The Human Body VIII: Getting Under Your Skin, Part 6

[smallwaldo]

Title: The Human Body VIII: Getting Under Your Skin, Part 6
Author: smallwaldo
Rating: R
Pairing: Sheppard/Beckett
Words: 4504 (this part)
A/N: This is both the "Instinct" and "Conversion" chapter of the series. This part beta'd by kyrdwyn. Thanks! :)
Summary: "He turned me into a [bug]! ... I got better."

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

When they got down to the private room in the back, Carson got John seated on the gurney and took two more vials of blood. Once again he was amazed by the fact that even after a full blood draw, John’s arm sealed straight over, not needing gauze or a bandage or any kind of pressure to stop the bleeding. When Biro came in with the test results he handed her the vials and told her to run the same tests she’d just finished and compare the results. He took the tablet from her and studied it grimly.

He stood against the wall, reading the tablet for a long time before looking up as Elizabeth came in and said, “The good news is, we can now say with some certainty that Ellia didn’t drain away any of your life.” Carson knew that was obvious given that John didn’t look any older than he had the day before, but medical school had drilled into him to always lead with the good news, however minimal it was. And at least now he had confirmation that there wasn’t a trace of the enzyme the Wraith injected into humans before feeding on them - the enzyme that, as near has he could figure, was what caused the aging effect on Wraith victims.

“We already knew that,” John protested. It had taken about as much concentration as he could muster to listen in Carson’s office. His ‘flightiness’ was making a major rebound and he found that his internal censor was on a serious vacation. “That’s the best good news you could come up with?” He squeezed his eyes shut. He had a feeling that never once in his life had Carson received a complaint about his bedside manner - well maybe from Rodney who thought every sliver and headache was life ending - and John wasn’t sure why he was attacking him now. This couldn’t have been easy on Carson either. John knew he was blaming himself and that if something serious or permanent did happen to him, Carson would never forgive himself.

“I suppose,” Carson said, chagrinned. “It looks like you’ve been infected with the Iratus bug retrovirus. The one we were working on to turn Ellia into a human.”

“You mean the one that didn’t turn her into a human,” John interjected, once again biting his tongue after the words had come out.

“Ellia administered the treatment prematurely. It wasn’t ready - it wasn’t even supposed to be-“

“I’m not blaming you, Doc,” John consoled, using as much of Carson’s title as he ever had in deference to Elizabeth’s presence. He wanted to take Carson aside and explain that despite his smart mouth and sharp tone, he meant that - he really didn’t blame Carson in any way.

“But you’re right. The transformation was into a creature closer to the Iratus bug than to a human and I know how much you - “ Carson came up short, not sure he should be announcing John’s weaknesses to his superior.

Apparently, John didn’t care if Elizabeth knew. “Hate those bugs?” he supplied.

“Yes.” Carson was looking more and more agitated.

“But, for one, Ellia was a Wraith, and she took a massive dose of the retrovirus,” Elizabeth tried to find a way this could be anything other a complete disaster. “Do we know how the colonel’s system might respond to the drug?”

“I have no idea,” Carson said bluntly. “It was never engineered to be given to a human. It was never intended to be given to anyone - “

“Doc!” John cut him off, and then in a low voice, “Let it go.” John was reasonably certain he’d never seen Carson so panicked. He was pretty sure Carson had been calmer when he’d discovered that the drone he’d launched had almost killed John and General O’Neill.

“The problem is, I have no idea how your body’ll react. I can’t even begin to guess.”

John realized then why Carson was so out of sorts over this - in most medical situations he had control when it counted. Someone outside caused someone to get hurt, an outside pathogen caused them to be sick and then in the precise, scientific, medical methodologies he ruled things out until he had a clear diagnosis and then went with the most useful prescribed course of action.

This time he felt that he had caused it and on top of that, there was no prescribed treatment. He was a little out of his depth. And of course, just to add insult to injury, it was his own partner who had become victim to this… thing.

John wondered how he’d fare emotionally if the two of them were tossed into a pit of Wraith and he didn’t have any kind of weapon and a Wraith were advancing on Carson.

“If how I feel is any indication, I’m fine.” He suspected that he really should report the double (and quadruple) vision as well as the impulse control issues he was having, but Carson seemed distraught enough when he thought it was simply a little extra stamina and some oddities in his blood work.

