A/N: My Christmas gift to you all. A nine-page chapter! Wowsers. And for all of you that wanted Shep-with-a-tail... enjoy. ;D
Also, I had to raise the rating, because Shep is a bad boy and uses the 'f' word. With good reason, but still. You have been warned.
----
Chapter 6 - Coping
Claws. He had claws.
Sheppard stared at his hands for a few seconds, mind frozen with shock. In a sort of dazed, remote state, he noted that his fingernails were still there, kind of; the free edges had morphed into sharp, hard black talons, coming out of the flesh of his fingertip. Unlike real cat claws, he couldn't seem to retract them; they were stuck in place.
That was when he came to his senses. Jumping out of bed, John didn't even bother to change out of the black cotton pants and t-shirt that served as his night-clothes – he left his room immediately, trying to fight back the panic as he half-walked, half-sprinted the distance to the infirmary.
----
"I'm sorry, lad." Carson looked tired and guilty, holding Sheppard's blood test results in his hands. "I don't know how I missed it before."
John's heart plummeted. He knew. "I'm turning into an ivakil, aren't I?" It was horribly, eerily familiar, knowing his body was mutating into something it shouldn't – the memories from last time still haunted his dreams.
Carson nodded miserably. "Yes. The metamorphosis has been progressing at such a slow rate that I didn't notice it before. The changes made to your DNA were practically insignificant – until now, that is."
John took a deep breath, clenching his fists loosely and feeling the claws prick against the skin of his palm. "How long do I have?"
Carson shoved his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, considering. "The transformation seems to be increasing in speed at an exponential rate. If it continues... then you have roughly a week before you are completely transformed."
"Well, then Rodney will have to fix the machine before then," John said, holding onto his calm like a lifeboat.
The guilt on Carson's face increased. "It's not that simple, lad. From what I understand, the machine works fine, it's just a matter of re-charging it... Rodney told me it'd be ready in twelve days, no sooner. He can't speed up the re-charging process."
"Fine. Then when it's ready, he can turn me back into my old self," John reasoned.
But he saw the look on Carson's face, and his calm slipped just a little bit more. "Lad, it's true that the machine will probably be able to undo the transformation after your body has completely changed – but if we wait that long, the memories stored in your mind will be wiped out. Your brain will be like a clean slate; you won't even know how to talk."
John stared at him. "You're saying that being changed into a cat and back will erase all my memories."
"Yes."
"And there's nothing I can do to avoid it."
Carson winced. "Lad, we're doing everything we can to avoid it. I'm trying to develop a drug that will slow down the process... but I have no idea how successful it will be. In addition, it won't be able to undo what's already happened – that's up to Rodney and the machine."
John exhaled slowly. "Okay. Guess I should go tell Elizabeth."
"I've already radioed her. She was in a debriefing, but she should be here soon," Carson replied. He hesitated, then began, "Colonel, I'm sorry -"
"Carson," John interrupted. "It wasn't your fault. I'm the one who decided to go turning on the device without knowing what it does. At Rodney's request, but still. You had nothing to do with it."
The doctor only looked a little less anguished. "Perhaps, but if I'd paid closer attention-"
"Doc," John cut in firmly again. "I don't blame you. You're good at what you do. If you didn't notice any concrete changes – besides me suddenly developing a taste for milk and tuna, anyway – then I doubt anyone would've. It isn't your fault."
"He's right." Elizabeth had stepped inside the infirmary and was sending Carson a gently stern look. "Stop beating yourself up over it. Now, tell me exactly what's going on."
As Carson filled her in, John sneaked another glance at his claws and shivered. They gleamed in the light of the infirmary, pieces of sharp black flint. He kept them hidden, curling his hands into loose balls to conceal them. Yeah, Elizabeth already knew about them from Carson; but he felt strangely uncomfortable with the idea of her seeing them.
When he'd gotten the ears, it'd been different, somehow. Sure, he'd looked funny, but that hadn't mattered. Now... now he had claws.
Now he was dangerous, and she could see it.
