SGA: People are People (Except When They're Wraith)
I need a bit of a preface for this fic: This one's more along the lines The Roads Will Never blah blah blah than the last two or three stories I wrote. In other words, more of an action-adventure/romance than a straight up comedy. It's a 3x07 Common Ground fic, but not in the way you're thinking, and it was inspired by the middle section of this ficlet by minnow1212, although I tried not to take any of her ideas. I also took some liberties with Sheppard's background, but nothing that contradicts canon so far.
People are People (Except When They're Wraith) [website version] 24,000 words.
Summary: Sheppard has a run-in with a Wraith. Things go downhill from there. McKay/Sheppard, Teyla/Other.
Spoilers: Up through and including SGA 3x08 McKay and Mrs Miller, and a tiny one for SG-1 7x07 Enemy Mine.
Warnings: Sort of, maybe, but not quite interspecies relationships. Xenophobes beware.
*
Part One: My So-Called Wraith
As a general rule, John Sheppard didn't have high expectations. That was the kind of guy he was; the lower the bar was set, the less chance there was for disappointment.
It went without saying he hadn't had any expectations when he'd walked through the stargate and into the Pegasus Galaxy. All he'd known was it was alien, it was far from home, and it would be hard-pressed for him to get into more trouble there than he already was on Earth. He hadn't expected becoming commanding officer. He hadn't expected having his own team. He hadn't expected protecting Atlantis from Wraith, Genii, and more recently, evil killer androids. And he really, really hadn't expected getting his life sucked out by a space vampire. That one in particular had never even crossed his mind, not when he'd been thinking things like, "What if the wormhole screws up and my head ends up on my ass?" and, "Will there be Vulcans?"
When John stepped back in the puddlejumper after saying goodbye to the Wraith who had saved him from Kolya's SS agents, Rodney hissed, "I can't believe you let him go."
"He saved my life," John said.
"So?" Rodney asked.
John rolled his eyes. "We have a bond?"
"He killed you!" Rodney exclaimed.
"He brought me back," John said.
"Well, excuse me for being a little traumatized," Rodney snapped.
He stomped to the front of the jumper. The three Marines in the back with John pointedly studied their boots.
John glanced up at Ronon, who raised his eyebrows in response. "What?" John asked.
"I'm traumatized too," Ronon said.
John glared. "You are not."
"You were old," Ronon muttered.
One of the Marines raised his hand. "I'm traumatized."
"I don't even know you," John said.
*
John's first indication something was wrong was when he began considering getting a tattoo.
It wasn't the tattoo that was the first giveaway; it was where he wanted it done. A few mornings after Jeannie Miller went back to Earth and Rod McKay went back to the Bizarro dimension, John spent a good ten minutes in front of the mirror wondering how badly a tattoo on the side of his face would hurt, and if he could get something deep and meaningful. Or if that failed, those dots Dax had on Deep Space Nine. Suddenly, it seemed like an amazingly cool idea. He wondered why he hadn't thought of it before.
"What do you think the Marines would say if I got a tattoo on my face?" he asked Rodney at breakfast.
"They'd say you were the coolest guy in cell block D," Rodney said flatly. His head snapped up, eyes going wide. "Not that, uh, anyone would look at you and automatically think anything about prison. Or torture. Or being in prison and tortured. Because that would be ridiculous."
He paused, and they stared at each other over their waffles -- Rodney obviously flustered, and John remembering how after he'd almost turned into a Wraith last year, Rodney hadn't said the words "bug" or "blue" for two months.
"You're lucky my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder keeps me from kicking your ass, McKay," John said. Rodney's expression turned slightly pained, and he added, "Don't worry, the day you can't make prison jokes around me is the day I start a Mensa club."
Rodney still looked worried. "Yes, well. I've been trying to work on that whole..." He waved a hand. "Insensitive. Thing."
"Yeah?" John asked. "How's that going for you?"
"Let's see, I've brought up you being in jail, and earlier today I told Elizabeth I slept so well last night I might as well have been in a coma."
"So about as well as could be expected, then," John said. Rodney snorted.
John was considering going through the line again for seconds when Rodney asked, mouth still full of food, "Hey, don't the Wraith like putting tattoos on their faces?"
*
In retrospect, it had starting happening almost immediately after he'd escaped. Nothing John ate seemed to fill him up. Inititally, he thought it was his metabolism, because he had been working out a lot lately, but his weight didn't change. He had worried he was developing some kind of unconscious, PTSD-related eating disorder, but then he remembered he wasn't a chick. No matter what Rodney might say.
He'd been back from his stint as a PoW for three weeks when the nightmares started. Seeing himself as a Wraith was hard, but going to his friends' rooms and feeding off them one by one was a lot harder. It always went in the same order, too: Ronon, Elizabeth, Teyla, Rodney. He'd feel a rush of pleasure, and then a warm fullness, like he'd just eaten a meal at Red Lobster, his favourite restaurant back on Earth. Of course, it wasn't his favourite anymore. He felt drawn to the fried shrimp bucket, yet it repelled him.
One good thing about Rodney's obsessive nature was no matter what time John woke up sweaty and freaked out, he'd be in his lab. Rodney never seemed to know what time it was, so John never got a lecture on how all good colonels should be asleep at four 'o' clock in the morning. Occasionally, when wandering the halls at early hours, he'd run into Elizabeth -- he really didn't want to know what she was doing -- and she'd give him concerned looks. All Rodney did was talk about everything and nothing until John fell asleep again, the top of his head brushing McKay's laptop.
"You don't think it's possible for the Wraith to have sucked out my brain, do you?" John asked one night, pulling up a stool to Rodney's cluttered lab bench. He'd had a week of solid nightmares, and he was getting less scared and more pissed off with every one that hit.
Rodney looked at him like he was an idiot. "First, you'd have to have a brain for him to suck out," he said.
John grimaced. "I'm serious! I think that stupid Wraith did something to me."
Rodney stiffened and pushed his laptop aside. "'Something' how?" He peered at John with bright, sharp eyes. "Can you still do your job? Do we need to talk to Elizabeth? Am I in any danger?"
John rubbed the back of his neck. "No. It's mostly nightmares and... stuff." It sounded stupid when he said it out loud.
Rodney made signs that elaboration was needed. "Wanting to feed off me 'stuff'?"
John glared. "I just feel off, that's all. I'm tired, and all I want to do is be alone."
"And yet, here you are," Rodney said sarcastically. "Colonel, I know I'm not exactly the epitome of mental health, but it sounds to me like you might be depressed."
"I'm not depressed," John said angrily. He never should have made that PTSD joke.
"You've been through quite an ordeal, and you didn't exactly have a lot of time to recuperate. There's no need to be ashamed. It's perfectly understandable."
"I am not depressed," John repeatedly, enunciating each word slowly. "The Wraith did something to me. I don't know what he did, but I can feel it."
"Well, have you talked to Carson?"
"Carson can't help if it's in my head."
"Okay, okay. It's not like your well-being has any bearing on the safety of this expedition or anything."
"If I start turning blue, I'll see Carson," John snapped, scratching his arm.
Rodney reached around him and opened a plastic container filled with something that smelled disgusting. John gagged. "What the hell are you eating?" he demanded, scooting his stool away quickly.
"It's Thursday," Rodney said. "Fishsticks?"
His stomach turned. "Can you eat it away from me?" he asked.
Rodney's brow furrowed. "Sheppard, seriously, go see Carson."
John dropped his face in his hands. "I'm starving," he groaned.
"Are you telling me," Rodney asked, voice rising, "that you long for the taste of human flesh?"
John stared. "Actually, I was thinking of a pizza."
"Mmm, pizza," Rodney said.
"Mmm, human flesh," John sighed.
He didn't go see Carson. He saw Heightmeyer, but that was only because Elizabeth wouldn't have let him go on missions if he'd refused.
"Are you still having nightmares?" Heightmeyer would ask.
"Yup," he would answer, and then stare at the water out the window as he made up traumatic stories about his childhood to distract her. His favourite was the one where his parents were Mormon missionaries who traveled around the world to spread the word of Jesus Christ while he sat home and lived off peanut butter and crackers, next to the one where his parents were traveling circus midgets.
Although that had backfired: "Is that why you have such a problem with your sexuality?" Heightmeyer had asked. "Because of your religious background?"
