SGA: Galatea, slash, rated PG
Galatea
by Purna
~15,500 words
team story with bonus McKay/Sheppard
PG
Summary: An accident on the Apollo reunites the team with an old friend.
A/N: Many thanks to lamardeuse for the swift beta. Also thanks to everyone who read this as it was posted as a WIP. That version was a first draft of what's posted here. During the editing, some changes were made to previously posted material, including a few scenes added or expanded on.
This story was inspired by the episode "Be All My Sins Remembered," and contains major spoilers for that episode. It assumes the season-ending cliffhanger has been resolved, but contains spoilers only through "Outcast."
"Next jump on my mark." Rodney's voice is a cracked whisper, rough, barely audible, but it jerks John from his stupor.
He takes a deep breath, blinking away fatigue to bring the Apollo's bridge into focus. Colonel Ellis has barely moved from his station since the accident over sixty hours ago. He's too still and eerily silent, his face drawn, the skin stretched tight over his skull.
An accident, nobody to blame, but it had happened under Ellis' watch. A black hole yanked them out of hyperspace, violently enough to practically crack the ship in two. The fact that the singularity was unmarked on any of the Ancient charts is yet another reminder of their fallibility in John's mind.
There was nothing Ellis could have done differently, but it doesn't change the fact that nineteen members of his crew are dead, his ship crippled. The burden of his guilt is crushing him.
Rodney's hunched over the navigation console, ousting the crewman stationed there. He's been bouncing between the bridge and engineering this whole time, mouth going as fast as his brain. It's been nonstop, patching hull plating, splicing wiring, nursing the hyperspace engines along as best as he can, but John wonders how long he can keep it up. His eyes are too bright, darkly bruised underneath, and his right arm is cradled against his chest as he awkwardly types in commands with his left hand.
The ache in John's ribs flares up, and he can't breathe for a second. He did something to his side when the accident slammed him into a bulkhead, but nobody is in great shape. What's left of the crew is stretched to the breaking point, too much death, too much work to do, too afraid to sleep.
"Mark," Rodney says, and the shift to hyperspace is the roughest one yet, rattling John's teeth. He feels it in his bones, an ache like the arthritis that practically crippled him when the Wraith drained him to the point of death.
John holds his breath. The engines fail as often as not, dropping them back into real space, but so far, so good.
"How much more of this?" Teyla says, her voice drugged with fatigue. Her forehead is marred by pinprick burns from taking her turn at welding, and John tries not to wonder if they're going to turn her son into an orphan before his first birthday.
I talked her into coming back too soon, he thinks, not for the first time, but even he can recognize that it's pure gut, not logic, and he's glad he never bothered to voice his misgivings. Teyla had enough guilt of her own to deal with, and Carter would have probably kicked him out of her office.
Rodney doesn't take her question as rhetorical. "Based on our current progress?" His shoulders slump, his breath huffing out in a weary sigh. "Two weeks, minimum. Maybe as much as a month."
"We don't have a month, Dr. McKay. We're still losing atmosphere." Ellis sounds bleak, not snide, but Rodney's chin goes up anyway.
"Well, I'm sorry. We patched her up as best we could."
"He's not blaming you, Rodney," John says softly, because Rodney's been killing himself to buy them time, coaxing the impossible out of the damaged ship, and Ellis may be kind of a tool but he isn't stupid.
He knows there's little hope of rescue otherwise. Even if the Daedalus could arrive in time, there's no guarantee the same thing won't happen to her as well.
They manage only ten minutes in hyperspace this time before the engines sputter out. When John feels the jolt, he tries not to groan. He doesn't need to see Rodney's pinched expression to figure out that the engines are getting worse, that the race against time is one they're losing.
Over the next few hours, Rodney coaxes three more jumps out of the Apollo, short hops really, none lasting more than half an hour. The time he spends tinkering with the engines before each jump is getting longer and longer.
Meanwhile, Ellis' chief engineer delivers more bad news: the patches to the hull aren't holding, the air leaks are getting worse. John takes a shift of welding with Ronon and Teyla, and afterwards, Ronon smacks him on the shoulder.
"Ow, big guy," John mumbles, but Ronon ignores him.
"Sheppard," Ronon says and then takes a breath. "John," he adds, which makes John blink. "Whatever happens." Ronon shrugs, a rueful smirk crossing his face. "Glad I met you."
Teyla's hand, small but strong, grips his. "As am I," she says. "The both of you, and Rodney, as well." Teyla's never seemed ruffled, even facing death, and it's no different now.
"Don't try to talk to Rodney about this right now," John warns, and Teyla raises an eyebrow at him.
"I would not. He would take it as a vote of no confidence."
John relaxes. They're team, they're Teyla and Ronon; they know Rodney's quirks as well as he does. He looks at them, meeting their eyes in turn. Then he has to duck his head and clear his throat. "You know. Same here," he says to the deck.
He's opening his mouth to try to say something less lame when his radio saves him. It's Ellis, his voice tense, calling them back to the bridge.
Everyone's strangely frozen when they return to the command deck. Rodney's already there, shoulders hunched. His eyes are wide and panicky when he glances back at them, and something like guilt flickers over his face as his eyes meet John's.
"What?" John blurts, and Rodney points at the screen.
We're being hailed, John thinks with a sense of relief so profound it's dizzying. And then he realizes who--or what, rather, the screen is displaying, and it's like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath away.
"Not possible," he breathes, and Rodney shoots him a desperate glance, his face positively green, this close to puking.
Lazarus back from the dead, it's a smiling, silent Fran, her head tilted to one side.
John's upper lip pulls tight, and he knows he's not controlling his expression well, but it doesn't matter. She has eyes only for Rodney, her expression too intense, like a lover or a predator, hungry, needy.
That's disturbing enough, but she's creepy in so many ways beyond that. Her eyes are unblinking, her features too smooth and symmetrical to ever look truly human. Rodney made that, he thinks with a shudder, a weapon in the shape of a woman. A Replicator. Enemy.
When she finally speaks, it's to Rodney alone, ignoring everyone else on the bridge. "Father," she says, and now John feels like puking, too. "You've returned to us. This is a joyous occasion."
Rodney's mouth opens and closes, wordless for once in his life.
John hears his own voice fill the silence. "Oh, crap."
***
"So if we can just stabilize the structural damage and get a handle on the hull integrity issue..." Rodney falters. His good arm, which he's been using to gesture wildly around engineering, drops to his side.
The Apollo's engineering crew is not even pretending to work now, their tools and tablets set aside. They're listening intently, leaning towards the large group who've invaded their section. It's an odd mix: bridge crew, a security detail, John's team. And a Replicator.
Rodney's spiel has inspired a nod here and there from the chief engineer, and now she's shooting sideways glances at Fran, looking hopeful and wary at the same.
But Fran is shaking her head. "We scanned your ship very carefully. The damage is just too severe, Dr. McKay."
At least she's using Rodney's name now, thank god. John doesn't think Rodney said anything about the father business, but Fran must have noticed his unmistakable flinch every time she used the word.
After all, she's programmed to adapt, John thinks a little queasily.
"You are welcome to evacuate to our ship, however," she adds, and John really hopes he's imagining the flirtatious lilt in her voice.
Oh, hell, no. He's not alone in his instant rejection of the idea, judging from Ellis' scowl, Rodney's sputtering protests, and the impassive masks that Teyla and Ronon are wearing.
"How did you survive anyway, Fran? The whole planet was molten at the end." Ellis turns the name Rodney gave her into a sneer. Apparently if she can't or won't help him fix his ship, he's over the diplomacy thing.
