hen Rodney wakes up, he is chained to a bed. That is not the worst thing. When he opens his eyes, everything looks wrong -- the colors too pale, the light too bright, the edges of things just the slightest bit too sharp. When Rodney turns his head, something moves with him, dragging across the pillows. It takes him a long moment to recognize it as the long-forgotten feeling of long hair pulling on his scalp. When he looks at his arms, stretched out above his head, shackled, they are a pale, sickish green, mottled with purple. When he opens his mouth to scream, his voice is a horrible, inhuman roar.

John finds him not a second too soon. Rodney's wrists are already raw where he has been throwing himself against the shackles, again and again, the chains rattling and shaking the bed-frame, and the princess's guardians are growing nervous, eyes wide with the instinctive terror bred into all the Pegasus natives by millennia of cullings. Their guns are shaking in their hands, fingers itching to pull the trigger, held back only by the princess's sobbing pleas in a language he hardly understands -- one of them -- revenge -- you can't -- he catches, but he can see the fear overcoming obedience, orders trumped by Wraith.

One of the guards, a twitchy young man, is playing nervously with the catch on his gun, so Rodney forces himself to lie still, trying to contain his own panic. He really doesn't want to frighten the guy any further.

John bursts into the room right when Rodney is starting to get really terrified, just waiting for the first bullet to hit him. Rodney can see him assessing the situation with a single quick glance -- the sobbing princess in the corner, the circle of guards surrounding a Wraith chained to a bed, Rodney seemingly gone -- and watches as his face gets hard and angry, P90 flying into his hands almost as of its own accord. "What the fuck is going on here?"

The princess flinches and sobs harder. A few of the guards are visibly torn between keeping their guns pointed at Rodney -- who is, while shackled and immobile, still a Wraith, and John -- who may be only a human, but looks pretty damn scary when he's pissed off like this.

"John!" Rodney says, before the situation can escalate any further. He flinches at the sound of his own voice -- still almost his, but deeper, wilder, more a Wraith's roar than a human's call.

John whirls to face him, eyes going wide and startled, gun suddenly pointed straight at Rodney's chest.

"It's me! Rodney!" he says quickly, desperately, and, when John's eyes go narrow with suspicion, does the first thing he can think of: "Remember the personal shield, when you threw me off a balcony? And, and, when we got stuck in the gate with the jumper! And I built the atomic bomb for your stupid suicide run! Also, I've watched that stupid Hail Mary vid of yours only -"

"Rodney?"

"Yes!" Oh, thank God, he's got the memo. John's lowering the gun, still cautious, but at least it's not pointing anywhere it could do horrible damage with one flick of the trigger anymore. He's turning so he can keep the guards in his field of vision, too, but they seem to have relaxed somewhat, and don't look like they're going to start shooting him at the first movement anymore.

"What happened to you?" John says feebly -- still processing, Rodney suspects. It's not every day that your chief science officer gets turned into a Wraith. Even in the Pegasus galaxy.

Unfortunately, he has no idea how to answer that question, either. His last memory is of leaving the party, with the princess practically dragging him by the arm, away from the delicious buffet, despite his protests. After that, it gets foggy, and trying to remember makes his head hurt more.

"I don't know! Ask her!" He points to the princess, who is, predictably, still sobbing in the corner.

John turns to her -- still taking care to keep him in his line of sight, Rodney is dismayed to notice. He is far from trusting him, yet.

"What did you do to him?" John's voice is sharp, and the princess flinches away from him, huddling even tighter against the desk she's leaning on.

"It was an accident, I swear!" she says shrilly, voice rising with panic. "I didn't know it would do that! It's never done anything before!"

Memories are slowly beginning to surface -- the princess enthusiastically dragging him around the primitive lab, showing him something that was clearly a bit of left-over Ancient technology, trying to make him turn it on -- and suddenly it's all back.

"Oh, damn it, I said to leave it alone! Didn't I tell you that it might be dangerous? Because I seem to recall that I explicitly told you not to touch it until I knew what it could do. But you just couldn't listen, could you? Why, why, why do I always have to be surrounded by morons, anyway? And stop crying, that's not going to help anything!"

Annoyingly, that only makes her cry harder. He clenches his fists in angry frustration, and then lets go with a hiss as he feels the points of sharp claws digging into his palms.

"God damn it!"

ohn is grinning at him, suddenly looking a lot more relaxed. "Calm down, McKay, you're not helping."

He's picking up the princess from the floor with strong hands, locating a tissue on the table and pressing it into her shaking hands. She sniffles and says "Thanks," in a small, timid voice. Rodney rolls his eyes disgustedly. Yeah, trust John to be able to cozy up to the alien princess.

"So, tell me what happened," John says, voice gentle and understanding. Rodney snorts. The guards still gathered around the bed glare at him, and he shrugs. Not his fault their precious princess is a vapid brat.

"It, it was an accident," she's repeating, still sniffling. "I only brought him down here to have a look at the kel-dori-tiri, see if he knew how to turn it on. It's never done anything before! He, he told me to leave it alone until he could examine it more closely -"

"Ha! And did you listen?" Rodney snaps, and then answers his own question: "No, you did not. And now look what happened!"

He pointedly rattles his chains. Their eyes recoil from his mottled green flesh, just like his own still do, and the horror of the situation suddenly crashes in on him again, panic rising sharply. He's been turned into a Wraith. God, what if they can't turn him back? What are they going to do with him then? They'd have to kill him, he suddenly realizes, an ice-cold shiver trickling down his spine.

He can't feed like this, they wouldn't let him... And he wouldn't want to, he realizes, which is a relief, that he's still as unwilling to kill as he's always been. At least he hasn't turned into that kind of monster. But that means that it's either slow, painful starvation or quick death by bullet for him.

He wonders if John would do it himself. Probably yes. He wouldn't saddle a subordinate with that kind of task, right? Rodney's all-too-vivid imagination helpfully supplies him with a picture of what it would be like: The hard, flat look in John's eyes, pointing the muzzle of a gun at his face with steady hands, himself -- bound? chained down? -- shaking, probably begging... He'd like to think that he'd have the strength to spare John that additional pain, but he's pretty sure that he doesn't have that kind of courage...

No, no, stop, he has to stop thinking of that. Carson's going to find a way to turn him back, he's done it for John, too. Calm down, calm down...

"Rodney? You all right?"

John's voice is gentle and full of concern, and Rodney breathes a sigh of relief -- at least John is still seeing him as someone worthy of concern, not a monster. He's holding the little Ancient box he must have taken from the princess, and Rodney can see his own reflection in the glossy black sides of it -- the sallow, inhuman tinge of his face, rows of sharp teeth in his mouth, slitted pupils and red-ringed eyes. The features of his face are just slightly off in a way that screams inhuman, even though he can't quite put his fingers on what exactly causes the impression. It's ugly. Repulsive. The face of the enemy.