John Sheppard had no delusions about himself. He knew he was dangerous, beyond dangerous, when his dark side took over. Killing fifty Genii soldiers had pretty much established that fact. And sometimes it scared him. Sometimes he just wished he could hide it away from the world.
From her.
There was a reason he'd tried to hide his face from her when the retrovirus had begun mutating his skin into blue scales. He was dangerous before, he was dangerous then; but the difference was, it could no longer hidden behind a casual demeanor and disarming smirk.
It was visible, and he hated that.
Carson had finished speaking with Elizabeth; he muttered something about getting to work on slowing the transformation and left. Sheppard avoided looking at her, studying the floor and feeling dejected and miserable.
"John. Look at me."
Reluctantly, he raised his eyes to meet her gaze. She was closer than he'd realized, standing only a foot away from where he sat on the infirmary bed. Gently, she took her hands in his; he didn't try to stop her, afraid that if he struggled the claws might accidentally nick her skin.
Carefully, she smoothed out his hands, examining the talons at the end of each fingertip. He tensed, almost imperceptibly; but she noticed, sending him a reassuring glance. "Well," she murmured. "Carson says he'll probably be able to engineer some sort of drug that'll slow down the changes. In twelve days the machine will be powered up and Rodney can get it to change you back to your old self."
"So, nothing to worry about, then?" Sheppard said, the dry sarcasm of his voice not lost on her.
Elizabeth frowned, studying his face. "What's wrong?" she asked suddenly.
"Besides the fact that I'm turning into a cat? Oh, nothing, nothing at all." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he winced internally. He hadn't meant to use that tone of voice with her, or to sound so sullen and dark.
She raised an eyebrow. "Colonel -"
"Sorry. Never mind, it's nothing," he muttered, standing up and carefully extracting his hands from hers, trying to grin nonchalantly, though it probably came out more like a grimace. "I'm scheduled for a run with Ronon. See you later."
He started for the door, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. She didn't try to turn him around, her voice soft and compassionate.
"You'll be fine, John. You always are."
Squeezing his shoulder gently, Elizabeth let go and walked out of the infirmary, leaving John alone with the feeling that she'd meant it in more ways than one.
----
Predictably, Ronon thought the claws were the greatest thing since the invention of C4. He took one look at them and asked, only half-joking, "Where can I get some?"
"Sorry, big guy," Sheppard said sardonically. "The device that mutates your fingernails into talons is kinda out-of-order right now."
The former runner grunted, actually looking mildly disappointed (which had John shaking his head in disbelief – honestly) before they started the run.
It helped, jogging through the halls of Atlantis in silence; he didn't know if it was just the exercise, or the calm of the city, or Ronon's solid presence, or a mixture of all three. But by the time they were finished, John was sweaty, hot, and happy. Elizabeth was right. It'd be okay; Rodney wasn't a genius for nothing, and Beckett would figure something out.
After a quick change (no shower – sorry, but rubbing soap all over his body while his hands had claws just didn't sound like the best of ideas to him) John headed to the mess hall for breakfast. Rodney, Ronon and Teyla had beaten him to their table and the first thing Rodney said was,
"Well, let's see them!"
"See what?" John said innocently, placing his tray on the table as he sat by Teyla.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "The claws, of course," he said impatiently.
Sheppard held up a hand briefly. "Satisfied?"
"No. Can you cut stuff with them? Do they retract? How does -"
"Rodney," Teyla said, sounding slightly scandalized. She turned a concerned gaze on John. "How are you feeling?"
He had to smile. "I'm fine, Teyla. Carson's working on some drug that'll help slow down the transformation. And if McKay here would just hurry up and charge the machine-" here he shot a pointed glance at Rodney - "then I'd get back to normal faster. And I wouldn't be forced to tear someone to pieces, since yes, the claws do cut stuff."
Rodney spluttered indignantly. "Excuse me? You should be grateful I managed to figure out how to recharge the device! It's regaining energy as fast as possible, and the poorly-veiled threats do nothelp!"
