-0-

Their first check-in brought an unexpected surprise, and Evan still wasn't sure how he felt about it.

"We're coming back in," James had reported. "We've got-" The transmission had broken for a moment before his voice returned. "We've got someone who wants to talk to Dr. Beckett."

The entire team was gathered in the garage when the van pulled in. Radek was driving, and as soon as he parked, John was at the back door, wrenching it open to see if James had been telling the truth.

Evan's eyes widened as they took in the form of the girl from the picture.

"Fuck," John swore loudly, and the girl flinched. "Son of a bitch. Mother of Christ, Markham, Cadman, we are going to have a talk about what it means to not engage-"

"It's not their fault," the girl insisted, and shrank back against the seat as John's eyes narrowed at her. "I went up to them," she continued quietly, staring down at her hands. "I asked them to bring me here. To your doctor."

Evan stepped up and yanked John out of the way, leaning in until the girl looked up at him. "Ellia, right?" She looked startled, but nodded. "I'm Evan. Let's go inside and talk."

The entire group would have killed to be in the meeting, but in the end, there were only four: Ellia, John, Evan, and Carson.

"Hello, Ellia," Carson said kindly, giving her a smile. "I hear you caused quite a stir for wanting to meet me. I'm not as popular with these folks. I think they're afraid of my needles."

Evan recognized the voice Carson used to calm anxious patients and tried to set a friendly smile on his face as well. "Why don't you tell us what you want here, Ellia?"

Ellia gave a trembling smile. "She said – she told us not to go near you, any of you," Ellia choked out. "She said that the SGC would try to make us turn back."

"And yet, here you are," John drawled. Evan kicked him under the table. John glared before adding, "And we're not SGC."

"I don't want to be like this," she burst out. One of her hands stretched out in front of her, palm up. "Look at me. I'm a monster, a freak. I used to be pretty," she choked. "I had blonde hair, Curly." Ellia looked at Carson. "Please tell me she was telling the truth," she begged. "Tell me you can make me human again."

There was silence in the room, broken only by Ellia's ragged breaths and shuddering half-sobs. Finally, Carson said, "It's not quite that simple, love. I can't, not yet. But I'm close," he added as Ellia's eyes filled with tears. It was disturbing, Evan noted, to see a Wraith cry. He hadn't known they were even able to.

"I'm fifteen years old," Ellia said, closing her eyes. "Three months ago I was hanging out at the mall with my friends. Now I spend all my time with her, learning her sick little tricks, her mind games, her goddamned plans."

Evan could feel John tense. Ellia knew things, important things. Evan jumped in before John could say anything. The man was a complete fuckup with kids and delicate situations.

"Ellia," he began, waiting until she looked up at him. "Dr. Beckett is still working on the retrovirus. The cure," he clarified as her expression grew confused. "It's not quite ready yet, but like he said, he's close. We'll be happy to give it to you – to turn you human again – when he finishes it."

Her face lit up with what Evan could only interpret as joy, though he couldn't be sure; he'd never seen that expression on a Wraith before.

"In the meantime," Evan went on, "maybe you could help us out a little. What can you tell us about where you were, who else was there?"

As it turned out, Ellia could tell them a lot. Not names; they were too careful for that. But numbers, strategies, locations, plans…

-0-

The first trial didn't go well.

John supervised as Carson headed into the room. The doctor was worried about drug interactions, so he hadn't wanted the first Wraith sedated; John had sent Adam, Ford, and James in to subdue him long enough for John to set restraints on him. And now Carson was edging into the room, sending nervous glances between the snarling Wraith strapped to the table and John, who stood at the Wraith's shoulder.

"Hello," Carson tried, and the Wraith sneered at him. "I'm – well, no matter who I am. I'm here to cure you."

"I am not sick," the Wraith spat.

Carson blinked. "Well, you're a Wraith," he pointed out. "The condition is caused by a virus, so by definition, you are sick."

"Mere semantics," the Wraith sneered, and John rolled his eyes.

"Just stab him, Doc," he said, and Carson got to work, swabbing the inside of the Wraith's wrist and hesitating as he rested the needle against the skin there.