She looks at him coolly. "We're very difficult to kill, as you're aware."
It's not really an answer, and John narrows his eyes at her. Her only response is a guileless smile, and then she continues, "Stubborn, I suppose, especially this particular engram." Her attention goes back to Rodney, and her smile widens. "A reflection of our maker, I like to imagine."
John can hear Ellis snort in disgust. Rodney tries to smile back at her but fails miserably. Fran's expression slips a little when she takes in his frozen grimace, but she recovers after a pause.
"I would not linger, Dr. McKay. Your ship is falling apart as we speak."
Nobody's ready to leave the Apollo yet, but it's obvious that Fran's assessment is correct. It keeps getting colder, and the air is getting thinner, and soon their time is up. If they stay, they die, and that's no choice at all.
John and his team are among the last to leave. They hang back on the bridge with Colonel Ellis and his first officer, who looks like he's either going to punch someone or break into tears.
"She was a good ship," the first officer says quietly to Ellis, and John realizes they're intruding.
"We'll, uh, head over," he says, jerking his head towards the door. Rodney touches one of the consoles sadly on the way out.
"Did your best, McKay," Ronon says. He reaches over to give Rodney a couple of pats on the back, gentle and clumsy, which at least gives John permission to grip Rodney's shoulder for a second.
Rodney doesn't say anything, just makes an unhappy little sound and hugs his bad arm more tightly to his chest.
Teyla takes the lead as they walk through the airlock, her back straight and her head held high.
Fran's ship is Aurora-class, large enough for their entire crew and then some. John wonders how she's been handling it all by herself, because except for the Apollo's crew, the ship seems deserted.
The lighting here is much dimmer than it had been on the Aurora, the shadows almost palpable. There's a strange smell, like must and ozone, stale, nothing like the recycled taste of the Apollo's air supply. He doesn't think Fran actually needs air, so maybe she's been getting things ready for them.
Or maybe it's always like this, and she wanders around her ship pretending to breathe, pretending to be human.
He shudders. It's an image that he really wants out of his head, pronto. His bad feeling has been building since the accident, but now it's threatening to go through the roof.
Teyla and Ronon sense something, too, falling into defensive positions without seeming to think about it. Rodney's looking white around the eyes, spooked as a racehorse.
A flicker of motion teases the edge of John's vision. He nearly jumps out of his skin before he realizes it's Ellis and his first officer, coming up behind them. Settle down, he tells himself, because if he loses it, Rodney won't be far behind.
He'll be damned if he's going to be intimidated by shadows, when who knows what sorts of genuine dangers might be around them. It's a big ship, a lot of space to worry about, and he vows to do a little exploring.
They make their way onto the bridge, where Fran comes forward to greet them. "Dr. McKay." She moves to Rodney's side. "Welcome aboard."
"That's his bad arm," John snaps when her hand reaches out for Rodney's shoulder, and she rests her unblinking gaze on him for a disconcerting few seconds.
"I did not realize our maker was injured. It would be no trouble to heal you, Dr. McKay," she says. There's an eagerness in her voice that John doesn't like at all. And he's been hanging around Rodney way too long, because he's picturing nanites in all kinds of disturbingly intimate places.
Rodney seems just as wary. He edges away from her, into John's space. They're close enough that John can feel his warmth, and that's one comforting thing in all this.
"No, no, no," Rodney practically stutters. "That's quite all right. It's nothing; I'm fine."
"We're all good here," John says, going for an easy drawl that ends up ringing a little false. "No worries."
Ronon's moved forward to flank Rodney's other side, doing that thing where he somehow manages to look even bigger than normal. And it's not something John's ever mentioned to Ronon, but it always makes him think of the barbeque planet lizards, the ones that puff up to twice their normal size, and spit, too, which, gross, but they're mighty tasty after a few hours over coals.
Focus, John.
"He doesn't need your help," Ronon's saying. "If he was really hurt, you wouldn't get him to shut up about it."
"Hey," Rodney protests, but subsides when John elbows him.
Fran tilts her head. She looks thoughtful, her eyes darting over the three of them, and John has the sudden urge to shove Rodney behind him.
The moment passes, and Fran nods. "Very well. I'll show you where you'll be staying."
***
A few days of settling in, and John and Teyla have found nothing in their explorations. Ellis has been busy shoring up his crew's morale, and giving Fran and the Atlantis team glowering looks.
Rodney spends every hour he can up on the bridge, trying to get a crack at the ship's systems. Ronon stays close, looking menacing.
It's the end of another fruitless shift of deserted, spooky corridors. Teyla's looking worn and discouraged, and John's ribs hurt like a bitch, and it's time to pack it in. They head back to their quarters after rounding up Rodney, who's surprisingly easy to pry away from the bridge this time.
They're bunking up in one cabin, not willing to split the team. John maneuvers Rodney onto one of the bunks, trying to get a look at his bad arm, but Rodney bats him away impatiently.
"We're going the wrong way," Rodney whispers urgently.
"What?" John says, still trying to tug Rodney's jacket off.
"Quit it, that hurts," Rodney says, shrugging off John's hands. "Fran let me lay in the hyperspace course, but it was just for show. This ship is headed in the wrong direction."
Teyla's settled on her bunk to meditate, but she opens her eyes at Rodney's words. "Rodney, are you sure?"
"Of course, I'm sure. Genius, remember?" Rodney scrubs a hand through his hair. "I finally managed to hack into the navigation computer. The destination coordinates are nowhere near Atlantis."
"Wondered why you got so jumpy in there," Ronon says, looking up from sharpening one of his knives.
"Well, I was trying not to blurt out my discovery to the enemy, while theatrically clutching my chest," Rodney says, rolling his eyes.
"You're kinda weird sometimes, McKay," Ronon says.
Teyla blows out a loud sigh. "Could we focus, please? Rodney, if you were able to access the navigation system..."
Rodney's shaking his head. "Already tried to set a course for home, no go. I can see the coordinates, but I can't alter them."
"What is her plan for us?" Teyla sounds thoughtful, and it's not really a question. "Where are we headed, Rodney?"
Rodney shrugs. "Spitting distance to an O-type binary that'd I'd kill to get a closer look at."
"Rodney," John says, causing Rodney to stop and take a deep breath.
"Nowhere special, near as I can tell," he says. "There's nothing interesting listed in the database, anyway."
"We take her out. Then we worry about turning the ship around." Trust Ronon to cut to the heart of things.
Rodney waves his good hand in the air. "Excellent thinking, Wadsworth. And how are we supposed to do that?"
Ronon shrugs. "You'll think of something. You always do, remember?"
"Oh, thank you."
They brainstorm unproductively for a while. Rodney sighs when John brings Ellis in on the conversation, but it only makes sense to keep the man in the loop.
"Dr. McKay, you created her," Ellis says, holding up a hand when Rodney opens his mouth. "I'm just saying that if she has a weakness, you're the one to know what it is."
"She likes you," John hears himself say, and the eyes of everyone in the room are suddenly trained on him.
"What?" Rodney sounds genuinely bewildered. "She's a program. She has no emotions."
"No, she likes you," John insists. "She called you 'Father.' When you're around, she..."
"Glows," Teyla finishes for him.
Ellis lets out a stifled snort. "So how about you use your god-like influence to get her to turn this bucket around?"
"It's at least worth a try," Teyla says.
"Yeah, charm her," John says. Then he realizes exactly who he's talking to and thinks, We're doomed.
***
When Rodney heads up to the bridge the next day, John follows. It was John's idea, after all, so he figures he might as well keep an eye on things. He stays in the background, watching, and it's just as awkward as he might have predicted. Rodney's all nerves and too talkative, but Fran doesn't seem to notice, responding immediately to his attentions.
