Fic: Cloud

[sgarb_mod]

Author:kriadydragon
Wordcount: 14,550
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): None
Summary: It's happening again. But this time, John has a new kind of help.
Warning highlight to read(s): violence
Notes: Huge thanks to my beta, linziday.

Companion piece to Airmail.

Cloud

It's for the best. You above all people should understand that

He ran through a forest, slapping aside thick-leaved branches with his two very different hands: one pale with dull nails, the other dark blue and the nails going black. There was a quadrant of his brain that whispered timidly how wrong this was. It would have been more insistent if it hadn't been compressed by the snarling, overbearing instinct to run and keep running.

He felt like he'd been running forever, that he'd been born – however he'd been born – upright and taking off. But that, too, wasn't right, said the timidly insistent part of his brain. Just like it wasn't right that he was two different colors. Just like it wasn't right that he was so damn hungry.

He leaped easily over a fallen log, ducked a low hanging branch and clawed aside a second branch. Then the obstacle of leaves and wood ended abruptly, as did the land, and he fell in a pulverizing tumble down the steep incline of a ravine. But instead of landing sprawled and winded, he rolled with the momentum, landing on his feet and scrabbling up the other side of the embankment, then he was running again.

It was funny, for such a demanding, painful hunger, it had yet to slow him down. But he forced himself to slow, to take in his surroundings, every sight, sound, feeling – the soft soil under his feet, the chirrups and squawks of animals, and the stench of those animals within the mildew and wetness of the forest. The humidity was heavy, adhering the material of his shirt to his body, but his body itself didn't care. Temperature was adequate, neither too hot nor too cool, though that timid part of his brain wheedled that it should be hot, and that he should worry that he couldn't feel it.

He ignored the logic for scanning the forest. Insects fluttered past his head or scurried up trees. He grabbed the nearest one, segmented with a hundred little legs like a... a... something, he couldn't remember what, though he vaguely recalled that it wasn't supposed to be bigger than his hand. He grabbed it anyway, shoving it into his mouth in disregard of things like poison, and satiated his hunger with chitin and pincers.

“I see him! There!”

“Shoot him! Shoot him!”

He was running again as things popped and pinged around him, spraying him with splinters, leaves and bug parts. Something unrelentingly metal-solid slammed into his shoulder blade on the flesh side of his body. He stumbled, but grabbing the nearest trunk, hauled himself upright and propelled himself forward. Pain throbbed in his back like fire that was already starting to dull. With his stomach partly satisfied with insect, his pumping legs increased speed, his pumping heart speeding up with them until the shouts and popping became a distant thing like a half-remembered dream.

He ran until the noises vanished all together, continued running until the light began to wan and the hunger gnashed at his stomach. Once again he slowed, searching the forest for sustenance – a segmented bug here, an armored bug there, impossible reflexes allowing him to grab flying insects right out of the air in a blur of his blue hand. He followed a distant burbling to a small stream, crouched and drank his fill.

It was while he was standing that he felt something scrape the bone of his scapula. He remembered the impact there. But when he reached back sliding his fingers through the hole in his shirt, he felt only a small lump beneath smooth flesh.

Something told him, like daja vu, that were he to feel around the back of his shirt, he would find similar holes, with similar lumps beneath his skin. His mind whispered something about this being screwed up. Instinct didn't care and told him to keep running.

John bunched his leg muscles, ready to dart back into the foliage.

“John?”

It shouldn't have meant anything. Just another voice, just more words. It should have encouraged him to run and not look back.

He looked back.

A “thing” slid from the forest, through the air, like a... a... his mind coughed up the words serpent and water. But it was wrong, all wrong. It was long, and huge like a... ana-something. A type of... snake, a really big snake but made of frosted glass, with a rounded head and two horns topped by bushy fuzz as wild and orange as a... his mind said “flare.” Like a flare. It swam through the air toward John, and when it saw him, it beamed at him as though he were the best thing in the world.

“John John!” it crowed, naively young and ecstatic. Only one problem – its mouth hadn't moved.

When he didn't answer, the smile gradually diminished.

“John John John? Me, John. Me.”

When he still didn't respond, tensing his body to bolt, the thing became sad.

“I sorry John. I came back not soon.”