"This will be easier if you relax," he said quietly. The Wraith narrowed his eyes and visibly tensed his arm. Carson shrugged and ignored the Wraith's hiss as he pushed the syringe in.

They were heading out of the room a few minutes later, the IV securely in place and the Wraith left strapped to the table with guards posted. They had only gone about twenty feet down the corridor when the howling started.

Carson was back in the room before John had turned around all the way. By the time he got, back, Carson was standing by the still body.

"I was afraid of this," he said quietly.

The autopsy took three days and the modification to the retrovirus took an additional two. On the sixth day, John and Carson entered the second Wraith's room and repeated the process.

This one seemed to go better. The Wraith was still alive the next morning when John stopped by to check in with the guard. He looked pissed as hell, but he was alive. Carson fussed over his vital signs, reading this monitor and that printout before administering the second dose of the retrovirus through the IV tube.

Over the course of a week, John watched the Wraith's skin lose its greenish hue, watched white hair turn sandy blonde, saw yellow eyes fade to brown. The man's frame shrank, and by the time Carson stopped the medication, the man looked… well, human.

The problem was that though Carson had stopped administering the retrovirus, it had lingering effects. The man's muscles continued to weaken. His eyes dulled to blindness. His hair fell out. Fifteen days after the drug was first administered, the Wraith – man – John wasn't sure what to call it – died, just as the first had.

Again, Carson took his time with the autopsy, and he again made modifications to the retrovirus. John stopped into the infirmary late one night, and Carson looked up with a tired smile and indicated a vial on the table. The liquid was still pink, but it was a much less startling shade. John looked closely at it. It was almost translucent.

"Third time's a charm," Carson said. "I'm going to administer it in the morning."

-0-

Evan!

Evan woke groggily, slowly. He could have sworn he'd heard his name, but as he glanced around his quarters, he saw only the shadows of the things he owned.

Evan! John's voice rang again, loud and panicked in his mind, and Evan suddenly clicked fully awake, reaching for the communication stone.

What's wrong?

John's voice sounded even more panicked. Infirmary. Now.

Evan leapt from his bed and threw on the first clothing he found, shoving his feet into shoes as he ran down the halls. He reached the infirmary less than four minutes after he'd first awoken.

Carson was attending to someone – Evan couldn't see who – in the back of the infirmary. He had the privacy screens pulled around the bed, and Evan felt his stomach turn. What happened? he asked mentally, hand still clenched around the stone. He felt John's hand on his elbow and inhaled; he'd forgotten that the other man was there. "What happened?" he repeated aloud.

John was staring towards the curtains, and his voice was restrained as he spoke. Evan could hear past the careful dampers he had placed on his emotions to the anger and terror below. "Not here," he said, and Evan followed him into Carson's office.

"Who is it?" Evan asked, looking towards the sectioned-off back of the infirmary.

"Ford," John said. "There was – he was guarding the girl."

The girl. Ellia. "Shit…" Evan breathed, already not liking where this was headed.

"She heard about the newest edition of the retrovirus," John said, still speaking calmly. He was clutching his own communication stone in his hand, and Evan suddenly saw brief images flutter through his mind – Ellia in the labs, Ford on the floor, a syringe, a kitchen knife dripping with-

"She tried to infect him," Evan said, horrified. "Where did she even get – why the fuck would she-"

John cut him off. "Turns out the Wraith have a way of biologically producing the drug. Secreting it, disgusting as that is. As for why…" His voice trailed off, and Evan saw him clench the stone reflexively, though no more images flashed through Evan's head. "She says she thought we were holding out on her. That we had the cure and, for whatever reason, weren't sharing."

"So she attacked Ford," Evan pieced together. "Tried to infect him. Son of a bitch. Shot herself up with the retrovirus. Goddamn it." He paused. "Where is she?"

John jerked his head towards where they'd been keeping the prisoners. "Got her tied down in one of the cells. She took way more than the recommended dose. Carson doesn't know what's gonna happen to her."