Calling it "charm" is too much of a stretch, really, since Rodney views praising Fran's programming skill as a high compliment. But considering that Rodney's last romantic pursuit had ended in a city-wide emergency, a botched marriage proposal, and a hangover lasting for days--"She wants to be friends," Rodney'd said afterwards, and they'd shared winces and an entire jug of ruus wine--John decides he's doing his best.
Rodney's learned a few things since Cadman played backseat driver on that first date with Katie. At least he's managed to tone down the whole Forrest Gump thing. But John's always figured that Rodney was raised either by wolves or cutthroat academics with the people skills of Marvin the Martian, and that's a lot to shake off. Rome wasn't built in a day, and Rodney's still socially retarded enough that it's a good thing it's a robot he's courting.
Which seriously gives John the creeps, because Fran likes to stand too close to Rodney, close enough that their shoulders touch, and Rodney can't afford to move away.
"Your hair is very shiny," he says stiffly, and Fran beams. Rodney's smile looks frozen, and John has to clench his teeth.
When Fran grants Rodney more computer time and greater access to the ship's systems, John celebrates with the rest of the team back in their quarters. But there's a sour taste in his mouth that won't go away.
He tells himself to get over it. Rodney's making progress, making Fran happy, but somehow that just makes it worse. Fran's happiness transforms her, makes her seem almost human, and John keeps getting ambushed by unwanted flashes of sympathy. She's not real, he reminds himself savagely.
After a few days, Rodney manages to buy John a test drive of the captain's chair, and John has to admit he's got high hopes. His ATA gene is something he's always tried not to take for granted. Luck and random genetic chance combined to give him Atlantis. It's the closest thing to home and family he's ever known, and that's more important to him than he ever thought possible.
But he's kind of gotten used to Ancient tech doing his bidding with barely a thought, and he can't help imagining taking control, swooping them all back home in triumph.
Under Fran's watchful eye, John eases down into the familiarity of the Ancient interface. He glances over at Rodney, who returns a subtle nod. John waits to see Rodney touch Fran's shoulder, the gesture morphing into a more intimate caress of her cheek. Their closeness doesn't look awkward at all, and John's stomach lurches.
He closes his eyes until his stomach settles. When he opens them, he sees that Rodney's steered Fran away from the captain's station, the distraction complete. He suppresses the thought that he's pimping out his best friend and lets himself sink into the sense of the ship.
The familiar rush of potential, of power, floods through him, and the sigh of relief escapes him before he can stop himself. The hours and days of impotent frustration after the accident have taken a much harder toll than he ever expected. It's good to have control of something finally.
The ship's all around him, a humming presence of interlocking systems and subsystems, so close he can taste it. He sorts out life support first, testing the waters. A feeling of wellbeing washes over him, everything in the green, good to go.
Next is weapons, where the picture is not so rosy. A sense of emptiness fills him, and he finds himself poking at the gap in the interface like a loose tooth. It feels abandoned, almost dusty, and he knows Fran's ship launched its last drone thousands of years ago. She's defenseless, and by extension so are they.
A sense of uneasiness takes hold, something he can't shake after that. It only gets worse when he moves on to navigation. A map of their hyperspace coordinates takes shape in his head, glowing so brightly he has to stifle the urge to project it for everyone to see. He tries to influence the map, reset, stop, but his commands slide off like rain on a newly waxed car.
The sense of wrongness grows. He focuses on the map, willing the hyperspace coordinates to change. The mental dot doesn't budge, and he pushes harder and harder still. There's a point when the entire mental construct--the map, the comforting hum of the ship, the minor notes of each subsystem--winks out of existence. He's trapped for an endless moment, unable to breathe.
When the interface returns, it's like light and air after being buried in a cave-in, and the relief is nearly overwhelming. But now his neck itches, and he knows there's someone's right there, looking over his shoulder.
No, he hears when he tries to bring the ship into real space. It's Fran's voice, her presence entwined with his, too close, too intimate. His mouth tastes of metal, and he panics for a moment, mentally flailing, his sense of self splintering.
Get away, he thinks. It's a reflex, as is his retreat from navigation, but Fran's presence follows him out of the subsystem level. He can feel his ship sense fading, but he grits his teeth, stubbornly clings to it.
Stop, she says. It's a command, implacable as steel, but he shudders and tries to resist. Stop. Angry now, and her presence looms larger and larger, filling the interface, crowding him out.
She's all around, squeezing him tighter, until he's drowning, darkness smudging the edges of his world. I'm dying, he thinks with a detached sort of bewilderment.
Then fingers, burning hot and strong, are on him, dragging him back from the brink. "John," he hears, desperate and frightened, and he knows this voice. Not Fran, there's no frightening metallic taste in his mouth, no intruder in his head.
Rodney, he thinks. Thank god. He tries to reach out, teetering between reality and interface. He's dizzy with it, and there's the fleeting thought that if this was what Carson felt all the time, it's no wonder he hated the chair.
His hand touches something comfortingly solid, warm, alive. It's Rodney, Rodney's soft shirt and belly, firm muscle under the padding, and he twists his fingers into the cotton fabric.
"Let's get you out of there." The voice is soft and soothing, and then Rodney's leaning over him, close enough that he can feel breath against his face.
He flops forward as he's pulled out of the chair, his face buried in Rodney's chest. His arms wind themselves around Rodney's midsection, and he can tell he's squeezing the breath out of Rodney, too tight, too desperate. He can't stop himself, just as he can't stop the long, shaky sound that comes out of his mouth, almost a sob.
"Shh," Rodney soothes. "It's okay. I got you."
"Not everyone can adapt to the interface," Fran says coolly.
Rodney's snarl cuts her off. "Get Ronon up here. Now."
Things are a blur after that, with brief flashes of clarity. Being hoisted up in Ronon's arms like a baby, weak as water in Ronon's gentle carry. Teyla's soothing voice, calming his shaking insides. A nosebleed that won't quit until Ronon does something to his face that nearly makes him scream.
"The ship wouldn't listen to me," he's finally able to report, once the fuzziness passes. He's tucked up in his bunk, his team hovering around him.
Rodney keeps trying to dab at John's face with a wet handkerchief, until John snatches it from him. John scrubs at his own nose and upper lip, grimacing when it comes away stained bright red.
"I'm fine," he says to Rodney, who pushes him down when he tries to get up.
"You almost died," Rodney snaps. "You're not fine."
"I will restrain you, if necessary," Teyla says, her voice low with suppressed emotion, and he leans back against his pillow with a sigh.
Ronon's eyes survey him, head to toe, followed by an elegant shrug. "Not so great a plan, Sheppard," he rumbles.
"I didn't expect it to be like that," John says defensively. "Resistance like that, it kind of surprised me."
"Nearly killed you, you mean."
John ignores Rodney's low grumbling and dabs uneasily at his nose with the handkerchief. He's still weirded out by the sense of Fran, inside his head, ripping him to shreds.
"Fran was right there when I tried to take control," he says, cautiously exploring the memory. "She could block everything I tried. She knocked me right out of the interface."
Rodney's head snaps around at that. "She was in the interface? You could feel her?" he asks urgently, pulling out his datapad.
"Yeah, I think so," John says, resisting the urge to squirm.
"You think so? Or know so? John, this is important." Rodney's tone is the one that means he's onto something.
"I know so. Okay, Rodney?" John says softly, and something about his words make Rodney look up from his work for a moment, startled.
After a moment, Rodney nods, and he looks back down at his datapad. "This is, this could be good." Rodney taps away for a long stretch, and it's a few seconds before John realizes he's holding his breath.
