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sga_flashficNot So Much a Common Cold, As a Cold in Common
by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellex42
Rated PG-13 (for language, not including the f-word)
Gen
Tag for 3.03 Irresistible
Feedback: is always appreciated.
Disclaimer: Stargate: Atlantis is not owned by me, nor do I make any material profit from this story.
Word count: ~3600
Summary: "It was only a joke, but maybe he'd gone too far…"
A/N: I'm not entirely happy with this, but I ran out of time. I may revise it later on. Not beta-ed, but spell and grammar checked and beaten into submission.
Rodney followed the corridors of Atlantis to his own quarters, Elizabeth and Carson's words echoing in his head. He knew if Sheppard didn't show up in the infirmary for Carson's antidote to Lucius' hypnotic drug in very short order, Carson would probably show up at his door, syringe in hand and a lecture on his tongue. The new antidote, to be administered to the victims of the herb, not only neutralized its effects almost instantly, but left them with no more than a slight headache rather than the more serious symptoms of withdrawal. They had administered it to the people of the town Lucius lived in, with gratifying results.
It was only a joke, Rodney thought sourly. He'd only taken a very small dose of the drug, just enough to make Sheppard treat him a little nicer than usual. Most of the time, Rodney enjoyed their swift, stinging banter. Not many people were willing to take his snark and sling it back at him, and Sheppard was very good at it – possibly the best. The man just seemed to know exactly how to push his buttons, and Rodney was happy to hand Sheppard the accustomed reactions. It was an established routine, reassuring and familiar – and Rodney, more than most, appreciated that. Like institutional food, like a favorite sweater on a chilly day, like the constant of gravity on Earth: you knew what you were getting, and you knew it was something you liked.
Rodney had always felt that surprises were vastly overrated.
But this morning, it just rubbed him the wrong way. Sheppard rubbed him the wrong way. He didn't want snark, he didn't want sarcasm, he just wanted a little of that rare buddy feeling that the Colonel only expressed on rare occasions – like when he'd just pulled Rodney out of the back of a sunken, water-filled PuddleJumper. Everything felt off today, like the light was a little too bright, the air a little too chilly. His skin was hypersensitive, so that even the seams in the toes of his socks bothered him. Everyone seemed to be talking just a little too loud.
It was a hundred stupid little things that normally wouldn't bother him, but today they just added up into a huge headache. He was tired, too, even though he'd slept well and hadn't gone to bed quite as late as he usually did. His throat had been so dry when he woke up, after pressing the snooze alarm no less than four times, that there was still a lingering soreness there. And now there was a slight tickle in his throat that made him want to cough every few minutes, not to mention the pressure in his sinuses that had been increasing all day.
A loud sneeze preceded him into his quarters, where Sheppard handed him a clean handkerchief with one hand while holding a pair of Rodney's socks in the other.
"You don't sound so good, Rodney," Sheppard frowned. "Why don't you have a seat? I'll go down to the mess hall and get you some of that Athosian tea. That'll knock any germs right out of your system."
Rodney didn't even have a chance to protest before Sheppard adroitly maneuvered him into the chair from his desk. He mopped at the discharge from his nose and stifled a cough.
"Uh, sure, that sounds good. Why don't you stop in the infirmary along the way, see if Carson has anything for a headache?" That would get Sheppard into Beckett's hands without any argument from the pilot, and Rodney congratulated himself on his subtlety just before another sneeze exploded from him, leaving him momentarily disoriented.
"Right away, Rodney." Sheppard's tone was almost fawning, and it made Rodney's stomach turn to hear it. This little escapade had definitely backfired on him.
With Sheppard gone, he set his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands, trying to rub away the ache. He stayed like that for a while, trying to formulate some kind of apology to Sheppard. He'd crossed a line with this stunt, and could come up with no better explanation than simple spitefulness. Giving Sheppard a taste of what Rodney had been through, while meanly satisfying in a way, was also tantamount to a form of mental rape, and the more he thought about it, the more Rodney realized that maybe he'd gone too far.
Well, the Colonel had forgiven him for Doranda…eventually. Surely, Rodney could manage a heart-felt enough apology for Sheppard to forgive him for this, as well. He hadn't made the soldier do anything embarrassing or humiliating, apart from cleaning Rodney's room – and Sheppard hadn't even finished doing that. He'd be perfectly fine once Carson's antidote took effect, so no harm, no foul, right?
Rodney's musings were interrupted by a flurry of sneezes that tore through him, one after another, leaving him breathless and feeling slightly stunned. He held onto the edge of the desk, waiting for the world to settle around him. Sniffling experimentally, he discovered that his nose was now completely blocked, and he could breathe only through his mouth.