"Do I look all right?" Rodney asks acidly, waving a wraithified hand for emphasis. When he cranes his head back, he can just see it: Thick green-purple fingers tapering off into ugly, crooked, yellowish claws, dark slit in the middle of his palm -- he flinches and quickly closes his fingers, covering it.

John sighs, putting a firm hand on his shoulder, squeezing a little in encouragement. It feels strange, his own flesh harder and less giving than he's used to, but he appreciates the attempt at comfort more than he can say. That John is still willing to touch him...

"We'll get you back to Atlantis, and Beckett will have fixed you in no time, you'll see," he says, and strangely, it doesn't sound like a platitude. He almost makes Rodney believe it, too. He tries to smile, but it feels strange on his new face, and he's not sure what it does to his inhuman features, so he stops again.

John gestures to the chains. "Are you going to be okay if I unlock this? No irrepressible urge to suck the life out of me, or anything?"

"No!" Rodney says, and only then does he actually take a second to think that over, because it would just... suck, pun not intended, to be wrong about this. He concentrates on John, trying to find out if anything feels different. It's only now, when he's actually paying attention, that he notices the faint halo surrounding John -- and not only him, but all the humans in the room, too.

It's strangely pretty, a living glow of energy surrounding their bodies, colored subtly different for every one of them, so faint he almost doesn't see it even now. It... draws him, makes him want to reach out and touch, to put his hand right in the middle of that beautiful light and drink it in, take it inside himself...

"Oh God. John, I'm... maybe you'd better leave the chains on for now", he says, suddenly feeling sick.

John instantly tenses up, drawing back a little, not that Rodney could have reached him with his chained limbs, anyway.

"What is it? Are you... hungry?" He grimaces when he says it. Rodney looks away, pressing his face into the cool pillows, skin flaming with shame.

"It's... not like that, exactly. I'm not... hungry... yet, just... kind of aware that you'd make a good meal if I was, I think," he says miserably, the words sticking in his throat and choking him.

"Oh, Rodney," John says, voice miraculously full of compassion. He's gone through something like this himself, Rodney reminds himself, he understands.

"Is it irrepressible, or can you control it?"

This time, he thinks carefully before answering. It doesn't feel uncontrollable at all, no. John's energy is tempting like... like cookies are tempting when you aren't very hungry. He wants to reach out and take, but not out of any real desire except for the knowledge that it would be delicious if he did, and it's perfectly possible to just decide not to do it. There's no actual compulsion. Just the comparison makes him feel sick all over again, though.

"I'm pretty sure I can control it," he says cautiously. "I'm not hungry yet, anyway, but even if I was, I don't think it's any harder not to eat for a Wraith than it is for a human. It doesn't feel like something I have to do."

John looks at him appraisingly for a moment, then he nods. "Promise to tell me when it gets worse?"

"Of course," Rodney says immediately, shuddering. "I really, really don't want to end up killing any of you by accident."

John gets one of the reluctant guards to give him the key by glowering and concealed threats. He unlocks the ankle restraints first, which Rodney knows means he's still being cautious, otherwise he'd free his arms first -- this way, his range of motion is still limited while John is busy with the chains.

odney forces himself to lie very still, trying to radiate Not a threat, not a threat. He stretches his legs slowly. His feet feel strange inside his shoes, as if they've suddenly become too big. Rodney suspects that he now has claws there, too. He's never seen a Wraith without boots, though, so he has no idea what their feet look like. Actually, he has no idea what pretty much any part of their anatomy looks like, he realizes with newly growing horror. There could be anything under their leather clothes. What if they -- he -- is completely disgusting? He shudders and forces his mind away from that.

Finally his hands are free. John is stepping back a bit, hand on his gun, watchful, so Rodney is careful not to make any abrupt movements. Getting to his feet feels just as strange as anything else -- this new body moves subtly different from his own. Only when he's standing he notices that he's taller now, too -- he's suddenly towering over John by more than half a head, and his science team uniform is too short at the arms and the legs. He's skinnier, too, fat and solid muscle replaced by the Wraiths' stringier musculature, so his clothes are hanging loosely around his shoulders and waist. He draws his belt tighter, self-consciously aware of John's eyes following his every movement.

John makes the guards fetch their packs and lead them out the back door. His pack feels so ridiculously light that he's sure they must have taken things out of it, and only after a minute of frantically rifling through it and finding everything where he left it, he realizes that it's because he's stronger now. He wonders if it's like that all the time for Ronon -- and if yes, why the hell isn't he carrying Rodney's pack too, anyway?

John's trailing slightly behind, hand still on his gun. It takes all the joy out of the discovery of his new-found strength. He thinks of the personal shield device, of how readily John shared his delight in his invulnerability. He doesn't think this particular discovery would be as welcome. The thought makes him want to hit something.

They meet Ronon and Teyla back at the jumper, where they left them because apparently the Boreans' moral code does not actually include a taboo against stealing. Rodney is still wondering how they managed to become such a relatively technologically advanced society despite that, but they figured it was a good idea not to take a risk with their belongings this time.

Ronon and Teyla have been leaning comfortably against the side of the jumper, but they are on their feet in an instant, guns trained on Rodney, who stops dead in his tracks and tries to suppress the instinctive urge to run. These people are his friends, and he would trust them with his life, but they don't know it's him -- and Ronon has been known to shoot first and ask questions later, especially when it comes to the Wraith. Obviously John is thinking along the same lines, because suddenly he's in front of Rodney, arms raised in an appeasing gesture, waving them down. Rodney closes his eyes in relief.

"Calm down, guys, everything's under control -- put the guns down."

Teyla hesitantly lowers her P90 a bit, but of course Ronon doesn't comply -- he's much more of an obedient subordinate than Rodney will ever be, but seven years on the run have drilled the fear of the Wraith into him, deeper than even the military's brainwashing could reach.

John's just standing there, though, staring at him, and then he raises one eyebrow, almost mockingly -- and Ronon lowers the gun. Rodney is impressed. He knows that John can do the leader thing in a pinch, of course, knows that his men would die for him without a question, but he rarely ever sees it in action like this. John's always so laid back, so cool, that it makes you forget that there is steel hidden under the façade.

"Where did you find the Wraith?" Ronon says, disgust in his voice and eyes. Rodney looks down, shuddering when he catches sight of his mottled arms again. There is a long moment of silence. Rodney feels uncharacteristically at a loss for words, all the energy that usually pours out of him in torrents of words drained. He's suddenly so very tired, and his head hurts, and all he wants to do is curl up in a corner somewhere, sleep, and wake up human.

"That's Rodney," John finally says, and predictably, there are questions -- tons of them. Rodney's feeling way too tired to deal with them, though. He sits down on one of the jumper benches, wearily, and lets John do almost all the talking. Halfway through the journey back to Atlantis, he falls asleep.



He wakes up in the infirmary, and allows himself one long, agonizing moment of hope before he opens his eyes -- but no, he's still Wraith. He bites his lip in disappointment and whimpers, shocked, when his new pointy teeth sink right into the flesh. It's only a slight scrape, and doesn't even hurt all that much, but the taste is sharp and vile in his mouth, nothing like what human blood tastes like at all. He tries to raise his hand to his lip, but something jerks his wrist back down sharply. Great. Chained to the bed again.

