Plague

Major John Sheppard had seen many disturbing things in his military career. When he had arrived in the Pegasus Galaxy and met the Wraith, he had thought they were the be-all and end-all of disturbing. The previous day's encounter with a life-sucking bug had proved him wrong. He couldn't imagine anything getting much worse than that.

Not until now, at least.

"Major?"

Waking up with your doctor looking at you with the expression Dr. Carson Beckett currently wore was the very definition of disturbing.

"Morning, Doc," Sheppard croaked, surprised to find that he felt even worse than he had the night before. "What's new?"

Beckett sighed. "I'm afraid I have some good news and bad news, Major."

"Bad compared to what? Not yesterday; nothing's all that bad compared to yesterday."

Beckett's face was grim.

Sheppard closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the pillow. "You said I'd be fine in a few days."

"Yeah. I did." Beckett rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"But?"

"But I may have been a bit. . . premature in the prognosis. I just got the results from your blood test. . ."

"Did I pass?" Sheppard quipped.

Beckett stared at his sternly. "Very funny, Major." Then his expression softened. "Along with whatever else that creature did to you, it really did a number on your immune system."

That really didn't sound good. Sheppard tried a halfhearted attempt at a joke. "Really? Which one? Seventeen's my lucky number."

Despite the seriousness of the major's condition, the corner of Beckett's mouth twitched. "Cute, John. In terms you'd understand, the number is two."

What? Sheppard stared at him blankly; he hadn't expected an answer. After a few seconds, though, it occurred to him that the phrase "number two" was a euphemism for. . . "Aw, shit. So this means. . .?"

"It means you're going to catch every damn bug that goes through this place until your body can rebuild its defenses."

Sheppard winced. "Don't say 'bug'. I'll be having nightmares for the rest of my life as it is."

"Sorry. What I'm trying to say is, you're going to be sick as a dog for a few weeks. And that's the good news."

"You've gotta be kidding me. The good news is that I'll be sick for weeks? How bad is the -"

Beckett shook his head. "No, John. The good news is that you have weeks."

Sheppard felt a chill. "That's the second time you called me by my first name; you never call me by my first name. What's going on? What's the bad news?"

Beckett touched a few buttons on a console, and a pulsating image appeared on a monitor. "This is a scan of your heart. It's like the Ancients' version of a sonogram, only more advanced."

Sheppard sat up for a better view. "So. . . what am I looking at?"

"The human heart has four chambers," Beckett said, "right atrium, right ventricle, left atrium, left ventricle." He indicated each region in turn. "Oxygenated blood from the lungs travels to the heart via the pulmonary artery, and enters the left -"

Sheppard raised one hand. "Spare me the biology lecture and tell me what the problem is."

Beckett pointed to a corner of the image. "See this mass in the right ventricle? It's, ah, not supposed to be there."

The implication felt like a physical blow. "Well, can you get it out?"

"I doubt it. Even if I could, in your condition, open-heart surgery of that nature would almost certainly kill you. And if, by some miracle, you did survive, with your immune system shot to hell, post-op infection would be inevitable -"

" -so I'd die of that instead," Sheppard finished. He laughed mirthlessly. "I don't believe it. Does anyone else see the irony in this? That Wraith bug didn't kill me, so I'm going to die of cancer instead."

"Doctor Weir!"

Dr. Elizabeth Weir shook herself out of he worried reverie and, turning her back to the beautiful scenery visible from the balcony, faced Beckett. "Carson. How's John?"

"That's why I was looking for you, Doctor. There's been a new development."

Weir's eyes widened. "Development? What kind of development?"

As Beckett explained Sheppard's dire situation, Weir grew more and more horrified. "Isn't there anything you can do for him?" she asked when he finished. "Radiation, or chemotherapy? Anything at all?"

Beckett shook his head. "That would be even worse. In his condition, he wouldn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of surviving." He shrugged. "And besides, we don't have the resources. Everyone was given a thorough medical examination before we left Earth. If there was even the remotest possibility of something like this happening, Major Sheppard would have been ordered to stay home."

"So there's nothing you can do?"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Weir."

Weir brushed a tear from her eye before it could spill over, then hid the gesture by smoothing her hair back. "Can I see him?"

"Sure. He'll need someone to keep his spirits up. Good luck."

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Weir's heart skipped a beat as she pulled the curtain aside. Major Sheppard lay with his head tilted back and his eyes squeezed shut, and he almost looked as if he was in pain. She was about to call for a nurse when she realized he was merely concentrating; he seemed to be counting something. "John?"

Sheppard's eyes snapped open, then focused on Weir. "Oh, hi, Elizabeth," he said, his voice incongruously cheerful.