Wasn't that just lovely? He was probably coming down with Sheppard's stupid head cold. The Colonel would undoubtedly consider it poetic justice.
He checked his watch, and was surprised to discover that he'd been sitting there for nearly half an hour, feeling guilty about Sheppard and sorry for himself, and accomplishing nothing. An unguarded snort of disgust made his head pound and his sinuses ache, and he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, wondering if he could beg a decongestant from Carson before the next mission.
Wondering if Zelenka had decided to turn down the heat to save on power, Rodney shivered as a chill swept over him. Maybe putting Radek in charge of the environmental systems hadn't been such a good idea after all. A hot shower might help, though: warm him up, ease the tension in his shoulders, break up the congestion in his head…
John sat in the infirmary and seethed. What the hell had McKay been thinking? He knew how powerful the hypnotic drug was – hell, he'd been a victim of it himself! What selfish, pig-headed, idiotic impulse could have led him to inflict its influence on John?
He'd thought they were friends, that everything was good between them. Was this some form of revenge for…for not paying enough attention to Rodney, or not being impressed enough by his latest accomplishment? Or was McKay really as insensitive, egotistical and heartless as some people liked to claim?
His feelings were hurt, like he was some 14-year-old girl; and god, how it burned to admit that even to himself. It was like they'd gone right back to those horrible weeks after Doranda, to when he couldn't trust Rodney anymore.
It wasn't hard to understand what had happened with the Arcturus Project; he knew how badly Rodney wanted it to be successful. Not for the personal and professional acclaim, but for the ability to generate power. Enough to have a real chance at protecting Atlantis, defeating the Wraith – power enough not to have to worry about it anymore, and he knew how much Rodney worried.
That understanding had taken a lot of time and patience and effort. But this – this stunt was so pointless and stupid and petty –
"Colonel, you're free to go," Beckett startled John out of his thoughts. "Run off and stop scaring my nurses."
"Scaring the nurses?" John repeated, confused.
Beckett frowned at him. "You've a face like a thundercloud, Colonel. Kindly remove it, and yourself, from my infirmary."
Startled by the cold, terse manner, John didn't move. "What bug crawled up your ass, doc?"
Carson folded his arms belligerently. "I'm looking at it."
John gaped at the normally affable doctor. "What'd I do?"
"D'you think I can't tell exactly what you're sitting there stewing about? You look like you can't decide if you've stepped in something nasty or you've just lost your best friend – and I can tell you, it's neither."
Suddenly, everything he was feeling refused to stay locked up inside. "How could he do this to me?" John burst out. Even to his own ears, it sounded childish, and he stared sullenly down at his hands where they were clenched, white-knuckled, on his knees.
"He only did what the rest of us were tempted to do: give you the opportunity to find out exactly what it was like to be happily enthralled to that horrid fellow, Lucius. You've been a right git the last few days, prancing about smug as you please that you were the only one not affected."
"But –"
"But nothing," Carson interrupted. "Get over yourself, Colonel. I remember exactly how I was under Lucius Luvin's influence, fawning and ingratiating and making an utter fool of myself. It makes me sick to my stomach to think on it. I don't condone what Rodney did, but damn if I don't think you deserved it – and if all he made you do was clean his room, you got off easy, lad."
Sheppard's face grew hot, and his fists slowly unclenched as he seemed to shrink in on himself.
"It's not like you to be so mean," Carson continued softly. "What's going on in that thick head of yours?"
The pilot shook his head slowly, eyes downcast. "It – I – I don't know, I just – I guess it was seeing all of you like that, sucking up to Lucius like he was…some kind of Pegasus galaxy pop star…I mean, from a military standpoint, we caught a break. No casualties, an actually bloodless coup. But he turned everyone against me, and I couldn't get you to – to listen to me. He even got to Rodney, and I felt – I felt –" The torrent of words dried up as suddenly as it had started.
"Helpless," Carson finished for him. "You couldn't fight us, and you couldn't get to Lucius without any of us getting in the way. You felt helpless and scared, and that made you angry. And on some level, you resented us for putting you in that position. You thought we could have resisted Lucius, tried harder to fight his influence."
"I guess…" John murmured. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds about right."
"And now you know better," Carson kept on relentlessly, and John began to get some idea of how the easy-going man had risen to the top of his chosen field, "because now you've experienced it for yourself, and you know that there was nothing we could have done."