When Rodney looks up, he's grinning, his blue eyes alight.
Ronon's been lounging at the foot of John's bunk like a giant tomcat, but now he sits straight up. "You figured it out," he says, reaching over to thump Rodney on the back. "Just like I said you would."
Rodney's nodding smugly, and John finds himself grinning right back at him. "With Rodney, that's what you call a sucker bet."
***
"I don't have direct access to Fran's programming anymore; she must have shut that down at some point." Rodney waves a finger in the air. "She adapts astonishingly fast, don't you think? I gutted most of her protocols, and she still manages--"
"Trojan virus, you were saying," John says, loudly enough to cut through the babble. Rodney's been glued to his datapad for nearly twenty-four hours now, and the Apollo's crew is getting dangerously restive. Ellis is keeping a tight rein, but John's starting to worry that someone's going to try something stupid if they don't act soon.
"Right, right." Rodney waves his datapad at them. "I just need to upload this into the ship's computer. Since she networks with the ship to keep it under her control, she'll get infected too."
"Like herpes," Ronon grunts.
They all turn to look at him, and Rodney's expression of distaste is almost comical. "Okay, gross," he says, wrinkling his nose.
"Is this a sharing moment, Ronon?" Teyla asks archly.
Ronon shrugs. "It's Jennifer. That medical stuff kinda rubs off."
John and Rodney and Teyla share knowing looks, but Ronon breaks out the death glower, and they keep silent.
"Anyway," Rodney continues. "I upload my program, and then it's bam."
"No more Fran," John says.
"No more Fran," Rodney repeats. He seems almost solemn, and John definitely preferred the smugness. This'll be the second time Rodney will destroy his creation, and John doesn't think it's gotten much easier for him.
"We have no choice in this, Rodney," Teyla says, because not much slips by her.
"I'm ready to go home." Ronon sounds almost wistful, and John couldn't agree more.
***
A few hours later and they're back on the bridge. John bites back a few pained grimaces and walks slowly to cover his stiffness. He's still feeling the effects of meeting Fran in the interface, but it's probably best not to remind her of that encounter.
Rodney's going for relaxed, his datapad casually slung under his arm, as if it's not carrying a deadly payload.
And John's trying to ignore it, but the captain's station is making him a little twitchy now. Just looking at it makes him queasy, his eyes darting away uneasily.
Fran barely acknowledges their presence, except for a few odd looks aimed at John. She warms back up to Rodney, after a half hour or so of compliments, judicious touches, and lots of eye contact.
John will really have to stop thinking of Rodney as lacking charm after this. He's not perfect, but his missteps are almost endearing.
And maybe John's lost his grip when he starts thinking of Rodney's brand of charm as endearing.
Rodney wanders over to lean a little too casually against a console. When he gives the signal, John moves, catching Fran's attention with inane questions about her ship's top speed. He keeps her talking, watching Rodney out of the corner of his eye.
He holds his breath after Rodney gives a thumbs up. If Rodney's calculations are correct, the virus should take effect almost immediately.
"What are you do--" Fran goes silent, her arms falling gracelessly to her sides. Her body seizes, every joint locked, and a high-pitched, mechanical wail pushes past her clenched teeth. John claps his hands over his ears, but the sound cuts out almost immediately.
"Damn," John breathes. He hadn't expected it to be quite this disturbing to watch, but he doesn't let himself look away.
When Fran's eyes roll back into her head, Rodney reaches out to her, and it's just like Rodney to pick the worst possible time to be chivalrous.
Because that's when everything comes unglued. Fran's arm lashes out, sending Rodney crashing into a bulkhead with a sickening thud.
"Rodney," John bellows. Rodney's too still, his legs splayed like a discarded doll. It's one of John's nightmares come to life, and he's rushing forward without a thought. He almost makes it to Rodney's side, close enough that he can tell Rodney's still conscious, his eyes wide and panicked.
Then a hand like iron is clamping around his throat, and oh, god, he can't breathe. He twists in her grasp, kicking frantically, but it's like kicking a brick wall. His strength fades fast. His vision closes down until Fran's perfectly inhuman face is all he sees. Her eyes are empty of any trace of emotion as she tightens her grip.
"You'll kill him," Rodney says breathlessly. "Fran, I'm sorry. Please, don't hurt him."
John's closing down, lights out, when he hears Ronon roar, and Teyla, sounding as cold and deadly as he's ever heard her.
Then he's crashing to the floor, the jolt to his ribs like fire, but he can breathe again. His vision clears up after a couple of breaths, and he finally manages to parse Teyla's words.
"If he dies, we all die," she'd said.
Teyla's got her sidearm leveled at one of the view ports, her finger on the trigger, and apparently the threat of explosive decompression is enough to give even a Replicator pause. Fran's face is immobile, but there's something wary in the tilt of her head.
"I'm okay," John croaks, giving Teyla a weak little wave. "Stand down, Teyla," he says, and she finally lowers her weapon.
"Fran, it was my fault, my doing," Rodney babbles. He's trying to stand by propping himself against the bulkhead, but he puts weight on his bad arm. "Oh, christ," he says, squeezing his eyes shut, and he folds back onto the deck.
Ronon's at Rodney's side in a few long strides, bending over to lend a hand. "Shake it off, McKay," he says, but he's gentle as he helps Rodney to his feet.
"Let them go, Fran. It's me you want. I'll go with you." Rodney's sweating, his eyes fixed on Fran's.
"Rodney, no," John says, wincing as he pulls himself up off the deck, but Rodney barrels right over the words.
"I won't try to resist, I promise, if you let them go. Drop everyone off on a nice planet with a stargate somewhere. They're more trouble than they're worth, honestly."
"We hardly think you're in a position to negotiate, Dr. McKay." Fran's voice sounds deeper now, rougher. Her features are even more wooden than before, which John wouldn't have thought possible.
"Fran--"
She cuts him off. "Is not in charge right now. I do not share her strange attachment to you, I'm afraid."
Rodney's eyes go wide. "Oh, god, oh, god. I knew there was no way she could've survived that blast--"
Fran is changing, blurring in ways that makes John's stomach churn. Her face settles into softer, rounder features than before, although the look in her eyes is much, much harder. "Her physical form did not survive. Only traces of her engram, her 'program' I believe you would say, were left."
"And that program is what Rodney's virus targeted," Teyla says. She's finally put away her sidearm, John notices.
"Just so," Fran says, moving to the command chair. "Leaving me in control once more." She closes her eyes a moment, resting a palm on a console. "Finally. No more delays. We'll be there in hours."
"Fran was putting off our arrival so she could spend time with McKay." Ronon sounds dubious, but Fran's nodding.
"She was quite stubborn about him, in her way." Fran glances over at Rodney. "But don't let that flatter you too much, Dr. McKay. In the end, you overestimated your value. Although it was rather amusing watching you beg for your people's release."
Rodney swallows hard, his face paler than before, but he says nothing. He looks utterly exhausted, resting more of his weight against Ronon.
"The big question is who," John snarls. "Who slapped Fran's program over yours and why?"
"That is the main point, isn't it?" Fran says coolly. "She thought you'd underestimate Fran, hollowed shadow that she is. A monster of your own creation."
John shifts his weight impatiently. "Yeah, yeah, let's not get all Gothic horror here."
Fran pauses, and the twist of her lips is nowhere near a smile. "But I am not so fragile. I am not so easily swayed in our mission. It's the lot of you she wants, the entire team. Not just Dr. McKay."
"'She'?" Teyla asks, her voice flat.
"You really can't guess? Why, Dr. Weir, of course."