He wanted to run. Crap, it's all he wanted, but that damn thing, every time it said John... there was something about that word. Something he knew, something so familiar even instinct couldn't pull him away. It was instinct that kept him rooted, because when you heard that word, you paid attention.

He opened his mouth.“J-ohn?”

It felt right.

The thing smiled beatifically.

“Yes. John. John, John, John Sheppard, John.” It bobbed its body as though bopping along to a song. “John, John, John.”

John licked his suddenly dry lips.

“John.” He furrowed his brow. “John.” And realized. “That's – that's my... name.”

“John, John, John...”

John swallowed, his stomach uncomfortably full. “You... know... me?”

“John, John, John.” It spiraled forward, right toward him. John flinched back, knew he was supposed to be doing something, but couldn't remember what. The thing touched its snout to his forehead.

“John Sheppard.”

His body lost the will to stand, and on his way down to being a crumpled pile of skin, scale and bone, darkness took him.

-------------------

Do you ever worry,” Rodney asked. “That it's not all gone? That you might rebound?”

John, negotiating a particularly crowded section of hallway, was only half listening. “That what's all gone?”

“You know.” Rodney angled himself sideways to slip between two marines heading the opposite way. It was like wading through a river against the current, slowing them down. Rodney twirled his hands. “It? Our former conditions that almost killed us? I almost ascended. You turned scaley...”

“Not really,” John said, more tetchy than he intended.

Because he had thought about it.

-------------------

”What are you?”

John was jabbed in the side with the shiny black stick. Pain ripped like wild fire across his ribs, the muscles spasming, his lungs seizing, locking a scream in his throat.

“What are you!”

The stick was stuck in his back. John stiffened, mouth a rictus of muted agony. He continued to convulse even after the stick was removed, then he doubled over and puked.

The stick-bearer twisted his lips in disgust and walked away. Metal clanged against metal when stick-bearer slammed the barred door.

John sat there, rocking, gripping his elbow beneath where the skin had turned blue, like cutting off blood to a gushing wound. But it was still spreading, inch by painfully slow inch; had already spread all the way to his shoulder, and now there were the thorny spikes.

John knew what he was.

He was a bad thing. A very bad thing.

He looked up, blinking away tears of pain now that the pain was gone. The walls were also barred, letting him see into the cage next to him. The snake thing like frosted glass lifted its oval head weakly. There was a thick collar around its neck, blinking. Snake-thing looked at him with bright, pitiful eyes the color of sunrise.

It asked, without ever opening its mouth, “You have sad, too?”

A sound like windchimes in a summer breeze filled John's head.

----------------

“John, John, John! Wake up, John, wake up!”

John opened his eyes and blinked away the blur. He stared sleepily up at the canopy of green, sunlight spilling through the gap in white shafts. If he squinted, he could almost see the sky, fat clouds drifting with all the time in the world through that endless blue.

An oval head with furry horns on a serpentine body suddenly blocked his view with it's massive smile. “John John!”

John gasped and bolted upright. His heart thrashed like an animal caught in a trap, pushing his blood like a stampede thundering against his ears.

Who was he? Where was he? What the hell was going on?

“John John!” Snake-thing crowed, then proceeded to head-butt his shoulder like an overly affectionate cat.

John Sheppard. His name was Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, military commander of Atlantis. He loved flying, ferris wheels and things that went psychotically fast. He had a team – Rodney, Ronon, Teyla. And he was turning into a bug... again. He released his breath as sharply has he'd inhaled it.

“Son of a...!” He slumped, giving himself a moment to get a grip as his brain rebooted itself. It was a lot more difficult than it should have been with a pressure headache throbbing behind his eyeballs and snake-thing's gently tapered nose nudging his shoulder.

John tried to wave it off. “Give me a minute... uh...”

“Cloud,” said snake-thing... Cloud.

John sighed wearily. “Yeah, Cloud.” This kept happening to him, this memory lapse like a tidal wave burying who he was, then receding as though it was cringing back from the weird yet not unpleasant noise in his head.

“I give you the song, John. You better now, yes, yes?” Cloud persisted, nudging away, scraping the metal lump under John's skin against his shoulder blade.

“Getting there, buddy,” John said, hand to his head, because the memory rush always made his skull throb.

“No time. Go now,” Cloud urged, nudging John harder. It sounded frantic which, from what John started to recall, wasn't the norm for Cloud. It was usually John who had to do the urging on. Needless to say, this wasn't good.

