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Sheppard huffs at him through his teeth, eyes wild and pupils ringed with yellow. His lips are curled back so Rodney can see the pink lines of his gums, and those teeth, they’re—they’re not human.
Sheppard is—well, there must be some humanity left in there, deep, deep down. Rodney hopes he’s still human somewhere deep down. As long as he can hold on to that, just a scrap of it, when they get back to Atlantis (they will get back to Atlantis; they always get back to Atlantis; why would this time be—Ronan will—Teyla—Elizabeth— someone) they can fix this.
They can fix John. Rodney just needs—he needs to keep him human.
“Sheppard. Shep—” Sheppard snaps at him, gnashing at the air with those inhuman teeth. “Sheppard!”
~
“It’s nothing, Rodney. Will you just let it go, already?” Sheppard tugs his sleeve down past his wrist, hiding the shiny ring of—ring of—
Well, it’s not fucking eczema, that’s for sure. It’s not just dry skin, either. Rodney knows about dry skin, cracked hands and callouses from tearing apart this and that, ashy elbows and patches of peeling itch from unfamiliar climates and not enough humidity.
Dry skin can be fixed with a judicious application of Jergens or that funny smelling puck of slippery balm Teyla has gifted them all with too many times.
Dry skin is not iridescent. Dry skin doesn't form a perfect, twilightish bracelet around delicate skin and bone.
Dry skin is not—aaaand Sheppard is gone, having had enough of Rodney’s ranting about what dry skin is or is not.
Rodney should really report this to Carson, since John obviously won’t. Like an injured animal, Sheppard would rather crawl into the air vents and die than admit that maybe growing scales is something to get checked out by a medical professional.
Not that Rodney puts much stock in that hokum either, but if he were to suddenly sprout cuffs of chitin, well, he’d—
Zelenka pops onto comms right about then, though, and Rodney will let those tiny Czech hands be the first inside the guts of the device the lab team has just cracked open over his dead body—
Rodney doesn’t make it to Carson that day, and, if he bothered to think about it, he’d just know that was going to come back and bite them all in the ass.
~
Cold, cold, cold. It’s so goddamned cold. Rodney can’t stop shivering.
Sheppard, at least, has stopped his vicious gnashing.
He’s making a sound now, like the chattering of teeth, but his mouth is gaped open wide, jaw hung low. It’s not chattering, it’s chittering, and Rodney doesn’t know where in his throat it could possibly be coming from, because human throats don’t do that.
The chittering stops. Rodney feels relief course through his tight shoulders for all of 10 seconds.
Sheppard’s mouth still hasn’t closed. His jaundiced eyes track across the cell until they land on Rodney. There’s a sound like the start of an air raid siren and it takes a moment for Rodney to realize this, too, is coming from Sheppard.
Rodney doesn’t know what it means, nor how to stop it. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know if there’s anyone coming for them. He doesn’t know if there will be enough of John left to fix, even if (when) they’re rescued.
Rodney doesn’t like not knowing. He likes the sounds coming out of John’s mouth even less.
There’s a slot at the bottom of the cell door and it slides open for the first time. No food, just water, and oh god Rodney really is going to die. His blood sugar is already low and water really isn’t going to cut it. He’s going to die here. He’s going to die. He’s going to—
John starts going crazy again right then, and Rodney doesn’t know if it’s in response to his panic or whoever’s outside the cell door. It doesn’t really matter. Rodney snaps out of it enough to bang on the metal of the cell. The hinges of the door barely notice.
“Hey! Hey! Whoever’s out there! You can’t—you can’t do this. We have friends, you know, in very high, very trigger happy places!”
He’s not really sure why he’s even bothering other than it gives him an excuse to stop staring at Sheppard, cataloging Sheppard, watching the change as Sheppard turns into—turns back into—
~
“Sheppard, did you go see—”
“It’s fine, McKay.”
“Yes, yes. I’m sure it is. But did you—”
“I said it’s fine, Rodney. Drop it.”
Oh yeah, sure. As if that’s ever—
The last chevron locks into place and Sheppard is already stepping forward, stepping in front of Rodney, weapon at the ready by his side. It means Rodney gets a good look at the back of his head, the blackened scabs at his hairline, the knobs of his cervical vertebrae that look less like knobs and more like—Rodney can’t be the only one to notice this.
The second they get back he’s going straight to Carson; Rodney doesn’t care what Sheppard has to say on the matter. Because they are not going back to that iratus infested hell hole just because Lt. Colonel ‘I deal with my issues with repression and avoidance’ is praying his little problem just goes away.