Evan nodded. "How's Ford? She stab him too deep?"

John drew in a breath and held it for a moment before exhaling slowly. "No. Did the same to him as Irina did to me."

"Okay," Evan said, glancing back out to the infirmary. He'd be fine, then.

"No," John said. "Not really." Evan's eyebrows creased, and John let out a sharp laugh. "Not a natural carrier, remember?" Evan nodded slowly, feeling sick dread pooling in his stomach.

"He was due for his booster tomorrow," John said, looking into the infirmary. "Carson's not sure if there's enough left in his system."

To fight it off, Evan's brain supplied. "He's turning," he said quietly. "Isn't he?"

John nodded once, jerkily, and closed his eyes.

"Motherfucker," Evan spat out. "This is… posrat. Krava. Why would she – she's so against - picha zmrzla."

They sat still for a moment after Evan's outburst before Evan rose quietly and leaving the room. John stayed in his seat, staring vacantly into the infirmary.

He walked aimlessly for a little while and found himself standing outside the cells. The remaining male Wraith snarled at him from his prison, but Ellia smiled. Evan could see the drug working already. Her hair was longer, lighter, and her skin had lost some of its sickish hue. Evan remembered John telling him that Ellia had taken a fuckton of the retrovirus.

"Evan," she said, and Evan could hear her voice softening out, losing the rough edge that it held as a Wraith. "I'm changing back."

"Ellia," he said, low in his throat. "There was no need to do that."

Ellia frowned now, looking at him skeptically. "Dr. Beckett finished the retrovirus," she said challengingly, and Evan was once again reminded that she was, despite all else, a fifteen-year-old girl. "I need to be me again." Her voice was almost pleading. Evan might have broken down, but then he remembered the curtains at the end of the infirmary, John's voice as he said Carson's not sure, and he stared unflinchingly at the Wraith before him.

"You want to change back so badly," he said. "Why would you infect Ford?"

"Your people can't be affected," she replied promptly. "Dr. Beckett told me about the gene therapy, how you all have something that protects you from the Wraith drug." She shrugged. "I read John's medical report," she said, and Evan made a mental note to talk to Carson about locking up his files better. "It knocked him down for a few days, but he was fine in the end. I only needed Aiden out of the way for a little while. He'll be fine."

"He won't be," Evan spat out, and Ellia lifted her eyes to his, startled. "Maybe Dr. Beckett was unclear. The people who don't have the gene naturally? They need booster shots to keep them up to date." Ellia's eyes widened in horror as Evan continued. "He's infected for real. Ellia, and you either killed him or turned him into a Wraith. Congratulations."

With that, he turned on his heel and left, ignoring Ellia's soft sobs from behind him.

-0-

The team gathered at dawn in the infirmary, waiting for the news from Carson. He finally stepped from Ford's bedside around seven AM, and John could tell by the slump of his shoulders that the news wasn't going to be good.

"Doc," James finally asked as they stood. "What's the verdict?"

Carson shook his head, looking more defeated than John had ever seen him. He wanted to shake, to fall to the floor and beat at the ground, to scream at the sky and Fate and the stupid child that had done this, because he already knew what Carson was going to say.

"He's turned," Carson said, and John could hear the collection of sharp intakes of breath and muttered cursing around him. Someone – maybe Ronon – punched the nearest wall. He narrowed his eyes and focused on breathing himself, on Carson's words. "He's… upset."

"He's still himself?" Laura asked. Carson nodded, shook his head, nodded again.

"To a point," he acknowledged. "He says… he feels stronger, different. He's quick to temper."

John spared a glance at the team. They looked, as a whole, stricken: Teyla had her eyes closed and was pressed into Ronon's side; McKay and Zelenka were conversing in low tones; Laura, James, and Adam looked torn between running in to comfort their friend and running out to kill Ellia. John took a breath and didn't look at Evan.

"What's the prognosis?" he asked, focusing again on Carson. The doctor raised his eyes to John's.

"He survived the transformation quite well," Carson acknowledged. "I'll give him the retrovirus when I've finished developing it." He hesitated. "He has a high chance of surviving the change back, I believe. He's strong."