John didn't reply, frowning as he tried to maneuver his hold on the fork and knife so that he didn't cut himself with his own claws. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful. "Ow! Damnit."
Without thinking, he tried to lick away the blood on his cut finger – only to yelp as the claw slit his tongue.
"Aw, shit," he muttered, grabbing a napkin and holding it to his mouth as blood filled his mouth and spilled past his lips. It hurt, but not that badly; there was just an annoying amount of blood, filling his mouth with a foul metallic taste.
Rodney, however, looked horrified. "What did you do?! It looks like you cut your own tongue off! Are you okay? Idiot!"
"'m fine," he mumbled through a mouthful of blood. "Looks worse than it really is."
Teyla handed him a few more napkins, frowning. "You should be more careful, John," she chastised.
"No kidding! You get claws and the first thing you do is stick your hands down your throat? Moron! Maybe you should go see Carson, you're bleeding all over the place," Rodney said, looking both exasperated and worried.
The blood flow was already slowing, though. "No, 'm okay," he said, spitting out some more blood and grimacing. Ronon handed him a glass of water, and he gratefully accepted it, taking a few sips to rinse away the bittersweet taste in his mouth.
Rodney shook his head. "You're a disaster waiting to happen, you know that?"
"Thanks, Rodney. Your obvious concern is really quite touching."
"What? Hey, I asked if you were okay!"
"And then called me a moron."
"Well, you are!"
----
John returned to his quarters with low spirits. Breakfast had not been fun. It'd proved nearly impossible to handle the utensils with claws; he either couldn't properly grasp them, or ended up nicking himself. It'd gotten so bad at one point Teyla had offered to help. He had adamantly refused. No way was he going to be hand-fed.
Plus, his tongue had continued to throb slightly with pain, and eating toast (the only food he could eat, because it didn't require a fork) had abraded the tender area of his cut tongue. In the end he'd just given up, leaving the mess hall with a growling stomach.
Sheppard sighed, rubbing a palm against the back of his neck. He still felt dirty from the run. Maybe he'd risk taking that shower.
Grabbing a towel and stepping into the bathroom, he stripped of his shirt (nearly ripping it as he did so) and started unzipping his pants.
Which was when the talon of his thumb sliced right past his boxers.
Letting out a choked cry of pain, John sank to his knees and groaned, "Holy fuck." This was not happening to him. He had not just cut his own damn -
He had.
Shit, he didn't even have enough swearwords to express just how pissed he was.
Even through the pain and self-directed annoyance, though, John had to grin. If Rodney ever found out - "What, now you're trying to castrate yourself? Idiot!"
Okay, nobody could ever find out about this. Ever.
So Sheppard tried to stop the blood flow, but it kept bleeding. And bleeding. And bleeding. Until he got so worried he was tempted into going to see Carson.
He could not believe this was happening to him.
In the end, concern for his manhood won out, and Sheppard slunk out of his room into the infirmary.
"Aye, Colonel? What is it now?" Carson asked when he saw John loitering awkwardly outside his door. Then he frowned, worried. "Is that blood on your claws...?"
"Um... yeah. I kinda... cut myself..." he trailed off.
Carson asked where the injury was. John told him.
"Sorry, you cut yourself where?!"
"I was trying to unzip my pants."
"Oh." Carson only looked serious and sympathetic, not amused, and at that moment John fully and fervently appreciated the fact that Carson was his doctor. "Come on, lad, there's a curtained area over this way."
----
Thirty minutes later, the bleeding had been taken care of and John's claws had been filed down to blunt points. Carson had been professional and empathetic the entire time, yes, but it was still an experience he'd rather forget. Or pretend had never happened, if possible.
So far his day was turning out to be a real crappy one.
John wandered aimlessly around Atlantis for a bit, went into his office (yes, he had an office, something that for some reason, surprised a lot of people) and did some paperwork; but that just made him frustrated – his claws weren't sharp, but they were still long, and it was a pain trying to hold a pen or type on his laptop. Giving up, he drifted into the rec room (which was, thankfully, empty – he felt like sulking alone) and settled down on the couch.