"I didn't even know I'd been drugged," he burst out. "It seemed perfectly rational to – to –"
"To do your utmost to fulfill Rodney's every whim? Wrack your brain trying to figure out how to please him? To spend all your time hoping for a smile, a kind word…overjoyed to receive so much as a pat on the shoulder?"
John stared at him. "Not…quite. Is that what it was like for you? It was that bad? I just – I wanted to be nice to him. Do something – nice – for him. He said something about trying to find time to tidy up his quarters, and I started thinking about how busy he always is, and how he seemed kind of tired today. So I said I'd clean up for him. It wasn't like a compulsion or anything. It was like that for you?"
"It was slavery of the worst kind," Carson told him. "It was brainwashing, and it leaves you feeling violated and weak and powerless. You've just had a taste of it, and that's why you're so upset with Rodney for doing it to you."
Sheppard dredged up a sickly smile. "You've really thought about this, haven't you, doc? Been spending time with Heightmeyer?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, Colonel."
John flushed. "I didn't mean it that way –"
"I know. But I'd been under Lucius' influence long enough to suffer withdrawal symptoms, and I was having a particularly hard time dealing with it. Kate helped with that. In fact, she spoke to everyone who'd had the most contact with Lucius, including Rodney – who must have decided, fool that he can be, that the best way to deal with his own feelings was to give you a little taste of your own medicine."
"I didn't know," John told him.
"Kate probably should have spoken to you, too. It hadn't even occurred to me that your nastiness was anything other than innocent but very unwelcome teasing." Carson looked thoughtful. "It doesn't make you any less of an ass, you know, but now I understand."
Letting out a breath that seemed to take with it some of the tension that had been knotting up his shoulders, John replied, "Me too. So I guess I should go tell Rodney that I'm not upset with him, huh? And that I'm sorry for all the teasing. I owe you an apology, too, Carson."
The doctor flapped a dismissive hand at him. "All is forgiven. Just straighten things up with Rodney. We all suffer when you two are on the outs with each other."
John strode through the corridors of the city, wavering between worried and irritated.
Rodney wasn't answering his radio.
There were several perfectly innocent explanations for it. Rodney might be deliberately not answering John's hails, although it would be uncharacteristic of him. The one thing Rodney was almost completely incapable of was not talking – particularly to John - no matter what the circumstances. Once, Rodney had publicly declared, in the middle of a crowded mess hall, that he wasn't speaking to John for the rest of the day. He'd shown up in the Control Tower less than half an hour later, confronting John with, "And another thing –"
The other, most likely, possibility was that he'd taken his radio off. Then again, this was Rodney, who often fell asleep with the tiny device in his ear.
Maybe that was it: Rodney had removed the earpiece to take a nap. Certainly he'd looked tired all morning, complaining that he'd been up late removing the command codes he'd set up for Lucius in the computers.
John had already checked with Zelenka to make sure Rodney wasn't in the labs, and had stopped by the mess hall without success. A city-wide call had gone unanswered, so John was returning to the last place he'd seen the scientist: Rodney's own quarters.
He clamped down on a sudden surge of irritation at Rodney for being so difficult to track down. His emotions were still a confused turmoil of resentment, guilt, and anger. Even though he now understood why he felt that way, it didn't negate the feelings – only made them a little easier to deal with.
But Rodney didn't answer his door, either. Finally, John resorted to using his gene to override it and let himself in. Rodney was nowhere in sight, but the sound of running water led him to the bathroom.
"McKay?" he called through the open door. "McKay, it's Sheppard."
He was met with silence. "C'mon, Rodney, I want to talk to you. I'm not angry. I've been a real asshole about the whole Lucius thing. I want – I want to apologize."
Still no answer, and now all the fears that he tried to keep squashed down poked their ugly heads up.
"Shit," he muttered to himself, then called, "Okay, Rodney, you'd better be decent, because I'm coming in."
Steam filled the shower stall in the corner, held in by the partial forcefield that let air and people through, but held in water and most of the vapor. Rodney sat on the floor, slumped against the wall, eyes closed and hair plastered down by the water that streamed over him.
A mental command turned the water off, and John stepped in quickly enough to feel the last few drops, almost scalding hot. He squatted next to the scientist and put a hand on his shoulder. The bare skin was hot to the touch and red from the heat of the water. Rodney's face, cheek pressed against the smooth, pale blue wall that stayed cool despite the hot water, was ruddy as well.
"Beckett!" John tapped his radio. "I need you in McKay's quarters, now."
"Colonel Sheppard?" The startled reply came a moment later. "Do you need an emergency team?"
He looked down at the naked man sprawled in front of him and came to a swift decision. "Just you for the moment, doc."