She found the tone jarring. "Um, how are you doing?" she asked.

Sheppard laughed bitterly. "That's like looking down at someone who's been shot and asking, 'Are you okay?'" He coughed, a painful, rattling cough that seemed to come from deep in his chest. "Beckett says I've got twelve weeks at the outside."

Weir felt a lump form in her throat. "Oh, John. . ."

"It doesn't really seem that bad at first," he continued, his optimism definitely forced. It's three whole months, a quarter of a year. Plenty of time, right?"

Weir didn't know how to respond.

Sheppard went on matter-of-factly. "But it starts to get scary when you go the other way. It's only eighty-four days. Two thousand and sixteen hours." His voice went completely flat. "Well, two thousand and fifteen, now." He gave a deep sigh, which was interrupted by another fit of violent coughing. "I can't quite make myself believe it," he said when he regained control. "I've always known, intellectually, that I'm not invincible. But I've been under fire more times than I can can count, I've been shot out of the sky more than once, I've been chased by the Wraith, I even had a two-foot bug sucking the life out of me, and here I am still. It's hard not to believe I'm unbreakable, y'know? Eighty-four days . . . I can't really wrap my brain around it."

"We are not going to let you die, John," Weir insisted, choking back tears. "Dr. Beckett is doing everything he can-"

"Which is what? Hope and pray? Don't try to lie to me, Elizabeth. Beckett already told me he can't do a damn thing."

"Don't talk like that, please . . ."

"It's not exactly the romantic end I've always daydreamed about. I always thought I'd go out with a bang." He grinned, and for a moment, Weir could almost forget he was dying. "Literally."

They both laughed until Sheppard doubled over, coughing up blood.

Lieutenant Aiden Ford was stopped by a nurse as he entered the infirmary. "May I help you?" the nurse asked.

"No, thanks, I'm just here to see Major Sheppard," Ford replied.

The nurse shook her head. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. We just got him stabilized; we can't allow visitors until we're sure he's going to stay that way."

"What? What do you mean, just got him stabilized?" Ford demanded. "Beckett said he was gonna be okay!"

"Major Sheppard has an inoperable tumor in his heart. He's dying, Lieutenant."

Ford blinked. "Come again? I thought I heard you say he was dying."

"I did."

"But that's impossible! Besides that, it's not fair! Teyla and I worked too hard to save him on the puddle jumper to see him die now of a disease he can't possibly have!"

"There's nothing we can do."

Ford leveled a finger at her. "You let me know the instant I can see him."

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Jinto stared at Teyla with wide-eyed incredulity. "You stopped his heart?"

"Actually, Lieutenant Ford did. But it worked. The bug came right off."

"Wait a second. You're saying Major Sheppard actually died? And he came back?"

"Yes, Jinto," Teyla replied. "And Dr. Beckett says he's-" She saw a figure out the corner of her eye, and turned to see Dr. Weir staring out one of Atlantis's many windows, tears running down her face. "Dr. Weir? Are you all right?"

Weir drew a deep breath and dried her eyes before looking at Teyla. When she spoke, her tone was even. "I'm fine, Teyla. But . . ." she trailed off, as though the words stuck in her throat.

"What's wrong?" Teyla prompted.

"That bug did something to John that Dr. Beckett wasn't able to catch until this morning . . . and now he's dying of cancer. The nurse kicked me out when John started coughing up blood."

The word "dying" felt like a slap across the face. Teyla stared at Weir, stunned, until Jinto tugged on her sleeve. "What's cancer?" the little boy asked.

It occurred to Teyla that she didn't know either - it was probably something unique to Earth. Both Athosians looked at Weir expectantly.

"It's a genetic disease," Weir explained. "Some cells lack the genes that govern normal growth, so they divide out of control, effectively cloning their defect into other cells. The rapid growth forms masses called tumors that interfere with organ function-" she began to lose control of her voice, "-eventually killing the victim. Major Sheppard has one in his heart. Dr. Beckett says he has twelve weeks."

Jinto looked like he was about to cry.

Teyla was floored. "In his heart?" she demanded. "Dr. Weir, are you sure it wasn't there before we left Atlantis?"

"Absolutely. It actually shouldn't be there at all. There's no history of cancer in his family-"

"I didn't think it was attached long enough . . ." Teyla muttered. To Weir she said, "We have to get Doctor Beckett now. Major Sheppard doesn't have cancer. That bug reproduced itself in his bloodstream. That mass isn't a tumor, it's a cluster of eggs. And if they are allowed to hatch, the larvae will kill the major and then spread throughout Atlantis."