"I'm not gay," John had said.
She'd given him a sorrowful look. "John, I can't help you unless you're honest with me."
One day, shortly after he'd asked Rodney about the brain suckage, she said, "Rodney says you're not dealing well with what happened. What do you think?"
"I think Rodney needs to shut his pie hole," John grumbled.
There was no way in hell he was telling her about the Wraith getting in his head. Even if she did believe him, Carson would probably lock him up and dissect his brain or something.
"You went through serious emotional and physical trauma," Heightmeyer said soothingly.
"I've been through worse," he said.
"Really?" she asked.
He pretended to think about it. "There was that time my father threatened to disown me for throwing up on the scout for the Detroit Tigers, after my brother hit me in the head with a wild pitch." It was, perhaps, the first time he'd mentioned his family since coming to Atlantis.
"John, stop lying to me about your childhood," Heightmeyer said.
*
On top of being starving and afraid of seafood, he was losing interest in little things. He noticed football suddenly wasn't any fun anymore, and he traded his sports DVDs to Zelenka for some artsy European films. When Ronon wanted to play "who can jump off the highest surface without getting hurt," John said he was busy. He found himself telling Teyla over and over that he couldn't hang out with her because he had too much work to do. Even Rodney, while still being annoying (yet sometimes annoying in a fun way, and when he was being a smug bastard, good-looking in a way that had John worrying about his own sanity), had noticed John wasn't stopping by the labs as often.
Mostly, John spent a lot of time playing golf alone on the pier. It was quiet. It was nice.
It wasn't the same as when he'd been turning into a bug. That time he'd felt himself changing from the inside out. He'd been full of rage, and it had taken him over. But whatever was going on now, he still felt like himself, just worn out and very, very hungry.
Thankfully, no one seemed to notice anything unusual. If there was one thing John was good at, it was being level-headed when things went south. There was no reason to let anyone know he was feeling weird. It wasn't like it was hurting anyone. He was cool as a cucumber. He was steady as a rock. He was as unstoppable as... an unstoppable thing.
He was at the point of wondering whether Rodney was right and maybe he was just having a reaction to the torture, when something happened that confirmed every suspicion he'd had since his return.
They were in the briefing room; he and his team had just come back from an unusually boring mission to yet another farming planet. It had been a standard first contact mission. They'd gone in, did some recon, said hello to the locals, convinced the feudal lord they weren't there to cause trouble, and gated home without incident.
"How did your mission go?" Elizabeth asked as they took their seats.
"Our mission was most successful," Teyla said happily. She immediately launched into a riveting tale of the different kinds of harvesting techniques the people of Glendoria used.
John couldn't help it: his mind wandered. He was concentrating on twirling his pen between his fingers when it slid from his grasp and rolled under Teyla's chair. It was too far for him to reach from where he was sitting. He tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn't look at him. Teyla, get the pen, he tried to will with his mind. He needed that pen to stay awake.
Teyla continued with her speech, obviously pretending John wasn't trying to get her attention. Elizabeth's eyes flickered to him; he placed his palms flat on the table and smiled like he had an idea of what the hell Teyla was talking about.
TEYLA, he projected as loudly as possible.
Teyla twitched and looked around the room. "Excuse me, Dr Weir," she said smoothly, bending down to take the pen out from under her chair. She passed it to John.
"Thanks," he murmured.
"You are welcome," she said. "Dr Weir, as I was saying..."
It took him a second to realize what had happened. The pen slipped out of his fingers and clattered to the table. "Aren't you a butterfingers today," Rodney said.
*
Their latest search for ZPM's -- something John liked to think of as Round Two, the Elimination Chamber -- left John with a feeling of deja-vu. When they stepped through the gate, he had to look over his shoulder to make sure Ronon was there and not Ford. Rodney would rattle on about power spikes, or sunburn, or the latest lab accident; Teyla would correct whatever direction John was heading in. It was just like old times, only this time their missing power source was Rodney's fault. A guilt-ridden astrophysicist was a cranky astrophysicist.
P3X-461 was a world of wide, open pastures. On the one side were farms of what looked like blue corn. On the other, Earth cows. He could hear the squawks of chickens in the distance.
"That's not something you see every day," John said thoughtfully. "In the Pegasus galaxy, I mean."
"I would kill for a medium-rare steak right about now," said Rodney without glancing up from his PDA. John's stomach rumbled in sympathy.
There was a road leading from the stargate. John hoped this meant this civilization was advanced enough to have indoor plumbing. Air conditioning would be nice too, but he wasn't betting on it.
It was a nice day on Blue Corn World. The sky was clear, the birds sang. Rodney made disappointed noises as he checked his PDA; Ronon and Teyla lingered behind, talking about some Athosian woman who was cheating on her husband with one of John's officers. It was, according to Teyla, "unwise," and Ronon, "funny as hell." John put his sunglasses on and raised his face to the sun.
Unfortunately, his mood went from relaxed to uneasy as he started noticing the change in the farm animals. Near the gate the cows and chickens were fat and healthy, but the further they went down the road, the more thin, wizened, and pale they became. The chickens were nearly featherless, and the cows' skin was turning grey.
"Something appears to be wrong with these animals," Teyla said.
"I've noticed that too," John said. "McKay?"
Rodney looked at him sourly. "What, am I a veterinarian now? Maybe they have the Pegasus version of Mad Cow Disease."
"The chickens too?" John asked.
"I don't know. E coli?"
After about half an hour of walking, the road forked. There was a signpost, but of course, no one could read it.
"What do you know," John said. He put his hands on his hips.
Rodney hmm-ed, scribbling something on his PDA. "We have two options. We can either head towards the pre-Industrial village on the path to the right, or we can head for the football field on our left."
John frowned. "Football...?"
He turned in the direction Rodney was gesturing to, and his words caught in his throat. Down the road was a perfectly trimmed green and white football field, goal posts and all. There were even stands for an audience.
"Field," he finished weakly. Cows, chickens, and football. Maybe they'd stepped out of the wormhole and into the mid-western US. "Did I hit my head when I walked through the gate?" he murmured to Rodney.
"Did anyone drink the water?" Rodney demanded.
"I say we go to the football field," Ronon said, sounding amused.
"Funny, I was going to suggest we go to the village," Rodney said dryly.
A thin, drooping chicken wandered up to them, dragging its feet. It looked up at John with cold, dead eyes. "Bock," it cried weakly, then collapsed.
All four of them took a big step backwards.
"This is officially the creepiest planet we've ever been to," said John.
"All we need now is for the inhabitants to be pretending to be Amish, and we're set," Rodney agreed.
*
Looked like a football field. John toed the grass. Felt like a football field.
"Stop that," Rodney insisted from the sidelines. "What if it's booby-trapped?"
John raised an eyebrow. "The field?"
"Force fields, land mines, triggers, hello!"
"John, Rodney is right," Teyla said. But she poked the ground with the butt of her P-90.
"Maybe it's not football," Ronon said. He was standing next to McKay. "Maybe it's just something that's similar."
Teyla shook her head. "No, I agree with the Colonel and Rodney. This looks exactly like a football field from the videos I have seen."
"So we're in agreement then," John said. His teammates all looked at him. "This is bad."
He scanned their surroundings; there was a forest not far from here. It didn't look especially dark or sinister, but there was something about it he couldn't put his finger on.
"I say we go there," he said, nodding at the trees.
"You're kidding me," Rodney said. "Why don't we go to the village and ask the helpful native population?"
He glanced at Teyla. She was studying the forest with an odd, intense expression. He didn't need telepathy to tell him that whatever it was, she felt it too. She hadn't mentioned the mind reading incident yet, and he had a feeling she hadn't even realized what had happened. He sure as hell wasn't going to bring it up on his own; it was way too awkward. He could imagine what she'd say: "I am not sure how I feel about this change in our relationship." Their talk on the Daedalus still gave him the wiggens, and that had been months ago.
"Come on, McKay," John said casually, turning the safety off his P-90. "Where's your sense of adventure?"
Ronon chuckled, unholstering his gun.
"One mission," Rodney grumbled as the team headed for the woods. "I ask for one mission where we don't endanger our lives."