"I'll be right there."
Rodney stirred. "What's – what're you…"
John grabbed a towel from the shelf and draped it over Rodney's hips. "Carson's on his way, don't move. Did you hit your head?"
"What? No, I - what are you doing here?" he asked, groggy and unfocused.
"Looking after you, McKay. I found you here, passed out."
"I didn't – I didn't faint, I passed out."
John just sighed.
Rodney looked around. "Where – am I in the shower? What am I doing here?" He flailed weakly, but his movements were slow and uncoordinated.
"Just stay where you are, Rodney. Carson's on his way," John told him.
"Carson?" He sat up a little straighter, sliding on the wet floor, and looked down at himself in surprise. "Hey – I'm naked!" He sounded horrified and tried to scramble away from John and get to his feet all at once.
Grabbing his shoulders and pushing him down was far too easy. "McKay, stay still!"
Rodney fell back against the wall, panting harshly. He'd gone white around the mouth and had closed his eyes again.
"Are you going to be sick?" John asked suspiciously.
"No…I don't know," Rodney said faintly. "I'm dizzy."
John tugged the towel back into place just in time to hear Carson calling from the main room. "In here!" he yelled back.
Beckett appeared in the doorway. "Bloody hell, Rodney, what did you do, boil yourself? You look like a lobster!"
"Shut up," Rodney moaned.
"He had the water almost hot enough to scald," John explained.
"Any sign of a fall?"
"I don't think so. I asked him if he'd hit his head, and he said no."
Carson stepped in and put the back of his hand to Rodney's forehead, feeling at his neck for a pulse with the other hand. "You're overheated, you fool. I'm betting you've a fever. How long have you been feeling ill?"
Rodney's answers were terse but coherent. "Dunno. All day. I was cold."
"Alright then, let's get you out of here, Rodney," Carson said soothingly.
Between the two of them, they managed to get the scientist upright and dried off. He stumbled weakly to his bed with Carson's help while John rummaged around for clean underwear and a T-shirt. Rodney let them dress him as if he was a child, eyes half-closed, muttering irritably.
"His glands are swollen, his throat is red, and I can hear the congestion in his sinuses," Carson announced. "Rodney, you have Colonel Sheppard's cold."
Rodney just moaned and flopped back onto his bed. Beckett tugged the blanket out from under him and covered him up, and he clutched it around himself, huddling into it.
"I should have noticed," Sheppard asked quietly. "He said he wasn't feeling well earlier. In fact, that's how he got me to go to the infirmary and see you – he asked me to get him something for a headache."
"I suspect he's been feeling a bit off all day," Carson said as he stuck a thermometer in Rodney's ear. "It's not surprising he'd come down with your cold in the first place, considering how much time you spend together. On top of that, when the herb wears off, it leaves the victim with a depressed immune system, so it hit him harder than if he'd been completely healthy. It's not dangerous," he hastened to add when John looked worried, "he'll just be miserable for a few days, and he might have a little more trouble shaking it off than you did. The good news, Colonel, is that you've already had it, so you're immune."
John raised an eyebrow at that remark, and Carson smiled innocently at him. "You can stay with him, make sure he doesn't pull another fool stunt like taking a scalding hot shower while he has a fever. I'd rather keep him out of the infirmary, so he doesn't infect everyone else that was affected by the herb. Think of it as an opportunity to repair your friendship, Colonel."
Rodney started coughing, a dry, painful, hacking sound.
"And the first thing you can do is get him a glass of water," Carson said with evident satisfaction. "You'll probably need to help him drink it so he doesn't spill it. I'll be back shortly with some medication."
Rodney was limp and heavy when John helped him sit up to drink the water.
"What're you doing here?" he asked when he'd had enough to drink. "I thought you'd be mad at me."
"I was," John told him. "I still am, kind of. A little bit. But I get why you did it. Beckett told me I was being an ass, and I guess he was right."
"He was. You were," Rodney told him with uncharacteristic simplicity. "Me too."
"You were an ass, too?" John, surprised, just had to make sure he understood McKay's meaning.
"Yes. Isn't that what I just said? Are we good now?"
"Nope. I'm cool, you're good, remember?" Could it possibly be this easy? For John, this was a dream of a reconciliation come true. He might yet have to struggle through the difficult conversation he'd been dreading later on, when Rodney was feeling better – but knowing Rodney, he might get away with just this.
Rodney lay back, curling up under the blanket and closing his eyes. "No, I’m cold," he replied plaintively. "I thought you were going to get me some of that Athosian tea."
"Your wish is my command, Rodney."