It was with a miserable grunt that John acquiesced, grabbing the nearest trunk and using it to climb to his feet. A head rush threatened to send him back to the soggy ground, but he locked his knees, shook off the vertigo and stumbled forward.

“Saw the 'gate, John. even heavier guarded. No way through,” said Cloud, cutting through the air alongside him as easy as an eel through water.

John replied absently, “Uh-huh.” Just because his memories flooded didn't mean they flooded all at once. He still didn't know where he was, what was going on, and who was after him. All he knew was who he was, where he was from and that, no matter what, he had to keep going.

Now that he was moving, his blood flowing and heart pumping, another swath of mindless animal haze made its retreat. John recalled, gradually, having sent Cloud back the way they had come to check out the gate. What he couldn't figure out is why he would do that. Cloud could have been spotted, it... he, she... could have been killed, and it would have been John's fault.

John's chest clenched and he swallowed. Why would he do that?

“This way, John!” trilled Cloud excitedly. “This way. Found safety way. They no follow you here. hurry!” And Cloud shot off into the foliage.

John had to run to keep up, the forest whipping by in a blur of green and brown, and not a moment too soon when gunfire rattled and popped behind him.

“Faster, John!” screamed Cloud. “Almost there! Be ready! You gonna jump!”

“Jump?” John yelped. There was no time for an answer. The forest ended, a cliff edge looming up fast, John's momentum making it impossible for him to stop.

So he didn't stop. He ran faster, and when his foot hit the edge, he leaped.

Time slowed to a snail's pace. He saw, in that split second turned minute, the distance to land, the dark gaping depth beneath him, and felt the wind tearing at him trying to slow him down. He wasn't going to make it, he was sure of it, his heart taking refuge in his gut.

Then he landed, hard, the impact shimming up his knees and dropping him. He went with the tumble rolling back to his feet and back into a run, whooping loud and manic with joy.

“That was damn awesome! Cloud, remind me to kill you later!”

Cloud just giggled a child's giggle, bobbing along.

Safely on the other side of the narrow canyon and hidden by the forest, the gunfire stopped and John could finally slow to a walk. He had become a conundrum, a living oxymoron, gasping for breath without feeling the burn in his lungs and with energy to spare to keep running all day if he wanted. It was exhilarating, beyond awesome...

John looked at his hand, the scales thickening on his wrist.

It was also wrong. Very wrong. He remembered, like something once buried by time but having crawled its way to the surface, the instinct – mindless, aimless instinct. And hunger like a blade in his gut.

John stopped. Tearing his hand through his hair, he looked around.

“Where are we?” What am I doing here? Why is this happening again? Where's my team

“Don't know,” said Cloud, circling John's head like a halo. “Don't know, don't know, don't know. Gate other way but it guarded good, really good. No way through.”

John nodded. “Okay. So... we're stuck here.” So now what? Keep going, that's what, but mostly because it was all he could think of to do; put distance between them and the bad guys and give himself the time denied to him by urgency to reorient. Once reoriented, then he could plan.

John continued on, creating a mental list of what he did know: He was on a strange world, his team wasn't here, he was turning into a bug. There was still an ache in his skull. That damn hunger was coming back. He was thirsty. Chances were good that, sooner or later, they were going to need a place to hole up, but not quite yet. His companion was a transparent flying snake with fuzzy horns and a child's happy disposition.

He was turning into a bug.

One thing at a time, John. Focus on one thing at a time.

He heard, in the distance but closing in, a stream, and smiled. Thirst you can do something about. It was a muddy little trickle of a stream, but John's dry throat didn't care. Crouching, he scooped up cold water by the handful, sucking it into his mouth. It satisfied the thirst but didn't put a dent in the headache, which was odd. He was going iratus, which meant uber cool healing abilities, which also meant he shouldn't be in any pain. But on the totem pole that was the grand scheme of things, a headache made up the base of what he needed to worry about.

Cloud hovered nearby, watching curiously.

“Not thirsty?” he asked. “Might be the only stream for miles.”

Clouds leafy fin-like protuberances all over its body rustled, the equivalent of a shrug.

“No thirsty,” it said.

They continued on, John swatting aside branches and leaves, Cloud flowing around the same as sinuous and careful as a cat.