"Carson!" At least the Wraith's roar carries. "Carson!"

he door opens, and admits not only Carson, but also Rodney's team and Elizabeth. Behind them he can see two guards leaning against the wall, Wraith stunners in their hand.

"Rodney -- you're awake, I see," Carson says inanely, and Rodney rolls his eyes.

"Yes, yes, it's very comforting to have a doctor with such astute abilities of observation. Did you notice that I've been turned into a Wraith, too?"

Carson, who is practically immune to Rodney's sarcasm by now, just clucks and starts running the Ancient medical scanner over his body, but Elizabeth looks predictably exasperated, and John is grinning a little.

It's a small comfort that he's still able to get familiar responses like this. Ronon and Teyla, though, are standing back and watching him carefully, like he might suddenly start trying to eat them all. It stings, even though he tells himself that it's only to be expected -- these two have been conditioned to fear and hate the Wraith all their lives.

He glares at Carson, instead. "Couldn't you have done that while I was asleep?"

As always when Rodney tries to pick a fight in the infirmary, Carson's voice is infuriatingly patient. "I did, lad -- and now I'm doing it again, to see if there have been any changes."

"So -- how am I doing?" Rodney asks, nervously. He really, really wants Carson to tell him that this is temporary, they've already figured out what happened and are going to change him back just as soon as they... well, whatever it is they're waiting for. The right phase of the moon, or something. Medicine is such voodoo, he hates it when his life depends on something so unpredictable.

"Well, as far as I can tell with my limited knowledge of Wraith medicine, you're perfectly healthy. And no, we haven't figured out how to turn you back yet, but we have a team of the best doctors and engineers in two galaxies working on that -- I'm sure we'll figure it out soon. In the meantime, I'd like to do a physical examination..."

Rodney bites his lip and looks away. "Think you can untie me for that?" he asks, tugging slightly on the cuffs. The thought of Carson examining him, seeing and touching and probing his alien body, makes him squirm, but the thought of him doing it while he's bound to the bed is completely unbearable.

Carson hesitates, and God, he really, really should get used to the sudden lack of trust soon, because otherwise he'll be up for one hell of an awful time. It's not going to be easy for anyone to accept this transformation, maybe even impossible -- and at least Carson is being pretty decent about it. Unlike some other people -- and he can't help but look pointedly at Ronon and Teyla, who glower back suspiciously. It's him who looks away first.

"Colonel, what do you think?" Carson asks quietly. Rodney can hear every word perfectly, but he doesn't think he's supposed to -- his hearing seems to have gotten better, too. Great. Yet another advantage the Wraith have on them. God, this is making him crazy, watching other people decide over his fate like he's nothing more than cattle -- no. Like he's an enemy.

John looks at him for a moment, and Rodney can't help but feel hope, because John is supposed to be his friend, his ally -- he defended him in the jumper, didn't he?

"Untie him. I'll stay and keep an eye on him," John says, and to Rodney, more quietly: "If that's okay with you. If you'd rather not have any witnesses for this, I'm afraid we'll have to leave the chains on -- I don't think you're going to hurt Beckett, but I'm not so sure the others agree."

Rodney nods hesitantly -- it's not as good as he'd hoped, but still better than he had feared, at least. "Stay, please," he says, just as quietly, and John gives him a quick, conspiratorial grin and starts to take the chains off. Arms first this time, Rodney notices, encouraged.

"The rest of you, please get out now. You can return as soon as I'm finished with the examination -- no, I don't want to hear any protests, Ronon, this is private. It's bad enough I have to let Colonel Sheppard watch -- no offense, Colonel."

"Don't worry, doc," John says reassuringly, and then, in a completely different voice: "Out now, Ronon."

Ronon grumbles something, but slinks off obediently.

Rodney breathes a sigh of relief as the room empties out -- now only John and Carson are left, and they have been by far the least hostile and suspicious so far. John's hand is lightly resting on the gun in his thigh-holster, but after years of field missions, Rodney is pretty sure that he would recognize John's "prepared for attack" posture, and this isn't it.

He sits up carefully. It feels good to be able to move freely again. Carson hands him a hospital gown -- one of those flimsy things, practically see-through and open in back. Rodney sighs. This is not really going to conceal anything at all.

"Can I, uh -" he gestures to the little section of the room that is closed off by a partition wall, to allow patients to get undressed in private. He'd really like to know what further surprises this new body has prepared for him before he subjects it to the gaze of others -- even though Carson, after countless autopsies on dead Wraith, probably already knows exactly what to expect. The thought is supremely comfortable, that if there is something horrible or deformed hiding under his clothes, someone else will already know even before he himself does.

Taking his shirt off reveals no great surprises -- just more of the same purple-green skin, human-looking musculature, more defined than his own has ever been. There are two thin, purple ridges running along the lowest ribs, then curving down to his stomach. He prods one tentatively -- the skin feels harder, scalier there, but it doesn't look too bad.

But what he finds -- or doesn't find -- under his boxers comes as a bit of a shock.

"Rodney? Everything all right?" John calls, but it barely registers -- he's busy staring at his Wraith body, completely naked and unmistakably alien now.

"Rodney? I'm coming in there, now", and before he can get the breath to protest, John's pushing into the little enclosure.

"Hey, what is it?" he asks gently. Rodney stares at him, feeling helpless laughter bubble up in his chest and trying to swallow it down, because he's not sure at all that he'll be able to stop if he starts now -- or that it won't turn into tears.

"Did you know that the Wraith don't have balls?" he blurts out, unable to do anything about the rising pitch of hysteria in his voice -- it's not every day you find half your genitalia missing, after all.

Oh, God. This sucks so much. He really, really wants his own body back.

"They're hidden inside their bodies, actually," John says, and, when Rodney stares at him, "What? Carson told me. It's combat relevant. I mean, that's not the kind of thing you want to find out after you've risked your life trying to exploit a weakness that doesn't even exist. I sent a memo out about it to the soldiers -- titled "Don't try to kick the Wraith in the balls, they don't have any", if I remember correctly. I'm pretty surprised you didn't know, actually -- I was sure I had sent you a copy."

"Um," Rodney says. He can vaguely remember receiving a memo like that, and deleting it unread -- he'd thought it was some kind of joke, and been annoyed that the deplorable practice of prankster chain mails had reached Atlantis now, too.

Only then does he become aware that John is looking curiously at his lap and closes his legs quickly, half-turning away.

"Hey! Hey, don't look!"

John quickly turns his back, grinning remorselessly. "Sorry, sorry."

He's not careful at all anymore, Rodney notices -- he's close enough that he could grab John's gun before he'd know what's happening. Or maybe not -- he's seen too many people gravely underestimate John not to know that he can be pretty damn quick and dangerous if he wants to be, and he himself is still basically untrained, even if he's stronger now. But a little bit of the tension in his muscles unknots, anyway.