"Can't you just give him the ATA booster?" Evan asked.

Carson shook his head. "The ATA gene blocks the Wraith virus from attaching to the blookd cells," he explained. "We're no idea how it would react when introduced into a Wraith's bloodstream. It might literally tear their blood from their body," he finished quietly.

John walked out of the infirmary, making his way down to the cells.

Ellia was almost completely human, a mere ten hours after she gave herself the retrovirus. She was still strapped to the table, and she appeared to be sleeping. John felt rage shoot through him suddenly; how could she sleep when she'd turned Ford into a Wraith, when she'd nearly killed him, when the cure still might, didn't she have any fucking sense of guilt?

Ellia was string at him now, eyes wide in shock, and John realized he'd spit the words out loud. He stared back, unflinching; he'd meant every goddamned word of it, and she needed to answer for this.

"I'm sorry about Aiden," she said quietly. "He's very – he's always been nice to me. I didn't realize…"

"Didn't realize," John said menacingly. He heard his own voice and recognized the tone, felt the seething rage beneath it; he should probably call for someone else to come down, to watch, so he didn't snap and kill the girl. He pushed the feeling down and continued. "You stabbed him in the chest with your fucking virus and expect me to believe that you didn't realize what would happen?"

Ellia was shaking her head. "I thought he'd just get sick, like you did," she babbled. "Dr. Beckett said he'd made an immunization, that you guys couldn't turn. I thought I'd just have enough time to give myself the shot…"

John was relieved and entirely unsurprised to feel Evan's hand on his arm, pulling him back from where he was leaning into the cell. He allowed the other man to draw him back a little bit before standing firm. Evan kept his hand resolutely around John's elbow, and John let it rest there, the weight grounding him.

"We told you we'd give it to you when it was ready," he seethed. "You gave us information, we'd cure you, let you go home to your family. I cannot, for the life of me, understand why you'd just all of a sudden decide that our deal wasn't good enough. Why you'd feel like doing it yourself would be a better course of action than waiting for the adults – for the doctor – to tell you it was safe!"

"It's perfectly safe!" Ellia argued back hotly, and looking at her, John was forced to admit that she might be right. Her hair tumbled in loose waves down her back, a sunny blonde, and blue eyes shone out from a round face, pale but human-colored.

"That's not you call, and it does not give you the right-"

John cut off as Ellia abruptly arched her back and screamed, a long, drawn-out howl that was more human than Wraith. Evan was already running into the cell, and John was tearing back towards the infirmary.

Carson was already heading towards him by the time he got there, and John realized that the screaming was still going on, that it was fainter here but still quite audible. He had a sudden mental image of Ellia arching up and trembling and a feeling of urgency, and he turned to Carson.

"She's having a seizure," he said, thinking to Evan, almost there.

They turned the corner to find Evan standing in the cell, his hands on Ellia's shoulders, pinning her to the table as she bucked and jerked beneath his weight and the restraints. Carson ran in and looked to the monitors, muttering frantically as he drew up a syringe and inserted it into the IV tube. Ellia calmed slowly, shivers and jerks running through her body until she eventually settled completely. He eyes stared, wide and vacant, at the ceiling.

"She's going to die," Carson said flatly. "This is why I was worried about going too quickly. Essentially, she overdosed."

"Good," John said, and walked out of the room.

-0-

Ellia's autopsy was faster than the other two had been, but Carson knew what to check for; he made a few alterations to the retrovirus, but not nearly as many as he'd needed to in the past.

"I think it's ready," he said to Evan later that week. "I think this is it."

"Better than fifty-fifty?" Evan asked, looking at the thin pink liquid. At least their miracle cure no longer looked like injections of Pepto Bismol. Carson shook his head.

"I think we're finally at fifty-fifty," he said, shrugging. "The original odds were much lower."

