where he is - oh you know what, I'll go look for him myself!'

John heard someone push away beds and scanners and people, not far from where his bed stood.

'Uhm, I think I actually do need that sleep,' John said, smiling uneasily. Carson shook his head laughing, and left his bedside, making his way to the raging bull thrashing through his infirmary.

As the sound came closer, John smirked. Karma's a bitch, he thought, before closing his eyes, giving in to some more well-deserved rest.

The end