*
There was definitely something going on with the forest. The closer they got, the more John could feel it. By the time they reached the first scattering of trees, his skin was covered in goosebumps, and his mouth was dry.
He couldn't tell if Teyla felt it anymore. Her face wasn't giving anything away.
"What exactly are we looking for?" Rodney asked.
"Something weird. Unusual. Out of the ordinary," John said.
John was kind of proud when Rodney took the safety off his gun and trailed after Teyla without having to be told. He did throw John a look that either meant don't-get-yourself-killed or I-can't-believe-I'm-doing-this, but John wasn't going to let that ruin the moment.
Ronon was twirling his gun when John turned back to him. John started, "Don't forget, look for--"
"Something weird," Ronon said, smirking a little. "I heard you."
The great thing about doing recon with Ronon was Ronon didn't need silly things like words. He didn't talk incessantly or make funny noises while reading data, like Rodney, or ask John a lot of questions, like Teyla. Nope, Ronon was a soldier, a warrior, and he and John together were like two kindred souls finally--
Ronon took off running.
"Hey!" John cried.
"Wraith," Ronon shouted over his shoulder. "This way!"
They really needed to get Ronon a radio. They -- by which John meant Elizabeth -- had decided he didn't need one after John had caught him chewing the mic during a meeting. It was like trying to teach a puppy to talk into its collar.
"I'm coming," John yelled back, watching Ronon get smaller and smaller. He radioed Rodney and Teyla: "Ronon found a Wraith. We're going after it."
"We are moving in your direction," Teyla confirmed.
As fast as he could, John followed Ronon's path, jumping over logs and ducking under branches. But he was too late; five minutes later, he stood completely alone in the middle of the woods.
"Ronon?" he called.
A twig snapped.
He ducked behind a tree as a male Wraith stepped out of the bushes. The Wraith seemed to be muttering to himself in that creepy hissing language.
John silently counted to three and came out shooting; he missed as the Wraith dove behind a tree trunk, and John threw himself behind the tree closest to him, listening for any sign of movement. There were no answering shots, and if John could back the creature into a corner, he might be able to get enough holes in it to kill it, or at least hold it off until Ronon or Teyla got there.
He was just about ready to fire again when a hand grabbed his shoulder. John gasped and spun around to find himself face-to-face with the Wraith. He registered the geometric tattoo on the left side of the Wraith's head, but his hand holding the gun came up automatically.
His finger was already tightening on the trigger when the Wraith said, "Sheppard," breaking out into a huge, pointy-toothed grin. It was the Wraith who had saved him from Kolya.
John shot him in the chest.
The Wraith stumbled to the ground, gasping. "Sheppard?" he repeated incredulously. Something fell out of his hand and bounced off.
"I'm sorry," John said, cringing as the Wraith pressed one hand against the open wound. "I told you all bets were off!"
"You'd just died! People say things they don't mean when they're under duress," the Wraith moaned.
It's a Wraith, it's a Wraith, John told himself. Be stoic. Be a man. Blow off its head. But when the Wraith hissed, "That hurt," he gave into his guilt.
John dropped to the ground beside him and fished around in his tac vest for bandages. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought your Wraith buddies found you."
"They did," the Wraith said, waving the gauze away. Already John could see the wound closing. "I had problems... adjusting."
John's gaze was drawn to what the Wraith had dropped, half-hidden in the bushes: a hand-made football.
"You mean because you were in the Genii prison for so long?" John asked slowly, not sure what was going on here.
The Wraith nodded. "That, and I refused to feed."
A jolt of shock ran through him. For a second, he forgot about the football. "You refused to feed?" he asked. "On humans?"
"I felt bad," said the Wraith. "I had been in that cell for so long, all I wanted to do was play games and sit out in the sun, and they kept shoving these humans at me. I've been feeding off some of the animals on the nearby human homesteads."
"So you're the Wraith equivalent of a vegetarian," John remarked.
The Wraith pushed himself to his feet. John stood too. It was impossible to tell that a few minutes ago John had shot a hole through his chest.
"Are you going to kill me?"
John hesitated. "I should," he said uncertainly. He'd always had a soft spot for people who saved his life, even if those people were evil vampires bent on human destruction. "My friends are going to be here soon, and they're not going to be too happy to see you."
"I thought we had a bond," the Wraith said.
"We do," John protested. "And if I was friends with Wraith, we would totally be buddies. But it's just not gonna happen."
"I can change," pleaded the Wraith.
"No, you can't," John said. "We're like oil and water. Citrus and McKay. I'm a Klingon and you're a Romulan. It'll never work."
"You're a cling-on?" the Wraith asked.
At the Wraith's blank look, John explained, "Klingons. Big foreheads? Growl a lot?"
The Wraith took his hand. "Just give me a chance. I'll never eat humans again."
"What the fuck is going on here?"" Rodney yelped.
John jumped, pulling his hand away hastily as Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon came out of the trees in three different directions. Their guns were aimed at the Wraith.
"No, no, no," John yelled quickly. He waved his arms, blocking their target between him and the tree. "Nobody's killing this Wraith. This is a good Wraith. See? He's not eating anybody. Good Wraith."
"Good Wraith?" Ronon repeated, face going slack with shock in a way that would've been funny under different circumstances.
"There are no good Wraith," Teyla said darkly.
"Are you out of your mind?" Rodney demanded. He pointed his Baretta over John's shoulder as he stepped forward and held a fumbling hand against John's forehead. "Did it do something to you? Are you under Wraith control? Did it do that telepathic thing? Did I just hear it professing its love to you, or am I going crazy?"
John knocked his hand away. "Stop it. I'm not under mind control. If I was, I'd be acting like a zombie."
"What's going on here?" Ronon growled.
"This is the Wraith who saved me from Kolya. And he's not feeding on people, so he's not a threat."
Teyla looked at the Wraith with genuine surprise. "Why are you not feeding?"
"I don't know, it feels wrong now," said the Wraith.
"A Wraith with a conscience," Rodney sneered.
Something hit John. The football. The lack of feeding. His hunger. His weird psychic connection to Teyla. His longing for a face tattoo. "Lightbulb!" he said excitedly.
Rodney threw his hands in the air. "Great, Sheppard's gone insane."
"Shut up, McKay," John said. He was onto something. He could feel it. "Hey, uh, Wraith, has anything else been different lately? Have you been feeling kind of... off?"
"Insects have been bothering me lately," the Wraith said. He almost sounded sheepish. "They were not a problem before."
"So he shares your bug phobia, so what?" Rodney asked John.
"It's not a phobia, it's a discomfort," John said, scowling.
"You're afraid of bugs?" Ronon asked.
"Did you miss that little incident a year ago when he turned into one?" Rodney demanded.
"He makes me kill all the moths that fly into his office," said Teyla. "And once, a cricket."
"You have an office?" Ronon asked John.
John ignored the three of them. "And this game you've been playing, you came up with it yourself?"
"I had a dream," the Wraith admitted. "There were many cheers and lights, and human men in tight pants."
John poked Rodney in the chest and smirked triumphantly. "I told you I wasn't depressed. The Wraith and I must've mind melded when he gave me my life back."
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Rodney said.
"Okay, then explain how he knew about football. And why he doesn't like bugs. And why he doesn't want to feed."
"Just because football is some huge thing--"
John frowned. "Hey, football isn't a huge thing. I think about other stuff, like college basketball, and--"
"Baseball?"
"No," John said vehemently. "Never baseball. Never."
"I have never heard of an instance when a human and a Wraith have... mind melded," Teyla said, frowning.
The Wraith's face screwed up. "I've heard stories. About what has happened when we give the gift to those outside our brethren. They say sometimes, the Wraith go mad."
"See, there," Rodney said. "Madness. That makes perfect sense. Certainly much more than you two sharing a brain."
John wasn't going to let Rodney talk him out of it. He knew this was right. Deep inside, he felt this was right. He and the Wraith -- who really needed a name, he'd get on that ASAP -- had shared something on that Genii planet, something that bound them together. It explained the way he'd felt ever since he'd come back from being tortured.
The Wraith looked at John warmly. "Brother," he said happily. John smiled back.
"I don't care if it's your best friend," Ronon said. "I'm killing it."
Ronon's gun whined as he powered it up. John took a step closer to Ronon, making sure the Wraith was behind him. "No, you're not," he said firmly. "And that's an order."