Cloud had been a white lump on the floor when he first saw her, John remembered. A literal sad sack, the perfect picture of misery, fluting a sad song in John's head. He remembered... stories. He'd told her stories, about Atlantis, about flying, about the crazy crap he and his team always found themselves in.

Where was his team? Damn it, why couldn't he remember?

Why was this happening?

John sucked in a hissing breath. One thing at a time. One thing. Focus, John.

“John?” said Cloud, arching around and looking worried.

John shook his head and trudged on. “I'm fine.”

Cloud frowned severely letting him know just how much it didn't believe him, but with the decency not to push the matter. Silence surrounded them, long and uncomfortable, giving John's mind leeway to think too much.

John said suddenly, “I took your collar off.” If he could keep his thoughts on track, keep them from wandering, then maybe he could retrace them to the start of all this. “It was easy.”

Cloud beamed. “Was easy.”

It had slithered listlessly toward him when he asked it to, able to poke its head through the bars because the shield – like the shield on the detention cell on Atlantis, John remembered – only covered the front, not the entire cage. One press of a button, the collar popped off and Cloud was free to rise back into the air.

“And then...” John said, but his mind hit a brick wall.

Cloud chirped happily. “We escaped!”

“Way to state the obvious, bud, but how did we escape? How were we even caught in the first place?”

“They throw sparking net on me. No know how you caught. You was less blue, though. Lot blue now.”

“Yeah, not encouraging, there.” John looked at his hand, the back starting to scale, and frowned. “I'm dangerous like this. And I'm gonna keep getting dangerous.”

“No worry, you have song. Song makes you better.”

“Song?”

“Song. Make you feel better.”

John had no idea what Cloud was talking about and wasn't in the mood to figure it out if Cloud wasn't going to be straightforward. But that was the rub of the matter, because right here, right now, he should be insane – running, tearing, killing, knowing only the instinct talking disgustingly sweet in his brain, telling him what to do under the pretense that he actually had a choice; like it was something he wanted to do and had always wanted to do, he just hadn't realized it. Manipulating him, drowning out reason and morality. Driving him mad.

He should be insane. He wasn't, and for some reason that scared him even more.

One thing at a time, John. But it was getting harder, because the more he recalled, the more there was to ask, and the only headway he'd managed to make was to distance himself further from the gate.

Evening crept up on them, nearly unawares on John's part. So lost in thought, there wasn't much he'd been paying attention to, and if he hadn't been lost before he sure as hell was lost now. He kept going.

“Rest?” Cloud said.

John looked up at what he could see of the darkening sky through the foliage. Twilight always came early in forests but the way his eyes had adjusted it might as well still be midday, and he was far from tired. Then he looked at Cloud, body sagging, eyes at half mast. John wasn't a party of one on this run for dear life. A little shut eye might also be able put a few dents in his damn headache.

“Yeah, we can rest,” John said. He grimaced as he searched their surroundings – trees, trees, and more trees. “If we can find some shelter.” Just because there was a ravine between him and the bad guys didn't mean there wasn't a way to cross it.

Which begged another question – who the hell was chasing him?

In the end, John opted for climbing a tree, a cake walk with his current abilities. He scaled it as easily as those giant centipedes that liked to scuttle across the trunk. He didn't even realize it when he grabbed a centipede and stuffed it into his mouth, not until long after he swallowed it. He grimaced, only to grimace harder when the headache spiked and he nearly lost his grip on the tree. He scuttled fast the rest of the way to the nearest, thickest branch, straddled it, then leaned his back against the trunk, shifting when the bullet under his skin grated against bone.

Cloud gently lowered itself and draped like a scarf across John's lap. It was lighter than it looked, and when John placed his hand – his human hand – on its back, he found that its skin really did feel like glass, only soft and warm. Cloud sighed, contented.

“Better?” John asked.

“Better.”

John nodded. He said, conversationally, “So... what are you? Or did we already have this discussion?”

“Don't know,” said Cloud. “Don't have kind name. Just are.”

“Your kind don't have a name for yourselves?”

Cloud yawned. “No.”

“Okay. Do you have a family or anything? Anyone you need to get back to?”

“Don't know where are.”

John winced. “Feel your pain, there, buddy.” He sighed. He would have loved nothing more than to take his lack of memory concerning the where abouts of his team as a good thing, that maybe, just maybe, they hadn't been here when... whatever this was had gone down. That he hadn't gone ballistic and...