He didn't bother starting a movie. He'd seen them all too many times, anyway. John just kind of stared dolefully at his hands, feeling childish and immature and foolish. It didn't improve his mood.
A knock made him look up. Elizabeth stood at the doorway, hands behind her back. "Mind if I join you?"
"Sure, go ahead," he said, making an effort to pretend nothing was wrong.
She smiled and settled down on the couch beside him. For a moment, she said nothing, studying his face. John determinedly kept his depression hidden behind a casual mask.
Unfortunately, Elizabeth seemed to have x-ray vision. The mask that fooled most people was transparent to her. She didn't say anything, but Sheppard could tell she knew he was down from the soft expression on her face.
"Carson tells me that you're having trouble dealing with the claws," she said at last.
For a moment, John tensed, horrified at the idea that Carson might have told her about the 'accident'. But then he relaxed, knowing that Carson would never violate patient-doctor confidentiality.
"Yeah, they're a pain," he replied, giving them a glance.
She took his hand, touching the filed-down claws. "Ronon seemed to think they were cool."
He snorted. "When Ronon saw X-men, he wanted to have Rogue's power. As in, sap the life out of people by touching them."
"True," Elizabeth admitted, smiling slightly. She didn't let go of his hand, wrapping it in hers. John's breath hitched in his throat at the feel of her warm hands encompassing his, but he didn't pull away.
They stayed like that for a while. John's breathing slowed as the tension and misery of the day slowly drained away, a feeling of contentment taking over. Strange how being near Elizabeth could have that effect on him.
Eventually, somebody radioed Elizabeth, requesting her presence immediately. She sent him an apologetic smile, squeezed his hand, and left. The feeling of peace did not leave with her.
Maybe it hadn't been such a bad day, after all.
-----
Of course, then he woke up with a tail.
A tail.
It was three feet long, sleek, black, and furry. John first noticed it when he sat up on his bed, and it coiled around his leg like a snake.
He stared at it for about ten seconds, then buried himself back into the blankets of his bed and willed it to be a dream.
After five minutes of chanting in his head, It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream, he peeked his head out from under the pillow and craned his neck to look behind him.
Apparently the tail had a sense of humor. It waved at him.
John didn't bother getting dressed. He locked the door of his quarters and hid back under the blankets. There was no way he was going to be seen walking around Atlantis with a tail. No. Way.
"Sheppard? Lad, can you hear me?"
The radio at his night table blinked its light as Carson tried to contact him. John stared at the radio, contemplating whether or not he wanted to answer it.
"John? Don't tell me you're still asleep at this hour." There was a pause. "It's important."
Sighing, John picked up the radio, responding, "Yeah, I'm here."
"Good, I was beginning to worry. Come down to the infirmary, I have something for you." Carson sounded tired but pleased, and John's left ear perked up hopefully, wondering if he had the drug ready. At the same time, the right ear drooped at the exhausted note to Carson's voice. He hated to think that Carson had stayed up all night just to get the drug ready.
"Um, Doc, you know I'd love to... but..." he trailed off uncomfortably, glaring daggers at his tail. The tip of it flicked, taunting him.
"What? What's wrong? I knew I should have kept you here overnight -"
"Doc! I'm fine. I just have a new... well... new cat-like feature, is all."
Silence."You'd better come down to the infirmary."
John winced. "Can't you just come here?" he pleaded, trying not to think of how much he sounded like a ten-year-old boy.
He could practically hear Carson frown. "Alright... I'll be there in a few minutes."
Letting out a breath of relief, John said, "Thanks, doc," and put the radio aside. He got out of bed, deciding he might as well get dressed.
Easier said than done.
John glared at his tail. Then he glared at his pants. Glare at tail. Glare at pants. The process repeated itself until Carson rang the door-chime.
Tossing aside the useless pants, John grabbed his blanket and bunched it around his waist. "Come in," he called resignedly.