"John is right," Teyla said reluctantly. "If this Wraith has absorbed some of John's personality, then we are responsible for his being unable to return to his hive."
"I can't believe you're agreeing to this," Rodney said to her. He sounded appalled.
John wrenched the gun of out Ronon's grasp, flipped it from kill to stun, and shot the Wraith. He fell to the ground, twitching violently and kicking up fallen leaves.
"What are you doing?" Teyla demanded.
John tried to rearrange the Wraith in a way that would be best for carrying him back to the stargate. "We can't leave him here. Like you said, he's our responsibility. My responsibility."
"You want to take him back to Atlantis?" Teyla asked, eyes widening.
"Oh, this is a bad idea," Rodney moaned, "a bad, bad idea."
Teyla grabbed John's arm. "Elizabeth is not going to let you bring another Wraith into the city."
"I'll deal with Elizabeth," he said.
*
"Colonel, would you care to explain to me what your plan is?" Elizabeth asked. John had no idea what she was talking about, but her squinty eyes and tight smile were kind of scary. "I just assumed that if you're bringing a Wraith into Atlantis without first consulting me, you must have a brilliant plan up your sleeve."
Yes, definitely scary. "Well," he started. "It's a little complicated."
"He thinks he and the Wraith have a bond," Ronon said helpfully.
John glared in Ronon's general direction. "I figured we could, you know--" He smiled at Elizabeth charmingly. "--retrovirus him."
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Retrovirus him."
His smile faded. "I know it didn't go so well the last two times we tried it, but I think this time it could work."
Elizabeth stared at him for a long moment, then down the table at his team. He didn't want to see the looks on their faces right now. "First of all, Colonel, 'retrovirus' is not a verb. Much like 'crappy, but still pretty awesome' is not necessarily an adequate description of an uninhabited planet with a stargate for our network. Second, you know very well the danger this poses."
"This is the Wraith who saved me from Kolya."
"The Colonel believes he and the Wraith... exchanged certain personality traits when he was given his life back," Teyla said, stepping up to bat.
This time Elizabeth's eyes went wide, which was how he found himself, not ten minutes later, in the infirmary giving samples of too many bodily functions to name. Then he was whisked away for an MRI, X-Ray, and EKG. Ronon was sent to go make sure the Wraith didn't wake up before Elizabeth decided what to do with him.
"You're not going to find anything," John said petulantly, swinging his legs off the side of the stiff infirmary bed. "There's nothing wrong with me. We just... exchanged some feelings. It was more like a soul thing."
"You should have come to me the instant you realized something was wrong," Elizabeth admonished.
"I went to Rodney," he said.
"Gee, thanks," Rodney muttered, as Elizabeth said, "Rodney! I can't believe the two of you kept this a secret. You may have seriously compromised our position."
"I told you, he's a good Wraith," John said.
"And you know this because of your 'bond'?" Elizabeth asked.
He didn't like the way he sounded when she said it. "That, and he hasn't been feeding off of humans," John explained cheekily. "He's been eating the cows."
Elizabeth cocked a brow at him. At that moment, Carson chose to walk in. He pinned a colourful print-out of John's brain to the light box on one of the walls, and immediately Elizabeth, Rodney, and Teyla crowded around it. John stayed where he was.
"According to these scans, you're perfectly normal, Colonel," Carson said, flipping through some pages on his clipboard. "There is no sign of head trauma, which is often linked to personality change. Last time, when you were affected by the Iratus bug, there were significant changes in your brain chemistry, but none of those changes are present here. As far as I can tell, your brain isn't any different today than it was before the, um, feeding."
Before John could casually mention how he was so right and they were so wrong, Rodney asked, "Then how do you explain what happened to the Wraith?"
Carson shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't. We know what happens when a Wraith feeds, but we've never had the opportunity to study what happens with the process is reversed. Honestly, I didn't know such a thing was possible until it happened to Colonel Sheppard."
"Which is exactly why we cannot turn the Wraith," Elizabeth said.
Teyla said, "This Wraith did save John's life."
Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, and so did Michael."
"We betrayed his trust."
"Isn't that what we're doing to this one?"
"No," John insisted, "we're helping him. He'd either starve out there in the wild, or he'd get so hungry he'd start picking off the locals."
"He's not a pet, Sheppard," said Rodney.
Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're sure he was playing football? And not some kind of Wraith sport?"
"Like what, Wraithball?" Rodney asked sarcastically.
"We don't have a shield anymore," she said, but he could tell she was cracking. "If the Wraith come--"
John put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, meeting her eyes. "If the Wraith come, it'll be because Michael and his buddies got off the planet before we could blow them to kingdom come, not because we stunned this one and brought him back unconscious."
When Elizabeth exhaled slowly, John knew he's gotten through to her. She fisted her hands at her sides. "I'm allowing this on one condition: you take full responsibility for his actions. We are not having a repeat of the Michael fiasco. You make sure this Wraith does not have access to anything -- or anyone -- that might give a clue to what he is. He'll be closely watched at all times." She leveled him with a steady gaze. "And you need to be able to terminate him if this fails."
"Absolutely," John said. "Don't worry about a thing."
*
"What're you going to name this one?" Rodney asked.
John looked at the Wraith's unmoving body, one clawed hand clutching the homemade football like a security blanket. "Mark," he said thoughtfully.
"You're naming him after Major Lorne?"
John glared. "That's his middle name, and no. After my brother."
Rodney gave him a funny look, and Carson said, "Ah, alright, Mark it is. It sounds a lot like Michael, though, are you sure Teyla won't be--?"
"Nah, Mark is fine," John said.
"I have an idea for a last name," Rodney offered.
"We're not naming him Mark Wahlberg," John said.
"I was thinking Mark Messier," Rodney said, scowling. "Famous hockey player? Of course, we could just name him Mark Sheppard, and you can have all your issues in one convenient, Wraith-shaped package."
The Wraith hugged his football to his chest and rolled onto his side. "Messier might work," John mused. Hockey was nothing like baseball.
"It looks like he's finally asleep," Carson said, sighing like watching Mark struggle deliriously had been hard for him.
"I'm still waiting for the brother explanation," Rodney said. He made a beckoning gesture. "Any day now."
"Not talking about it," John said pleasantly.
"Does this have something to do with why you can't watch baseball?" Rodney asked.
"Maybe I just prefer golf," John said, knowing Rodney heard the "I don't want to talk about it" in his tone, and Rodney muttered something under his breath that sounded like "gay" and "Republicans."
"The Wraith's not going to remember anything, right?" Ronon asked.
"We should hope not," Carson said. "Michael didn't remember anything concrete until he stopped taking his injections."
John nodded solemnly. "So all I need to do is make sure Mark here doesn't get too suspicious, and we should be okay."
"Mm," Carson said, sounding unconvinced.
"Should I go find it a hat?" Ronon asked seriously.
John blinked. "No, I'll go find him something of mine."
Rodney snorted. "We all know the cowboy hat was yours, Colonel."
John nudged Rodney with his elbow. Rodney looked affronted. "What would you tell me about myself if I had amnesia?" John asked, ignoring the raised eyebrow Ronon sent him.
"I'd tell you that you like to give Caldwell blowjobs," Rodney said. "And you've only ever liked British punk rock and The Who."
"I'd be really confused when I found all the alt-country on my iPod," John drawled.
"Please, like I don't know your iPod's full of Paula Abdul and Michael Jackson."
"I can moonwalk like a pro," John said.
Carson tutted. "Rodney, it is very inappropriate for you to be making jokes about the Colonel giving blowjobs!"
"It's okay," John said jokingly, "at least he isn't grabbing my ass this time."
With a repulsed look, Carson turned away. John's stomach knotted, but when he glanced at Rodney, Rodney was smirking to himself, staring out the glass window at Mark.
As soon Carson went down to check on his patient, taking Ronon with him as protection, John took a chance. He grinned at Rodney and poked him the side with his elbow. "Aren't you going to ask me what I'd tell you if you had amnesia?"
"Okay?" Rodney asked suspiciously.
"I'd say you know me like no one else does," John told him, feeling ridiculous. His heart was beating so fast he could feel it in his throat.