Carson sighed. “It’s certainly possible that it’s already breaking down in your system.” He tried to convince himself that it was possible that the retrovirus levels they’d found in his initial bloodwork would be the upper limit. That his own immunity would be at the point that it was attacking the retrovirus. He did have a slightly elevated white cell count. And there weren’t any obvious physical manifestations other than the quickly healing skin. Ellia had changed so radically in even less time. “Ellia’s transformation was extreme and immediate,” he reminded them.

“See?” John said as if that settled things.

“But the wound in your arm healed unnaturally fast.” Carson desperately wanted to ignore that, but just couldn’t. Unnatural healing speed was something he’d only seen in the Wraith. And they’d gotten the ability from the Iratus bugs in their family tree. That led to one conclusion: The retrovirus was alive and well and eating John Sheppard. Carson fidgeted in his chair.

“If there was a wound,” John said quickly.

Carson made a face. He knew they’d briefly entertained the idea that there hadn’t been a wound, but now he was sure that Ellia had split John’s arm and tried to feed on him. “Well, there had to be. Otherwise I don’t see how you got infected in the first place.”

“She was spitting an awful lot.”

Carson rolled his eyes at the incredibly lame suggestion. Spitting? And… what? It had gotten into his mouth or eye and that had caused blood to spontaneously erupt on his elbow? He was about to tell John exactly what he thought of the way John was grasping at straws when Elizabeth took control of the escalating tension.

“So, what? We just monitor it for now?”

“Aye,” Carson said grimly, simply because as of yet he had no idea what else there was to do. He turned to John, “You’ll need to check in every six hours.” He knew John was feeling anxious and bouncy and he didn’t want to restrict him to the infirmary any sooner than necessary. Something told Carson he’d be seeing plenty of John while at work in a short enough while.

“I can do that,” John agreed amicably before jumping off the bed.

“And you should probably…” Elizabeth started. Carson frowned, not sure where she was going with that.

“Suspend my off-world activities until we know more,” John concluded for her.

Elizabeth gave him a small smile, pleased that they were both on the same page with that one. “Thank you.”

“See you in six hours.”

Carson frowned as John patted him on the back as he left. He knew that John needed to be free to move around. He hadn’t said as much, but Carson could feel that John was edgy, twitchy. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have enough work to do without John constantly asking ‘what’s that for’? and ‘what’s this do?’ and ‘so what did the test tell you?’

And yet, he really wished he could have kept John at his side. There was a small voice inside of him that wouldn’t be denied and it kept insisting that he might not have much more time to be with him.

~~~***~~~***~~~

Keeping his concentration on the meeting had been taxing, he’d had to focus to keep himself seated on the gurney, instead of getting up and pacing the room like he wanted to. John had felt his attention wander whenever he wasn’t speaking, causing him to almost lose track of the conversation several times.

The one thing he was sure of, Carson was flipping out more than a little. John decided to work out the wiggles and then go back and see if he could catch Carson between tests to sit him down and explain that he really and truly meant that he didn’t blame him for what was happening - or what would happen as they waited for Carson to come up with a cure. Because he absolutely believed that Carson would come up with an answer to this. The only question was how far gone would he be when Carson got there? Maybe if he could get Carson to get over the guilt, he’d have better focus and he’d come up with a solution that much quicker.

He walked out to the south pier and did some push-ups and crunches - more than he was accustomed to - his usual reps just didn’t seem to be wearing him out like they usually did. He sat on the pier for a while just dangling and kicking his legs and wondering what it would be like to just hop off the edge and hover over the water or fly to the mainland sans puddlejumper.

After a few more sets of push-ups, he headed back for the infirmary to try and convince Carson that he wasn’t pissed, that he didn’t hold him responsible. But even as he headed back into the city confines, he was already feeling the calming effects of the exercise wearing off - and he was still moving. His vision split twice and his head spun a little as he crossed from sunlight to the artificial light of the Lantean hallways. He suspected he really needed to tell Carson about that too, but at this point he was trying to lessen Carson’s anxiety over the whole situation. And announcing that he thought that, just maybe, he was developing compound eyes was probably not the way to go about that.

~~~***~~~***~~~

Once he felt a little more settled John went back to the infirmary hoping that he could say what he meant without making an ass of himself and without becoming distracted by every damn little thing that went through his head.

