Staring at the Sun #2
Title: Staring at the Sun
Rating: R? NC-17?
By: Jendavis
Spoilers: None
Pairing: John Sheppard/ Ronon Dex
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: This is all nomelon's fault, because if it wasn't for stumbling upon one of her SN stories, I wouldn't have actually spent the next three hours thinking about the Darwinian adaptations of sex pollen.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Ronon's been quarantined for two days when they finally take the respirator out, and it hurts like hell, but he's still breathing at the end of it.
But he's not allowed to leave, not yet. He has to wait for the latest batch of test results to come back, and they're going to want him under a scanner again, because it's what these people live for.
What they would do without it, Ronon doesn't want to guess, but Keller explains the fascination. "You see, back home? On Earth? We don't have anything like this. There isn't a hospital on the planet that wouldn't kill to get their hands on one. So yes, while it's a drag for you, we get some excitement out of it."
"So why don't you share it with the rest of your world?" Ronon asks, but Keller goes silent, then, and it's apparent that he's hit a nerve.
McKay comes to visit, and it's strange that he's the only one from the team, but Torrren's just getting over the flu, so Teyla's banned from the entire western pier, and John's in quarantine himself, which is stupid, because it's a different quarantine, and if they were going to catch something off of one another, wait. They already had.
"So the word on the street is that they might let you back into the general population," McKay says. "I take it you're feeling better?"
"Yeah." Damn, but his voice sounds rough. Hurts, too, but at least it's working. It's his second throat injury in a year, and it's got to have taken some sort of toll. "Talk to John?"
"Yes, and he sends his regards. I didn't tell him you were getting out, I figure you'd want to visit him. They've got him in this room with a window. It's like visiting him in prison, only there isn't…" McKay shrugs. "You know, if you're about to be released anyway, these suits are probably stupid, right?"
Ronon shrugs, he wants to hear more about John, but part of him wants to agree.
"So. You're doing all right? Better?"
"Yeah."
"That's weird. I mean, it's good, but. They're still trying to figure out why you four. Three, whatever, were the only ones to get hit." Ronon's got his suspicions, but the doctors haven't told him anything useful, nobody has. Keller and Beckett aside, he's been sticking to the "thought I was out in the sun too long" story himself, though. At least he knows he's even with the world.
Eventually, McKay's waved out of the room when Keller comes in, and Ronon can hear her telling him that yes, since Ronon's tests have come back and the virus is breaking down in his system, and that they've determined that he's no longer contagious, they're going to move him back to the infirmary.
"We want to keep John in a bit longer," she says, though. "His tests came back positive for the virus, and though it hasn't hit him, yet, it hasn't broken down, either."
"What's that mean?"
"I'm hoping that he has a natural immunity, though I don't see how he could. To be honest, we got lucky, here. It's going away on it's own."
It's the sort of thing that he's growing accustomed to hearing, so he lets her explain it without really listening, describing how the virus acts as she'd expect, but looks unlike any other virus she's familiar with. He's learned to appreciate luck, when he has it, and too relieved to pay closer attention.
It's not until later that he thinks he should have.
---
All John can feel, besides the thirst and the heat, is that he could have prevented this. Could have stopped it, if he'd tried.
A year and a half of being so damned careful, keeping Ronon off the radar, using the life signs detector to plot a course from his rooms, not smiling too much, is falling apart. On the other side of the glass, Woolsey is suspecting everything, that much is obvious, talking about it without talking about it, and it almost makes it worse.
John can't concentrate, now, on shoring up his defense. Can't deflect what's not coming straight at him. Can't concentrate on anything because he's burning up from the inside out.
There was a point where he could have stopped it, but he's past it, now. He nods in response to whatever Woolsey said last and slaps on his radio to call for the nurse.
---
Ronon has about fifteen minutes to appreciate the fact that he's back in the infirmary with the rest of the non-contagious people, that he's not having to read faces through hazmat masks. It disappears in an instant, though, when he notices the change happening. At first, nobody's talking, but then, finally, Keller walks by and she's dressed in red again.
He listens to the others talk, figures out that Carson's already on the west pier with John, and that Keller's on her way. There's no way they'd both be going if it was just an issue of test results.
His throat still hurts, but it's the nurses who won't tell him anything directly.
Won't tell him if John's okay, and he's getting out of the bed, because he's got to know, he just does, and this, it turns out, is what it takes to get them to talk, but they're only using their voices to order him back to bed, promising that he's well enough for tranquilizers, now.
So he goes back to bed, and tries not to think of the thousand horrible things that could be happening while he just sits there.
---
Finally, an hour or so later, Keller returns, and he can ask. "What's up?"
"He's dehydrated and running a fever, but it's not coming on nearly as strongly as we initially worried, and that's a good sign. Right now we're monitoring him, and looking at the possibility of natural immunities. The results had us scared, and the fever is cause for concern, but we've given him medicine to combat it, and a drip to combat dehydration."
Ronon doesn't understand all of this, he needs a minute to think, but Keller's talking again. "He asked about you, though. Doesn't want you to worry, and hey." She's smiling at him. "We caught it early, so don't worry, okay? He's fine."
"Can I see him?"
---
He's pretty sure he's blacked out, at least for a little while, and his head is killing him. The lights are too blinding to open his eyes more than a bit, but there's a chime at the window, so he tries.
"Ronon?" Reaching over, he grabs his radio from the table next to the bed and tries, again, to focus.
"Hey." He's dressed in blue scrubs, and there's a white bandage on his neck. It's bright against his skin and hurts to look at, but he wants to stand, cross the room, get closer. But the glass would still be there, anyway. "Good to see you're doin' better."
The white patch falls into shadow briefly and reappears. Probably doesn't feel much like talking, all things considered, but he tries.
"You okay?"
"Got dizzy there, for a minute, and I'm still overheated, but I think it's under control," he admits, because if he can convince Ronon, maybe he can convince his body.
Ronon's frozen on the other side of the glass, probably detecting the lie, but he doesn't know what to do about it, doesn't move.
Suarez and Kowalczek are standing guard, and John's not sure what channel he's broadcasting on, but there's a lot he needs to say.
Do you know what's going on?
We were careless, back there.
I didn't tell Woolsey anything, but don't think I convinced him.
I'm glad you're okay.
The room's swimming again, the world's becoming small.
Why aren't I?
---
Ronon's still blinking John's expression out of his eyes when the doctors push past him again, and while they're in the anteroom suiting up, he's suddenly pressed close against the window, watching as John's arm dangles off the side of the bed and goes still.
There's time for too many breaths before the doctors swarm into the room, surrounding John's bed. They're trying to get him breathing again, and he doesn't notice the movement, doesn't hear anyone make the command, but suddenly Beckett's on the other side of the window, rolling a screen across, blocking his view.
A moment later, his radio goes silent. They've switched channels. Cut him out.
So he waits.
Judging by the expression on Beckett's face, he wasn't expecting to find him still standing there. "He's sleeping," is all he says at first, blotting his sweaty face with his shirt sleeve, beckoning Ronon to follow. "Franks went under too, but she's stabilized."
"Gonna be okay?" Ronon lets himself be ushered into the transporter, watches Beckett send them back to the main infirmary.
"I don't know," Beckett says, not looking at him as the doors open.
The infirmary had been calm, before this, but now they're worried, trying to figure out what they misread.
Ronon's convinced that he's still contagious, that there'd been a mistake, but the nurses throw him back under the scanner and find nothing.