Literally, as soon as they get back. Rodney may even radio in a request for Carson to meet them in the gate room just so Sheppard can’t disappear into the bowels of a city completely willing to hide him.
John steps through the gate, and Rodney follows.
No one else makes it through after them.
~
There isn’t much water. It’s not—it’s not a problem, yet. They haven’t been here that long (a day? Half a day? Long enough that the sounds John has been making have burrowed deep into the part of Rodney’s memory that never fails him. Those sounds will be there forever, now, the rest of eternity, or at least until Rodney dies, which might be soon, actually, might be—could be—might be—)
Sheppard, he thinks, needs the water more than him. Not that Rodney is typically given to fits of generosity, especially not when he’s locked in a piss soaked cell. But.
But it’s John. Sort of. Somewhere inside there is John.
John would—Sheppard would—well. Rodney doesn’t know if John would give up his own share of water if he were all there. It wouldn’t matter. If John was still all there, they’d already have a plan, because John would push Rodney until they came up with something, or he’d whip out some military jiu-jitsu and get them the fuck out of here, or at least he’d bicker and poke and prod at Rodney until he wasn’t so stuck inside his head.
Rodney really wishes John was here.
Instead, he’s stuck with a Sheppard who’s turning into—who, right before Rodney’s eyes, he’s—
He’s got really, very sharp teeth. Rodney keeps coming back to that part, because to get any water in Sheppard he’s going to have to get very up close and personal with those really, very sharp teeth.
He’s your friend. He’s your—friend. He’s—
He’s John. He’s still John. He’s still John. He’s still John.
Rodney’s ankle twinges when he stands, shallow dish of water in hand. It’s tepid and murky and the last thing either of them needs is dysentery, but he takes a few sips just to wet his parched mouth. The rest—
The rest is for Sheppard.
Sheppard doesn’t want it. The dish clatters across the cracked cement of the cell, leaving a darkened trail in its wake.
Rodney lets his back lean against the wall and slides to the ground to watch it dry. Beside him, just out of reach, Sheppard chitters, agitated.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Rodney giggles, manic.
He doesn’t know how to interpret the chirp he gets in response.
~
Rodney stumbles through the gate on the other side. He knows without turning around that something is very, very wrong, and that no one else is coming through.
Sheppard is already on his knees, facing Rodney, hands behind his head. There’s a gun pressed to his back—his own gun—by a tall skinny man with a half-melted face.
A woman in a drab robe steps up and pokes Sheppard in the side with some sort of—
Sheppard’s eyes flash an unnatural, sickly yellow, and when he screams, it sounds like—
Rodney had a bully in high school, once, a big, dumb, future serial killer type. The cat had been out behind the dumpsters where Rodney routinely had the snot beaten out of him, until one day—that day—
Rodney knows a cat can scream because he’s heard it before. It’s not the exact same sound that comes out of Sheppard’s mouth, but it’s as close of an equivalent as Rodney’s got.
Rodney passes out when they use the cattle prod on him. Sometimes, it pays to not be made of sterner stuff like John Sheppard.
~
Rodney remembers well the last time Sheppard turned into a bug. He wishes he doesn’t. He wishes he doesn’t remember Sheppard slipping away. He wishes he doesn’t remember the planet, or the nasty, dark, hot, humid cave.
In the end, it had been Sheppard who had gone into the cave to retrieve the egg needed to reverse his change. Something tells Rodney that’s not going to be an option this time.
He tries not to let his nerves get to him. He tries to channel Sheppard’s normal no bullshit, we’ll get out of this, we always get out of this attitude. It doesn’t work, because of course it fucking doesn’t, but it keeps him from thinking the really drastic thoughts.
For a while.
Until John stops chittering. His hands go limp in the heavy iron cuffs. There’s webbing between his limp fingers, now, and his nails aren’t nails anymore, Rodney supposes, really more claws. Which Rodney can get a good look at now that Sheppard’s fists aren’t clenched, now that he’s—
Not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not—
He’s not.
He’s not. Rodney inches closer and sticks his hand—no. Teeth; remember the teeth. Presses his ear to Sheppard’s chest and hears—nothing. At first. But then.
Thump.
Th-thump.
Thump.
It’s faint, hard to hear, but the cell is ungodly quiet and John’s heartbeat is there, just slow. Too slow. Rodney thinks he’s lucky to be able to hear it at all through—
Beneath Rodney’s ear, Sheppard’s chest crinkles and creaks. It’s hard, like—
He unbuttons Sheppard’s jacket and pulls down the neck of his shirt to reveal the creeping carapace that is encroaching over angry pink skin. John’s chest heaves and the breath that he sucks in and lets back out sounds like a death rattle.