He fumbles the hospital gown on, one claw catching in the flimsy fabric and tearing a small hole into it with an audible ripping sound. He curses, and tries not to do any more damage holding the gown shut in the back -- no way is he going out there with his ass exposed.

John puts an encouraging hand on his shoulder for a moment when they exit the little cubicle. For a moment Rodney is surprised -- John doesn't usually touch people much, but he's done this several times already since Rodney's been turned. What the hell is up with that, anyway?

The thought is derailed when he notices the amount of equipment Carson has laid out on a tray beside the gurney. He hops up without complaint, anyway -- he really doesn't feel like being told that he has no choice in the matter.

Not that Carson is usually all that willing to heed his protests, but today, when he has been chained down not ten minutes ago, and is still being guarded by a security detail, that thought hits a little too close to home.

Carson smiles at him in what is probably meant to be a comforting manner, but comes across as more of a pained grimace -- he might be imagining that, but Carson seems quite a bit more nervous, now that Rodney is not chained to the bed anymore. He's surveying his instruments with a critical eye and tapping his head-set.

"Maddy? Be a dear and bring me the other stethoscope, will you?"

Rodney instinctively tries to pull the flimsy gown tighter around himself as the door opens, and one of the younger nurses bounces in. She stops dead at the sight of him, eyes going wide. Rodney is already bracing himself for a scream of horror, but what comes out of her mouth instead is: "Oh my gosh! No way! He really has been turned into a Wraith!"

She's bouncing on the balls of her feet, voice high and squeaky, grating on Rodney's strained nerves. "Wow! I couldn't believe it when Susan told me -- this is so awesome! The research potential alone, now that we have a fully cooperative Wraith -"

odney can feel his mouth dropping open in outraged shock, and out of the corner of his eyes he can see the same reaction from Carson, but before either of them can so much as draw a breath, John is suddenly standing in front of him, his posture unnaturally stiff with angry tension.

"This is not a 'fully cooperative Wraith'," John says flatly. "This is Dr Rodney McKay, who has saved your life, and those of everyone else in this city, more than once. Not your guinea pig. Please go now."

The girl blushes bright red, stammers "Sorry," and flees. There's a loud, awkward silence ringing through the room for a few moments, before Carson sighs.

"I'm sorry, Rodney," he says, accent suddenly heavy, the way it gets when he's upset or embarrassed. "You know the rest of us don't think that way."

"Do I?" Rodney says, tiredly, too weary to make his voice as sharp as he wants it to be, the memory of the disgust in Ronon's and Teyla's eyes weighing heavily on his mind.

"Yes, you do," John says firmly. "You know better than that. They treated me decently when I -- the last time something like this happened. And I actually was dangerous. You're just... Rodney, with a different face."

Rodney wonders if John actually believes that. He's not sure of it at all, himself. This isn't the same thing as what happened to John at all. Sure, John was slowly turning into a really creepy version of spider-man, but at least he still looked half-way human, even with scaly blue skin.

There's nothing human about his body anymore.

"Look, can we just get on with the examination?" he says, trying to subtly change the subject. They let him.

A few moments later he's already regretting that decision. The examination is the expected agony of embarrassment, and uncomfortable as hell -- everything feels strange and wrong on his new, harder body, and the intrusive touches are not made any more bearable by the fact that all he wants is to wrap up in a heap of blankets and hide his freakishness from everyone's eyes -- not least of all his own.

When it's over, he feels almost close to tears, shaky and completely exhausted. His eyes are thankfully dry, though -- he doesn't think the Wraith cry. Still, he'd do pretty much anything to get out of the infirmary at that point. Even the prospect of the mission debriefing seems almost pleasant in comparison.

For about five minutes. Which is as long as it takes John to take him to the briefing room through seldom-used back corridors, careful to avoid anyone who might see them. He doesn't want to have to answer any questions until they've decided on how they want to handle this.

Rodney is just glad to get away from any more prying eyes. He remembers his own amusement at the way John was hiding behind that Athosian cloak when he moved through the city during his own transformation. At the time it seemed funny how it made him look like the emperor from Star Wars. But right now he'd like nothing better than to hide under a nice big coat, too.



The briefing room is filled with the usual jumble of worried voices, but when Rodney enters behind John and Carson, everyone falls silent. The complete senior staff is there, eyeing him with varying degrees of shock and suspicion.

Strangely enough, it's Radek, usually so anxious, who looks the least freaked out -- he's eyeing Rodney's new body curiously, but without visible signs of fear. Of course Radek's never had a Wraith try to suck out his life, either, and until you've seen them in action, the Wraith look almost more ridiculous than frightening, with their long, shaggy white hair.

Elizabeth looks slightly disturbed, but offers him the empty seat next to her without hesitation.

The others' reactions are not so positive. Lorne and Ronon look openly suspicious, and they both have their hands pointedly resting on their guns. Teyla's at least trying to hide her unease, but she isn't doing a very good job of it. He's glad to have John and Elizabeth sitting between him and them like a buffer, even as he tries to convince himself that he doesn't have anything to fear from them.

The briefing itself is tedious -- no, he doesn't know what that box was supposed to do. No, he doesn't feel any differently -- and no, he's definitely not going to try to eat them.

omewhere through it he notices that everyone's eyes are following his clawed hands as he waves them to emphasize a point, and quickly hides them under the table, stuffing them underneath his thighs so he'll remember not to talk with them.

Under the table, John's hand closes around one of his wrists for a moment, giving it a quick squeeze. He doesn't seem to notice Rodney's perplexed stare.

Carson's report doesn't tell him anything he doesn't know already -- he has no idea what's happening, either.

"As far as I can tell, his DNA is completely Wraith -- there are no traces of human DNA left. I have no idea what kind of technology could have caused such a complete conversion. I don't even know how he has managed to retain his memories under these circumstances."

This seems to give fuel to the suspicious glances around the table. Rodney glares at Carson, and then quickly stops again when Carson shrinks back from his slitted alien eyes. Lorne is pulling his gun out of the holster and looks markedly unhappy when John motions him down sharply. Damn it.

After that, the meeting turns to the more interesting questions. Zelenka reports on what little progress they have made with the Ancient device. They still have no idea what it is or what it does.

"We are searching for any information on it in database, but as you well know, Rodney, if it is organized by any kind of system, we have not found it yet. It will take time," he says apologetically. Rodney clenches his hands underneath the table. He wants this to be over already.

"Look, Elizabeth, I should be in on that research," he says, trying to sound calm and reasonable instead of desperate.

Elizabeth shakes her head determinedly, even though her eyes are apologetic.

"Rodney, you know I can't allow that. As long as we don't know what has happened to you, of how this these changes are going to affect you, I can't let you have access to the computers. Radek is more than competent enough to handle this research."

"Elizabeth!" he says, shocked despite himself. It's not like he wasn't expecting that. "It's me! Rodney!" he can barely stop the urge to gesture at himself -- his body wouldn't exactly make the argument for him right now. "Listen, I know this is a bad situation for you, too, but believe me, no one wants it to be over more than I do. You know I'm the smartest man here -- let me help. Please."