Rodney gazed at him for a long moment, and just as John was thinking what it'd be like to grab him and kiss him right there in front of Carson and Ronon and an unconscious Wraith, he snickered. "Good one, Colonel." He patted John on the shoulder as he left, shaking his head.
John leaned over the railing. "Only the Wraith understands me," he muttered dejectedly.
Part two
People are People (Except When They're Wraith) [website version] 24,000 words.
Summary: Sheppard has a run-in with a Wraith. Things go downhill from there. McKay/Sheppard, Teyla/Other.
Spoilers: Up through and including SGA 3x08 McKay and Mrs Miller, and a tiny one for SG-1 7x07 Enemy Mine.
Warnings: Sort of, maybe, but not quite interspecies relationships. Xenophobes beware.
*
Part One: My So-Called Wraith
As a general rule, John Sheppard didn't have high expectations. That was the kind of guy he was; the lower the bar was set, the less chance there was for disappointment.
It went without saying he hadn't had any expectations when he'd walked through the stargate and into the Pegasus Galaxy. All he'd known was it was alien, it was far from home, and it would be hard-pressed for him to get into more trouble there than he already was on Earth. He hadn't expected becoming commanding officer. He hadn't expected having his own team. He hadn't expected protecting Atlantis from Wraith, Genii, and more recently, evil killer androids. And he really, really hadn't expected getting his life sucked out by a space vampire. That one in particular had never even crossed his mind, not when he'd been thinking things like, "What if the wormhole screws up and my head ends up on my ass?" and, "Will there be Vulcans?"
When John stepped back in the puddlejumper after saying goodbye to the Wraith who had saved him from Kolya's SS agents, Rodney hissed, "I can't believe you let him go."
"He saved my life," John said.
"So?" Rodney asked.
John rolled his eyes. "We have a bond?"
"He killed you!" Rodney exclaimed.
"He brought me back," John said.
"Well, excuse me for being a little traumatized," Rodney snapped.
He stomped to the front of the jumper. The three Marines in the back with John pointedly studied their boots.
John glanced up at Ronon, who raised his eyebrows in response. "What?" John asked.
"I'm traumatized too," Ronon said.
John glared. "You are not."
"You were old," Ronon muttered.
One of the Marines raised his hand. "I'm traumatized."
"I don't even know you," John said.
*
John's first indication something was wrong was when he began considering getting a tattoo.
It wasn't the tattoo that was the first giveaway; it was where he wanted it done. A few mornings after Jeannie Miller went back to Earth and Rod McKay went back to the Bizarro dimension, John spent a good ten minutes in front of the mirror wondering how badly a tattoo on the side of his face would hurt, and if he could get something deep and meaningful. Or if that failed, those dots Dax had on Deep Space Nine. Suddenly, it seemed like an amazingly cool idea. He wondered why he hadn't thought of it before.
"What do you think the Marines would say if I got a tattoo on my face?" he asked Rodney at breakfast.
"They'd say you were the coolest guy in cell block D," Rodney said flatly. His head snapped up, eyes going wide. "Not that, uh, anyone would look at you and automatically think anything about prison. Or torture. Or being in prison and tortured. Because that would be ridiculous."
He paused, and they stared at each other over their waffles -- Rodney obviously flustered, and John remembering how after he'd almost turned into a Wraith last year, Rodney hadn't said the words "bug" or "blue" for two months.
"You're lucky my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder keeps me from kicking your ass, McKay," John said. Rodney's expression turned slightly pained, and he added, "Don't worry, the day you can't make prison jokes around me is the day I start a Mensa club."
Rodney still looked worried. "Yes, well. I've been trying to work on that whole..." He waved a hand. "Insensitive. Thing."
"Yeah?" John asked. "How's that going for you?"
"Let's see, I've brought up you being in jail, and earlier today I told Elizabeth I slept so well last night I might as well have been in a coma."
"So about as well as could be expected, then," John said. Rodney snorted.
John was considering going through the line again for seconds when Rodney asked, mouth still full of food, "Hey, don't the Wraith like putting tattoos on their faces?"
*
In retrospect, it had starting happening almost immediately after he'd escaped. Nothing John ate seemed to fill him up. Inititally, he thought it was his metabolism, because he had been working out a lot lately, but his weight didn't change. He had worried he was developing some kind of unconscious, PTSD-related eating disorder, but then he remembered he wasn't a chick. No matter what Rodney might say.
He'd been back from his stint as a PoW for three weeks when the nightmares started. Seeing himself as a Wraith was hard, but going to his friends' rooms and feeding off them one by one was a lot harder. It always went in the same order, too: Ronon, Elizabeth, Teyla, Rodney. He'd feel a rush of pleasure, and then a warm fullness, like he'd just eaten a meal at Red Lobster, his favourite restaurant back on Earth. Of course, it wasn't his favourite anymore. He felt drawn to the fried shrimp bucket, yet it repelled him.
One good thing about Rodney's obsessive nature was no matter what time John woke up sweaty and freaked out, he'd be in his lab. Rodney never seemed to know what time it was, so John never got a lecture on how all good colonels should be asleep at four 'o' clock in the morning. Occasionally, when wandering the halls at early hours, he'd run into Elizabeth -- he really didn't want to know what she was doing -- and she'd give him concerned looks. All Rodney did was talk about everything and nothing until John fell asleep again, the top of his head brushing McKay's laptop.
"You don't think it's possible for the Wraith to have sucked out my brain, do you?" John asked one night, pulling up a stool to Rodney's cluttered lab bench. He'd had a week of solid nightmares, and he was getting less scared and more pissed off with every one that hit.
Rodney looked at him like he was an idiot. "First, you'd have to have a brain for him to suck out," he said.
John grimaced. "I'm serious! I think that stupid Wraith did something to me."
Rodney stiffened and pushed his laptop aside. "'Something' how?" He peered at John with bright, sharp eyes. "Can you still do your job? Do we need to talk to Elizabeth? Am I in any danger?"
John rubbed the back of his neck. "No. It's mostly nightmares and... stuff." It sounded stupid when he said it out loud.
Rodney made signs that elaboration was needed. "Wanting to feed off me 'stuff'?"
John glared. "I just feel off, that's all. I'm tired, and all I want to do is be alone."
"And yet, here you are," Rodney said sarcastically. "Colonel, I know I'm not exactly the epitome of mental health, but it sounds to me like you might be depressed."
"I'm not depressed," John said angrily. He never should have made that PTSD joke.
"You've been through quite an ordeal, and you didn't exactly have a lot of time to recuperate. There's no need to be ashamed. It's perfectly understandable."
"I am not depressed," John repeatedly, enunciating each word slowly. "The Wraith did something to me. I don't know what he did, but I can feel it."
"Well, have you talked to Carson?"
"Carson can't help if it's in my head."
"Okay, okay. It's not like your well-being has any bearing on the safety of this expedition or anything."
"If I start turning blue, I'll see Carson," John snapped, scratching his arm.
Rodney reached around him and opened a plastic container filled with something that smelled disgusting. John gagged. "What the hell are you eating?" he demanded, scooting his stool away quickly.
"It's Thursday," Rodney said. "Fishsticks?"
His stomach turned. "Can you eat it away from me?" he asked.
Rodney's brow furrowed. "Sheppard, seriously, go see Carson."
John dropped his face in his hands. "I'm starving," he groaned.
"Are you telling me," Rodney asked, voice rising, "that you long for the taste of human flesh?"
John stared. "Actually, I was thinking of a pizza."
"Mmm, pizza," Rodney said.
"Mmm, human flesh," John sighed.
He didn't go see Carson. He saw Heightmeyer, but that was only because Elizabeth wouldn't have let him go on missions if he'd refused.
"Are you still having nightmares?" Heightmeyer would ask.
"Yup," he would answer, and then stare at the water out the window as he made up traumatic stories about his childhood to distract her. His favourite was the one where his parents were Mormon missionaries who traveled around the world to spread the word of Jesus Christ while he sat home and lived off peanut butter and crackers, next to the one where his parents were traveling circus midgets.
Although that had backfired: "Is that why you have such a problem with your sexuality?" Heightmeyer had asked. "Because of your religious background?"
"I'm not gay," John had said.
She'd given him a sorrowful look. "John, I can't help you unless you're honest with me."
One day, shortly after he'd asked Rodney about the brain suckage, she said, "Rodney says you're not dealing well with what happened. What do you think?"