Rodney scrambles backwards, falling to his ass and scuttling like a crab. Sheppard’s head rises slowly and his eyes crack open but they’re not staring at Rodney, not really staring at anything. He keens again, a sharp, mournful noise.
OK. OK. Sheppard needs—John needs—
He probably needs water, which they no longer have. He needs medical care, which they also don’t have. He needs—
He needs warmth, and since he’s gone all buggy, the support of his hive, which they definitely don’t have.
The only things they have are John, what’s left of him (he’s still in there; he’s still in there; he’s still in there) and Rodney.
Reversing course and pulling himself to his knees, Rodney inches forward. Sheppard’s eyes snap to him, but the keening stops. Slowly, so slowly, inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter, Rodney closes the gap between them.
It’s still John. Under it all, it’s still John—
~
When Rodney wakes up in the cell, his body aches in places he didn't even know he could feel. He's not restrained, but Sheppard sure as hell is, and Rodney's guessing whoever these people are they only have one cell and one set of manacles and out of the two of them it's pretty obvious Rodney's not the threat.
Where the hell the sort of people with only one cell got a cattle prod—
Probably the same way they just got a shiny new P90 to play with.
And Sheppard, all chained up, eyes wild, screaming, yelling, his words are garbled like he's forgotten how to form them, or maybe he can't—
How long has Rodney been out? How long, more importantly, until they're rescued? How long until Sheppard is no longer Sheppard? How—
~
The rescue, when it comes, is a bit anticlimactic. Rodney has given up any pretense of propriety in the face of keeping John as warm as possible with his body. It has taken longer than he'd like to admit to convince himself the teeth were staying locked up behind Sheppard's too-blue lips, and longer still to assuage his masculinity before he'd given in and wrapped himself awkwardly around Sheppard's near comatose form.
He’s detailing out loud the last paper he’d published before being recruited for the Stargate program in the hopes that if John is still in there language might draw him back out, or maybe just sheer annoyance. The lock of the cell clicks and the words die in Rodney’s throat. He clings a little tighter.
The door swings open and Rodney tamps down the urge to bury his face in Sheppard’s shirt to hide in case it’s—in case it’s not—
“Thought that was your voice, McKay.” Ronan’s wild man grumble has never been more welcome. “Got ‘em here.”
“John, too?” Teyla’s voice is followed by her face as she peers around Ronan’s beefy form.
“Yeah. Sheppard, too. I think.”
Rodney’s not really aware of too much after that, seeing as his blood sugar levels are in the basement and he’s been electrocuted. He’s just vaguely aware of Teyla’s gentle hands prying his fingers from John’s shirt and Ronan muscling him out of the way.
~
“Excuse me, what do you mean ‘you’ve done all you can’?”
“Rodney, it means I’ve done all I can. His mind is back, but we still don’t know what caused him to revert in the first place, and some of the physical changes may not—”
What a load of crock. Carson fixed John last time; why should this time be—why should—
“Where is he? He’s not here. You didn’t—he didn’t—not back to that planet?!”
That would be insane. Not that Rodney would put it past Sheppard, but—and not that Rodney wants to go back, but—he wouldn’t have gone alone.
Correction, he absolutely would have gone alone, but no one has gated out that Rodney’s aware of, and—
“I’ve sent him back to his room, Rodney, where Atlantis can better control the climate for him. And he’s not to be disturbed. It’s taken a toll on—”
Rodney doesn’t wait around for Carson to finish.
He knocks at Sheppard’s door, and then again, harder, when he doesn’t get a response. He really shouldn’t be—he has things to do, problems to solve, a city to keep running. But he can’t seem to stop himself, either, and he knocks again. Really, more pounds.
The door slides open before he can make any more of a ruckus. There’s no one behind it, which means Atlantis is being her usual tricky mistress self, and that worries Rodney almost more than Carson’s diagnosis. If Atlantis is worried enough to let Rodney in…
He steps into the room and the door wooshes shut behind him. “Sheppard?”
Sheppard’s not as much of a neat freak as some of the other military types Rodney’s had the misfortune of meeting, but he’s usually at least neater than Rodney. Tonight, though, it looks like a tornado’s torn through and it must have taken Sheppard with it, because he’s nowhere in sight.
“John?” Rodney calls out for him again.
The lights are down so low Rodney can barely see where it’s safe to set his feet, but when he tries to turn them up Atlantis doesn’t let him. It’s hot in here, too, a striking juxtaposition to the cell they’d been locked in. Rodney can already feel the sweat beading up at his hairline and threatening to trickle down the back of his neck.
There’s a rustling from the floor on the other side of the bed. Rodney can’t quite see from here, but he thinks that’s where all the sheets and blankets that have been stripped from the mattress ended up.