"Besides," Keller says. "If you'd passed it on, we'd be seeing other people with symptoms."
"So what's the problem?"
"The virus? It's not a virus, it's something else."
"Nanites?" Ronon guesses.
"No, but it's not far off. We think it might be a fungus, but it's one we've never-"
"Seen before. Right." One of the nurses brings him another cup of ice chips, then, and Keller needs to get back to work. Before she goes, she asks him how he's feeling, and he shrugs and nods. There's nothing wrong, not out here, and even sitting for hours on the bed he's assigned, he feels like he's in the way.
---
Teyla's rushing down the hall to meet him when he's released the next day, and she falls into step next to him without saying a word. He needs to ask what she knows, what she's heard. Needs her to talk. Everything else he'd want to say can wait. Teyla's Teyla. She gets it.
She opens the window in his room, just enough to give the illusion of freedom, or maybe just to let the air in, and sits in his chair, watching him move around the room. She's waiting until he settles, and when he realizes it, he sits down on his bed, suddenly tired, though he's barely moved in days.
She starts by telling him that everyone has been quite concerned, and relieved that he's feeling himself again. She doesn't finish by telling him that she knows what is going on. "How are you feeling?" she asks instead, and it's the tenth time he's heard the question today, but he's so far from knowing how to answer that it's almost funny. Terrified. Alone. Stupid. Clueless. Worried. He doesn't know anything, nobody does, and nobody's been able to give him any good news to pass along. He can't even give Teyla an answer. Pretends it's his throat that's bothering him when he doesn't speak, and he lies down.
She's at his bedside in an instant, kneeling down to eye level, concern clear on her face.
"I think he's dying," he says, and it's stupid to try and hide it, because she's watching him from less than two feet away and she's seeing everything. "Think it's my fault."
"Why would you think such a thing?"
It's Teyla. He can tell her.
"Mission the other day," whispering isn't as hard on his throat, and hell, this isn't the sort of thing he's supposed to talk out loud about, anyway.
Security details weren't McKay's job, and Teyla had been staying home with Torren, so it had just been Ronon and John joining the other team on the mission out to M93-287, where the botanists had discovered a plant that they promised was fascinating, apparently based on the fact that it grew everywhere, soil, rock, brick, even in the dark abandoned rooms of the village.
Plants grew everywhere in the wake people left behind. It hadn't been interesting, not even a little bit.
But it had been pleasant, quiet for once. Uneventful, and it had felt like summer.
"Everything was fine. Good. But I let my guard down, so Sheppard did too, and we got, ah. Distracted. Knew something was off, but it never occurred to me to do anything about it."
Teyla's eyebrows are up to her hairline. Two years, she's known about them almost from the start, but she's never known them to abandon their duties on a mission. It would be funny, if the story weren't what it was. If it had a better ending.
---
He doesn't feel like eating, but he lets Teyla drag him out to the mess. He's allowed soup, and applesauce, ice chips and jello, but the food on her tray doesn't look any more appetizing, either, and he can only finish about half of what's on his plate.
Around him, people are staring. He can feel it, like he can feel John not jostling him for elbow room at the table, the way he's supposed to be, and it's different than it is when John's in a meeting, or running 302 drills, or even when he's in the infirmary.
Because he isn't in the infirmary, not technically. He's locked in a room on the far edge of the city, and even if the entire areas wasn't off limits without Beckett's orders, he still couldn't get within twelve feet of him.
Teyla sure they will tell them as soon as they hear anything, but when McKay sits down to join them, even he's heard nothing.
And maybe it's just the lack of news, or the fact that he's talked to Teyla, told her everything, but he can't stop feeling that they should have sat at a different table, not their usual one by the balcony. It's dark outside, and he wants to keep his eyes on the water, but all he sees is the mess hall, reflected. Twice as many eyes, then, all on him.
---
John wakes some time in the night. Nobody tells Ronon until the next morning, when Lorne addresses the whole city. Afterwards, when Ronon catches Keller heading down the hallway, asks if he can see John, she looks exhausted and hopeless when she tells him "maybe later."
She makes good on her word, though, later that afternoon. She tells him he'll have a turn to say goodbye.
---
Carson's the one to tell him the plan, and John almost wishes he didn't know. If it has to happen, he doesn't want to see it coming. Doesn't want to lie here and wait for it. Doesn't want to wake up to find that everything he cared about died a thousand years ago while he slept.
But he doesn't want to die, much, himself either.
There are a few hours left.
What would you do if you only had a few hours left to live? The question never took into account the likely fact that by the time you'd gotten to that point, you were probably stuck in a hospital bed.
Ronon, in the sunlight, away from all this and smiling.
It was a nice thought, he'd hold onto it. In the meantime, though, there were things he had to do.
"I need to talk to everybody. My team. Lorne. Woolsey. You can make that happen?"
"Aye, no problem," Carson says, and the fact that he's not making a scene about it makes John want to kiss the man, even though it is an admittedly late addition to his bucket list.
Carson backs out of the room, but there's a nurse standing sentry by the door, so John can't freak out.
The drugs are working enough to mute the pain, but they're packing his head with cement, and coming up with the list of things that need to be done seems to take hours.
Lorne will take over, he'll need access to John's files. Passwords.
Woolsey still hasn't figured out how to deal with Teyla, yet, let alone Ronon. Doesn't know that she knows exactly what her limits are, or that Ronon sometimes needs them laid out. Woolsey needs to know.
He wishes Ronon were in here. It's not like it should be too much to ask, at this point, but it can't happen. He'd take him down with him, not just kill him. Because while John doesn't have to worry about his reputation any more, Ronon will still be here next week, with nobody to run interference.
He should have made himself get his head together, back in the field by the settlement. Should have called everyone back to the gate. It was John's bad call that led them here. He's not going to compound it.
---
Three years knowing John, two years being with him, and he's allotted the same five minutes as everyone else.
It's not fucking fair, but he's being uncharitable, thinking like that, and he knows it. Franks went into stasis an hour ago, and she'd gone alone, with only the medical staff to see her off.
He waits impatiently for his turn, tries not to fiddle with the cleansuit's closures. Lorne, Teyla and McKay have already had theirs, and Woolsey will join them in the observation room when she's done with his.
Finally, Hamilton, who's standing guard, gives a curt nod and glances at him before he punches the controls, opening the door.
John's slipped even more than he'd expected, and all his anger at being last in line, at being the one most likely to be cheated of precious time, evaporates, because he's last. He's the one to sit there while this actually happens. Beckett's doing, then, maybe Keller's. He gets it, now.
John does, too, struggling to open bleary eyes when he feels the mattress shift as Ronon sits next to him. "I'm going to be slipping into a coma in a bit, here, so."
"Yeah?" If John wasn't afraid, Ronon didn't have to be, either. That's how they'd play this. He leaned in a bit closer, straining to hear.
"You're going to stay, right? The city."
"What?" Truth be told, Ronon hasn't thought about it, yet, but it's clear that John's ahead of him.
"You don't have to, I'm just. I'd like it if you did."
He doesn't know how long John's been worried about this, never had the chance to ask, before now, and now that he does, Ronon's finding that he doesn't want to talk about it. "You'll still be here," should be answer enough, but John's rocking his head back and forth.
"I'll be in a box." He's trying to stay awake, but he's starting to slip. "Doesn't count."
"Don't care. I'm staying."