McKay looked up, startled, and John grinned at him.
~fin~
by
ellex42Rated PG-13 (for language, not including the f-word)
Gen
Tag for 3.03 Irresistible
Feedback: is always appreciated.
Disclaimer: Stargate: Atlantis is not owned by me, nor do I make any material profit from this story.
Word count: ~3600
Summary: "It was only a joke, but maybe he'd gone too far…"
A/N: I'm not entirely happy with this, but I ran out of time. I may revise it later on. Not beta-ed, but spell and grammar checked and beaten into submission.
Rodney followed the corridors of Atlantis to his own quarters, Elizabeth and Carson's words echoing in his head. He knew if Sheppard didn't show up in the infirmary for Carson's antidote to Lucius' hypnotic drug in very short order, Carson would probably show up at his door, syringe in hand and a lecture on his tongue. The new antidote, to be administered to the victims of the herb, not only neutralized its effects almost instantly, but left them with no more than a slight headache rather than the more serious symptoms of withdrawal. They had administered it to the people of the town Lucius lived in, with gratifying results.
It was only a joke, Rodney thought sourly. He'd only taken a very small dose of the drug, just enough to make Sheppard treat him a little nicer than usual. Most of the time, Rodney enjoyed their swift, stinging banter. Not many people were willing to take his snark and sling it back at him, and Sheppard was very good at it – possibly the best. The man just seemed to know exactly how to push his buttons, and Rodney was happy to hand Sheppard the accustomed reactions. It was an established routine, reassuring and familiar – and Rodney, more than most, appreciated that. Like institutional food, like a favorite sweater on a chilly day, like the constant of gravity on Earth: you knew what you were getting, and you knew it was something you liked.
Rodney had always felt that surprises were vastly overrated.
But this morning, it just rubbed him the wrong way. Sheppard rubbed him the wrong way. He didn't want snark, he didn't want sarcasm, he just wanted a little of that rare buddy feeling that the Colonel only expressed on rare occasions – like when he'd just pulled Rodney out of the back of a sunken, water-filled PuddleJumper. Everything felt off today, like the light was a little too bright, the air a little too chilly. His skin was hypersensitive, so that even the seams in the toes of his socks bothered him. Everyone seemed to be talking just a little too loud.
It was a hundred stupid little things that normally wouldn't bother him, but today they just added up into a huge headache. He was tired, too, even though he'd slept well and hadn't gone to bed quite as late as he usually did. His throat had been so dry when he woke up, after pressing the snooze alarm no less than four times, that there was still a lingering soreness there. And now there was a slight tickle in his throat that made him want to cough every few minutes, not to mention the pressure in his sinuses that had been increasing all day.
A loud sneeze preceded him into his quarters, where Sheppard handed him a clean handkerchief with one hand while holding a pair of Rodney's socks in the other.
"You don't sound so good, Rodney," Sheppard frowned. "Why don't you have a seat? I'll go down to the mess hall and get you some of that Athosian tea. That'll knock any germs right out of your system."
Rodney didn't even have a chance to protest before Sheppard adroitly maneuvered him into the chair from his desk. He mopped at the discharge from his nose and stifled a cough.
"Uh, sure, that sounds good. Why don't you stop in the infirmary along the way, see if Carson has anything for a headache?" That would get Sheppard into Beckett's hands without any argument from the pilot, and Rodney congratulated himself on his subtlety just before another sneeze exploded from him, leaving him momentarily disoriented.
"Right away, Rodney." Sheppard's tone was almost fawning, and it made Rodney's stomach turn to hear it. This little escapade had definitely backfired on him.
With Sheppard gone, he set his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands, trying to rub away the ache. He stayed like that for a while, trying to formulate some kind of apology to Sheppard. He'd crossed a line with this stunt, and could come up with no better explanation than simple spitefulness. Giving Sheppard a taste of what Rodney had been through, while meanly satisfying in a way, was also tantamount to a form of mental rape, and the more he thought about it, the more Rodney realized that maybe he'd gone too far.
Well, the Colonel had forgiven him for Doranda…eventually. Surely, Rodney could manage a heart-felt enough apology for Sheppard to forgive him for this, as well. He hadn't made the soldier do anything embarrassing or humiliating, apart from cleaning Rodney's room – and Sheppard hadn't even finished doing that. He'd be perfectly fine once Carson's antidote took effect, so no harm, no foul, right?
Rodney's musings were interrupted by a flurry of sneezes that tore through him, one after another, leaving him breathless and feeling slightly stunned. He held onto the edge of the desk, waiting for the world to settle around him. Sniffling experimentally, he discovered that his nose was now completely blocked, and he could breathe only through his mouth.