Evan nodded and watched as Carson injected the retrovirus into the last Wraith. They'd sedated this one; Carson had figured a workaround for the interactions he feared, and thought that the induced coma might ease the strain of the turning. He hoped it worked, would have prayed if he thought God gave a damn, because it would be pretty damn hard for O'Neill to conveniently lose more Wraith for Atlantis' testing needs.

A day passed, a week, two; the Wraith became a man, and as the team watched with bated breath, was transferred from the cell to the infirmary, hooked up to machine after machine. Finally, thirty-three days after he'd been put under, Carson reversed the medical coma and the man blinked.

"Hello, son," Carson said kindly, shining a light into one eye, then the other. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay," the man said, and Evan watched as Carson handed him a glass of water. "Where-"

"You're in our infirmary," Carson explained. "We – found you. You were very sick." He hesitated. "What's your name, lad?"

The man set down the glass of water and looked up at Carson. "Michael," he replied. "Michael Kenmore."

-0-

"I want to do it," Ford said a day later. He was sitting up in his bed; he hadn't left the infirmary since the incident with Ellia, nearly two months ago. It was an agreement that he had forced out of John and Evan, to keep him locked in there. John knew logically that they'd made the right choice, that Ford could snap at any second, but two months after the fact with regular visitors and no incidents, he wondered if it had been necessary.

"Ford," he said, bringing himself back to the present. "It might not work."

Ford's eyes were hard. One had turned completely black, and his stare was, if John was being honest, fucking creepy.

"It might be fine, though," he said, as if they hadn't already had this same argument dozens of times. "Sheppard. I can't stay like this."

John knew that. Fuck, did he know that. He also knew, though, that Carson wanted to wait, to do more tests on their pet ex-Wraith – Michael, he reminded himself – before he tried it out on Ford.

"Aiden," Evan spoke up from next to John, and John suddenly wondered why he'd never bothered to learn to call the young man by his first name. Old military habits, he supposed; he'd been the guy's CO for a while, and some things never changed, despite how much they did. It was a moot point now. "Give Carson some time."

"No," Ford breathed, closing his eyes. John could se the tremors running through him and was sharply reminded that though his mind might be his own, his body was not. The frustration that he'd been feeling since the turning was boiling under his skin. John didn't want to see what happened if they pushed him too far; he didn't want to have to subdue his friend, hurt him. Kill him.

"Let me do this," Ford said after a minute, opening his eyes, and John could see that he wasn't trembling any more. "Worst it can do is kill me, right?"

John blinked and felt Evan pull back slightly. "That doesn't bother you?" he asked cautiously.

Ford shrugged. "I'd rather be dead than be this," he said, gesturing to himself. He suddenly looked – tired, John supposed, though it was strange on his twisted features. "Every fucking day is like a whole new fight. I feel like the Greek guy from that myth, pushing the rock up the mountain."

"Sisyphus," Evan said quietly. Ford nodded and continued.

"I'm still me, and I still have all my own thoughts and memories and whatever, but there's – it's like something else is in here with me. Something really fucking awful." He took a deep breath. "It's like, underneath it all, I just want to kill everyone here and go find the other Wraith and hang out or eat chicken heads or whatever it is that Wraith do."

John closed his eyes as Ford spoke. It was hard hearing this, and for a second he thought of the young man who'd laughed all the time, smiled, made jokes about football and hockey. His mind threw up that image next to one of Ford now, sitting on the bed in the infirmary – shoulders hunched, face twisted, eyes black and haunted.

"Let me do this," Ford said again. "If it works, then I'm another success story. If it doesn't, Carson can figure out what went wrong and tweak his meds so they're even better."

John was already expecting Evan's thoughts. They usually didn't use the stones in front of other people – it was pretty rude, like whispering – but sometimes it was necessary. It was certainly easier than leaving the room for a fifteen-second conversation.

I don't want to, he heard, but I think we should let him.

Yeah, he thought back. Aloud, he said, "It's your choice, Ford, your life. If you think that now's the time…"

Ford nodded. "Do it."