Carson was bent over a microscope when John tracked him down in his lab. “Hey Carson, got a minute?”

“Actually, no,” Carson said tersely without looking away.

“Come here anyway,” John said.

Carson did look up then. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling poorly?”

John shook his head and then tilted it to indicate Carson’s office.

“John, I’m -“

“I know; you’re busy. Believe me, I know. But come here for just a minute.”

Carson sighed and followed him.

When they were up in Carson’s office, John shut the door and grabbed Carson by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I meant what I said before: I don’t blame you. You need to stop blaming yourself.”

Carson’s head dropped. “I’ve tried, but… If I’d listened to Elizabeth and had someone bring me a sample of that drug instead of running off with dangerous chemicals on some god-forsaken planet with a little girl who only wanted to be human, then maybe - “

“Carson! Stop it, for Christ’s sake!” He physically shook Carson a little. “You didn’t give her that retrovirus. You didn’t make this happen. Hell, she didn’t mean for this to happen. She was just a kid who wanted to be a ‘real girl’. I can’t blame her for that. Or you. Now let it go. It’s just going to distract you.”

Carson looked a bit shocked at that observation. “You’re right,” he finally said. “Fine. I’ll try harder to let it go. It’s just hard. When I close my eyes I see what Ellia became. The idea of that happening to you…”

John nodded and let him go. “I know. Honestly, I’m not looking forward to that myself. But so far, so good. No scales, no suction cups in the hand, no desire to suck the life out of you.” He gave Carson a little wink. “Not like that anyway.”

Carson smiled. “You’re incorrigible.”

John shrugged. “Stop incorriging me,” he said on cue.

“Okay, off with you. I need to get back to getting that damn retrovirus out of you.” He clapped John on the shoulder amazed that such a short talk with just a few trademark bad puns could make him feel better about the situation. He was still worried, but it did help that John was sincere in his absolution.