Wasn't that just lovely? He was probably coming down with Sheppard's stupid head cold. The Colonel would undoubtedly consider it poetic justice.
He checked his watch, and was surprised to discover that he'd been sitting there for nearly half an hour, feeling guilty about Sheppard and sorry for himself, and accomplishing nothing. An unguarded snort of disgust made his head pound and his sinuses ache, and he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, wondering if he could beg a decongestant from Carson before the next mission.
Wondering if Zelenka had decided to turn down the heat to save on power, Rodney shivered as a chill swept over him. Maybe putting Radek in charge of the environmental systems hadn't been such a good idea after all. A hot shower might help, though: warm him up, ease the tension in his shoulders, break up the congestion in his head…
John sat in the infirmary and seethed. What the hell had McKay been thinking? He knew how powerful the hypnotic drug was – hell, he'd been a victim of it himself! What selfish, pig-headed, idiotic impulse could have led him to inflict its influence on John?
He'd thought they were friends, that everything was good between them. Was this some form of revenge for…for not paying enough attention to Rodney, or not being impressed enough by his latest accomplishment? Or was McKay really as insensitive, egotistical and heartless as some people liked to claim?
His feelings were hurt, like he was some 14-year-old girl; and god, how it burned to admit that even to himself. It was like they'd gone right back to those horrible weeks after Doranda, to when he couldn't trust Rodney anymore.
It wasn't hard to understand what had happened with the Arcturus Project; he knew how badly Rodney wanted it to be successful. Not for the personal and professional acclaim, but for the ability to generate power. Enough to have a real chance at protecting Atlantis, defeating the Wraith – power enough not to have to worry about it anymore, and he knew how much Rodney worried.
That understanding had taken a lot of time and patience and effort. But this – this stunt was so pointless and stupid and petty –
"Colonel, you're free to go," Beckett startled John out of his thoughts. "Run off and stop scaring my nurses."
"Scaring the nurses?" John repeated, confused.
Beckett frowned at him. "You've a face like a thundercloud, Colonel. Kindly remove it, and yourself, from my infirmary."
Startled by the cold, terse manner, John didn't move. "What bug crawled up your ass, doc?"
Carson folded his arms belligerently. "I'm looking at it."
John gaped at the normally affable doctor. "What'd I do?"
"D'you think I can't tell exactly what you're sitting there stewing about? You look like you can't decide if you've stepped in something nasty or you've just lost your best friend – and I can tell you, it's neither."
Suddenly, everything he was feeling refused to stay locked up inside. "How could he do this to me?" John burst out. Even to his own ears, it sounded childish, and he stared sullenly down at his hands where they were clenched, white-knuckled, on his knees.
"He only did what the rest of us were tempted to do: give you the opportunity to find out exactly what it was like to be happily enthralled to that horrid fellow, Lucius. You've been a right git the last few days, prancing about smug as you please that you were the only one not affected."
"But –"
"But nothing," Carson interrupted. "Get over yourself, Colonel. I remember exactly how I was under Lucius Luvin's influence, fawning and ingratiating and making an utter fool of myself. It makes me sick to my stomach to think on it. I don't condone what Rodney did, but damn if I don't think you deserved it – and if all he made you do was clean his room, you got off easy, lad."
Sheppard's face grew hot, and his fists slowly unclenched as he seemed to shrink in on himself.
"It's not like you to be so mean," Carson continued softly. "What's going on in that thick head of yours?"
The pilot shook his head slowly, eyes downcast. "It – I – I don't know, I just – I guess it was seeing all of you like that, sucking up to Lucius like he was…some kind of Pegasus galaxy pop star…I mean, from a military standpoint, we caught a break. No casualties, an actually bloodless coup. But he turned everyone against me, and I couldn't get you to – to listen to me. He even got to Rodney, and I felt – I felt –" The torrent of words dried up as suddenly as it had started.
"Helpless," Carson finished for him. "You couldn't fight us, and you couldn't get to Lucius without any of us getting in the way. You felt helpless and scared, and that made you angry. And on some level, you resented us for putting you in that position. You thought we could have resisted Lucius, tried harder to fight his influence."
"I guess…" John murmured. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds about right."
"And now you know better," Carson kept on relentlessly, and John began to get some idea of how the easy-going man had risen to the top of his chosen field, "because now you've experienced it for yourself, and you know that there was nothing we could have done."