"Good. Lorne. Talk to him. Woolsey too, I never. And go easy on Caldwell…don't let him give McKay too much shit." John coughs, then, the words having robbed him of his breath, and it's rattling and weak and wracks his frame. "Ack. This sucks." He grimaces when Ronon runs a hand along his side but grasps his arm through the plastic of the suit. His grip isn't as strong as it should be. Feels like he's letting go already. Like he knows he's held on long enough.
"They'll figure this out."
John nods, his eyes barely open. It's just as well that Ronon can't take the helmet off, take the entire suit off, feel John's skin against his. There's an audience watching from the observation room, and Beckett is still standing by the door, and it's they're the most unfair thing in the world, those eyes, because it shouldn't matter any more. Not now.
He supposes he should feel grateful that Woolsey ordered the room's microphones to be shut off, that he'd left his earpiece in the locker room, but it's not enough to look through the mask at John, whose eyes aren't open anymore. It's not enough to feel him through the gloves.
John's breathing is slowing, according to the machines, and they're running out of time.
"Love you. I'll be here when you wake up," he says, and John's grip tightens on his arm faintly, the only answer he can make.
He doesn't feel it when John finally loses consciousness. It's not until Beckett steps forward that it even occurs to him to move.
---
It's hard to convince himself that he isn't walking into a funeral, once the suit is gone and he's joining the small procession towards the stasis chambers. It's silent when they arrive, and nobody looks at anyone, but Teyla's at his side, her arm pressed against his, even though there's plenty of space.
They watch, through the glass, as Keller and Beckett move John into the stasis chamber, and a minute or two later, the field goes up, the door closes. Beckett enters the final commands, and it's over with.
John's frozen, absolutely still, and Ronon's head knows that he's not dead, but he doesn't believe it.
Teyla's still standing next to him, but she's the last, everyone else has receded down the hallway again. Fights himself for a few moments, stops himself from calling Beckett back to check the controls again. Inside the room, the decontamination crew is at work, erasing the last traces of the contagion from the air, and part of him is terrified, watching them work. They might be erasing the last of John, too. They might bump one of the controls, hit a button, dislodge a crystal, kill John without knowing it.
Eventually, though, they're finished as well, and the lights shut off when they shut the door. If it wasn't for Teyla's gentle shove, he's not sure he'd be able to leave. John's chamber is bright silvery yellow in the dark of the room, and it will stay that way.
---
Morning comes, and he hasn't slept.
Beckett says it wasn't actually a coma, but it wasn't far off, either, towards the end. He does say that they knew where they were wrong. It wasn't a virus, not in the traditional sense. It was plant spores, a new type, something they'd never encountered before. They'd had no way to predict it, and no way to treat it.
The most optimistic thing to come out of either doctor's mouth is when Keller says, "it was close, but we don't think the spores directly interacted with his brain. Losing consciousness was a secondary response."
Ronon doesn't hear another word for the rest of the meeting. Doesn't speak for the rest of the day, and nobody tries to make him.
---
"Do you know what he wants to discuss with us?"
"Whatever it is, it can't be good," McKay mutters, raising his eyebrows in Ronon's direction.
Lorne is in Woolsey's office when they enter, but his expression's unreadable as they position themselves around the room.
"I'll get right to it," Woolsey sighs. "I've just had a hardliner discussion with Doctors Keller and Beckett, and they've agreed that it will take some time to find a treatment for Doctor Franks and Colonel Sheppard."
Teyla nods. "This is what we've expected, is it not?"
"True, but that leaves us with a meantime, and, like it or not, we must ensure a turn to some semblance of normality, with minimal fuss. As things stand now, we will need to reorganize our offworld team structure. Now, I've taken the opportunity to make some changes. As ranking officer on the base, Lorne will only accompany teams on offworld missions as are deemed absolutely necessary. Beyond that, however, and at his insistence, I would like to cause as little disruption as possible. He's come up with a sort list for a rep- substitute to cover Colonel Sheppard's position. I would like the three of you to come back with your final selection first thing tomorrow morning."
And there is. Ronon's known this was coming, but as Lorne begins listing the names, he thinks he misses half of them. After a few moments of discussion, McKay nods, and Teyla turns back to Woolsey. "Is there anything else you wish to discuss?"
"No, I'll leave you to it." They're dismissed, but as he pushes himself up out of his chair, Woolsey asks, "Ronon, can you hold up a moment?"
He couldn't stand now anyway, not with the dread crashing over him. Teyla shoots him a glance as she leaves, and the door slides shut behind her. "Yeah?"
"Perhaps because of the strange nature of the case, and the fact that have so far come to light, I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't address all of them. I assume you've got some sense of where I'm going with this?"
Ronon nods. He can't speak. He can't afford to give anything away.
"There are assumptions being made, based on the medical findings at hand, and…I'll just come straight to the point. By Doctor Franks' own admission, she and Lieutenant Halverson have been in a relationship for quite some time. I can only assume that Colonel Sheppard did not know of this when he assigned them their posts, and right now, they are not the point, beyond the fact that it's come to light in the fashion it did. Perhaps, however, because of this, and the similarity of your conditions…" Woolsey trails off. He's going to make Ronon say it.
"People think me and Sheppard are together?"
"I have evidence that on this occasion, at least, this is the case." It's almost a relief to hear it, truth be told, but it's no less unsettling. "And beyond that, I really should not know. Also, I should tell you that there have been cases before of similar indiscretions occurring with off-world teams, though you would be hard pressed to find them in the official reports."
"Why's that?"
"On Earth, the stargate program is conducted in secrecy. Those who are involved are therefore quite adept at necessary obfuscation. What remains is the rumor, and while unpleasant, rumors tend to fade with time, as long as nothing occurs to give them more weight."
"It's not an issue," Ronon says, and Woolsey regards him carefully for a moment and then nods.
"Unless we make it one." He clears his throat. "Now. Major Lorne drafted the report and summary, and while he is usually succinct, he's actually reached levels of laconicism previously seen only in your field reports. The medical reports, however, are slightly more complicated. Personal medical files are confidential, but the research will be shared with the SGC. Names are withheld as a matter of course, and discussion of the secondary transmission is minimized, merely described as physical contact."
"Okay."
"I have, however, given permission to Doctors Beckett and Keller to talk with the SGC doctors about their findings, off the record." He leans back in his chair, finally finished.
"Okay. Why are you telling me all this?"
"I don't want my people walking around with the sword of Damocles hanging-" he catches himself. "Because as Teyla said, Colonel Sheppard's illness is destabilizing enough on it's own, and we don't need to add to it. And because you'd never ask of your own volition."
---
He leaves it up to the others, since McKay's the one most likely to take issue with the selection, and Teyla's the one most likely to get him to actually choose.
His feet take him to the infirmary. He needs to see for himself that someone, somewhere, isn't just moving on, yet. That they're still working on saving him, that they're not as powerless against this as he is.
John always said that they don't leave people behind, but he's left Ronon. Left all of them.
"Ronon?" Carson looks up from his microscope, the question clear in his eyes. "You okay, lad?"
"Have you found anything?"
"Well," Carson's eyes dart away, briefly. "We're working on some things, right now. Re-examining the bodies. Halverson, and the remains we recovered from the planet. We're hoping that if we can see how the spores progress, we can get ahead of them, before they have the chance to develop into a full-grown plant."
Part of Ronon wants to see, but it's morbid to ask. Won't help.