***
Part 2
by Purna
~15,500 words
team story with bonus McKay/Sheppard
PG
Summary: An accident on the Apollo reunites the team with an old friend.
A/N: Many thanks to lamardeuse for the swift beta. Also thanks to everyone who read this as it was posted as a WIP. That version was a first draft of what's posted here. During the editing, some changes were made to previously posted material, including a few scenes added or expanded on.
This story was inspired by the episode "Be All My Sins Remembered," and contains major spoilers for that episode. It assumes the season-ending cliffhanger has been resolved, but contains spoilers only through "Outcast."
"Next jump on my mark." Rodney's voice is a cracked whisper, rough, barely audible, but it jerks John from his stupor.
He takes a deep breath, blinking away fatigue to bring the Apollo's bridge into focus. Colonel Ellis has barely moved from his station since the accident over sixty hours ago. He's too still and eerily silent, his face drawn, the skin stretched tight over his skull.
An accident, nobody to blame, but it had happened under Ellis' watch. A black hole yanked them out of hyperspace, violently enough to practically crack the ship in two. The fact that the singularity was unmarked on any of the Ancient charts is yet another reminder of their fallibility in John's mind.
There was nothing Ellis could have done differently, but it doesn't change the fact that nineteen members of his crew are dead, his ship crippled. The burden of his guilt is crushing him.
Rodney's hunched over the navigation console, ousting the crewman stationed there. He's been bouncing between the bridge and engineering this whole time, mouth going as fast as his brain. It's been nonstop, patching hull plating, splicing wiring, nursing the hyperspace engines along as best as he can, but John wonders how long he can keep it up. His eyes are too bright, darkly bruised underneath, and his right arm is cradled against his chest as he awkwardly types in commands with his left hand.
The ache in John's ribs flares up, and he can't breathe for a second. He did something to his side when the accident slammed him into a bulkhead, but nobody is in great shape. What's left of the crew is stretched to the breaking point, too much death, too much work to do, too afraid to sleep.
"Mark," Rodney says, and the shift to hyperspace is the roughest one yet, rattling John's teeth. He feels it in his bones, an ache like the arthritis that practically crippled him when the Wraith drained him to the point of death.
John holds his breath. The engines fail as often as not, dropping them back into real space, but so far, so good.
"How much more of this?" Teyla says, her voice drugged with fatigue. Her forehead is marred by pinprick burns from taking her turn at welding, and John tries not to wonder if they're going to turn her son into an orphan before his first birthday.
I talked her into coming back too soon, he thinks, not for the first time, but even he can recognize that it's pure gut, not logic, and he's glad he never bothered to voice his misgivings. Teyla had enough guilt of her own to deal with, and Carter would have probably kicked him out of her office.
Rodney doesn't take her question as rhetorical. "Based on our current progress?" His shoulders slump, his breath huffing out in a weary sigh. "Two weeks, minimum. Maybe as much as a month."
"We don't have a month, Dr. McKay. We're still losing atmosphere." Ellis sounds bleak, not snide, but Rodney's chin goes up anyway.
"Well, I'm sorry. We patched her up as best we could."
"He's not blaming you, Rodney," John says softly, because Rodney's been killing himself to buy them time, coaxing the impossible out of the damaged ship, and Ellis may be kind of a tool but he isn't stupid.
He knows there's little hope of rescue otherwise. Even if the Daedalus could arrive in time, there's no guarantee the same thing won't happen to her as well.
They manage only ten minutes in hyperspace this time before the engines sputter out. When John feels the jolt, he tries not to groan. He doesn't need to see Rodney's pinched expression to figure out that the engines are getting worse, that the race against time is one they're losing.
Over the next few hours, Rodney coaxes three more jumps out of the Apollo, short hops really, none lasting more than half an hour. The time he spends tinkering with the engines before each jump is getting longer and longer.
Meanwhile, Ellis' chief engineer delivers more bad news: the patches to the hull aren't holding, the air leaks are getting worse. John takes a shift of welding with Ronon and Teyla, and afterwards, Ronon smacks him on the shoulder.
"Ow, big guy," John mumbles, but Ronon ignores him.
"Sheppard," Ronon says and then takes a breath. "John," he adds, which makes John blink. "Whatever happens." Ronon shrugs, a rueful smirk crossing his face. "Glad I met you."
Teyla's hand, small but strong, grips his. "As am I," she says. "The both of you, and Rodney, as well." Teyla's never seemed ruffled, even facing death, and it's no different now.
"Don't try to talk to Rodney about this right now," John warns, and Teyla raises an eyebrow at him.
"I would not. He would take it as a vote of no confidence."
John relaxes. They're team, they're Teyla and Ronon; they know Rodney's quirks as well as he does. He looks at them, meeting their eyes in turn. Then he has to duck his head and clear his throat. "You know. Same here," he says to the deck.
He's opening his mouth to try to say something less lame when his radio saves him. It's Ellis, his voice tense, calling them back to the bridge.
Everyone's strangely frozen when they return to the command deck. Rodney's already there, shoulders hunched. His eyes are wide and panicky when he glances back at them, and something like guilt flickers over his face as his eyes meet John's.
"What?" John blurts, and Rodney points at the screen.
We're being hailed, John thinks with a sense of relief so profound it's dizzying. And then he realizes who--or what, rather, the screen is displaying, and it's like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath away.
"Not possible," he breathes, and Rodney shoots him a desperate glance, his face positively green, this close to puking.
Lazarus back from the dead, it's a smiling, silent Fran, her head tilted to one side.
John's upper lip pulls tight, and he knows he's not controlling his expression well, but it doesn't matter. She has eyes only for Rodney, her expression too intense, like a lover or a predator, hungry, needy.
That's disturbing enough, but she's creepy in so many ways beyond that. Her eyes are unblinking, her features too smooth and symmetrical to ever look truly human. Rodney made that, he thinks with a shudder, a weapon in the shape of a woman. A Replicator. Enemy.
When she finally speaks, it's to Rodney alone, ignoring everyone else on the bridge. "Father," she says, and now John feels like puking, too. "You've returned to us. This is a joyous occasion."
Rodney's mouth opens and closes, wordless for once in his life.
John hears his own voice fill the silence. "Oh, crap."
***
"So if we can just stabilize the structural damage and get a handle on the hull integrity issue..." Rodney falters. His good arm, which he's been using to gesture wildly around engineering, drops to his side.
The Apollo's engineering crew is not even pretending to work now, their tools and tablets set aside. They're listening intently, leaning towards the large group who've invaded their section. It's an odd mix: bridge crew, a security detail, John's team. And a Replicator.
Rodney's spiel has inspired a nod here and there from the chief engineer, and now she's shooting sideways glances at Fran, looking hopeful and wary at the same.
But Fran is shaking her head. "We scanned your ship very carefully. The damage is just too severe, Dr. McKay."
At least she's using Rodney's name now, thank god. John doesn't think Rodney said anything about the father business, but Fran must have noticed his unmistakable flinch every time she used the word.
After all, she's programmed to adapt, John thinks a little queasily.
"You are welcome to evacuate to our ship, however," she adds, and John really hopes he's imagining the flirtatious lilt in her voice.
Oh, hell, no. He's not alone in his instant rejection of the idea, judging from Ellis' scowl, Rodney's sputtering protests, and the impassive masks that Teyla and Ronon are wearing.
"How did you survive anyway, Fran? The whole planet was molten at the end." Ellis turns the name Rodney gave her into a sneer. Apparently if she can't or won't help him fix his ship, he's over the diplomacy thing.
She looks at him coolly. "We're very difficult to kill, as you're aware."