"I didn't even know I'd been drugged," he burst out. "It seemed perfectly rational to – to –"
"To do your utmost to fulfill Rodney's every whim? Wrack your brain trying to figure out how to please him? To spend all your time hoping for a smile, a kind word…overjoyed to receive so much as a pat on the shoulder?"
John stared at him. "Not…quite. Is that what it was like for you? It was that bad? I just – I wanted to be nice to him. Do something – nice – for him. He said something about trying to find time to tidy up his quarters, and I started thinking about how busy he always is, and how he seemed kind of tired today. So I said I'd clean up for him. It wasn't like a compulsion or anything. It was like that for you?"
"It was slavery of the worst kind," Carson told him. "It was brainwashing, and it leaves you feeling violated and weak and powerless. You've just had a taste of it, and that's why you're so upset with Rodney for doing it to you."
Sheppard dredged up a sickly smile. "You've really thought about this, haven't you, doc? Been spending time with Heightmeyer?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, Colonel."
John flushed. "I didn't mean it that way –"
"I know. But I'd been under Lucius' influence long enough to suffer withdrawal symptoms, and I was having a particularly hard time dealing with it. Kate helped with that. In fact, she spoke to everyone who'd had the most contact with Lucius, including Rodney – who must have decided, fool that he can be, that the best way to deal with his own feelings was to give you a little taste of your own medicine."
"I didn't know," John told him.
"Kate probably should have spoken to you, too. It hadn't even occurred to me that your nastiness was anything other than innocent but very unwelcome teasing." Carson looked thoughtful. "It doesn't make you any less of an ass, you know, but now I understand."
Letting out a breath that seemed to take with it some of the tension that had been knotting up his shoulders, John replied, "Me too. So I guess I should go tell Rodney that I'm not upset with him, huh? And that I'm sorry for all the teasing. I owe you an apology, too, Carson."
The doctor flapped a dismissive hand at him. "All is forgiven. Just straighten things up with Rodney. We all suffer when you two are on the outs with each other."
John strode through the corridors of the city, wavering between worried and irritated.
Rodney wasn't answering his radio.
There were several perfectly innocent explanations for it. Rodney might be deliberately not answering John's hails, although it would be uncharacteristic of him. The one thing Rodney was almost completely incapable of was not talking – particularly to John - no matter what the circumstances. Once, Rodney had publicly declared, in the middle of a crowded mess hall, that he wasn't speaking to John for the rest of the day. He'd shown up in the Control Tower less than half an hour later, confronting John with, "And another thing –"
The other, most likely, possibility was that he'd taken his radio off. Then again, this was Rodney, who often fell asleep with the tiny device in his ear.
Maybe that was it: Rodney had removed the earpiece to take a nap. Certainly he'd looked tired all morning, complaining that he'd been up late removing the command codes he'd set up for Lucius in the computers.
John had already checked with Zelenka to make sure Rodney wasn't in the labs, and had stopped by the mess hall without success. A city-wide call had gone unanswered, so John was returning to the last place he'd seen the scientist: Rodney's own quarters.
He clamped down on a sudden surge of irritation at Rodney for being so difficult to track down. His emotions were still a confused turmoil of resentment, guilt, and anger. Even though he now understood why he felt that way, it didn't negate the feelings – only made them a little easier to deal with.
But Rodney didn't answer his door, either. Finally, John resorted to using his gene to override it and let himself in. Rodney was nowhere in sight, but the sound of running water led him to the bathroom.
"McKay?" he called through the open door. "McKay, it's Sheppard."
He was met with silence. "C'mon, Rodney, I want to talk to you. I'm not angry. I've been a real asshole about the whole Lucius thing. I want – I want to apologize."
Still no answer, and now all the fears that he tried to keep squashed down poked their ugly heads up.
"Shit," he muttered to himself, then called, "Okay, Rodney, you'd better be decent, because I'm coming in."
Steam filled the shower stall in the corner, held in by the partial forcefield that let air and people through, but held in water and most of the vapor. Rodney sat on the floor, slumped against the wall, eyes closed and hair plastered down by the water that streamed over him.
A mental command turned the water off, and John stepped in quickly enough to feel the last few drops, almost scalding hot. He squatted next to the scientist and put a hand on his shoulder. The bare skin was hot to the touch and red from the heat of the water. Rodney's face, cheek pressed against the smooth, pale blue wall that stayed cool despite the hot water, was ruddy as well.
"Beckett!" John tapped his radio. "I need you in McKay's quarters, now."
"Colonel Sheppard?" The startled reply came a moment later. "Do you need an emergency team?"
He looked down at the naked man sprawled in front of him and came to a swift decision. "Just you for the moment, doc."
"I'll be right there."