“See you in five and half hours,” John said and left Carson’s office.

~~~***~~~***~~~

John went to watch the marines doing hand-to-hand combat maneuvers with Ronon for a while. He went a few rounds with a couple of the new guys the Daedalus had just dropped off to try and gauge their abilities. He found them woefully lacking and kicked their asses singly and then in pairs and told Lorne to double the training schedule for anyone he’d just ground into the mat.

He went back to his quarters wondering when Marines had become such pansies.

He flopped down on the side of his bed, tugging off his jacket. He was just about tired enough to try and make up for a little of the sleep he hadn’t been able to get the night before.

As he tugged off his jacket he noticed a patch of skin that was… abnormal to say the least. It was greenish-silver and hard. Scale-like. He poked at it and around the edges of it. It was pretty numb, mostly he felt the edges of the hard tissue digging into the soft tissue below. That couldn’t be good. He rolled his eyes. He’d just gotten done telling Carson that he wasn’t developing scales. He tapped his earpiece, “Hey Doc, this is Sheppard.” He suspected Carson knew who it was, but he wasn’t ready to believe that this thing that was attacking his eyes, mind and arm hadn’t changed his voice. Better to cover all the bases.

“Yes, Colonel,” Carson answered immediately.

“I think we may have to bump up our first appointment,” he said as evenly as he could.

“Why, what’s wrong? Where are you?” Carson sounded agitated again and John swore to himself. He needed Carson to get the fuck over the fact that he’d created the retrovirus that was doing this to him.

He grabbed his jacket, “I’m on my way to the infirmary. I’ll show you what’s going on when I get there.”

Carson was waiting for him as soon as John breached the doorway. “What is it? What’s happened?” He steered John over to a bed.

“This,” John told him as he pulled his jacket sleeve off.

“Oh holy hell,” Carson muttered as he took in the scales and thick epidermal cells. He touched them gingerly and then the skin around the patch much as John had done when he first noticed it.

John just gave him a sick smile. “Guess I was a little premature in saying that I wasn't sprouting scales yet.”

“I’m going to give you a local anesthetic and take a sample,” Carson said reaching behind him for supplies.

“I don’t know if I need the anesthetic. I can’t feel anything there.” John poked at the scales again and shrugged.

Carson studied the mutated skin, turning John’s arm back and forth to get better light. “This is exactly where she tried to feed on you, right?”

John nodded.

“Okay, tell me if this hurts,” Carson began gently removing some of the top most epidermis.

John shivered. It didn’t hurt, but that was kind of creepy in and of itself. No one should be able to remove his skin without him objecting.

“Sit tight, I’ll be right back,” Carson said as he ran the sample into the lab. He came back a few minutes later with a digital camera and his charting tablet.

“What’s that for?” John asked nodding towards the camera.

“We need to document this. We need to be able to chart the rate of spread and any other manifestations of this retrovirus.” Carson turned the camera on and fussed with the settings, unable to meet John’s eyes.

“You have to take pictures? You can’t just… I don’t know… measure it with a ruler or something?” He wasn’t sure why but the idea of there being photos of him like this was very disquieting.

“This is much more accurate.” He noticed the way John was staring at the camera in distaste. “I’m sorry, John.”

John took a deep, calming breath. “Do what you have to do.” He stuck his arm out.

“I think you’re the only patient I’ve ever had who’s objected less to a skin biopsy than having a photo taken,” Carson tried to make the mood a little lighter. He snapped three different angles, making sure that they came out right on the small screen of the camera before setting the camera on the bedside table.

John flinched from the flash, each one causing his vision to split again and again. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut and force his vision back into focus.

“What is it?” Carson asked, a warm hand on John’s shoulder.

“Nothing. Just the flash. It’s not a big deal.” John opened one eye to see how many Carson’s would be in front of him. Still eight. Or was it sixteen? Eight for each eye? He wasn’t sure, but it was far too many. Though he was finding that the multiplied vision was happening enough that he was able to still see what was happening around him; he could visually process the repeated information without becoming confused. That was kind of terrifying, he thought.

Of course, as soon as he complained about his vision, Carson’s penlight came out. He flashed it into John’s eyes a few times, but John’s vision seemed to have split enough for the moment and he didn’t flinch.

All eight Carsons were frowning when John looked back at him.

“What?”

“How’s your vision, otherwise?” Carson asked with a tone of voice that said he already knew the answer and that John damn well better not lie to him.

“It’s clear,” John said honestly. He could see sixteen arms cross over eight chests in frustration, “But I’m seeing in multiples. Not all the time. Just when I get tired or distracted. And… right now. I can’t seem to clear it like I did before.”

“How long has that been going on?” Carson began jotting notes into John’s file.

“Off and on since last night before I went to bed. It started again just now when the camera flash went off, but it didn’t get worse when you put that flashlight in my eyes.” John knew he was in for a barrage of questions now, so he leaned back against the head of the bed and made himself as comfortable as he could be for the duration.

“What else haven’t you been telling me?”

John rolled his eyes. Apparently Carson had decided, at least for the moment, to trade in feeling guilty for being pissed at John for concealing his symptoms. “Nothing. I told you before that my stamina was up and my concentration was down. I thought it was just, you know, double-vision from being tired or whatever.”

“Is it just double?” Carson asked tapping away at the computer again.

“More like… eight. Or sixteen or something,” John said sheepishly.

“Any trouble with balance?” Carson asked without looking up from the screen.