Dr. Beckett pored over all of Major Sheppard's records: his entire medical history, including minutes-old scans and blood work. There had to be something he'd missed . . .

Wait a second. Something didn't look right. Beckett peered at the printout in his hand - a photograph from the latest scan of the major's heart - then frantically dug for a similar frame from the first scan, hours earlier. Sheets of paper went flying, but were ignored. In a matter of seconds, Beckett found what he was looking for, and hastily compared the two pictures. "Sweet mother of God," he whispered. The scans indicated that the tumor was growing far too fast. At the rate it was going, Sheppard didn't have twelve weeks; he'd be lucky if he had one.

He jumped nearly out of his skin when Teyla burst into his office. "Doctor Beckett!"

"For the love of God, Teyla, knock next time, will you? You almost gave me a heart attack."

"I'm sorry, Doctor, but it's important. Major Sheppard does not have cancer. The mass in his heart is the eggs of the creature that attacked him."

Beckett stared at her. "How do you know?"

"My father used to tell tales of these creatures, often going into detail about their bizarre life cycle. They inject their fertilized eggs into the victim's bloodstream, which travel to the heart and attach themselves in a cluster. The victim's immune system is destroyed to ensure the eggs' survival. The gestation period is about a week. When they hatch, the larvae-" she swallowed hard and forced herself to go on, "-the larvae feed on the host from the inside out. They emerge as adults - up to a hundred of them - after another three days, mate, then go in search of another victim."

"So they're not going to just kill the major-"

"-but everyone else on Atlantis as well."

Beckett shuddered at the thought. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"The creature does not release its eggs until the victim is dead."

"It thought Major Sheppard was dead! That's why it let go!"

Teyla cast her eyes downward, unable to meet his accusing gaze. "I did not believe it was attached long enough to do anything."

Beckett sighed and turned away. "And nothing your father told you will be of any help, I take it?"

"I'm afraid not." After a momentary pause, she asked, "Which of us should tell him?"

The doctor whirled to face her. "No! Do you want to see him permanently traumatized?"

"What?"

"It'll scare the living daylights out of him, Teyla!"

She bristled. "He has a right to know, Doctor! And Major Sheppard is the most courageous person I have ever met."

Beckett shook his head. "Psychology 101. After an experience like that, the very word 'bug' gives him the creeps. To know that not only is he not rid of the creature, but that it could still kill him and all of us, would very likely plunge him into the depths of despair." He saw the look on Teyla's face and held up his hands. "It's not an insult; I'm not trying to say he's weak or anything like that. It's just how the human mind works. The mind and body are connected: when the mind sickens, the body sickens; but if the mind fights, the body fights. If the major finds out about this, it could cost him his very will to live. Then he won't stand a chance."

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This is all just some tasteless practical joke, Dr. Rodney McKay thought desperately as he entered the infirmary. He had inquired to Weir about Sheppard's condition (he had to admit, he kind of liked the major), and had been very surprised to find that she would not meet his eyes. Of course, what she had told him next had just about knocked the wind out of him.

Sheppard was deathly pale, with large dark circles under his eyes. He seemed to have lost weight. He looked like a skeleton.

So McKay said the first thing that came to mind. "You look terrible."

The major glanced at him sidelong. "Gee, thanks." His voice sounded scratchy and painful, but the tone was as sardonic as ever. "You're no Venus yourself, you know."

McKay sighed. "Dammit, Major, will you just drop the tough-guy act for a minute? You'd think with only a week left you'd want to be yourself for once."

Sheppard stared McKay full in the eyes now. "What?!"

McKay was confused. "Beckett didn't tell you? The eggs are growing too fast. You only have-"

"Wait a second, back up," Sheppard said. "Eggs? What are you talking about?"

"The eggs that bug left in your bloodstream - you mean you didn't know?"

The combination of terror and despair on the major's face was awful to see.

In the commissary, Dr. Kavanagh spotted the woman he was looking for and sat down across the table from her. She had been sitting alone, picking at her dinner absentmindedly, and looking very much as if she would rather have been somewhere else. "Hello, Teyla," he said, making his best attempt to be charming. "And how are you doing this fine evening?"

"I've been better," she replied guardedly.

"Really? Because you look as beautiful as always." Teyla rolled her eyes at that, so Kavanagh tried a different tack. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

Aha. Playing hard to get. He leaned forward and placed his hand over hers. "It usually helps to talk about it," he said softly, trying to look concerned.

Teyla pulled away and glared at him, disgusted. "Maybe if you were actually as sincere as you would like me to think you are."

Kavanagh leaned back and gave her the look he'd seen on every shrink he'd ever met. "It's a man, isn't it?"