Carson poked his head in, holding a needle and looking a bit bemused as he studied John. "So, what's the problem, Colonel? You look the same as yesterday..." he trailed off, eyes widening as he stared at a spot just below John's knee.
John risked a glance downward. Sure enough, the tail had escaped the confines of the blanket around his waist and was moving around him idly.
"Well," the doc said. "I can see why you didn't want to leave the room."
-----
Fortunately, Carson did have the drug ready; supposedly, it would stop any more major changes from happening, although the transformation would not be stopped entirely, just slowed down enough so that Rodney would have the machine ready before it was too late. He administered the drug to John in his room. Sheppard would have been content to stay there for the rest of the day (hell, the rest of two weeks, until McKay had that damn machine ready) but Carson was adamant.
"You can't hide here forever," he argued. "How will you eat?"
"Someone can bring me food," John said, crossing his arms.
"What about when I need to give you a physical? I can't bring all my equipment here," Carson pointed out.
John frowned, but kept his arms crossed defiantly.
"Colonel -"
"Carson. I am not walking around with a cat tail."
Carson sighed, turned around, and tapped his headset.
"Whoa, wait, what are you doing?"
"Calling Elizabeth. Maybe she can talk some sense into you. Think I'll call Teyla too," the doctor replied.
"What? No!"
"Elizabeth. Teyla. If you could come to Colonel Sheppard's quarters, please?" Pause. "No, no, he's fine. It'd just be nice to have you two here for something. Aye, thanks."
He turned around, and Sheppard glared at him. "Yeah, thanks, doc."
"Oh, stop pouting," Carson replied, settling back into a chair. "And maybe you should put some pants on."
Sheppard gritted his teeth. "I can't."
"What? Oh." Carson looked suitably embarrassed. "Can't you just cut a hole -"
"No."
And awkward silence descended upon the room, broken when Teyla and Elizabeth entered, looking puzzled and worried. "What's wro -" Elizabeth began to ask. Then she spotted the tail. "Oh."
Teyla's eyes widened. "Is that -"
"Yes."
"...Oh."
Not quite sure what to expect from the two women, Sheppard just watched them warily. At first, they seemed to surprise to speak. Then Elizabeth coughed. She looked at Teyla, who was biting her lip. They traded glances.
And burst into giggles.
Sheppard's ears flattened woefully as he turned to Carson. "See? I told you! This is why I wanted to stay here alone."
Carson crossed his arms and frowned at Elizabeth and Teyla. "I hate to interrupt your mirth, lasses, but I called you hear for you to coax him out of his room, not make him more set on staying here."
Elizabeth regained her composure, looking slightly apologetic. "I'm sorry, Carson, John. It just, ah, took us by surprise."
Teyla nodded, looking unconvincingly serious. "Yes."
John glared at them both, still fighting back smiles, snorted, and growled, "It doesn't matter. I'm not leaving this room. Period."
Teyla and Elizabeth exchanged looks. Elizabeth seemed upset. "John, we didn't mean – we weren't laughing at you."
"We did not mean to offend you, John," Teyla put in. "We laughed because you look so miserable over something such as this. Has Dr. Beckett not made a drug that will slow down the transformation? Is Dr. McKay not well on his way to fully re-charging the machine? You have nothing to be so unhappy over."
John made a face. "So you're telling me to suck it up."
"I can't have my military commander sulking in his room because he has a tail, which may I remind you, is only temporary," Elizabeth said. "In case you haven't noticed, our people are worried about you – I don't want them getting the message that you're gravely sick, or close to death, or worse. Having members of the senior staff in hiding does not boost morale. We need you out there, socializing and acting normal and proving to everyone that you're fine, that this isn't the same as last time." She paused, and John understood perfectly the "last time" she was referring to.
Then she smiled slightly, cocking her head. "Besides... the tail kind of suits you."
"What?"
"It does," Teyla agreed sagely. "It matches your hair and ears. You look quite... adorable."
Sheppard groaned. Both Teyla, Elizabeth and Carson were grinning evilly now. "I hate you all. Hate. You. All."