"I think Rodney needs to shut his pie hole," John grumbled.
There was no way in hell he was telling her about the Wraith getting in his head. Even if she did believe him, Carson would probably lock him up and dissect his brain or something.
"You went through serious emotional and physical trauma," Heightmeyer said soothingly.
"I've been through worse," he said.
"Really?" she asked.
He pretended to think about it. "There was that time my father threatened to disown me for throwing up on the scout for the Detroit Tigers, after my brother hit me in the head with a wild pitch." It was, perhaps, the first time he'd mentioned his family since coming to Atlantis.
"John, stop lying to me about your childhood," Heightmeyer said.
*
On top of being starving and afraid of seafood, he was losing interest in little things. He noticed football suddenly wasn't any fun anymore, and he traded his sports DVDs to Zelenka for some artsy European films. When Ronon wanted to play "who can jump off the highest surface without getting hurt," John said he was busy. He found himself telling Teyla over and over that he couldn't hang out with her because he had too much work to do. Even Rodney, while still being annoying (yet sometimes annoying in a fun way, and when he was being a smug bastard, good-looking in a way that had John worrying about his own sanity), had noticed John wasn't stopping by the labs as often.
Mostly, John spent a lot of time playing golf alone on the pier. It was quiet. It was nice.
It wasn't the same as when he'd been turning into a bug. That time he'd felt himself changing from the inside out. He'd been full of rage, and it had taken him over. But whatever was going on now, he still felt like himself, just worn out and very, very hungry.
Thankfully, no one seemed to notice anything unusual. If there was one thing John was good at, it was being level-headed when things went south. There was no reason to let anyone know he was feeling weird. It wasn't like it was hurting anyone. He was cool as a cucumber. He was steady as a rock. He was as unstoppable as... an unstoppable thing.
He was at the point of wondering whether Rodney was right and maybe he was just having a reaction to the torture, when something happened that confirmed every suspicion he'd had since his return.
They were in the briefing room; he and his team had just come back from an unusually boring mission to yet another farming planet. It had been a standard first contact mission. They'd gone in, did some recon, said hello to the locals, convinced the feudal lord they weren't there to cause trouble, and gated home without incident.
"How did your mission go?" Elizabeth asked as they took their seats.
"Our mission was most successful," Teyla said happily. She immediately launched into a riveting tale of the different kinds of harvesting techniques the people of Glendoria used.
John couldn't help it: his mind wandered. He was concentrating on twirling his pen between his fingers when it slid from his grasp and rolled under Teyla's chair. It was too far for him to reach from where he was sitting. He tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn't look at him. Teyla, get the pen, he tried to will with his mind. He needed that pen to stay awake.
Teyla continued with her speech, obviously pretending John wasn't trying to get her attention. Elizabeth's eyes flickered to him; he placed his palms flat on the table and smiled like he had an idea of what the hell Teyla was talking about.
TEYLA, he projected as loudly as possible.
Teyla twitched and looked around the room. "Excuse me, Dr Weir," she said smoothly, bending down to take the pen out from under her chair. She passed it to John.
"Thanks," he murmured.
"You are welcome," she said. "Dr Weir, as I was saying..."
It took him a second to realize what had happened. The pen slipped out of his fingers and clattered to the table. "Aren't you a butterfingers today," Rodney said.
*
Their latest search for ZPM's -- something John liked to think of as Round Two, the Elimination Chamber -- left John with a feeling of deja-vu. When they stepped through the gate, he had to look over his shoulder to make sure Ronon was there and not Ford. Rodney would rattle on about power spikes, or sunburn, or the latest lab accident; Teyla would correct whatever direction John was heading in. It was just like old times, only this time their missing power source was Rodney's fault. A guilt-ridden astrophysicist was a cranky astrophysicist.
P3X-461 was a world of wide, open pastures. On the one side were farms of what looked like blue corn. On the other, Earth cows. He could hear the squawks of chickens in the distance.
"That's not something you see every day," John said thoughtfully. "In the Pegasus galaxy, I mean."
"I would kill for a medium-rare steak right about now," said Rodney without glancing up from his PDA. John's stomach rumbled in sympathy.
There was a road leading from the stargate. John hoped this meant this civilization was advanced enough to have indoor plumbing. Air conditioning would be nice too, but he wasn't betting on it.
It was a nice day on Blue Corn World. The sky was clear, the birds sang. Rodney made disappointed noises as he checked his PDA; Ronon and Teyla lingered behind, talking about some Athosian woman who was cheating on her husband with one of John's officers. It was, according to Teyla, "unwise," and Ronon, "funny as hell." John put his sunglasses on and raised his face to the sun.
Unfortunately, his mood went from relaxed to uneasy as he started noticing the change in the farm animals. Near the gate the cows and chickens were fat and healthy, but the further they went down the road, the more thin, wizened, and pale they became. The chickens were nearly featherless, and the cows' skin was turning grey.
"Something appears to be wrong with these animals," Teyla said.
"I've noticed that too," John said. "McKay?"
Rodney looked at him sourly. "What, am I a veterinarian now? Maybe they have the Pegasus version of Mad Cow Disease."
"The chickens too?" John asked.
"I don't know. E coli?"
After about half an hour of walking, the road forked. There was a signpost, but of course, no one could read it.
"What do you know," John said. He put his hands on his hips.
Rodney hmm-ed, scribbling something on his PDA. "We have two options. We can either head towards the pre-Industrial village on the path to the right, or we can head for the football field on our left."
John frowned. "Football...?"
He turned in the direction Rodney was gesturing to, and his words caught in his throat. Down the road was a perfectly trimmed green and white football field, goal posts and all. There were even stands for an audience.
"Field," he finished weakly. Cows, chickens, and football. Maybe they'd stepped out of the wormhole and into the mid-western US. "Did I hit my head when I walked through the gate?" he murmured to Rodney.
"Did anyone drink the water?" Rodney demanded.
"I say we go to the football field," Ronon said, sounding amused.
"Funny, I was going to suggest we go to the village," Rodney said dryly.
A thin, drooping chicken wandered up to them, dragging its feet. It looked up at John with cold, dead eyes. "Bock," it cried weakly, then collapsed.
All four of them took a big step backwards.
"This is officially the creepiest planet we've ever been to," said John.
"All we need now is for the inhabitants to be pretending to be Amish, and we're set," Rodney agreed.
*
Looked like a football field. John toed the grass. Felt like a football field.
"Stop that," Rodney insisted from the sidelines. "What if it's booby-trapped?"
John raised an eyebrow. "The field?"
"Force fields, land mines, triggers, hello!"
"John, Rodney is right," Teyla said. But she poked the ground with the butt of her P-90.
"Maybe it's not football," Ronon said. He was standing next to McKay. "Maybe it's just something that's similar."
Teyla shook her head. "No, I agree with the Colonel and Rodney. This looks exactly like a football field from the videos I have seen."
"So we're in agreement then," John said. His teammates all looked at him. "This is bad."
He scanned their surroundings; there was a forest not far from here. It didn't look especially dark or sinister, but there was something about it he couldn't put his finger on.
"I say we go there," he said, nodding at the trees.
"You're kidding me," Rodney said. "Why don't we go to the village and ask the helpful native population?"
He glanced at Teyla. She was studying the forest with an odd, intense expression. He didn't need telepathy to tell him that whatever it was, she felt it too. She hadn't mentioned the mind reading incident yet, and he had a feeling she hadn't even realized what had happened. He sure as hell wasn't going to bring it up on his own; it was way too awkward. He could imagine what she'd say: "I am not sure how I feel about this change in our relationship." Their talk on the Daedalus still gave him the wiggens, and that had been months ago.
"Come on, McKay," John said casually, turning the safety off his P-90. "Where's your sense of adventure?"
Ronon chuckled, unholstering his gun.
"One mission," Rodney grumbled as the team headed for the woods. "I ask for one mission where we don't endanger our lives."
*
There was definitely something going on with the forest. The closer they got, the more John could feel it. By the time they reached the first scattering of trees, his skin was covered in goosebumps, and his mouth was dry.
He couldn't tell if Teyla felt it anymore. Her face wasn't giving anything away.
"What exactly are we looking for?" Rodney asked.