He's pleading, right in front of everyone else, but he can't seem to stop himself. He doesn't think he can stand to sit around in his room and wait for as long as this is going to take. It's barely been two days so far, and already he wants to crawl right out of his skin.

But Elizabeth doesn't back down. "No. I'm sorry, Rodney. I would like you to stay confined to your quarters for the duration -- I'll be assigning you a security detail."

Rodney sighs. "Yeah, all right, whatever."

All he wants to do right now is curl up in his bed and hide until this is over, anyway, but he hates being imprisoned like this.

"Come on -- I'll escort you to your room," John says, guiding him out the door with one hand in the small of his back. Rodney is suddenly hyperaware of his fingers just above the little strip of bare green skin where his too-short shirt had ridden up. He's pretty sure that John has touched him more today than in the last month taken together.

He's torn between wanting to jerk away from the touch, not wanting John to feel the alien skin with its strange rough texture, and wanting to lean into the offered comfort. The decision is taken from him anyway, though, because John takes his hand away after only a few seconds.

On the way to his room, he hears the little hum of the speaker system engaging, and then Elizabeth starts talking. Rodney does his best not to let the words get to him as Elizabeth informs everyone of his transformation. She does make a point of telling them that he probably isn't dangerous, but Rodney knows that "probably" isn't going to be enough for anyone in this case. He's glad when the door to his quarters closes behind them.

"Hey, don't worry about it -- they'll have forgotten about all of this in a week once you're back to normal. I speak from experience, you know," John says, patting Rodney's shoulder.

"Okay, so what is up with the touching?" Rodney asks, suddenly unnerved.

John lets go quickly, stepping back and lifting his hands in an appeasing gesture, offering him a charming smile like a white flag. "Sorry, sorry, didn't know it bothered you."

Rodney rolls his eyes. "It doesn't bother me -- much -" he adds after a moment, honestly, because he's still feeling uncomfortable enough in the Wraith-body that every touch feels completely weird and unsettling. "I just want to know why. You don't usually go around touching people all the time, do you? What, you got some strange thing for Wraith that I should know about?"

He thinks about that for a moment, caught up in his own sarcasm. "That would be seriously creepy, you know."

"You got it, Rodney -- I'm pining for your green body", John says, very seriously. His eyes are sparkling with mirth, though. Rodney rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, laugh it up. You're not stuck in the body of your worst enemy, after all," he grumbles.

John sighs, expression suddenly genuinely serious. "I've been through that too, Rodney, remember? Look, all I was trying to do was show that I don't have any problems with this, okay? You're still Rodney. I got the impression the guys needed the reminder. I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable."

"Oh," Rodney says, surprised. Well, trust him to miss something like that -- subtle just had never been one of his strengths.

He is saved from having to say anything more. A young Marine knocks and sticks his head in, saluting John with sharp military correctness, his eyes avoiding Rodney in a way that has to be deliberate. He sighs and looks down at his own feet so he won't have to see the boy's uneasy expression.

"Colonel Sheppard, sir? Major Lorne sent me. I'm supposed to take first watch, sir." He hefts a Wraith stunner demonstratively.

John hesitates a moment, darting a glance at Rodney, then takes a step towards the Marine.

"You know, Gibbons, I'm going to be here for the next few hours, anyway. I might as well take this watch. Why don't you give me that -" he reaches out, carefully taking the stunner from Gibbons unresisting hands -- "and take the next few hours off."

Gibbons salutes again. "Yes, sir!" he says, waiting until John returns his salute (much more sloppily, even Rodney can see that) and dismisses him, then trots off.

"Thanks," Rodney says quietly. "You don't have to, you know. I can imagine that you have better things to do than hang around my quarters for hours -- I mean, we can't even watch DVDs, since I'm not supposed to have a laptop."

John shrugs casually. "Not so much, really. It's as good an excuse as any to get out of doing the damn paperwork for a few more hours, honestly." He shudders dramatically.

Rodney grins. John is actually surprisingly punctual and conscientious about his paperwork, much more so than Rodney -- who actually doesn't mind it, but tends to get caught up in much more important things and forget all about it until the pissy emails from Elizabeth start arriving -- but he always puts up a horrible fuss about having to do it.

He makes a general gesture in the direction of his quarters. "Well, make yourself at home -- I really, really want a shower now." He closes the door between them with a feeling of relief. John's unwavering support has been great, but he really needs to be alone right now.

He strips with his back to the mirror, grateful when the steam rising from the shower starts to obscure it. The feeling of his rough, slitted hands on his own body is faintly nauseating, and he keeps the actual washing part of the shower as brief as possible. After that, he just stands slouched against the wall and lets the hot water beat down on his body. It doesn't make him feel any better. He shouldn't be disappointed -- it's not like he didn't know that water can't wash away the unsightly color of his skin, or smooth the alien angles of his face. But he is.



John is happily engrossed in a physics journal when Rodney comes out of the shower, dressed in sweatpants and a clean t-shirt, both of which are still too short in some places and too long in others. He isn't especially in the mood for conversation, so he grabs a pad of paper and a pencil and does some projections on paper. It's boring busy-work, but at least this is something he couldn't have the computer do, anyway, so the loss of his laptops doesn't hinder him too much. John seems perfectly comfortable with the silence. He's lying spread out on Rodney's bed, boots off, stunner in easy reach but not combat-ready. The only sound from him is the occasional rustle when he turns a page.

It's late when he finally leaves, and Rodney is tired enough that even the thought that John will be replaced by a guard doesn't bother him too much anymore.

The next morning, John is back, with a stack of DVDs and a laptop that Radek has rigged to be completely useless as anything but a movie screen. Rodney makes a few token protests, but he's pretty sure that the fact that he's glad for the company shows clearly.



He doesn't leave his quarters for the next week, except for occasional visit to the infirmary. John keeps him company a lot of the time, playing chess, reading, or (grudgingly) writing reports. Radek doesn't ever visit, but Rodney knows from the regular progress reports that that's because he's spending all his time in the lab, trying to figure out the Ancient device in addition to doing not only his own work, but Rodney's, too.

Elizabeth comes over once, but he can tell that she's uncomfortable, and suspects that she can tell that he's unhappy with her for the way she's handling this, too. It's a supremely unpleasant half hour, and they're both glad when it's over. After that, she stays away.

Everyone else is avoiding him. There are days when Rodney wants to rail against the unfairness of it all -- they're his friends, his team, shouldn't they stick this out with him? He didn't ask for this!

He spends a lot of the time catching up on lost sleep, making up for years of living on five hours a night, often less. Somehow, the constant sleeping seems to make the tiredness worse, though -- sometimes he can barely muster the energy to get out of bed in the mornings. He suspects it's the lack of goals. He's slowly going stir-crazy holed up inside his room, with nothing really worthwhile to do. If John wasn't there... well, he doesn't even want to think about that.