"What're you finding?"
"Give me a minute," Carson stands up, nods for Ronon to follow. When they're in the corridor again, he continues. "I have to talk to the botanists again, before I say anything official, but they're having a hard time with the subject matter. They're not accustomed to…"
"Right."
"Well. Doctor Brown thinks that the original host," he nods at Ronon, "is heavily infected to ensure transmission to the secondary host. She says it's likely that the secondary hosts exhibit symptoms at a much slower rate, allowing them to carry the spores over a wider geographical area, before it overtakes them."
"Guess that makes sense," Ronon sighs, realizing he hasn't answered his question. "So why did I get better?"
"As far as we can tell, you probably came in contact with the mature spores first. We can't tell if it's through touch or inhalation at this point, but we think it's the latter. They spread throughout your central nervous and endocrine systems, as well as several others. When they reached your pituitary they." Carson stumbles, trying to find the means to explain it. "They affected the chemical change necessary to create new spores. However, since the initial attack was weakening your system, they needed to move on, to find a new host. It is likely that they've adapted to make use of the host's central nervous system, either finding or creating impulses. When you came in contact with John, they were transferred, and the young spores took residence in his system."
"So why did I get better?" Ronon asks again, frustrated.
"Because the spores died soon after transmission. Their work was done, even before we got you breathing again. After that, it was just a matter of waiting for them to make their way out of your system."
"So why can't you do the same thing for Sheppard?"
"Because he was infected with new spores, still growing, it's."
"What?"
"Left unattended, they grow into mature PLANTS/arrays, feeding off the host. It's likely that every plant on the planet is growing where it is because it's where the host died. Some were moved to the burial, which preserved them, and the remains are quite unpleasant."
"So. John's got these in his system?"
"Yes, and worse, they had some time to develop. But they're in stasis as well, and the moment we release him from the chamber, we've got to be sure that we can get ahead of them before they get any worse."
"And how's that coming?"
"Trying to find something that will kill them, without killing the host won't be easy. But don't worry, we're not going to stop looking." Carson's grim, but he meets his eye, promising, and Ronon's just hoping it's one he can keep.
---
In the morning, he's tired, and he forgets. It's not until John doesn't open his door that he remembers.
Ronon runs anyway.
---
It's been two weeks when the Earth contingent arrives. O'Neill comes, but he's got with him a general that Ronon's never met and half of the IOA. There's a reception, of sorts, where they make it known that they're there to assess how Atlantis is dealing with the change in leadership, though they never come out and say it outright, and then they spend two days locked in meetings in Woolsey's office, and nobody tells him anything at all.
Lorne, when he catches him in the hallway, says that he's passed his assessment, but beyond that, it's just details. Bureaucratic nonsense and standard procedure, nothing to worry about, but Lorne has to go back into the conference room for another meeting, and Ronon doesn't see him for three days.
He's just coming out from the gym when he hears the announcement that the IOA is leaving, but he doesn't bother to go see them off. It's not like his presence is required, anyhow. It's only later that he finds out that Beckett's gone with them. He's coordinating the response for some epidemic a galaxy away.
---
John's music player is still in Ronon's room where he left it, and some nights, he presses the buttons until music comes out, tries to block out the sound of his own harsh breathing. Hearing the voices singing helps, but they're recordings, singing to the universe. They're not talking directly to him, because nobody does, not any more.
In the morning, he wakes with the earphones still in, and it won't turn on again. It's dead. He throws it against the wall when he realizes, and it cracks across the front.
It's not until later that he figures out that there's a charging device, still plugged into the wall in John's room, but by then it doesn't matter. He never gets to hold onto things that he wants for very long.
Ronon puts it on the shelf next to the small vase he found in what had used to be his mother's house. It's small and plastic and ugly, but he stares at it for hours, anyway.
---
Keller brings Kate Brown in to consult, and it's mortifying to know that there's yet another person that Ronon's supposed to trust, who knows more than anyone's allowed to admit.
He can only understand every sixth word out of her mouth, gets that she's talking about how amazing that it is, this form of fungal reproduction and yeah, it's vaguely interesting, but John's frozen in a box down at the base of the main tower, so if she could just stop grinning, so much, about the wonderful scientific discovery, that would be great.
Maybe it's pique, but he makes her take him in to look at the bodies, under the guise of wanting to know more about the hyphae things she's mentioned seven or eighteen times.
There was no way he would have recognized several of the things they're studying as being human- not the ones they've recovered, anyway. From one angle, he can almost see the structure of a collar, the slope of a throat, but he's not even sure he's looking at the right thing.
It's the same for Doctor Brown, too, because she holds up well enough until they get to Halvorson's body, so she can point out the thing she calls an appressorium. There are a hundred of them, not just growing over Halvorson's body, but pushing up through the mottled skin. She's disgusted by it, too, but that fact doesn't make Ronon feel any better when he leaves.
---
By the time Ronon is cleared for duty, McKay and Teyla had decided to take on Lieutenant Dwyer as their fourth.
The first job runs rough, but they're manage to stop the culling , and Dwyer is a good choice, even if Ronon doesn't like him as much as he did when he was just someone he ran drills with. He's a good fighter, Ronon's known it for years, now, and knows his job, but he's not John.
It's nothing major. He deals.
---
Teyla's got Torren, and Kanaan, and beyond sparring and lunch in the mess three days a week, he doesn’t see her much. She looks tired, most of the time, these days.
McKay's around the infirmary almost as much as Ronon is. He's got a thing for Keller, it's painfully obvious, now. It's the sort of thing that John would find hilarious.
By the time he gets out of there, Ronon's not sure if he'll recognize any of them, and if Ronon takes it out on the Marines, they're not complaining, at least until Ronon accidentally breaks Cohen's arm when they're sparring.
It's an accident, no hard feelings, but that night, there's still nobody there to yell at him for it.
It's been a month since Keller took over the investigation, and he tries not to stop by every day any more, because he's tired of seeing the resignation in her eyes.
---
He stays because he promised he would, and it was the last thing he said around here that meant anything at all.
It's not easy. Not when Dwyer orders him back to his post in the empty warehouse when there are wraith closing on McKay's position. Not when they get back after Ronon's ignored the order, and he tries to convince him that the crashed dart he'd been guarding was worth it.
Later, Lorne explains that Dwyer's not John, like Ronon needed it spelled out, but his eyes are tired, and Ronon gets it, suddenly. Lorne's not trying to tell him something he already knew, he's telling him that he agrees.
So he stays. Beats the crap out of Dwyer in the gym, and decides that it makes him feel better.
---
Ronon's tracing the edges of the city, the longer route that he's preferred ever since running alone, when it happens. He doesn't find out until he's coming through the door again and MacKay's waving him down.
He takes a shower, anyway. They doctors are working, actually working, and no one's going to be allowed in there for a few hours anyway. Tries to eat breakfast and lunch, but he can't swallow around the hope in his throat.
Teyla joins him in the gym, equally anxious to fight some of her tension away, but neither of them can focus, and five minutes later, they're just sitting on one of the mats, listening to their radios and waiting.
He doesn't even realize that he's holding onto Teyla's hand-probably too tightly- until Kanaan comes in, but he smiles and has Torren asleep in his arms, and sits down to shore up Teyla's other side.
---
It's McKay's voice on the radio that breaks the news.
"Teyla, Ronon? Get your asses down to the infirmary. It worked."