“No,” John told him sincerely. “And you want to know something else? The more this happens the more it’s not a problem. It’s like my brain is just adapting to seeing like this. I’m getting a little bit of a headache from it, but it’s nothing I can’t live with.”

Carson sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Okay, we’re going to need more blood. And I want to scan your head. The Ancient scanner is even more sophisticated than an MRI - we should see if these changes are neurological or if there’s actually been a physical change to the structure of your eyes or your visual cortex. Hell, while we’re at it, we should probably get a complete scan and see if there are any other kinds of changes going on.”

John wasn’t sure if Carson was actually talking to him any more, or just talking out loud as he typed in orders for the tests and scrubbed his hand through his hair nervously again.

Finally he set the tablet on the next bed and laid a hand on John’s knee. “I need you to tell me if there have been any other changes. Nothing is unimportant or too small to mention. I’ll determine if it’s relevant or not, alright?”

John nodded.

“Have you eaten today?” Carson started with.

“No. I drank some water when I was wrestling down some pansy-ass marines from the Daedalus.”

“It’s almost three in the afternoon, have you not been hungry?” Carson asked, reaching for the abandoned tablet.

John thought for a second, took inventory of how he felt. “No. That’s weird. I usually eat breakfast and because of it I can get by with skipping lunch, but I haven’t eaten since…” He thought back. And further back. “I don’t know. I guess before we left for that planet.”

“Did you eat anything on the planet?” Carson began typing again.

John suddenly remembered how that mission had started. “Um… they gave us something at that inn. And I had a Powerbar when Ronon and I were looking for the adult Wraith. But I think that’s it.”

Carson shook his head. “We should have you eat something to keep your blood sugar up. No point in screwing up your blood chemistry worse than it is.”

John shrugged. “I suppose I could eat… but I’m really not hungry.”

“You’ve still been getting thirsty, though?” Carson asked.

“Yeah. When I work out. A little. I usually go through a liter or so, but not nearly that lately.” He hadn’t realized it until that moment, but he’d actually only been drinking out of reflex. Not because he desperately felt like he needed it.

“Are you sweating? Using the restroom?”

John made a face at the personal questions, and then thought about the answers. “Uh… not so much?”

He knew without looking that Carson was adding more tests when he started typing again.

“You said you didn’t sleep well last night?”

John gave him a wan smile. “I missed you?” he tried with a cunning smile.

Carson swatted his knee. “Come on, be serious.”

“I’m trying, but like I said before, my concentration’s been shot to hell.”

Carson made more notes. “That could be why you aren’t sleeping so well, or it could be another symptom. Tell me more about that.”

“You sound like Heightmeyer when you say that,” John observed. “I don’t know… I just can’t focus on anything for a long period of time. When I was doing combat training earlier I noticed that I wasn’t actually thinking through my moves. I was just… moving. I guess I’ve been doing it for so long that it’s become second nature.”

“You said you beat Teyla with those stick things she uses to knock people about with. Is that second nature?” Carson asked.

“No. I’ve never beaten her before. But that was just fun.” He remembered how that session had ended and the smile that had been threatening to break through fell. His hopes that Carson wouldn’t have noticed were dashed by the questioning look on the doctor’s face. John dragged a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay, something weird happened there.”

“Yes?” Carson said, sitting on a nearby stool and watching John intently.

John took a breath to just say it and be done with it, but chickened out and let the breath out in a huff. He took another breath. “I don’t know why I did it. I mean it wasn’t like it was something I spent a lot of time - or, really any - time thinking about. Suddenly I was just… and she just…”

Carson tapped his leg gently. “Just what?”

“Ikissedher,” John mumbled quietly.”

“I’m sorry?” Carson said when he didn’t understand.

“Yeah, me too,” John quipped.

“No, John, I couldn’t hear you. What did you do?”

“I kissed her. Teyla. I kissed her. I have no idea why. We were fighting and I beat her and I drove her back towards the wall, then I… I don’t know what came over me.” He shrugged. “I’m surprised she didn’t hand me my balls in a paper sack for it.”

Carson shook his head; he knew that facing off with Teyla was not something anyone did lightly. “Aye, so am I. Perhaps she understands that you’re a little out of sorts.”

“Are you pissed at me?” John asked, sounding every bit like a four year old who’d just been sent to his room for misbehaving.

Carson sighed. “No. I’m reasonably sure that that’s just another symptom of what’s happening here on the whole. In a fair number of animals, fighting and mating are driven by the same instinct.”

John shivered theatrically. “That’s really not that encouraging.”

“I know,” Carson said entering the data.

“You’re not putting that in my chart, are you?” John asked, his voice rising in pitch as he spoke.

“Nothing is irrelevant right now, John. Except for maybe the fact that it may embarrass you a tad to have some of my staff know you kissed a very pretty lass.” He patted John’s knee. “What else?”

John ticked off the symptoms he’d been over on his fingers. “Lack of concentration, loss of sleep, extra energy, scales on my arm, kissing Teyla… I think that about covers it.”

“You forgot self-sealing skin and compound vision,” Carson added as he went over his notes.

“Yeah, that’s gone again, by the way.” John frowned for a second as he thought. “But the headache it usually gives me is still there. Nothing serious, just annoying. Probably just from all the stress.”

Carson bent down and grabbed a gown from the cabinet between the beds. “Here, it closes in the back, as you well know by now. I’m going to have Dr. Kim set up the scanner for us.” Carson squeezed John’s hand as he left, pulling the curtain around John’s bed.