Elizabeth just laughed. "Come on, let's get you dressed and out of here. I'm hungry."
"I can dress myself," Sheppard argued, backing away when she approached.
"Can you?" Elizabeth challenged, holding up the pair of pants he'd discarded earlier.
"The tail must get in the way," Teyla realized.
"We'll have to cut a hole," Elizabeth mused.
Both women eyed John, who gulped and backed away. "Carson..." he pleaded, but the doctor just chuckled as he headed towards the door.
----
"I look stupid," John grumbled, slouching as he crossed his arms.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "You look fine."
Teyla nodded. "You do, John. Except when you pout in such a matter."
"Like a petulant teenage boy," Elizabeth added.
"Does Rodney not call them 'emo'?"
"Exactly. A petulant, emo teenage boy."
John glared at the two. "Still hating you guys."
"Colonel, if you do not come with us to the mess hall now, I will call Ronon to forcibly remove you," Teyla said.
John narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't."
Teyla smiled pleasantly. "I would."
Slumping in defeat, John reluctantly followed the two out of his room. He had to admit, it was kind of funny to see the reactions of people they passed. Most were too shocked to do anything but stare, open-mouthed. John got a couple of chuckles out of it.
Plus, he had to admit the tail was pretty cool. Not in a visual sense; but he felt like he could jump down five stories and land on his feet. He'd always had a great sense of balance before, but now he felt like Superman. He couldn't wait to try and skateboard with it...
Elizabeth was watching him warily. "Don't even think about it, Colonel," she warned.
"Think about what?" he asked innocently.
"I've seen that look before. Absolutely not. No skateboarding."
He just smiled winningly. "Whatever you say, 'Lizbeth."
----
The next few days passed without incident. The drug that was supposed to slow down the transformation seemed to work. There were no more visible, drastic changes to John's body, and Rodney said the machine was close to working again.
Irritatingly enough, the claws refused to stay blunt. John filed them down again and again; within two hours they were dagger-like points once more. Finally he just gave up at trying to keep them blunt; instead he just wrapped each one with duct tape. Rodney said he looked stupid, but John didn't care; at least he could eat, now.
"Hey." Rodney bounced into the shooting range, looking very pleased. He pointed at the tail, which was making slow, wave-like motions. "That's really weird, you know."
Glancing up from his handgun, John rolled his eyes at Rodney. "You've already told me that before. And I can't control it, anyway." He aimed and fired another dozen rounds at his target, puncturing it neatly at the center.
When he was done, Rodney was scowling and holding his ears. "Do you mind? I come in here to tell you the best news you'll hear all week and what do I get? Oh, right, you trying to deafen me with your guns and whatnot -"
"Rodney, it's the shooting range. There's a reason you're not allowed in here unless you're wearing earmuffs," John said patiently, tossing the gun aside and pulling out two earplugs. Earmuffs, predictably, didn't work so well on cat ears. "What's the news?"
"Hmm, well after nearly breaking my eardrums, maybe I won't tell you..."
"Rodney -"
"The device is ready."
John brightened, his ears cocking forward. "That's good to hear. When can I get turned back to normal?"
"Right now, if Elizabeth and Carson okay it," Rodney replied.
Grinning, John slapped Rodney on the back and began, "Great, thanks -" before getting was cut off by the crackle of his radio.
"John. Rodney. We need you in my office. Now, please." Elizabeth's tone was grave, putting a damper on John's short-lived elation.
Exchanging looks, the two headed towards Weir's office. They entered to find that Ronon, Teyla, and surprisingly, Caldwell where already there.
"What's going on?" John asked, glancing at Caldwell warily.
Elizabeth looked tense. "You remember how we agreed to send Lorne's team to M3X-494?"
Uh-oh. "Yeah, they went this morning, right?"
She nodded. "They were due back an hour ago. When we radioed in to see what was happening, the natives of M3X-494 were the ones who responded.
"They're holding Lorne's team hostage. They're going to kill them in twenty-four hours if you don't return to the planet and stay there."
--TBC--