---
Chapter 3 and Epilogue
Rating: R? NC-17?
By: Jendavis
Spoilers: None
Pairing: John Sheppard/ Ronon Dex
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: This is all nomelon's fault, because if it wasn't for stumbling upon one of her SN stories, I wouldn't have actually spent the next three hours thinking about the Darwinian adaptations of sex pollen.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Ronon's been quarantined for two days when they finally take the respirator out, and it hurts like hell, but he's still breathing at the end of it.
But he's not allowed to leave, not yet. He has to wait for the latest batch of test results to come back, and they're going to want him under a scanner again, because it's what these people live for.
What they would do without it, Ronon doesn't want to guess, but Keller explains the fascination. "You see, back home? On Earth? We don't have anything like this. There isn't a hospital on the planet that wouldn't kill to get their hands on one. So yes, while it's a drag for you, we get some excitement out of it."
"So why don't you share it with the rest of your world?" Ronon asks, but Keller goes silent, then, and it's apparent that he's hit a nerve.
McKay comes to visit, and it's strange that he's the only one from the team, but Torrren's just getting over the flu, so Teyla's banned from the entire western pier, and John's in quarantine himself, which is stupid, because it's a different quarantine, and if they were going to catch something off of one another, wait. They already had.
"So the word on the street is that they might let you back into the general population," McKay says. "I take it you're feeling better?"
"Yeah." Damn, but his voice sounds rough. Hurts, too, but at least it's working. It's his second throat injury in a year, and it's got to have taken some sort of toll. "Talk to John?"
"Yes, and he sends his regards. I didn't tell him you were getting out, I figure you'd want to visit him. They've got him in this room with a window. It's like visiting him in prison, only there isn't…" McKay shrugs. "You know, if you're about to be released anyway, these suits are probably stupid, right?"
Ronon shrugs, he wants to hear more about John, but part of him wants to agree.
"So. You're doing all right? Better?"
"Yeah."
"That's weird. I mean, it's good, but. They're still trying to figure out why you four. Three, whatever, were the only ones to get hit." Ronon's got his suspicions, but the doctors haven't told him anything useful, nobody has. Keller and Beckett aside, he's been sticking to the "thought I was out in the sun too long" story himself, though. At least he knows he's even with the world.
Eventually, McKay's waved out of the room when Keller comes in, and Ronon can hear her telling him that yes, since Ronon's tests have come back and the virus is breaking down in his system, and that they've determined that he's no longer contagious, they're going to move him back to the infirmary.
"We want to keep John in a bit longer," she says, though. "His tests came back positive for the virus, and though it hasn't hit him, yet, it hasn't broken down, either."
"What's that mean?"
"I'm hoping that he has a natural immunity, though I don't see how he could. To be honest, we got lucky, here. It's going away on it's own."
It's the sort of thing that he's growing accustomed to hearing, so he lets her explain it without really listening, describing how the virus acts as she'd expect, but looks unlike any other virus she's familiar with. He's learned to appreciate luck, when he has it, and too relieved to pay closer attention.
It's not until later that he thinks he should have.
---
All John can feel, besides the thirst and the heat, is that he could have prevented this. Could have stopped it, if he'd tried.
A year and a half of being so damned careful, keeping Ronon off the radar, using the life signs detector to plot a course from his rooms, not smiling too much, is falling apart. On the other side of the glass, Woolsey is suspecting everything, that much is obvious, talking about it without talking about it, and it almost makes it worse.
John can't concentrate, now, on shoring up his defense. Can't deflect what's not coming straight at him. Can't concentrate on anything because he's burning up from the inside out.
There was a point where he could have stopped it, but he's past it, now. He nods in response to whatever Woolsey said last and slaps on his radio to call for the nurse.
---
Ronon has about fifteen minutes to appreciate the fact that he's back in the infirmary with the rest of the non-contagious people, that he's not having to read faces through hazmat masks. It disappears in an instant, though, when he notices the change happening. At first, nobody's talking, but then, finally, Keller walks by and she's dressed in red again.
He listens to the others talk, figures out that Carson's already on the west pier with John, and that Keller's on her way. There's no way they'd both be going if it was just an issue of test results.
His throat still hurts, but it's the nurses who won't tell him anything directly.
Won't tell him if John's okay, and he's getting out of the bed, because he's got to know, he just does, and this, it turns out, is what it takes to get them to talk, but they're only using their voices to order him back to bed, promising that he's well enough for tranquilizers, now.
So he goes back to bed, and tries not to think of the thousand horrible things that could be happening while he just sits there.
---
Finally, an hour or so later, Keller returns, and he can ask. "What's up?"
"He's dehydrated and running a fever, but it's not coming on nearly as strongly as we initially worried, and that's a good sign. Right now we're monitoring him, and looking at the possibility of natural immunities. The results had us scared, and the fever is cause for concern, but we've given him medicine to combat it, and a drip to combat dehydration."
Ronon doesn't understand all of this, he needs a minute to think, but Keller's talking again. "He asked about you, though. Doesn't want you to worry, and hey." She's smiling at him. "We caught it early, so don't worry, okay? He's fine."
"Can I see him?"
---
He's pretty sure he's blacked out, at least for a little while, and his head is killing him. The lights are too blinding to open his eyes more than a bit, but there's a chime at the window, so he tries.
"Ronon?" Reaching over, he grabs his radio from the table next to the bed and tries, again, to focus.
"Hey." He's dressed in blue scrubs, and there's a white bandage on his neck. It's bright against his skin and hurts to look at, but he wants to stand, cross the room, get closer. But the glass would still be there, anyway. "Good to see you're doin' better."
The white patch falls into shadow briefly and reappears. Probably doesn't feel much like talking, all things considered, but he tries.
"You okay?"
"Got dizzy there, for a minute, and I'm still overheated, but I think it's under control," he admits, because if he can convince Ronon, maybe he can convince his body.
Ronon's frozen on the other side of the glass, probably detecting the lie, but he doesn't know what to do about it, doesn't move.
Suarez and Kowalczek are standing guard, and John's not sure what channel he's broadcasting on, but there's a lot he needs to say.
Do you know what's going on?
We were careless, back there.
I didn't tell Woolsey anything, but don't think I convinced him.
I'm glad you're okay.
The room's swimming again, the world's becoming small.
Why aren't I?
---
Ronon's still blinking John's expression out of his eyes when the doctors push past him again, and while they're in the anteroom suiting up, he's suddenly pressed close against the window, watching as John's arm dangles off the side of the bed and goes still.
There's time for too many breaths before the doctors swarm into the room, surrounding John's bed. They're trying to get him breathing again, and he doesn't notice the movement, doesn't hear anyone make the command, but suddenly Beckett's on the other side of the window, rolling a screen across, blocking his view.
A moment later, his radio goes silent. They've switched channels. Cut him out.
So he waits.
Judging by the expression on Beckett's face, he wasn't expecting to find him still standing there. "He's sleeping," is all he says at first, blotting his sweaty face with his shirt sleeve, beckoning Ronon to follow. "Franks went under too, but she's stabilized."
"Gonna be okay?" Ronon lets himself be ushered into the transporter, watches Beckett send them back to the main infirmary.
"I don't know," Beckett says, not looking at him as the doors open.
The infirmary had been calm, before this, but now they're worried, trying to figure out what they misread.
Ronon's convinced that he's still contagious, that there'd been a mistake, but the nurses throw him back under the scanner and find nothing.