On the fifth day, he starts to get hungry. It takes him a while to place the feeling, which is nothing at all like the gnawing emptiness in his stomach he felt as a human, but no less unpleasant.

John is sprawled over his bed again, reading a physics journal he stole from Rodney, lean and tousled and brazenly pretty, so it's not like the growing urge to touch him is really all that surprising. Until the third time Rodney finds himself starting to reach out almost without conscious decision, and suddenly realizes that it's not so much John who draws him, it's the warm aura of light that surrounds him. It seems to have gotten brighter, calling him to touch, to taste.

He makes John take him to the infirmary. Carson is unsettlingly at a loss -- they don't know all that much about the Wraith's feeding cycle, but they're pretty sure that the Wraith can go for months without a meal, so it's pretty strange for the hunger to start so soon. Carson takes blood samples and prods and pokes him with uncomfortable instruments for almost an hour, but Rodney is pretty sure that he's just blindly attempting anything that might tell them what the fuck is wrong with his body in a kind of trial-and-error voodoo, without any real clue what to do.

When the blood test results finally arrive, they're even worse than he could have imagined.

"I'm sorry, Rodney," Carson says gently. "I don't know what exactly is causing it, but maybe the device was never meant to effect a long-term change. Your body seems to be using up much more energy than a normal Wraith's. If you don't feed soon..."

He doesn't need to finish the sentence. Rodney knows, has feared from the start that it would come to this: Starvation or a bullet.

Carson gives him a week.



ohn is quiet all the way back to his quarters, his face hard and inscrutable, but when the door slides closed behind them, he turns and punches it, hard. "Fuck!"

Rodney winces at the sound of bones crashing against unyielding metal. "Hey, don't do that," he says lamely, taking John's hand and examining it. The knuckles look sore and bruised, already starting to swell, but John doesn't even wince when he probes them gently. His whole body is vibrating with angry tension, and Rodney feels the sharp crackle of living energy against his fingertips, so alluring that he has to let go quickly before the temptation becomes overwhelming.

"You should probably get that checked out," Rodney says, feeling completely helpless -- there's a reason he hates it when people get emotional, and he can't deal with John's anger any better than with Miko's occasional crying fits. Less, even, because at least when he pats Miko on the back and tries to apologize, sometimes that makes her stop.

"Look, I know this sucks -- I mean, hello, Wraith here! -- but hurting yourself isn't going to help anything -- I mean, we don't even know yet if -- maybe Radek -"

"Radek doesn't know a thing about how the device works, and you know it," John grates out harshly, and Rodney catches his fist just in time before it can make contact with the wall again.

"Stop it," he says sharply, suddenly pissed off. "You're really not helping, here. I am trying not to think about the fact that I am probably going to die in a week, and your pessimism is making that really hard, you know? Also -" and that's when the thought finally catches up with him.

"Oh, God, I really am going to die this time", he says weakly, sitting down on his bed with a thump. You'd think that he should be used to near-death experiences by now, as often as it has happened in the last few months, but instead it just seems to get harder every time -- one of these days, his luck is going to run out, and this might just be it.

He stares at the wall and feels like crying, even though his Wraith eyes stay dry. After a few minutes, John sits down next to him and hesitantly puts an arm around his shoulders. Rodney gives in to the impulse to hide his face in John's shoulder. It's not like he's going to have all that much time left to be embarrassed about it.



On the seventh day, he wakes up from a soft touch on his shoulder. Even without opening his eyes, he knows it's John, and not only because he's the only one who ever comes in here in the mornings. It's like the beautiful warm light surrounding John has suddenly got even brighter, shinier, so striking he can see it with his eyes closed now, can feel the enticing siren call of it humming along his skin, and suddenly he wants it so much he can hardly think, so much that the thought of not having hurts.

He doesn't remember making any kind of conscious decision, but suddenly John is sprawled on the bed, Rodney's weight pressing him down. John's soft black t-shirt is crinkling under the searching pads of his fingers, light gathering around his hand. It's the nicest thing he's ever felt, pure energy crackling and humming along his nerves, gathering for him, and all he has to do is reach out and take, bury his hand in that well of life...

It doesn't even last a second, then John makes a startled, shocked sound, and Rodney is suddenly, painfully awake, snapping out of the trance and off the bed, stumbling back until his back hits the wall.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says, frantically, miserable with shame. "I don't know what -- I'm so sorry, John, I didn't mean -"

John is on his feet in one single quick motion, gun in his hand, and Rodney flattens himself to the wall even more, arms spread beside his body, palms out. Not a threat, not a threat...

Damn. This has probably just destroyed every last bit of trust between them. And still John is tempting his hunger, drawing him like a moth to the flame -- except that when they touch, it's John who's going to wither and die.

"What the fuck was that, Rodney?"

"I'm sorry," he repeats, helplessly. He's still shaking with the restraint of staying away from John. It's easier to resist now that he's fully awake, his mind unclouded and burning with the horror of what he almost did, but it's still there, undiminished, waiting for him to relax his guard so it can take control again. All this time, the Wraith instincts have been dormant, barely noticeable, but now the hunger is bringing them out in full force.

"I'm so sorry." It's nowhere near enough, but he doesn't know what else to say -- how the hell do you apologize to your best friends for almost killing him?

John sighs, shaking his head. "Forget it. It's not your fault. Just -- be more careful in the future, will you?"

After that, John stops touching him.



On the eight day, Rodney makes John chain him to the bed. He's really not safe to be around anymore. All he can think about is the hunger burning inside him, and John's mere presence is torture now, taunting him with what he can't have.

Radek comes by once, his eyes red-rimmed and tired, dark bruises under his eyes. He looks like he did during the siege, when they stopped eating and sleeping for days, working non-stop. Even the aura of light surrounding him looks dull and sickly. He apologizes for being unable to figure it out in time in broken, accented English, losing his grasp of the language like he only ever does when he's dead tired.



On the eleventh day, the cramps start. It begins with shivers, running through his body in irregular intervals, accompanied by little twitches of pain all through his muscles. They get steadily worse, until he's shuddering and panting with the pain. John's aura is shining like a beacon now, promising an end to the unbearable hunger and salvation from the pain.

Carson injects him with something that doesn't help at all, examines him again, and takes more blood. Rodney clutches the sheets so he won't reach out for him, fabric ripping to shreds under the death grip of his claws.

In the end Carson can't really do anything but confirm what they all already know: He's starving to death. They've never actually seen a Wraith starve -- they killed Steve before it got anywhere near this bad -- and this rapid deterioration isn't typical anyway, so they don't know exactly what to expect. Rodney is pretty sure it's going to keep getting worse, though. Suddenly a bullet through the head doesn't seem all that unappealing an end anymore, but he knows that he can't do that to John, who is staring fixedly at the wall with a mixture of concern, anger and sorrow on his face.

He knows this has to be hell on him -- John can't just stand back and watch, he always has to do something, and this helplessness isn't something he really knows how to deal with. And he has this stupid tendency to feel personally responsible for everything that goes wrong, too.