"Something weird. Unusual. Out of the ordinary," John said.
John was kind of proud when Rodney took the safety off his gun and trailed after Teyla without having to be told. He did throw John a look that either meant don't-get-yourself-killed or I-can't-believe-I'm-doing-this, but John wasn't going to let that ruin the moment.
Ronon was twirling his gun when John turned back to him. John started, "Don't forget, look for--"
"Something weird," Ronon said, smirking a little. "I heard you."
The great thing about doing recon with Ronon was Ronon didn't need silly things like words. He didn't talk incessantly or make funny noises while reading data, like Rodney, or ask John a lot of questions, like Teyla. Nope, Ronon was a soldier, a warrior, and he and John together were like two kindred souls finally--
Ronon took off running.
"Hey!" John cried.
"Wraith," Ronon shouted over his shoulder. "This way!"
They really needed to get Ronon a radio. They -- by which John meant Elizabeth -- had decided he didn't need one after John had caught him chewing the mic during a meeting. It was like trying to teach a puppy to talk into its collar.
"I'm coming," John yelled back, watching Ronon get smaller and smaller. He radioed Rodney and Teyla: "Ronon found a Wraith. We're going after it."
"We are moving in your direction," Teyla confirmed.
As fast as he could, John followed Ronon's path, jumping over logs and ducking under branches. But he was too late; five minutes later, he stood completely alone in the middle of the woods.
"Ronon?" he called.
A twig snapped.
He ducked behind a tree as a male Wraith stepped out of the bushes. The Wraith seemed to be muttering to himself in that creepy hissing language.
John silently counted to three and came out shooting; he missed as the Wraith dove behind a tree trunk, and John threw himself behind the tree closest to him, listening for any sign of movement. There were no answering shots, and if John could back the creature into a corner, he might be able to get enough holes in it to kill it, or at least hold it off until Ronon or Teyla got there.
He was just about ready to fire again when a hand grabbed his shoulder. John gasped and spun around to find himself face-to-face with the Wraith. He registered the geometric tattoo on the left side of the Wraith's head, but his hand holding the gun came up automatically.
His finger was already tightening on the trigger when the Wraith said, "Sheppard," breaking out into a huge, pointy-toothed grin. It was the Wraith who had saved him from Kolya.
John shot him in the chest.
The Wraith stumbled to the ground, gasping. "Sheppard?" he repeated incredulously. Something fell out of his hand and bounced off.
"I'm sorry," John said, cringing as the Wraith pressed one hand against the open wound. "I told you all bets were off!"
"You'd just died! People say things they don't mean when they're under duress," the Wraith moaned.
It's a Wraith, it's a Wraith, John told himself. Be stoic. Be a man. Blow off its head. But when the Wraith hissed, "That hurt," he gave into his guilt.
John dropped to the ground beside him and fished around in his tac vest for bandages. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought your Wraith buddies found you."
"They did," the Wraith said, waving the gauze away. Already John could see the wound closing. "I had problems... adjusting."
John's gaze was drawn to what the Wraith had dropped, half-hidden in the bushes: a hand-made football.
"You mean because you were in the Genii prison for so long?" John asked slowly, not sure what was going on here.
The Wraith nodded. "That, and I refused to feed."
A jolt of shock ran through him. For a second, he forgot about the football. "You refused to feed?" he asked. "On humans?"
"I felt bad," said the Wraith. "I had been in that cell for so long, all I wanted to do was play games and sit out in the sun, and they kept shoving these humans at me. I've been feeding off some of the animals on the nearby human homesteads."
"So you're the Wraith equivalent of a vegetarian," John remarked.
The Wraith pushed himself to his feet. John stood too. It was impossible to tell that a few minutes ago John had shot a hole through his chest.
"Are you going to kill me?"
John hesitated. "I should," he said uncertainly. He'd always had a soft spot for people who saved his life, even if those people were evil vampires bent on human destruction. "My friends are going to be here soon, and they're not going to be too happy to see you."
"I thought we had a bond," the Wraith said.
"We do," John protested. "And if I was friends with Wraith, we would totally be buddies. But it's just not gonna happen."
"I can change," pleaded the Wraith.
"No, you can't," John said. "We're like oil and water. Citrus and McKay. I'm a Klingon and you're a Romulan. It'll never work."
"You're a cling-on?" the Wraith asked.
At the Wraith's blank look, John explained, "Klingons. Big foreheads? Growl a lot?"
The Wraith took his hand. "Just give me a chance. I'll never eat humans again."
"What the fuck is going on here?"" Rodney yelped.
John jumped, pulling his hand away hastily as Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon came out of the trees in three different directions. Their guns were aimed at the Wraith.
"No, no, no," John yelled quickly. He waved his arms, blocking their target between him and the tree. "Nobody's killing this Wraith. This is a good Wraith. See? He's not eating anybody. Good Wraith."
"Good Wraith?" Ronon repeated, face going slack with shock in a way that would've been funny under different circumstances.
"There are no good Wraith," Teyla said darkly.
"Are you out of your mind?" Rodney demanded. He pointed his Baretta over John's shoulder as he stepped forward and held a fumbling hand against John's forehead. "Did it do something to you? Are you under Wraith control? Did it do that telepathic thing? Did I just hear it professing its love to you, or am I going crazy?"
John knocked his hand away. "Stop it. I'm not under mind control. If I was, I'd be acting like a zombie."
"What's going on here?" Ronon growled.
"This is the Wraith who saved me from Kolya. And he's not feeding on people, so he's not a threat."
Teyla looked at the Wraith with genuine surprise. "Why are you not feeding?"
"I don't know, it feels wrong now," said the Wraith.
"A Wraith with a conscience," Rodney sneered.
Something hit John. The football. The lack of feeding. His hunger. His weird psychic connection to Teyla. His longing for a face tattoo. "Lightbulb!" he said excitedly.
Rodney threw his hands in the air. "Great, Sheppard's gone insane."
"Shut up, McKay," John said. He was onto something. He could feel it. "Hey, uh, Wraith, has anything else been different lately? Have you been feeling kind of... off?"
"Insects have been bothering me lately," the Wraith said. He almost sounded sheepish. "They were not a problem before."
"So he shares your bug phobia, so what?" Rodney asked John.
"It's not a phobia, it's a discomfort," John said, scowling.
"You're afraid of bugs?" Ronon asked.
"Did you miss that little incident a year ago when he turned into one?" Rodney demanded.
"He makes me kill all the moths that fly into his office," said Teyla. "And once, a cricket."
"You have an office?" Ronon asked John.
John ignored the three of them. "And this game you've been playing, you came up with it yourself?"
"I had a dream," the Wraith admitted. "There were many cheers and lights, and human men in tight pants."
John poked Rodney in the chest and smirked triumphantly. "I told you I wasn't depressed. The Wraith and I must've mind melded when he gave me my life back."
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Rodney said.
"Okay, then explain how he knew about football. And why he doesn't like bugs. And why he doesn't want to feed."
"Just because football is some huge thing--"
John frowned. "Hey, football isn't a huge thing. I think about other stuff, like college basketball, and--"
"Baseball?"
"No," John said vehemently. "Never baseball. Never."
"I have never heard of an instance when a human and a Wraith have... mind melded," Teyla said, frowning.
The Wraith's face screwed up. "I've heard stories. About what has happened when we give the gift to those outside our brethren. They say sometimes, the Wraith go mad."
"See, there," Rodney said. "Madness. That makes perfect sense. Certainly much more than you two sharing a brain."
John wasn't going to let Rodney talk him out of it. He knew this was right. Deep inside, he felt this was right. He and the Wraith -- who really needed a name, he'd get on that ASAP -- had shared something on that Genii planet, something that bound them together. It explained the way he'd felt ever since he'd come back from being tortured.
The Wraith looked at John warmly. "Brother," he said happily. John smiled back.
"I don't care if it's your best friend," Ronon said. "I'm killing it."
Ronon's gun whined as he powered it up. John took a step closer to Ronon, making sure the Wraith was behind him. "No, you're not," he said firmly. "And that's an order."
"John is right," Teyla said reluctantly. "If this Wraith has absorbed some of John's personality, then we are responsible for his being unable to return to his hive."
"I can't believe you're agreeing to this," Rodney said to her. He sounded appalled.