"Besides," Keller says. "If you'd passed it on, we'd be seeing other people with symptoms."
"So what's the problem?"
"The virus? It's not a virus, it's something else."
"Nanites?" Ronon guesses.
"No, but it's not far off. We think it might be a fungus, but it's one we've never-"
"Seen before. Right." One of the nurses brings him another cup of ice chips, then, and Keller needs to get back to work. Before she goes, she asks him how he's feeling, and he shrugs and nods. There's nothing wrong, not out here, and even sitting for hours on the bed he's assigned, he feels like he's in the way.
---
Teyla's rushing down the hall to meet him when he's released the next day, and she falls into step next to him without saying a word. He needs to ask what she knows, what she's heard. Needs her to talk. Everything else he'd want to say can wait. Teyla's Teyla. She gets it.
She opens the window in his room, just enough to give the illusion of freedom, or maybe just to let the air in, and sits in his chair, watching him move around the room. She's waiting until he settles, and when he realizes it, he sits down on his bed, suddenly tired, though he's barely moved in days.
She starts by telling him that everyone has been quite concerned, and relieved that he's feeling himself again. She doesn't finish by telling him that she knows what is going on. "How are you feeling?" she asks instead, and it's the tenth time he's heard the question today, but he's so far from knowing how to answer that it's almost funny. Terrified. Alone. Stupid. Clueless. Worried. He doesn't know anything, nobody does, and nobody's been able to give him any good news to pass along. He can't even give Teyla an answer. Pretends it's his throat that's bothering him when he doesn't speak, and he lies down.
She's at his bedside in an instant, kneeling down to eye level, concern clear on her face.
"I think he's dying," he says, and it's stupid to try and hide it, because she's watching him from less than two feet away and she's seeing everything. "Think it's my fault."
"Why would you think such a thing?"
It's Teyla. He can tell her.
"Mission the other day," whispering isn't as hard on his throat, and hell, this isn't the sort of thing he's supposed to talk out loud about, anyway.
Security details weren't McKay's job, and Teyla had been staying home with Torren, so it had just been Ronon and John joining the other team on the mission out to M93-287, where the botanists had discovered a plant that they promised was fascinating, apparently based on the fact that it grew everywhere, soil, rock, brick, even in the dark abandoned rooms of the village.
Plants grew everywhere in the wake people left behind. It hadn't been interesting, not even a little bit.
But it had been pleasant, quiet for once. Uneventful, and it had felt like summer.
"Everything was fine. Good. But I let my guard down, so Sheppard did too, and we got, ah. Distracted. Knew something was off, but it never occurred to me to do anything about it."
Teyla's eyebrows are up to her hairline. Two years, she's known about them almost from the start, but she's never known them to abandon their duties on a mission. It would be funny, if the story weren't what it was. If it had a better ending.
---
He doesn't feel like eating, but he lets Teyla drag him out to the mess. He's allowed soup, and applesauce, ice chips and jello, but the food on her tray doesn't look any more appetizing, either, and he can only finish about half of what's on his plate.
Around him, people are staring. He can feel it, like he can feel John not jostling him for elbow room at the table, the way he's supposed to be, and it's different than it is when John's in a meeting, or running 302 drills, or even when he's in the infirmary.
Because he isn't in the infirmary, not technically. He's locked in a room on the far edge of the city, and even if the entire areas wasn't off limits without Beckett's orders, he still couldn't get within twelve feet of him.
Teyla sure they will tell them as soon as they hear anything, but when McKay sits down to join them, even he's heard nothing.
And maybe it's just the lack of news, or the fact that he's talked to Teyla, told her everything, but he can't stop feeling that they should have sat at a different table, not their usual one by the balcony. It's dark outside, and he wants to keep his eyes on the water, but all he sees is the mess hall, reflected. Twice as many eyes, then, all on him.
---
John wakes some time in the night. Nobody tells Ronon until the next morning, when Lorne addresses the whole city. Afterwards, when Ronon catches Keller heading down the hallway, asks if he can see John, she looks exhausted and hopeless when she tells him "maybe later."
She makes good on her word, though, later that afternoon. She tells him he'll have a turn to say goodbye.
---
Carson's the one to tell him the plan, and John almost wishes he didn't know. If it has to happen, he doesn't want to see it coming. Doesn't want to lie here and wait for it. Doesn't want to wake up to find that everything he cared about died a thousand years ago while he slept.
But he doesn't want to die, much, himself either.
There are a few hours left.
What would you do if you only had a few hours left to live? The question never took into account the likely fact that by the time you'd gotten to that point, you were probably stuck in a hospital bed.
Ronon, in the sunlight, away from all this and smiling.
It was a nice thought, he'd hold onto it. In the meantime, though, there were things he had to do.
"I need to talk to everybody. My team. Lorne. Woolsey. You can make that happen?"
"Aye, no problem," Carson says, and the fact that he's not making a scene about it makes John want to kiss the man, even though it is an admittedly late addition to his bucket list.
Carson backs out of the room, but there's a nurse standing sentry by the door, so John can't freak out.
The drugs are working enough to mute the pain, but they're packing his head with cement, and coming up with the list of things that need to be done seems to take hours.
Lorne will take over, he'll need access to John's files. Passwords.
Woolsey still hasn't figured out how to deal with Teyla, yet, let alone Ronon. Doesn't know that she knows exactly what her limits are, or that Ronon sometimes needs them laid out. Woolsey needs to know.
He wishes Ronon were in here. It's not like it should be too much to ask, at this point, but it can't happen. He'd take him down with him, not just kill him. Because while John doesn't have to worry about his reputation any more, Ronon will still be here next week, with nobody to run interference.
He should have made himself get his head together, back in the field by the settlement. Should have called everyone back to the gate. It was John's bad call that led them here. He's not going to compound it.
---
Three years knowing John, two years being with him, and he's allotted the same five minutes as everyone else.
It's not fucking fair, but he's being uncharitable, thinking like that, and he knows it. Franks went into stasis an hour ago, and she'd gone alone, with only the medical staff to see her off.
He waits impatiently for his turn, tries not to fiddle with the cleansuit's closures. Lorne, Teyla and McKay have already had theirs, and Woolsey will join them in the observation room when she's done with his.
Finally, Hamilton, who's standing guard, gives a curt nod and glances at him before he punches the controls, opening the door.
John's slipped even more than he'd expected, and all his anger at being last in line, at being the one most likely to be cheated of precious time, evaporates, because he's last. He's the one to sit there while this actually happens. Beckett's doing, then, maybe Keller's. He gets it, now.
John does, too, struggling to open bleary eyes when he feels the mattress shift as Ronon sits next to him. "I'm going to be slipping into a coma in a bit, here, so."
"Yeah?" If John wasn't afraid, Ronon didn't have to be, either. That's how they'd play this. He leaned in a bit closer, straining to hear.
"You're going to stay, right? The city."
"What?" Truth be told, Ronon hasn't thought about it, yet, but it's clear that John's ahead of him.
"You don't have to, I'm just. I'd like it if you did."
He doesn't know how long John's been worried about this, never had the chance to ask, before now, and now that he does, Ronon's finding that he doesn't want to talk about it. "You'll still be here," should be answer enough, but John's rocking his head back and forth.
"I'll be in a box." He's trying to stay awake, but he's starting to slip. "Doesn't count."
"Don't care. I'm staying."