“John?”
“Go away, McKay. I’m not ready to deal with the ‘I told you so’s’.”
His voice is raspy but human and the tension that Rodney hadn't realized he'd been holding releases.
They made it back. They made it back in time. Even if Sheppard, even if he—he's still John, no matter what he looks like under those blankets.
"I wasn't going to say I told you so," Rodney sniffs, a little haughty, too relieved to hold back. "Even though I absolutely did."
"Rodney."
"OK, yes, yes. I'm sorry, alright? That's not why I came here."
And it's true. 'I told you so's' were the last thing on his mind when he brushed Carson off and rushed up here. Not after watching—not after—
"So just came to gawk, then?"
"Fuck you, John," Rodney spits out. "I should tell you 'I told you so', you know that? What if we'd lost you? I thought we had. All I kept thinking was what if John doesn't come back? What if he's—what if you're—"
John stands then, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders. Atlantis, because she can be a bit of a drama queen, raises the lights just enough for Rodney to get a good look.
"A monster?" John's smile is mean, his teeth still not quite human
Rodney nearly flinches back, but he holds his ground. It's still John.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Sheppard and the city really are two peas in a pod. “I almost fucking lost you. In that cell, you were barely breathing and I had to use my body heat to keep you warm like some sort of harlequin romance novel and all I could think about was what if the team doesn’t get here in time? What if it’s already too late? So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m actually somewhat happy to see you, bug face and all.”
“Aww, McKay. Didn’t realize you cared that much.”
Rodney is seriously gearing up now, about to give Sheppard a piece of his mind if all Sheppard has for him is sarcasm when they just faced down death again and—
Sheppard is shivering. A real, human shiver, which is actually kind of a relief, except it does remind Rodney that Sheppard is—that he might be a little buggy for the rest of his life, and—
“It’s a sauna in here. You can’t seriously still be cold.”
“Fuck off,” Sheppard's still too pointy teeth chatter, but at least it’s not a weird bug sound, at least his throat isn’t—
“Well, get back into your nest, then.” Rodney kicks off his shoes and starts on the zipper of his jacket.
“McKay, what—”
But he doesn’t really argue once Rodney shuffles over and shoves at his shoulder a little. Sheppard’s chest is bare (maybe he wouldn’t be so cold if he put a shirt on) but it’s also pink and a little sticky like the carapace that had been taking over just peeled—nope. Not thinking about that. Not thinking about what that stickiness could be.
“Just lay down, would you?”
“What are you— why?”
OK, so Sheppard does argue a little bit, but not the kind of arguing where he doesn’t actually want to do what he’s been told to do. It’s more the kind where he does want to do what he’s been told to do, but deep in his heart he’s just a contrary idiot who hates following orders, no matter where they come from.
Well, Rodney doesn’t really give a shit. And John just proves him right when he lays back down and curls up under the blanket. After a moment of manly hesitation, he holds up a corner and pointedly looks everywhere except Rodney. Once Rodney is tucked into the nest with him the lights go back down and Rodney really can’t tell if Atlantis is fucking with him or if Sheppard has actually finally psychically bonded with the city.
He’s only a little jealous that she likes Sheppard more.
“Why do we have to do this on the floor? My back is going to be killing me in the morning.” Rodney slings a tentative arm over John’s hip and finds his skin is actually warmer than Rodney’s.
“Because it feels right. Leave if you want. It’s not like you were invited in the first place.” His actions belie his words, though, when he shuffles in closer and presses his nose to Rodney’s neck.
They’ve been inching closer to this for months now, but the both of them, really, are stubborn and John is in the US Air Force with their ass backwards ideas of moral superiority and Rodney is a busy man, he doesn’t have time for things like—things like—
Tonight, though, John needs to be close for his own set of reasons, and Rodney—
Rodney just needs John, sticky chest and strange eyes and sharp teeth and all. Because no matter what he looks like, John is still there, and Rodney had been—
He’d been afraid.
He’s not afraid any more, but he thinks John may be, just a little bit.
It’s not like it was the worst kidnapping they’ve ever endured. They weren’t tortured for information. There was barely even time to be bored. But he’d held on to John and felt something in him slipping away and for once, it wasn’t himself Rodney was scared for.
He doesn’t know if he likes that feeling—being scared for someone else. Being scared for John.
John lifts his head from where he’s pressed into Rodney’s skin, and the lights are low enough that it’s hard to see the changes at all, really. It’s still John Sheppard looking back at him.
“We finally doing this, McKay?”
Rodney leans in and kisses him, sharp teeth and all.
Yeah, they’re finally doing this.