"John?" Rodney says, and waits until John faces him, eyes huge and dark in the dimness of the room. "You know this is not your fault, right?"

Just then, the next shudder rips through him, muscles clenching up in a wave of pain. He screams, panting through the worst of it with his eyes closed, and when he opens them again, John is standing beside the bed, unbuckling the cuff around his right arm.

"Hey! Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing, have you lost your mind?"

e forces the arm down, out of reach of John's tempting energy, stuffing the hand under his hip to keep it still. He watches incredulously as John tugs off his t-shirt, exposing his naked chest, dog-tags glinting right above that place where the glow that surrounds him is strongest. He spreads his arms, offering himself up.

"Just... just be careful, okay?" he says, a bit shakily. "Try not to take more than a year or so."

Rodney stares at him in horror. "John, no! Seriously, get away from me, I don't have that kind of self-control," and, when John refuses to comply, "Oh, that is just typical, you really don't have an ounce of self-preservation, do you? I am not going to take your life so I can survive, what kind of moronic plan is that? Really, really not."

He would have crossed his arms over his chest, but that's not really possible with one of them still chained. And right now he isn't so sure that he could stop himself from reaching out and taking John's stupid heroic sacrifice if he allows his arm to move even a little bit.

John is glaring at him. "Don't be stupid, Rodney -- you're not supposed to take all of it. Look, the Wraith have got to be pretty energy-efficient, or the one in the crashed hive-ship would never have been able to survive for 10.000 years. A month of my life is going to give you plenty of time, more than enough for Carson and Radek to fix this, and I won't even miss it."

Part of him finds the logic wonderfully compelling, but that's the part that is screaming and salivating, and he really, really doesn't want to listen to it.

"No. Really, I think not."

John sits down on the edge of the bed, right next to him. Rodney can feel the burn of his warmth even through his clothes.

"Rodney, please," he says. "Think about it. We're in the middle of a war. Chances that I'll ever die of old age are pretty damn slim, and even if I manage to get that old by some miracle, a month isn't going to make a damn bit of difference. You need it more than I do. Please."

It's too much to resist. Rodney closes his eyes and puts his hand on John's chest, wiry hair crinkling beneath his hand and energy gathering under his palm. John makes a hissing sound, muscles tensing up, but stays still. Rodney traces his claws across the skin, trying to figure out how to do this. John's naked chest feels startlingly vulnerable, and the thought of digging his claws in there is repulsive.

John is completely motionless, frozen under Rodney's touch -- nothing like Gaul, who was screaming and trying to fight, skin withering and drying up, body aging and dying... No. He can't do this. He pulls his hand back with almost superhuman effort, shaking his head desperately. It hurts to let go.

"No. No, John, I won't."

"Rodney -" John starts, but doesn't get any further than that, because suddenly the door is bursting open, and Lorne is storming in in full combat dress.

"Colonel -"

He stops dead when he see the scene in front of him: John with his shirt off, Rodney partially uncuffed -- but John is already on his feet, waving him down.

"Don't worry, Major, not what it looks like -" Even though that's exactly what it is, of course. "What's the matter?"

"The Wraith are coming," Lorne says, staring at Rodney with hate in his eyes. "Several darts, heading straight for Atlantis, ETA in half an hour -- he must have betrayed us."

"Hey! Hey, I did not!" Rodney protests, but they're not even listening.

"We can sort this out later," John says impatiently, "Come on, let's get going -- and I want a guard here who is not going to shoot him, you hear me?"

With that they are out of the room, the door closing between them and Rodney.



He waits in tense silence, biting his lips whenever a new wave of pain rips through his body. Where the hell did the Wraith come from? Even now he doesn't feel any kind of telepathic connection to them, nothing like what Teyla described -- the transformation doesn't seem to have affected that. He can't have called them here. He clings to that thought while he lays helpless in the dim room, waiting for any kind of sign. Once he's sure he hears the screeching of a dart overhead, followed by an explosion, but the sound is so faint he can't be sure.

The pain has stopped getting worse, at least, but that's not much of a consolation -- the cramps are coming steadily about every other minute, so intense they leave him shaking and weak. His thoughts are revolving around John, though. He's probably up there in the air by now, guarding the city against those Wraith darts -- taking stupid risks, in all probability.

There are sounds in the corridors too, now -- running, and someone is shouting orders. Damn. The Wraith must have gotten through somehow.

Suddenly the door slides open with a screeching sound, and a Wraith storms in. Rodney recoils in instinctive terror, but the chains jerk him back down on the bed harshly. The Wraith doesn't attack, though -- instead he starts fumbling with the cuffs around Rodney's arm, claws scraping against his wrist. Rodney is dazed enough from panic and fear that it takes him a few seconds to understand what the hell is going on -- until he realizes that the Wraith thinks he's one of them. Well, of course.

Just then, another wave of pain crashes through him. The Wraith holds his arms down and keeps him from thrashing, but not cruelly -- and when it's over and Rodney falls back on the bed in exhaustion, he makes an angry sound.

"I can't believe they let you starve -- soulless creatures, those damn humans. They don't even know what the word mercy means!"

Rodney stares at him, stunned beyond words by the irony of it all for a moment, but he supposes it may make sense from a Wraith's perspective.

"Uh," he says noncommittally.

The Wraith is pulling him to his feet. "Can you walk? Come on, we'll get you a human to feed on. You were lucky we caught your distress signal -- after they made us believe that the city of the traitors had been destroyed, we don't usually get that close anymore."

"Um, yes," Rodney says weakly. Distress signal? "Hey, how did you get down here, anyway?" They have a shield now, after all.

"We transported down. It took us a while to find a way to reach through their shield, but we managed it in the end," the Wraith says, sounding proud.

It's hard to walk. His muscles are shaking from fatigue and pain, and the hunger is still burning brightly through his veins. He really, really has to get rid of the damn Wraith and lock himself somewhere he can't do any harm.

From the corridor in front of him he can hear the sounds of a fight, shots and screams -- and a second later, a Marine comes running around the corner. The Wraith is whipping around, lifting his gun. Rodney reaches out to shove him, hoping to divert the shot -- but the second his palm makes contact with the Wraith's chest he realizes what he's forgotten -- he can feed on other Wraith, too -- and then another instinct entirely takes over, and suddenly the Wraith is screaming, falling to his knees, as Rodney drinks his energy in.

It's amazing, the most awesome rush ever, like food and power and an orgasm all rolled into one, energy crackling and singing along his nerves, and the glorious relief from the pain. When it's over, he comes back to himself to find the Marine staring at him in shock, gun wavering uncertainly, He saved my life by killing the Wraith and He is a Wraith fighting it out across his face.

But he has his full strength back now, a Wraith's full strength, and it's only too easy to move across the corridor, faster than he's ever been as a human, and wrench the gun from the man's hands.

The Marine jerks back, back crashing into the wall as he tries to get away. Rodney opens his mouth to reassure him, but then a scream echoes through the corridor, and he's off and running before he has consciously realized what's happening.

Teyla.