Teyla sighed wearily. "If it will get you to stop pestering me, yes. Major Sheppard is ill and I am afraid for his life. Now leave me in peace."

Kavanagh couldn't help grinning as he left the commissary. Apparently, whatever higher power existed was as opposed to the presence of the military on Atlantis as he was. First, Colonel Sumner had been killed by the Wraith, and now Sheppard was dying. That last thought made him smile even wider. He'd never liked the military; working at the SGC, Jack O'Neill had nearly driven him insane. And Sheppard was far too much like the newly promoted general for his taste. The major was ten years younger than Kavanagh, with no scientific background whatsoever, and yet was second in command of Atlantis. He had always hoped Sheppard would go through the Stargate on some dangerous mission and never return. That had almost happened yesterday, but now it looked like Kavanagh might be rid of him once and for all.

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Doctor Beckett swore as he looked over the blood work results. Absolutely no change from last night. That was not good at all: it meant Major Sheppard's immune system was not being replaced. Which meant the blasted bug had damaged his bone marrow.

"This is going to make things very tricky," he said to the nurse beside him as he rubbed a hand over his eyes. He really needed some sleep, but he didn't dare stop working.

The nurse looked up at him. "What if we do a bone marrow transplant?" she asked. "I know it wouldn't take effect in time, but if we did a blood transfusion as well-"

"-it just might work," Beckett breathed. Score one for feminine intuition. "We'd have to be really careful, though. To be on the safe side, I'd like to try to find the closest possible match for his blood type, instead of relying on O negative. . . Go type his blood for me. I have a lot of work to do."

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Sheppard stared at McKay, stunned. "That's not funny."

McKay held up his hands. "It's the truth, I swear to God. I can't believe Beckett didn't tell you."

Before Sheppard could respond, a nurse entered, carrying a syringe. The major sighed. "How many times does Beckett need to confirm that yes, my immune system is shot to hell?" he growled.

"This might not be necessary if you know your blood type," the nurse said as she rubbed the crook of his arm with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball.

"My blood type? It's B something, I think. Why?"

"Not good enough." Sheppard hissed in pain as the nurse plunged the needle into his arm and drew what seemed like an inordinately large amount of blood.

"What do you need my blood type for?" he asked again. The nurse hesitated, and Sheppard said, "McKay already told me what's going on."

"We think a bone marrow and blood transfusion might be the solution. We need to find as close a match as possible."

"And you need that much for a type test?"

"Not for one test, no," she replied. "But I'll be doing several. I can't afford to make a mistake."

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Several hours later, when the medical staff had finished typing the blood of every Earthling on Atlantis, Beckett searched the entire list for a match, muttering to himself as he did so. "B negative. Of course it's something rare, it had to be difficult. I'll be surprised if I find even one-"

A match! Beckett looked to the leftmost column for the name - and kept scanning the list. That one wouldn't cooperate for all the tea in China.

But of course, with a type like B negative, the only match on the entire base was Kavanagh.

"Major Sheppard?"

Sheppard opened his eyes at the sound of Teyla's voice. "For God's sake, Teyla, call me John. I'm off duty." His voice lost all inflection. "Permanently." Teyla opened her mouth to respond, but Sheppard barreled over her. "I know what you're gonna say. 'Don't talk like that. We're not going to let you die. Dr. Beckett is doing everything he can.' I've heard it all already, and you know what? I'm sick of being pitied."

"But there is a solution-"

"I'm told it might work. And if it does, how can we be sure? Once you guys got that damn bug off me, I though I was in the clear. But I couldn't have been more wrong." He shook his head. "Maybe I'm just paranoid, I don't know. I'm just not seeing the point anymore."

Teyla thought her heart would break at the utter hopelessness in his voice. She pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. "Well, for what it's worth, Dr. Beckett found a match for your blood type."

"Oh, really? Who?" Sheppard asked disinterestedly. "Not that it matters much, I'm probably dead anyway."

Teyla bit her lip. She'd been hoping he wouldn't ask. "Dr. Kavanagh."

Sheppard closed his eyes. "I really am screwed."

In the ensuing uncomfortable silence, they heard voices coming from Beckett's office.

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"No. Absolutely not. I refuse. It's invasive, it's painful, and I'm not doing it."

"If you don't, Major Sheppard will die!" Beckett insisted.

"Well, isn't that a shame," Kavanagh replied sarcastically. "I'm sorry, I really am. Give him my condolences." He smirked. "But that's life."

Beckett stared at him. "That's not bloody funny, Doctor. In case I haven't gotten it through your thick skull yet, the major is dying!"