It's not really an answer, and John narrows his eyes at her. Her only response is a guileless smile, and then she continues, "Stubborn, I suppose, especially this particular engram." Her attention goes back to Rodney, and her smile widens. "A reflection of our maker, I like to imagine."
John can hear Ellis snort in disgust. Rodney tries to smile back at her but fails miserably. Fran's expression slips a little when she takes in his frozen grimace, but she recovers after a pause.
"I would not linger, Dr. McKay. Your ship is falling apart as we speak."
Nobody's ready to leave the Apollo yet, but it's obvious that Fran's assessment is correct. It keeps getting colder, and the air is getting thinner, and soon their time is up. If they stay, they die, and that's no choice at all.
John and his team are among the last to leave. They hang back on the bridge with Colonel Ellis and his first officer, who looks like he's either going to punch someone or break into tears.
"She was a good ship," the first officer says quietly to Ellis, and John realizes they're intruding.
"We'll, uh, head over," he says, jerking his head towards the door. Rodney touches one of the consoles sadly on the way out.
"Did your best, McKay," Ronon says. He reaches over to give Rodney a couple of pats on the back, gentle and clumsy, which at least gives John permission to grip Rodney's shoulder for a second.
Rodney doesn't say anything, just makes an unhappy little sound and hugs his bad arm more tightly to his chest.
Teyla takes the lead as they walk through the airlock, her back straight and her head held high.
Fran's ship is Aurora-class, large enough for their entire crew and then some. John wonders how she's been handling it all by herself, because except for the Apollo's crew, the ship seems deserted.
The lighting here is much dimmer than it had been on the Aurora, the shadows almost palpable. There's a strange smell, like must and ozone, stale, nothing like the recycled taste of the Apollo's air supply. He doesn't think Fran actually needs air, so maybe she's been getting things ready for them.
Or maybe it's always like this, and she wanders around her ship pretending to breathe, pretending to be human.
He shudders. It's an image that he really wants out of his head, pronto. His bad feeling has been building since the accident, but now it's threatening to go through the roof.
Teyla and Ronon sense something, too, falling into defensive positions without seeming to think about it. Rodney's looking white around the eyes, spooked as a racehorse.
A flicker of motion teases the edge of John's vision. He nearly jumps out of his skin before he realizes it's Ellis and his first officer, coming up behind them. Settle down, he tells himself, because if he loses it, Rodney won't be far behind.
He'll be damned if he's going to be intimidated by shadows, when who knows what sorts of genuine dangers might be around them. It's a big ship, a lot of space to worry about, and he vows to do a little exploring.
They make their way onto the bridge, where Fran comes forward to greet them. "Dr. McKay." She moves to Rodney's side. "Welcome aboard."
"That's his bad arm," John snaps when her hand reaches out for Rodney's shoulder, and she rests her unblinking gaze on him for a disconcerting few seconds.
"I did not realize our maker was injured. It would be no trouble to heal you, Dr. McKay," she says. There's an eagerness in her voice that John doesn't like at all. And he's been hanging around Rodney way too long, because he's picturing nanites in all kinds of disturbingly intimate places.
Rodney seems just as wary. He edges away from her, into John's space. They're close enough that John can feel his warmth, and that's one comforting thing in all this.
"No, no, no," Rodney practically stutters. "That's quite all right. It's nothing; I'm fine."
"We're all good here," John says, going for an easy drawl that ends up ringing a little false. "No worries."
Ronon's moved forward to flank Rodney's other side, doing that thing where he somehow manages to look even bigger than normal. And it's not something John's ever mentioned to Ronon, but it always makes him think of the barbeque planet lizards, the ones that puff up to twice their normal size, and spit, too, which, gross, but they're mighty tasty after a few hours over coals.
Focus, John.
"He doesn't need your help," Ronon's saying. "If he was really hurt, you wouldn't get him to shut up about it."
"Hey," Rodney protests, but subsides when John elbows him.
Fran tilts her head. She looks thoughtful, her eyes darting over the three of them, and John has the sudden urge to shove Rodney behind him.
The moment passes, and Fran nods. "Very well. I'll show you where you'll be staying."
***
A few days of settling in, and John and Teyla have found nothing in their explorations. Ellis has been busy shoring up his crew's morale, and giving Fran and the Atlantis team glowering looks.
Rodney spends every hour he can up on the bridge, trying to get a crack at the ship's systems. Ronon stays close, looking menacing.
It's the end of another fruitless shift of deserted, spooky corridors. Teyla's looking worn and discouraged, and John's ribs hurt like a bitch, and it's time to pack it in. They head back to their quarters after rounding up Rodney, who's surprisingly easy to pry away from the bridge this time.
They're bunking up in one cabin, not willing to split the team. John maneuvers Rodney onto one of the bunks, trying to get a look at his bad arm, but Rodney bats him away impatiently.
"We're going the wrong way," Rodney whispers urgently.
"What?" John says, still trying to tug Rodney's jacket off.
"Quit it, that hurts," Rodney says, shrugging off John's hands. "Fran let me lay in the hyperspace course, but it was just for show. This ship is headed in the wrong direction."
Teyla's settled on her bunk to meditate, but she opens her eyes at Rodney's words. "Rodney, are you sure?"
"Of course, I'm sure. Genius, remember?" Rodney scrubs a hand through his hair. "I finally managed to hack into the navigation computer. The destination coordinates are nowhere near Atlantis."
"Wondered why you got so jumpy in there," Ronon says, looking up from sharpening one of his knives.
"Well, I was trying not to blurt out my discovery to the enemy, while theatrically clutching my chest," Rodney says, rolling his eyes.
"You're kinda weird sometimes, McKay," Ronon says.
Teyla blows out a loud sigh. "Could we focus, please? Rodney, if you were able to access the navigation system..."
Rodney's shaking his head. "Already tried to set a course for home, no go. I can see the coordinates, but I can't alter them."
"What is her plan for us?" Teyla sounds thoughtful, and it's not really a question. "Where are we headed, Rodney?"
Rodney shrugs. "Spitting distance to an O-type binary that'd I'd kill to get a closer look at."
"Rodney," John says, causing Rodney to stop and take a deep breath.
"Nowhere special, near as I can tell," he says. "There's nothing interesting listed in the database, anyway."
"We take her out. Then we worry about turning the ship around." Trust Ronon to cut to the heart of things.
Rodney waves his good hand in the air. "Excellent thinking, Wadsworth. And how are we supposed to do that?"
Ronon shrugs. "You'll think of something. You always do, remember?"
"Oh, thank you."
They brainstorm unproductively for a while. Rodney sighs when John brings Ellis in on the conversation, but it only makes sense to keep the man in the loop.
"Dr. McKay, you created her," Ellis says, holding up a hand when Rodney opens his mouth. "I'm just saying that if she has a weakness, you're the one to know what it is."
"She likes you," John hears himself say, and the eyes of everyone in the room are suddenly trained on him.
"What?" Rodney sounds genuinely bewildered. "She's a program. She has no emotions."
"No, she likes you," John insists. "She called you 'Father.' When you're around, she..."
"Glows," Teyla finishes for him.
Ellis lets out a stifled snort. "So how about you use your god-like influence to get her to turn this bucket around?"
"It's at least worth a try," Teyla says.
"Yeah, charm her," John says. Then he realizes exactly who he's talking to and thinks, We're doomed.
***
When Rodney heads up to the bridge the next day, John follows. It was John's idea, after all, so he figures he might as well keep an eye on things. He stays in the background, watching, and it's just as awkward as he might have predicted. Rodney's all nerves and too talkative, but Fran doesn't seem to notice, responding immediately to his attentions.