John wrenched the gun of out Ronon's grasp, flipped it from kill to stun, and shot the Wraith. He fell to the ground, twitching violently and kicking up fallen leaves.
"What are you doing?" Teyla demanded.
John tried to rearrange the Wraith in a way that would be best for carrying him back to the stargate. "We can't leave him here. Like you said, he's our responsibility. My responsibility."
"You want to take him back to Atlantis?" Teyla asked, eyes widening.
"Oh, this is a bad idea," Rodney moaned, "a bad, bad idea."
Teyla grabbed John's arm. "Elizabeth is not going to let you bring another Wraith into the city."
"I'll deal with Elizabeth," he said.
*
"Colonel, would you care to explain to me what your plan is?" Elizabeth asked. John had no idea what she was talking about, but her squinty eyes and tight smile were kind of scary. "I just assumed that if you're bringing a Wraith into Atlantis without first consulting me, you must have a brilliant plan up your sleeve."
Yes, definitely scary. "Well," he started. "It's a little complicated."
"He thinks he and the Wraith have a bond," Ronon said helpfully.
John glared in Ronon's general direction. "I figured we could, you know--" He smiled at Elizabeth charmingly. "--retrovirus him."
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Retrovirus him."
His smile faded. "I know it didn't go so well the last two times we tried it, but I think this time it could work."
Elizabeth stared at him for a long moment, then down the table at his team. He didn't want to see the looks on their faces right now. "First of all, Colonel, 'retrovirus' is not a verb. Much like 'crappy, but still pretty awesome' is not necessarily an adequate description of an uninhabited planet with a stargate for our network. Second, you know very well the danger this poses."
"This is the Wraith who saved me from Kolya."
"The Colonel believes he and the Wraith... exchanged certain personality traits when he was given his life back," Teyla said, stepping up to bat.
This time Elizabeth's eyes went wide, which was how he found himself, not ten minutes later, in the infirmary giving samples of too many bodily functions to name. Then he was whisked away for an MRI, X-Ray, and EKG. Ronon was sent to go make sure the Wraith didn't wake up before Elizabeth decided what to do with him.
"You're not going to find anything," John said petulantly, swinging his legs off the side of the stiff infirmary bed. "There's nothing wrong with me. We just... exchanged some feelings. It was more like a soul thing."
"You should have come to me the instant you realized something was wrong," Elizabeth admonished.
"I went to Rodney," he said.
"Gee, thanks," Rodney muttered, as Elizabeth said, "Rodney! I can't believe the two of you kept this a secret. You may have seriously compromised our position."
"I told you, he's a good Wraith," John said.
"And you know this because of your 'bond'?" Elizabeth asked.
He didn't like the way he sounded when she said it. "That, and he hasn't been feeding off of humans," John explained cheekily. "He's been eating the cows."
Elizabeth cocked a brow at him. At that moment, Carson chose to walk in. He pinned a colourful print-out of John's brain to the light box on one of the walls, and immediately Elizabeth, Rodney, and Teyla crowded around it. John stayed where he was.
"According to these scans, you're perfectly normal, Colonel," Carson said, flipping through some pages on his clipboard. "There is no sign of head trauma, which is often linked to personality change. Last time, when you were affected by the Iratus bug, there were significant changes in your brain chemistry, but none of those changes are present here. As far as I can tell, your brain isn't any different today than it was before the, um, feeding."
Before John could casually mention how he was so right and they were so wrong, Rodney asked, "Then how do you explain what happened to the Wraith?"
Carson shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't. We know what happens when a Wraith feeds, but we've never had the opportunity to study what happens with the process is reversed. Honestly, I didn't know such a thing was possible until it happened to Colonel Sheppard."
"Which is exactly why we cannot turn the Wraith," Elizabeth said.
Teyla said, "This Wraith did save John's life."
Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, and so did Michael."
"We betrayed his trust."
"Isn't that what we're doing to this one?"
"No," John insisted, "we're helping him. He'd either starve out there in the wild, or he'd get so hungry he'd start picking off the locals."
"He's not a pet, Sheppard," said Rodney.
Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're sure he was playing football? And not some kind of Wraith sport?"
"Like what, Wraithball?" Rodney asked sarcastically.
"We don't have a shield anymore," she said, but he could tell she was cracking. "If the Wraith come--"
John put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, meeting her eyes. "If the Wraith come, it'll be because Michael and his buddies got off the planet before we could blow them to kingdom come, not because we stunned this one and brought him back unconscious."
When Elizabeth exhaled slowly, John knew he's gotten through to her. She fisted her hands at her sides. "I'm allowing this on one condition: you take full responsibility for his actions. We are not having a repeat of the Michael fiasco. You make sure this Wraith does not have access to anything -- or anyone -- that might give a clue to what he is. He'll be closely watched at all times." She leveled him with a steady gaze. "And you need to be able to terminate him if this fails."
"Absolutely," John said. "Don't worry about a thing."
*
"What're you going to name this one?" Rodney asked.
John looked at the Wraith's unmoving body, one clawed hand clutching the homemade football like a security blanket. "Mark," he said thoughtfully.
"You're naming him after Major Lorne?"
John glared. "That's his middle name, and no. After my brother."
Rodney gave him a funny look, and Carson said, "Ah, alright, Mark it is. It sounds a lot like Michael, though, are you sure Teyla won't be--?"
"Nah, Mark is fine," John said.
"I have an idea for a last name," Rodney offered.
"We're not naming him Mark Wahlberg," John said.
"I was thinking Mark Messier," Rodney said, scowling. "Famous hockey player? Of course, we could just name him Mark Sheppard, and you can have all your issues in one convenient, Wraith-shaped package."
The Wraith hugged his football to his chest and rolled onto his side. "Messier might work," John mused. Hockey was nothing like baseball.
"It looks like he's finally asleep," Carson said, sighing like watching Mark struggle deliriously had been hard for him.
"I'm still waiting for the brother explanation," Rodney said. He made a beckoning gesture. "Any day now."
"Not talking about it," John said pleasantly.
"Does this have something to do with why you can't watch baseball?" Rodney asked.
"Maybe I just prefer golf," John said, knowing Rodney heard the "I don't want to talk about it" in his tone, and Rodney muttered something under his breath that sounded like "gay" and "Republicans."
"The Wraith's not going to remember anything, right?" Ronon asked.
"We should hope not," Carson said. "Michael didn't remember anything concrete until he stopped taking his injections."
John nodded solemnly. "So all I need to do is make sure Mark here doesn't get too suspicious, and we should be okay."
"Mm," Carson said, sounding unconvinced.
"Should I go find it a hat?" Ronon asked seriously.
John blinked. "No, I'll go find him something of mine."
Rodney snorted. "We all know the cowboy hat was yours, Colonel."
John nudged Rodney with his elbow. Rodney looked affronted. "What would you tell me about myself if I had amnesia?" John asked, ignoring the raised eyebrow Ronon sent him.
"I'd tell you that you like to give Caldwell blowjobs," Rodney said. "And you've only ever liked British punk rock and The Who."
"I'd be really confused when I found all the alt-country on my iPod," John drawled.
"Please, like I don't know your iPod's full of Paula Abdul and Michael Jackson."
"I can moonwalk like a pro," John said.
Carson tutted. "Rodney, it is very inappropriate for you to be making jokes about the Colonel giving blowjobs!"
"It's okay," John said jokingly, "at least he isn't grabbing my ass this time."
With a repulsed look, Carson turned away. John's stomach knotted, but when he glanced at Rodney, Rodney was smirking to himself, staring out the glass window at Mark.
As soon Carson went down to check on his patient, taking Ronon with him as protection, John took a chance. He grinned at Rodney and poked him the side with his elbow. "Aren't you going to ask me what I'd tell you if you had amnesia?"
"Okay?" Rodney asked suspiciously.
"I'd say you know me like no one else does," John told him, feeling ridiculous. His heart was beating so fast he could feel it in his throat.
Rodney gazed at him for a long moment, and just as John was thinking what it'd be like to grab him and kiss him right there in front of Carson and Ronon and an unconscious Wraith, he snickered. "Good one, Colonel." He patted John on the shoulder as he left, shaking his head.
John leaned over the railing. "Only the Wraith understands me," he muttered dejectedly.
Part two