"Get someone else to do it. My blood is staying right where it is, thank you very much."

"You're the only bloody match in the entire bloody galaxy!" Beckett exploded.

Kavanagh folded his arms. "What's in it for me?"

Beckett blinked. "You've got to be kidding."

"I'm serious. I give my blood and bone marrow, and what do I get in return?"

"I can't believe you're asking me this. It's the most childish, immature-"

"Answer me."

"Self-respect. You'll have saved a man's life."

"I already did that. As I recall, blowing the jumper's back hatch was my idea."

"Anybody could have figured that out. This time, you are the only person who can save Major Sheppard. Could you really look at yourself in the mirror every morning knowing you'd killed him to save yourself a little discomfort?!" Beckett was shouting now.

At that moment, a simultaneously tear-stricken and furious Teyla spoke from the open doorway. "I heard your every word, Dr. Kavanagh, and so did Major Sheppard." She strode across the room and stopped with her face inches from Kavanagh's. "You mark my words," she said in a low, dangerous voice. "If John dies because of you, I will kill you."

Kavanagh grinned. "You wouldn't do that."

"No, I wouldn't," Teyla agreed. "Not before you know firsthand how much he is suffering."

Weir entered the office as Teyla was staring him down. "What's going on here?"

Kavanagh took the interruption as an excuse to look away from Teyla and move toward the door. "Well, it's suddenly starting to get crowded in here. I think I'll just-"

Weir caught his arm. "Oh, no, Kavanagh. You're not going anywhere. In fact, you are not leaving this infirmary until you cooperate."

"You're kidding, right?" Kavanagh asked with a nervous grin.

Weir stared him in the eyes, her face dead serious. "Try me."

Kavanagh folded his arms. "Then I'll be here for a very long time. Because I am not going to subject myself to a procedure like that to save a contemptible-"

"Watch it," Teyla growled.

"-goddamned-"

"I'm warning you . . ."

"Casanova like Sheppard."

Teyla hit him, a vicious right cross connecting squarely with his solar plexus. His breath left him in a rush and he stumbled backward.

Kavanagh ricocheted off a top-heavy file cabinet, setting it teetering as he collapsed, gasping, to the floor. The cabinet struck the wall a few inches to the right, then bounced back to land with a sickening crunch on Kavanagh's left leg. He cried out in pain.

Beckett jumped forward to move the cabinet, and Weir could see that Kavanagh's leg was badly broken, the bone poking through the skin. Fighting down a sudden urge to throw up, she caught Beckett's arm as he stood to gather supplies. "Doctor Beckett," she said with all the authority she could muster, "you are not to lay a finger on him until he agrees to the transplant."

Beckett and Kavanagh protested loudly and simultaneously.

"I can't withhold treatment!" Beckett cried.

At the same time, Kavanagh ground out through clenched teeth, "He can't withhold treatment! It goes against everything in his Hippocratic oath."

Weir glared down at him. "But he is under my command. And I am bound by no such oath."

Under less serious circumstances, she might have laughed at the look of terror in Kavanagh's eyes as the prospect of bleeding to death occurred to him. "All right, do it!" he almost shouted.

"Thank you, Dr. Kavanagh," Weir said sweetly. "Dr. Beckett, he's all yours."

It was only after she'd left the infirmary entirely that she allowed herself to slump against a wall and tremble. If Kavanagh had called her bluff, Sheppard would have been as good as dead.

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Teyla was in the infirmary the instant Dr. Beckett allowed Major Sheppard to have visitors. His eyes were closed; he was probably asleep, but Teyla didn't want to leave. She sat in a chair beside his bed, and took his hand in hers.

The sound of his voice startled her. "Hey, Teyla."

"John. How are you feeling?"

"Better. Beckett says I'll be out of here by the end of the week." He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "Of course, that's what he said last time."

"I have every confidence in Dr. Beckett's expertise."

"Oh, so do I. But I can't help thinking that bug might have left another nasty little surprise. One he might not catch until it's too late."

"I don't think that's very likely."

"I know." He looked at her, and his haunted expression sent chills down her spine. "But it's not impossible."

Neither spoke for several moments, until Teyla broke the silence. "On a less serious subject, I came across an Earth colloquialism today that I don't understand. What is a 'Casanova'?"

"Casanova was . . . Well, let me put it this way. Have you seen any James Bond movies?"

Teyla nodded. "I've watched two or three with Dr. Grodin."

"OK, good. That makes this easy. Casanova was the Italian version of James Bond, but without the guns and spies and stuff."

Teyla was confused. "And that leaves . . . ?"

Sheppard's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Why, the Bond women, of course."

Oh, yes. He was going to be just fine.