"Good. Lorne. Talk to him. Woolsey too, I never. And go easy on Caldwell…don't let him give McKay too much shit." John coughs, then, the words having robbed him of his breath, and it's rattling and weak and wracks his frame. "Ack. This sucks." He grimaces when Ronon runs a hand along his side but grasps his arm through the plastic of the suit. His grip isn't as strong as it should be. Feels like he's letting go already. Like he knows he's held on long enough.
"They'll figure this out."
John nods, his eyes barely open. It's just as well that Ronon can't take the helmet off, take the entire suit off, feel John's skin against his. There's an audience watching from the observation room, and Beckett is still standing by the door, and it's they're the most unfair thing in the world, those eyes, because it shouldn't matter any more. Not now.
He supposes he should feel grateful that Woolsey ordered the room's microphones to be shut off, that he'd left his earpiece in the locker room, but it's not enough to look through the mask at John, whose eyes aren't open anymore. It's not enough to feel him through the gloves.
John's breathing is slowing, according to the machines, and they're running out of time.
"Love you. I'll be here when you wake up," he says, and John's grip tightens on his arm faintly, the only answer he can make.
He doesn't feel it when John finally loses consciousness. It's not until Beckett steps forward that it even occurs to him to move.
---
It's hard to convince himself that he isn't walking into a funeral, once the suit is gone and he's joining the small procession towards the stasis chambers. It's silent when they arrive, and nobody looks at anyone, but Teyla's at his side, her arm pressed against his, even though there's plenty of space.
They watch, through the glass, as Keller and Beckett move John into the stasis chamber, and a minute or two later, the field goes up, the door closes. Beckett enters the final commands, and it's over with.
John's frozen, absolutely still, and Ronon's head knows that he's not dead, but he doesn't believe it.
Teyla's still standing next to him, but she's the last, everyone else has receded down the hallway again. Fights himself for a few moments, stops himself from calling Beckett back to check the controls again. Inside the room, the decontamination crew is at work, erasing the last traces of the contagion from the air, and part of him is terrified, watching them work. They might be erasing the last of John, too. They might bump one of the controls, hit a button, dislodge a crystal, kill John without knowing it.
Eventually, though, they're finished as well, and the lights shut off when they shut the door. If it wasn't for Teyla's gentle shove, he's not sure he'd be able to leave. John's chamber is bright silvery yellow in the dark of the room, and it will stay that way.
---
Morning comes, and he hasn't slept.
Beckett says it wasn't actually a coma, but it wasn't far off, either, towards the end. He does say that they knew where they were wrong. It wasn't a virus, not in the traditional sense. It was plant spores, a new type, something they'd never encountered before. They'd had no way to predict it, and no way to treat it.
The most optimistic thing to come out of either doctor's mouth is when Keller says, "it was close, but we don't think the spores directly interacted with his brain. Losing consciousness was a secondary response."
Ronon doesn't hear another word for the rest of the meeting. Doesn't speak for the rest of the day, and nobody tries to make him.
---
"Do you know what he wants to discuss with us?"
"Whatever it is, it can't be good," McKay mutters, raising his eyebrows in Ronon's direction.
Lorne is in Woolsey's office when they enter, but his expression's unreadable as they position themselves around the room.
"I'll get right to it," Woolsey sighs. "I've just had a hardliner discussion with Doctors Keller and Beckett, and they've agreed that it will take some time to find a treatment for Doctor Franks and Colonel Sheppard."
Teyla nods. "This is what we've expected, is it not?"
"True, but that leaves us with a meantime, and, like it or not, we must ensure a turn to some semblance of normality, with minimal fuss. As things stand now, we will need to reorganize our offworld team structure. Now, I've taken the opportunity to make some changes. As ranking officer on the base, Lorne will only accompany teams on offworld missions as are deemed absolutely necessary. Beyond that, however, and at his insistence, I would like to cause as little disruption as possible. He's come up with a sort list for a rep- substitute to cover Colonel Sheppard's position. I would like the three of you to come back with your final selection first thing tomorrow morning."
And there is. Ronon's known this was coming, but as Lorne begins listing the names, he thinks he misses half of them. After a few moments of discussion, McKay nods, and Teyla turns back to Woolsey. "Is there anything else you wish to discuss?"
"No, I'll leave you to it." They're dismissed, but as he pushes himself up out of his chair, Woolsey asks, "Ronon, can you hold up a moment?"
He couldn't stand now anyway, not with the dread crashing over him. Teyla shoots him a glance as she leaves, and the door slides shut behind her. "Yeah?"
"Perhaps because of the strange nature of the case, and the fact that have so far come to light, I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't address all of them. I assume you've got some sense of where I'm going with this?"
Ronon nods. He can't speak. He can't afford to give anything away.
"There are assumptions being made, based on the medical findings at hand, and…I'll just come straight to the point. By Doctor Franks' own admission, she and Lieutenant Halverson have been in a relationship for quite some time. I can only assume that Colonel Sheppard did not know of this when he assigned them their posts, and right now, they are not the point, beyond the fact that it's come to light in the fashion it did. Perhaps, however, because of this, and the similarity of your conditions…" Woolsey trails off. He's going to make Ronon say it.
"People think me and Sheppard are together?"
"I have evidence that on this occasion, at least, this is the case." It's almost a relief to hear it, truth be told, but it's no less unsettling. "And beyond that, I really should not know. Also, I should tell you that there have been cases before of similar indiscretions occurring with off-world teams, though you would be hard pressed to find them in the official reports."
"Why's that?"
"On Earth, the stargate program is conducted in secrecy. Those who are involved are therefore quite adept at necessary obfuscation. What remains is the rumor, and while unpleasant, rumors tend to fade with time, as long as nothing occurs to give them more weight."
"It's not an issue," Ronon says, and Woolsey regards him carefully for a moment and then nods.
"Unless we make it one." He clears his throat. "Now. Major Lorne drafted the report and summary, and while he is usually succinct, he's actually reached levels of laconicism previously seen only in your field reports. The medical reports, however, are slightly more complicated. Personal medical files are confidential, but the research will be shared with the SGC. Names are withheld as a matter of course, and discussion of the secondary transmission is minimized, merely described as physical contact."
"Okay."
"I have, however, given permission to Doctors Beckett and Keller to talk with the SGC doctors about their findings, off the record." He leans back in his chair, finally finished.
"Okay. Why are you telling me all this?"
"I don't want my people walking around with the sword of Damocles hanging-" he catches himself. "Because as Teyla said, Colonel Sheppard's illness is destabilizing enough on it's own, and we don't need to add to it. And because you'd never ask of your own volition."
---
He leaves it up to the others, since McKay's the one most likely to take issue with the selection, and Teyla's the one most likely to get him to actually choose.
His feet take him to the infirmary. He needs to see for himself that someone, somewhere, isn't just moving on, yet. That they're still working on saving him, that they're not as powerless against this as he is.
John always said that they don't leave people behind, but he's left Ronon. Left all of them.
"Ronon?" Carson looks up from his microscope, the question clear in his eyes. "You okay, lad?"
"Have you found anything?"
"Well," Carson's eyes dart away, briefly. "We're working on some things, right now. Re-examining the bodies. Halverson, and the remains we recovered from the planet. We're hoping that if we can see how the spores progress, we can get ahead of them, before they have the chance to develop into a full-grown plant."
Part of Ronon wants to see, but it's morbid to ask. Won't help.
"What're you finding?"