Everyone got their chance to sit alone with Ford before Carson started the treatment; ostensibly, it was to give their encouragement, but everyone knew it was really their chance to say goodbye, just in case. His old team from the SGC – McKay, Teyla, and Ronon – went in together and spent the longest; when they came out, McKay's were puffy and Teyla's bright. Both were leaning heavily on Ronon, who looked, oddly, respectful. John sat outside as the team members went in, guarding the events inside.

Finally, everyone had gone through but John. He squared his shoulders and stepped into the cell where Ford would be treated.

"Ford," he said, and stood awkwardly for a moment. He really didn't know what to say.

Ford grinned at him, and for a second, John saw the smiling, laughing kid. "You suck at this, sir," he teased, and John smiled, the awkwardness broken. He stuck out a hand and Ford took it, shaking it strongly.

"Been an honor to work with you, kid," John said. "And, depending on whether or not this gamble pays, you're either the bravest of stupidest guy I've ever met."

"I'll take brave either way," Ford deadpanned. The smile slipped from his face. "Look Sheppard, in case – I wrote letters," he said, handing a small stack of envelopes to John. "If I don't make it…"

John nodded. "I'll see that they get where they're going."

"Thanks," Ford said, looking oddly relieved for a man who might be about to die. "For everything, for all of this. For letting me come with when you left."

"If you'd stayed, you wouldn't be in this situation."

"If I'd stayed, I'd have gotten myself thrown out by now," Ford said. "They were – are – idiots. Being in Atlantis, feeling like I'm actually making a difference – it's been everything." He shifted and met John's gaze square on. "Thank you."

John nodded and shook Ford's hand again before leaving the room and sending Carson in.

-0-

They held a memorial service for Ford a week after he died. Carson had done everything that he could, administering Ford's doses exactly as he had Michael's, but the odds had been against them this time, and Ford slipped away quietly during the night.

Evan was trying to look on the upside: Ford had changed back enough for them to be able to send his body back to his family. He looked human; his hair had darkened, and his eyes had faded back to normal. His skin hadn't shown any color changes to begin with, but the look of pain was gone from his features, and as Evan and John accompanied the body back to Ford's hometown in Virginia, Evan found himself glad that they could return something besides an empty casket.

Ford's death had allowed Carson to make a few more tweaks to the retrovirus, and when John and Evan returned to Atlantis, he set the vial in front of them. "It's done," he said quietly. "It nearly was before, and now-" Carson cleared his throat. "For what it's worth, I'm not sure there's enough changes between this and what we gave Aiden that it would have made a difference."

Evan nodded, thanking Carson, but John just stalked away. Evan let him.

He showed up at Evan's quarters that night, just barged in without knocking. Evan was sitting at his desk, not working – he was just thinking, remembering, a goofy kid who could charm anybody, who liked football and loved his team. He stood when John entered the room and walked to his friend.

Neither of them said a word, just moved together, and when it was over, John cried.

Evan let him.


The Millennium problems that Rodney claims to have solved are a set of seven mathematical proofs that are, as of the moment, unsolved with one exception. They're all really difficult and have important implications in the world of math, computers, science, and so forth. Each one has a million-dollar prize attached to solving it, though they're widely considered unsolvable.

The M203 that John mentions Ford fantasizing about is a grenade launcher. I feel like he'd love it.

Yes, Radek taught Evan how to swear in Czech. The language certainly has some interesting turns of phrase. If you want translations, Google them - but beware, most of it's pretty vulgar.

The legend of Sisyphus, in a nutshell: he was a king and pretty much a huge jackass. He made a habit out of tricking the gods and killing people, until the gods got fed up with him and sentenced him to spend eternity pushing a boulder up a mountain, only to have to watch it fall to the ground again, where he was forced to start over. There are some good summaries online if you're interested.

I'm thinking about some one-shots to accompany this 'verse, like snippets that explain more back story. Things like why Cadman was kicked out of the Marines or how Teyla and Ronon were brought to the SGC or something like that. Anything you want to know more about? Let me know.

Next: The team is down one member, but they still have a lot of work to do. Michael's still in the infirmary, and they have to figure out how to get into the cell. It's called Waiting is the Hardest Part, and it's underway, so be on the lookout.