Rodney stirred. "What's – what're you…"
John grabbed a towel from the shelf and draped it over Rodney's hips. "Carson's on his way, don't move. Did you hit your head?"
"What? No, I - what are you doing here?" he asked, groggy and unfocused.
"Looking after you, McKay. I found you here, passed out."
"I didn't – I didn't faint, I passed out."
John just sighed.
Rodney looked around. "Where – am I in the shower? What am I doing here?" He flailed weakly, but his movements were slow and uncoordinated.
"Just stay where you are, Rodney. Carson's on his way," John told him.
"Carson?" He sat up a little straighter, sliding on the wet floor, and looked down at himself in surprise. "Hey – I'm naked!" He sounded horrified and tried to scramble away from John and get to his feet all at once.
Grabbing his shoulders and pushing him down was far too easy. "McKay, stay still!"
Rodney fell back against the wall, panting harshly. He'd gone white around the mouth and had closed his eyes again.
"Are you going to be sick?" John asked suspiciously.
"No…I don't know," Rodney said faintly. "I'm dizzy."
John tugged the towel back into place just in time to hear Carson calling from the main room. "In here!" he yelled back.
Beckett appeared in the doorway. "Bloody hell, Rodney, what did you do, boil yourself? You look like a lobster!"
"Shut up," Rodney moaned.
"He had the water almost hot enough to scald," John explained.
"Any sign of a fall?"
"I don't think so. I asked him if he'd hit his head, and he said no."
Carson stepped in and put the back of his hand to Rodney's forehead, feeling at his neck for a pulse with the other hand. "You're overheated, you fool. I'm betting you've a fever. How long have you been feeling ill?"
Rodney's answers were terse but coherent. "Dunno. All day. I was cold."
"Alright then, let's get you out of here, Rodney," Carson said soothingly.
Between the two of them, they managed to get the scientist upright and dried off. He stumbled weakly to his bed with Carson's help while John rummaged around for clean underwear and a T-shirt. Rodney let them dress him as if he was a child, eyes half-closed, muttering irritably.
"His glands are swollen, his throat is red, and I can hear the congestion in his sinuses," Carson announced. "Rodney, you have Colonel Sheppard's cold."
Rodney just moaned and flopped back onto his bed. Beckett tugged the blanket out from under him and covered him up, and he clutched it around himself, huddling into it.
"I should have noticed," Sheppard asked quietly. "He said he wasn't feeling well earlier. In fact, that's how he got me to go to the infirmary and see you – he asked me to get him something for a headache."
"I suspect he's been feeling a bit off all day," Carson said as he stuck a thermometer in Rodney's ear. "It's not surprising he'd come down with your cold in the first place, considering how much time you spend together. On top of that, when the herb wears off, it leaves the victim with a depressed immune system, so it hit him harder than if he'd been completely healthy. It's not dangerous," he hastened to add when John looked worried, "he'll just be miserable for a few days, and he might have a little more trouble shaking it off than you did. The good news, Colonel, is that you've already had it, so you're immune."
John raised an eyebrow at that remark, and Carson smiled innocently at him. "You can stay with him, make sure he doesn't pull another fool stunt like taking a scalding hot shower while he has a fever. I'd rather keep him out of the infirmary, so he doesn't infect everyone else that was affected by the herb. Think of it as an opportunity to repair your friendship, Colonel."
Rodney started coughing, a dry, painful, hacking sound.
"And the first thing you can do is get him a glass of water," Carson said with evident satisfaction. "You'll probably need to help him drink it so he doesn't spill it. I'll be back shortly with some medication."
Rodney was limp and heavy when John helped him sit up to drink the water.
"What're you doing here?" he asked when he'd had enough to drink. "I thought you'd be mad at me."
"I was," John told him. "I still am, kind of. A little bit. But I get why you did it. Beckett told me I was being an ass, and I guess he was right."
"He was. You were," Rodney told him with uncharacteristic simplicity. "Me too."
"You were an ass, too?" John, surprised, just had to make sure he understood McKay's meaning.
"Yes. Isn't that what I just said? Are we good now?"
"Nope. I'm cool, you're good, remember?" Could it possibly be this easy? For John, this was a dream of a reconciliation come true. He might yet have to struggle through the difficult conversation he'd been dreading later on, when Rodney was feeling better – but knowing Rodney, he might get away with just this.
Rodney lay back, curling up under the blanket and closing his eyes. "No, I’m cold," he replied plaintively. "I thought you were going to get me some of that Athosian tea."
"Your wish is my command, Rodney."
McKay looked up, startled, and John grinned at him.
~fin~