Calling it "charm" is too much of a stretch, really, since Rodney views praising Fran's programming skill as a high compliment. But considering that Rodney's last romantic pursuit had ended in a city-wide emergency, a botched marriage proposal, and a hangover lasting for days--"She wants to be friends," Rodney'd said afterwards, and they'd shared winces and an entire jug of ruus wine--John decides he's doing his best.
Rodney's learned a few things since Cadman played backseat driver on that first date with Katie. At least he's managed to tone down the whole Forrest Gump thing. But John's always figured that Rodney was raised either by wolves or cutthroat academics with the people skills of Marvin the Martian, and that's a lot to shake off. Rome wasn't built in a day, and Rodney's still socially retarded enough that it's a good thing it's a robot he's courting.
Which seriously gives John the creeps, because Fran likes to stand too close to Rodney, close enough that their shoulders touch, and Rodney can't afford to move away.
"Your hair is very shiny," he says stiffly, and Fran beams. Rodney's smile looks frozen, and John has to clench his teeth.
When Fran grants Rodney more computer time and greater access to the ship's systems, John celebrates with the rest of the team back in their quarters. But there's a sour taste in his mouth that won't go away.
He tells himself to get over it. Rodney's making progress, making Fran happy, but somehow that just makes it worse. Fran's happiness transforms her, makes her seem almost human, and John keeps getting ambushed by unwanted flashes of sympathy. She's not real, he reminds himself savagely.
After a few days, Rodney manages to buy John a test drive of the captain's chair, and John has to admit he's got high hopes. His ATA gene is something he's always tried not to take for granted. Luck and random genetic chance combined to give him Atlantis. It's the closest thing to home and family he's ever known, and that's more important to him than he ever thought possible.
But he's kind of gotten used to Ancient tech doing his bidding with barely a thought, and he can't help imagining taking control, swooping them all back home in triumph.
Under Fran's watchful eye, John eases down into the familiarity of the Ancient interface. He glances over at Rodney, who returns a subtle nod. John waits to see Rodney touch Fran's shoulder, the gesture morphing into a more intimate caress of her cheek. Their closeness doesn't look awkward at all, and John's stomach lurches.
He closes his eyes until his stomach settles. When he opens them, he sees that Rodney's steered Fran away from the captain's station, the distraction complete. He suppresses the thought that he's pimping out his best friend and lets himself sink into the sense of the ship.
The familiar rush of potential, of power, floods through him, and the sigh of relief escapes him before he can stop himself. The hours and days of impotent frustration after the accident have taken a much harder toll than he ever expected. It's good to have control of something finally.
The ship's all around him, a humming presence of interlocking systems and subsystems, so close he can taste it. He sorts out life support first, testing the waters. A feeling of wellbeing washes over him, everything in the green, good to go.
Next is weapons, where the picture is not so rosy. A sense of emptiness fills him, and he finds himself poking at the gap in the interface like a loose tooth. It feels abandoned, almost dusty, and he knows Fran's ship launched its last drone thousands of years ago. She's defenseless, and by extension so are they.
A sense of uneasiness takes hold, something he can't shake after that. It only gets worse when he moves on to navigation. A map of their hyperspace coordinates takes shape in his head, glowing so brightly he has to stifle the urge to project it for everyone to see. He tries to influence the map, reset, stop, but his commands slide off like rain on a newly waxed car.
The sense of wrongness grows. He focuses on the map, willing the hyperspace coordinates to change. The mental dot doesn't budge, and he pushes harder and harder still. There's a point when the entire mental construct--the map, the comforting hum of the ship, the minor notes of each subsystem--winks out of existence. He's trapped for an endless moment, unable to breathe.
When the interface returns, it's like light and air after being buried in a cave-in, and the relief is nearly overwhelming. But now his neck itches, and he knows there's someone's right there, looking over his shoulder.
No, he hears when he tries to bring the ship into real space. It's Fran's voice, her presence entwined with his, too close, too intimate. His mouth tastes of metal, and he panics for a moment, mentally flailing, his sense of self splintering.
Get away, he thinks. It's a reflex, as is his retreat from navigation, but Fran's presence follows him out of the subsystem level. He can feel his ship sense fading, but he grits his teeth, stubbornly clings to it.
Stop, she says. It's a command, implacable as steel, but he shudders and tries to resist. Stop. Angry now, and her presence looms larger and larger, filling the interface, crowding him out.
She's all around, squeezing him tighter, until he's drowning, darkness smudging the edges of his world. I'm dying, he thinks with a detached sort of bewilderment.
Then fingers, burning hot and strong, are on him, dragging him back from the brink. "John," he hears, desperate and frightened, and he knows this voice. Not Fran, there's no frightening metallic taste in his mouth, no intruder in his head.
Rodney, he thinks. Thank god. He tries to reach out, teetering between reality and interface. He's dizzy with it, and there's the fleeting thought that if this was what Carson felt all the time, it's no wonder he hated the chair.
His hand touches something comfortingly solid, warm, alive. It's Rodney, Rodney's soft shirt and belly, firm muscle under the padding, and he twists his fingers into the cotton fabric.
"Let's get you out of there." The voice is soft and soothing, and then Rodney's leaning over him, close enough that he can feel breath against his face.
He flops forward as he's pulled out of the chair, his face buried in Rodney's chest. His arms wind themselves around Rodney's midsection, and he can tell he's squeezing the breath out of Rodney, too tight, too desperate. He can't stop himself, just as he can't stop the long, shaky sound that comes out of his mouth, almost a sob.
"Shh," Rodney soothes. "It's okay. I got you."
"Not everyone can adapt to the interface," Fran says coolly.
Rodney's snarl cuts her off. "Get Ronon up here. Now."
Things are a blur after that, with brief flashes of clarity. Being hoisted up in Ronon's arms like a baby, weak as water in Ronon's gentle carry. Teyla's soothing voice, calming his shaking insides. A nosebleed that won't quit until Ronon does something to his face that nearly makes him scream.
"The ship wouldn't listen to me," he's finally able to report, once the fuzziness passes. He's tucked up in his bunk, his team hovering around him.
Rodney keeps trying to dab at John's face with a wet handkerchief, until John snatches it from him. John scrubs at his own nose and upper lip, grimacing when it comes away stained bright red.
"I'm fine," he says to Rodney, who pushes him down when he tries to get up.
"You almost died," Rodney snaps. "You're not fine."
"I will restrain you, if necessary," Teyla says, her voice low with suppressed emotion, and he leans back against his pillow with a sigh.
Ronon's eyes survey him, head to toe, followed by an elegant shrug. "Not so great a plan, Sheppard," he rumbles.
"I didn't expect it to be like that," John says defensively. "Resistance like that, it kind of surprised me."
"Nearly killed you, you mean."
John ignores Rodney's low grumbling and dabs uneasily at his nose with the handkerchief. He's still weirded out by the sense of Fran, inside his head, ripping him to shreds.
"Fran was right there when I tried to take control," he says, cautiously exploring the memory. "She could block everything I tried. She knocked me right out of the interface."
Rodney's head snaps around at that. "She was in the interface? You could feel her?" he asks urgently, pulling out his datapad.
"Yeah, I think so," John says, resisting the urge to squirm.
"You think so? Or know so? John, this is important." Rodney's tone is the one that means he's onto something.
"I know so. Okay, Rodney?" John says softly, and something about his words make Rodney look up from his work for a moment, startled.
After a moment, Rodney nods, and he looks back down at his datapad. "This is, this could be good." Rodney taps away for a long stretch, and it's a few seconds before John realizes he's holding his breath.