"Give me a minute," Carson stands up, nods for Ronon to follow. When they're in the corridor again, he continues. "I have to talk to the botanists again, before I say anything official, but they're having a hard time with the subject matter. They're not accustomed to…"
"Right."
"Well. Doctor Brown thinks that the original host," he nods at Ronon, "is heavily infected to ensure transmission to the secondary host. She says it's likely that the secondary hosts exhibit symptoms at a much slower rate, allowing them to carry the spores over a wider geographical area, before it overtakes them."
"Guess that makes sense," Ronon sighs, realizing he hasn't answered his question. "So why did I get better?"
"As far as we can tell, you probably came in contact with the mature spores first. We can't tell if it's through touch or inhalation at this point, but we think it's the latter. They spread throughout your central nervous and endocrine systems, as well as several others. When they reached your pituitary they." Carson stumbles, trying to find the means to explain it. "They affected the chemical change necessary to create new spores. However, since the initial attack was weakening your system, they needed to move on, to find a new host. It is likely that they've adapted to make use of the host's central nervous system, either finding or creating impulses. When you came in contact with John, they were transferred, and the young spores took residence in his system."
"So why did I get better?" Ronon asks again, frustrated.
"Because the spores died soon after transmission. Their work was done, even before we got you breathing again. After that, it was just a matter of waiting for them to make their way out of your system."
"So why can't you do the same thing for Sheppard?"
"Because he was infected with new spores, still growing, it's."
"What?"
"Left unattended, they grow into mature PLANTS/arrays, feeding off the host. It's likely that every plant on the planet is growing where it is because it's where the host died. Some were moved to the burial, which preserved them, and the remains are quite unpleasant."
"So. John's got these in his system?"
"Yes, and worse, they had some time to develop. But they're in stasis as well, and the moment we release him from the chamber, we've got to be sure that we can get ahead of them before they get any worse."
"And how's that coming?"
"Trying to find something that will kill them, without killing the host won't be easy. But don't worry, we're not going to stop looking." Carson's grim, but he meets his eye, promising, and Ronon's just hoping it's one he can keep.
---
In the morning, he's tired, and he forgets. It's not until John doesn't open his door that he remembers.
Ronon runs anyway.
---
It's been two weeks when the Earth contingent arrives. O'Neill comes, but he's got with him a general that Ronon's never met and half of the IOA. There's a reception, of sorts, where they make it known that they're there to assess how Atlantis is dealing with the change in leadership, though they never come out and say it outright, and then they spend two days locked in meetings in Woolsey's office, and nobody tells him anything at all.
Lorne, when he catches him in the hallway, says that he's passed his assessment, but beyond that, it's just details. Bureaucratic nonsense and standard procedure, nothing to worry about, but Lorne has to go back into the conference room for another meeting, and Ronon doesn't see him for three days.
He's just coming out from the gym when he hears the announcement that the IOA is leaving, but he doesn't bother to go see them off. It's not like his presence is required, anyhow. It's only later that he finds out that Beckett's gone with them. He's coordinating the response for some epidemic a galaxy away.
---
John's music player is still in Ronon's room where he left it, and some nights, he presses the buttons until music comes out, tries to block out the sound of his own harsh breathing. Hearing the voices singing helps, but they're recordings, singing to the universe. They're not talking directly to him, because nobody does, not any more.
In the morning, he wakes with the earphones still in, and it won't turn on again. It's dead. He throws it against the wall when he realizes, and it cracks across the front.
It's not until later that he figures out that there's a charging device, still plugged into the wall in John's room, but by then it doesn't matter. He never gets to hold onto things that he wants for very long.
Ronon puts it on the shelf next to the small vase he found in what had used to be his mother's house. It's small and plastic and ugly, but he stares at it for hours, anyway.
---
Keller brings Kate Brown in to consult, and it's mortifying to know that there's yet another person that Ronon's supposed to trust, who knows more than anyone's allowed to admit.
He can only understand every sixth word out of her mouth, gets that she's talking about how amazing that it is, this form of fungal reproduction and yeah, it's vaguely interesting, but John's frozen in a box down at the base of the main tower, so if she could just stop grinning, so much, about the wonderful scientific discovery, that would be great.
Maybe it's pique, but he makes her take him in to look at the bodies, under the guise of wanting to know more about the hyphae things she's mentioned seven or eighteen times.
There was no way he would have recognized several of the things they're studying as being human- not the ones they've recovered, anyway. From one angle, he can almost see the structure of a collar, the slope of a throat, but he's not even sure he's looking at the right thing.
It's the same for Doctor Brown, too, because she holds up well enough until they get to Halvorson's body, so she can point out the thing she calls an appressorium. There are a hundred of them, not just growing over Halvorson's body, but pushing up through the mottled skin. She's disgusted by it, too, but that fact doesn't make Ronon feel any better when he leaves.
---
By the time Ronon is cleared for duty, McKay and Teyla had decided to take on Lieutenant Dwyer as their fourth.
The first job runs rough, but they're manage to stop the culling , and Dwyer is a good choice, even if Ronon doesn't like him as much as he did when he was just someone he ran drills with. He's a good fighter, Ronon's known it for years, now, and knows his job, but he's not John.
It's nothing major. He deals.
---
Teyla's got Torren, and Kanaan, and beyond sparring and lunch in the mess three days a week, he doesn’t see her much. She looks tired, most of the time, these days.
McKay's around the infirmary almost as much as Ronon is. He's got a thing for Keller, it's painfully obvious, now. It's the sort of thing that John would find hilarious.
By the time he gets out of there, Ronon's not sure if he'll recognize any of them, and if Ronon takes it out on the Marines, they're not complaining, at least until Ronon accidentally breaks Cohen's arm when they're sparring.
It's an accident, no hard feelings, but that night, there's still nobody there to yell at him for it.
It's been a month since Keller took over the investigation, and he tries not to stop by every day any more, because he's tired of seeing the resignation in her eyes.
---
He stays because he promised he would, and it was the last thing he said around here that meant anything at all.
It's not easy. Not when Dwyer orders him back to his post in the empty warehouse when there are wraith closing on McKay's position. Not when they get back after Ronon's ignored the order, and he tries to convince him that the crashed dart he'd been guarding was worth it.
Later, Lorne explains that Dwyer's not John, like Ronon needed it spelled out, but his eyes are tired, and Ronon gets it, suddenly. Lorne's not trying to tell him something he already knew, he's telling him that he agrees.
So he stays. Beats the crap out of Dwyer in the gym, and decides that it makes him feel better.
---
Ronon's tracing the edges of the city, the longer route that he's preferred ever since running alone, when it happens. He doesn't find out until he's coming through the door again and MacKay's waving him down.
He takes a shower, anyway. They doctors are working, actually working, and no one's going to be allowed in there for a few hours anyway. Tries to eat breakfast and lunch, but he can't swallow around the hope in his throat.
Teyla joins him in the gym, equally anxious to fight some of her tension away, but neither of them can focus, and five minutes later, they're just sitting on one of the mats, listening to their radios and waiting.
He doesn't even realize that he's holding onto Teyla's hand-probably too tightly- until Kanaan comes in, but he smiles and has Torren asleep in his arms, and sits down to shore up Teyla's other side.
---
It's McKay's voice on the radio that breaks the news.
"Teyla, Ronon? Get your asses down to the infirmary. It worked."
---
Chapter 3 and Epilogue