He takes the corner so fast he almost crashes into the wall, but he's still too late. Ronon and Teyla are surrounded by a whole group of Wraith, at least five of them. Ronon is lying on the floor, a puddle of blood spreading underneath his body, but he's still firing, desperately trying to get up, to get to Teyla, who is writhing and twisting in the grip of one of the Wraith, his palm already pressed to her chest.

Ronon manages to take out one of the Wraith before another kicks the gun out of his hands, and Rodney suddenly remembers that he himself is still clutching the Marine's gun. He sends a fierce thanks to John for the endless training sessions he has made him go through and opens fire, catching one of the Wraith square in the chest and the other one in the head, knocking them down to the floor. But he can't get a good aim on the third one, who is holding Teyla in front of himself like a shield.

And then it is already too late. Rodney watches in horror as he growls and slams his hand into her chest, Teyla's scream making every hair on his body stand on end as she ages before his eyes. By the time he's close enough to rip her away from the Wraith, it is all but over -- she is limp in his hands, her body brittle and fragile and her hair completely white.

Rodney lowers her to the floor carefully, and then turns to the Wraith, who is watching him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. "What are you doing?" he hisses, pulling himself up to his full, intimidating height.

Rodney doesn't give him time to reach for his weapon, or try to lift his own -- he's too close for that, anyway -- he just reaches out, ramming his claws into the Wraith's chest as hard as he can, and sucks.

It doesn't feel as good this time -- he isn't as hungry, and the grief over Teyla is bright and sharp enough to drown out the pleasure -- but the rush of revenge is still strong and heady.

The Wraith falls to his feet as a limp, dried-out husk when he finally lets go.

Rodney doesn't give him a second glance. He kneels down next to Teyla and turns her on her back tenderly. She looks at least a hundred years old, much worse than Gaul had, her breath coming in painful, wheezing gasps. Rodney strokes her cheek tenderly. God, Teyla.

"Get away from her, Wraith," Ronon hisses from behind him, dragging himself towards them despite what Rodney can now see is a huge bleeding gash in his right thigh.

"It's me, Ronon," Rodney says tiredly. "I'm not going to hurt her."

Rodney's expression is still deeply suspicious, but Rodney can't bring himself to care. He feels hollow and empty inside, and he wishes he could have cried.

Teyla's dying, her aura is fading fast. His own shines bright and powerful in comparison, brimming with the two Wraiths' life-force, more than -- oh. Oh. No, this wouldn't work, it couldn't possibly -- but he's already reaching out, pulling her ripped top to the side and fitting his hand into the claw marks left by the other Wraith, trying to remember how it had felt to feed, to suck the energy inside himself -- "No! Get away from her! Leave her alone!" Ronon is screaming, but Rodney ignores him -- trying to turn the feeling around, to feed the energy back to her.

t's hard, and he has to fight against a resistance, but suddenly it works, the energy is flowing out of him and back into her body -- and before his eyes, the transformation starts to run backwards, her hollow cheeks filling out, wrinkled skin smoothing out and regaining its youth, the color of her hair darkening until it is a vibrant, shiny brown again.

Behind him, Ronon gives a startled hiss, but he keeps going, concentrating until the resistance becomes too high, until her body refuses to accept any more. Only then does he let go, touching her cheek in wonder. Teyla's eyes are still closed, but her breath is strong and steady, lifting her sides in a regular rhythm.

"She's alive," he whispers, reverently. "I think she's going to be all right, Ronon."

Ronon has dragged himself beside him, collapsing flat on the floor with an audible thumb. He reaches up a trembling hand to touch Teyla's shining hair -- and then puts it on Rodney's thigh, the only part of him he can reach without moving anything else, and squeezes, hard.

"Thank you, McKay. Thank you." He closes his eyes, hand sliding limply to the floor. Rodney suddenly becomes aware of how painfully ironic it would be to have saved Teyla only to have Ronon bleed out next to him. He fumbles Ronon's headset off and on, already screaming for Carson.

There is a stupidly dangerous moment when the Marines find him sitting next to their unconscious, bleeding bodies, with Rodney screaming "Not a Wraith! I'm not a Wraith!" in his panic like a complete idiot, because, okay, not so very credible right now -- but then Teyla opens her eyes and practically growls at the Marines to leave him alone, squeezing his hand in hers, and a minute after that, John arrives, too, panting and running and shouting orders.



Carson is able to fix Ronon's leg, although he grumbles a lot about patients who don't have the good sense to stay down even with a fifteen-centimeter-long gash in their leg. Teyla is not quite as perfectly recovered as it has seemed at first -- there are a few wrinkles around her eyes that have not been there before, and her hair has kept a few white strands -- but all in all she doesn't seem to have lost more than a year or two.

The next day is a series of horribly embarrassing moments, where Teyla, Lorne and Elizabeth all apologize to him, separately and agonizingly, for having doubted him, during which Rodney nods and squirms a lot. John apologizes repeatedly to everyone for having let those darts get through -- which is just ridiculous in light of the eleven darts he did shoot down, and Rodney doesn't hesitate to tell him so.

onon is the only one of them who has any sense -- he doesn't apologize at all, but the next morning Rodney finds a huge stack of pilfered sweets on his desk, which he appreciates a lot more. Okay, so they don't actually have any nutritional value for this body, but they taste just as good, anyway.

After that, Elizabeth doesn't try to stop him from entering the labs anymore. Radek has done an amazing job in his absence, keeping the city running and doing everything in his power to decipher the Ancient device, but that's not a job for a single human, even a genius. Now that Rodney is doing his share of the work again, and they can bounce ideas off each other, it's much easier to make progress.

The Ancient database finally decides to cooperate, too, and deigns to tell them that the device was used to enable Ancients to infiltrate Wraith ships, by temporarily turning them into Wraith and then sending out a distress signal to attract the ships. Of course they didn't actually try to use it in Atlantis, and Rodney and Radek spend a sleepless night trying to turn the signal off.

After that, it's practically smooth sailing. Well, their experiments fail a few more times, but after one melted console, one potted plant catching fire, seven dead and two wraithified mice, they're finally reasonably sure that they know how to operate the device without killing anyone.

When they finally try to turn Rodney back, half of Atlantis seems to have crowded into lab six, which is spacious, but not that huge, so Radek finally shoos most of them out impatiently. Only Elizabeth and Rodney's team stay behind.

Teyla earnestly wishes him the blessing of the ancestors and touches her forehead to his, Elizabeth hugs him, Ronon grumbles something unintelligible, and John looks at him for a long moment, silently -- until he reaches out and catches Rodney in a quick, hard hug that takes him completely by surprise.

"Good luck," John says, shuffling his feet a little.

"Uh, thanks," Rodney stammers, and then ducks in front of the device.

Radek pushes a few buttons, swears, does something to the laptop controlling the thing, pushes some more buttons, and then the world goes dark.

When Rodney wakes up, he is lying in a soft bed. John is sitting next to him, fingers lightly resting on Rodney's hand -- his completely human hand.

=end=