When Rodney looks up, he's grinning, his blue eyes alight.
Ronon's been lounging at the foot of John's bunk like a giant tomcat, but now he sits straight up. "You figured it out," he says, reaching over to thump Rodney on the back. "Just like I said you would."
Rodney's nodding smugly, and John finds himself grinning right back at him. "With Rodney, that's what you call a sucker bet."
***
"I don't have direct access to Fran's programming anymore; she must have shut that down at some point." Rodney waves a finger in the air. "She adapts astonishingly fast, don't you think? I gutted most of her protocols, and she still manages--"
"Trojan virus, you were saying," John says, loudly enough to cut through the babble. Rodney's been glued to his datapad for nearly twenty-four hours now, and the Apollo's crew is getting dangerously restive. Ellis is keeping a tight rein, but John's starting to worry that someone's going to try something stupid if they don't act soon.
"Right, right." Rodney waves his datapad at them. "I just need to upload this into the ship's computer. Since she networks with the ship to keep it under her control, she'll get infected too."
"Like herpes," Ronon grunts.
They all turn to look at him, and Rodney's expression of distaste is almost comical. "Okay, gross," he says, wrinkling his nose.
"Is this a sharing moment, Ronon?" Teyla asks archly.
Ronon shrugs. "It's Jennifer. That medical stuff kinda rubs off."
John and Rodney and Teyla share knowing looks, but Ronon breaks out the death glower, and they keep silent.
"Anyway," Rodney continues. "I upload my program, and then it's bam."
"No more Fran," John says.
"No more Fran," Rodney repeats. He seems almost solemn, and John definitely preferred the smugness. This'll be the second time Rodney will destroy his creation, and John doesn't think it's gotten much easier for him.
"We have no choice in this, Rodney," Teyla says, because not much slips by her.
"I'm ready to go home." Ronon sounds almost wistful, and John couldn't agree more.
***
A few hours later and they're back on the bridge. John bites back a few pained grimaces and walks slowly to cover his stiffness. He's still feeling the effects of meeting Fran in the interface, but it's probably best not to remind her of that encounter.
Rodney's going for relaxed, his datapad casually slung under his arm, as if it's not carrying a deadly payload.
And John's trying to ignore it, but the captain's station is making him a little twitchy now. Just looking at it makes him queasy, his eyes darting away uneasily.
Fran barely acknowledges their presence, except for a few odd looks aimed at John. She warms back up to Rodney, after a half hour or so of compliments, judicious touches, and lots of eye contact.
John will really have to stop thinking of Rodney as lacking charm after this. He's not perfect, but his missteps are almost endearing.
And maybe John's lost his grip when he starts thinking of Rodney's brand of charm as endearing.
Rodney wanders over to lean a little too casually against a console. When he gives the signal, John moves, catching Fran's attention with inane questions about her ship's top speed. He keeps her talking, watching Rodney out of the corner of his eye.
He holds his breath after Rodney gives a thumbs up. If Rodney's calculations are correct, the virus should take effect almost immediately.
"What are you do--" Fran goes silent, her arms falling gracelessly to her sides. Her body seizes, every joint locked, and a high-pitched, mechanical wail pushes past her clenched teeth. John claps his hands over his ears, but the sound cuts out almost immediately.
"Damn," John breathes. He hadn't expected it to be quite this disturbing to watch, but he doesn't let himself look away.
When Fran's eyes roll back into her head, Rodney reaches out to her, and it's just like Rodney to pick the worst possible time to be chivalrous.
Because that's when everything comes unglued. Fran's arm lashes out, sending Rodney crashing into a bulkhead with a sickening thud.
"Rodney," John bellows. Rodney's too still, his legs splayed like a discarded doll. It's one of John's nightmares come to life, and he's rushing forward without a thought. He almost makes it to Rodney's side, close enough that he can tell Rodney's still conscious, his eyes wide and panicked.
Then a hand like iron is clamping around his throat, and oh, god, he can't breathe. He twists in her grasp, kicking frantically, but it's like kicking a brick wall. His strength fades fast. His vision closes down until Fran's perfectly inhuman face is all he sees. Her eyes are empty of any trace of emotion as she tightens her grip.
"You'll kill him," Rodney says breathlessly. "Fran, I'm sorry. Please, don't hurt him."
John's closing down, lights out, when he hears Ronon roar, and Teyla, sounding as cold and deadly as he's ever heard her.
Then he's crashing to the floor, the jolt to his ribs like fire, but he can breathe again. His vision clears up after a couple of breaths, and he finally manages to parse Teyla's words.
"If he dies, we all die," she'd said.
Teyla's got her sidearm leveled at one of the view ports, her finger on the trigger, and apparently the threat of explosive decompression is enough to give even a Replicator pause. Fran's face is immobile, but there's something wary in the tilt of her head.
"I'm okay," John croaks, giving Teyla a weak little wave. "Stand down, Teyla," he says, and she finally lowers her weapon.
"Fran, it was my fault, my doing," Rodney babbles. He's trying to stand by propping himself against the bulkhead, but he puts weight on his bad arm. "Oh, christ," he says, squeezing his eyes shut, and he folds back onto the deck.
Ronon's at Rodney's side in a few long strides, bending over to lend a hand. "Shake it off, McKay," he says, but he's gentle as he helps Rodney to his feet.
"Let them go, Fran. It's me you want. I'll go with you." Rodney's sweating, his eyes fixed on Fran's.
"Rodney, no," John says, wincing as he pulls himself up off the deck, but Rodney barrels right over the words.
"I won't try to resist, I promise, if you let them go. Drop everyone off on a nice planet with a stargate somewhere. They're more trouble than they're worth, honestly."
"We hardly think you're in a position to negotiate, Dr. McKay." Fran's voice sounds deeper now, rougher. Her features are even more wooden than before, which John wouldn't have thought possible.
"Fran--"
She cuts him off. "Is not in charge right now. I do not share her strange attachment to you, I'm afraid."
Rodney's eyes go wide. "Oh, god, oh, god. I knew there was no way she could've survived that blast--"
Fran is changing, blurring in ways that makes John's stomach churn. Her face settles into softer, rounder features than before, although the look in her eyes is much, much harder. "Her physical form did not survive. Only traces of her engram, her 'program' I believe you would say, were left."
"And that program is what Rodney's virus targeted," Teyla says. She's finally put away her sidearm, John notices.
"Just so," Fran says, moving to the command chair. "Leaving me in control once more." She closes her eyes a moment, resting a palm on a console. "Finally. No more delays. We'll be there in hours."
"Fran was putting off our arrival so she could spend time with McKay." Ronon sounds dubious, but Fran's nodding.
"She was quite stubborn about him, in her way." Fran glances over at Rodney. "But don't let that flatter you too much, Dr. McKay. In the end, you overestimated your value. Although it was rather amusing watching you beg for your people's release."
Rodney swallows hard, his face paler than before, but he says nothing. He looks utterly exhausted, resting more of his weight against Ronon.
"The big question is who," John snarls. "Who slapped Fran's program over yours and why?"
"That is the main point, isn't it?" Fran says coolly. "She thought you'd underestimate Fran, hollowed shadow that she is. A monster of your own creation."
John shifts his weight impatiently. "Yeah, yeah, let's not get all Gothic horror here."
Fran pauses, and the twist of her lips is nowhere near a smile. "But I am not so fragile. I am not so easily swayed in our mission. It's the lot of you she wants, the entire team. Not just Dr. McKay."
"'She'?" Teyla asks, her voice flat.
"You really can't guess? Why, Dr. Weir, of course."
***
Part 2