Don't go there, John. You don't want to go there.

But that was the problem. If his team was in some kind of danger, then he had to go there. Maybe they needed him; maybe they needed him to stay the hell away.

Maybe it was too late.

John's hand on Cloud's back began to shake.

Don't go there. One thing at a time.

John clenched his fist. He asked, his throat tight, “Do you know why you were taken?”

“No,” Cloud slurred. “No one talk to Cloud. No one understand. You only one...” it yawned again, “understand. You hear Cloud. No one else. Just you.” Then Cloud's eyes slid closed and its breathing even out.

“Only me, huh? Well, aren't I special.” But he didn't feel special, because he had a pretty good idea why he could hear Cloud and no one else could. As much as he hated it, it was the only explanation.

John chuffed.

Super abilities, super strength, super stamina and now the bonus of keeping his sanity. He was turning into a damn monster, and it was okay.

But that wasn't right. As grateful as he was to Cloud, that just wasn't right. Maybe he was being pessimistic, but it had been his experience that life wasn't so accommodating without a little compensation.

“Damn,” John sighed, stroking Cloud's glassy back. He closed his eyes. One thing at a time. One damn thing at a time.

------------------

Surellis Col raised his crystal glass. “To progress,” he said, tone and expression as stern as though he were giving an order and not a toast. But that, John had come to realize after four days in this guy's company, was just Surellis – military general in scientist's clothing. With his buzz-cut silver hair and trimmed beard, John had taken to secretly calling him General Stryker.

Everyone gathered around the blood-wood dining table – scientists and military, both Atlantean and local - raised their glasses in return. With the formality passed, they could finally sit and eat.

“You may find this forward, Academe Col,” said the “real” local general, High Commander Turin as he sawed through the local equivalent of sea bass. “But I prefer results over progress.” A crooked smile lifted one side of his pencil-thin mustache. “And no offense to our good friends the Lanteans but I was led to believe creations of quite an exquisite nature would be flying from your labs by now.”

The rest of the militia, with their slicked-back hair and trench coats despite the balmy weather, chuckled amiable.

Surellis did an excellent job of not responding, not even a twitch in his cheek as he cut into his tender fish, took a bite and savored it. That, too, was Surellis — about expressive as polished rock.

John barely managed to keep his smile from looking pained. “Well, that's results for you. They never happen when you want them to.” And then his smile did turn pained, because could that be any more of a crap answer? He could see Lorne grimace out of the corner of his eye, and he wished Teyla were here. But the flu, unlike results, happened when you didn't want them to.

A hard elbow to the ribs by Keller forced John to add, “But ask good Academe Col or Dr. Keller here and they'll tell you how closer to the results we are.”

John preferred his first reply. At least it hadn't sounded like an ad pitch. It also made him miss Rodney, who would have seated himself next to Jennifer and blocked Jennifer's “motivational” assault. But irony had decided to make up for Rodney getting the flu shot by making him fall off a ladder and break his arm. Ronon, Woolsey had decided, would do the mission a favor by not going. The Glocians had known the Satedans, and not in a good way.

“It's true,” Keller said, launching overeagerly into her sales pitch like she'd been born to it. “We've been making great headway in finding remedies for many of your illnesses...”

But of course the commander wasn't listening. Medicine might increase the population of the human race, but it didn't decrease the Wraith population. Turin's bored expression said everything John needed to know about the man and what he was really thinking. It was the song and dance for every world looking to save its civilization and come out on top. While they were happy enough to get what medical help they could, what they really wanted was weapons. Some worlds didn't waste time pussyfooting the subject, some worlds did. Some worlds, like Glocia, thought that by buttering the Lanteans up a little at a time – working with them long enough to gain a rapport – that it would pave the way to one day tossing weapons exchange into the trade deal.

Some could accuse John of jumping to conclusions, seeing too much into what wasn't there. Except John knew, because that was the nature of trade and the military. Atlantis had been there, done that. John knew a buttering up when he saw one. Even Ronon knew it the short time he'd been on this world (before the insults started flying and Ronon had to be hustled out before he had a chance to thumb his blaster to “kill.”) Hell, even Teyla knew from what John alone had told her. This world wanted something and would practice patience to get it.

“Which you need to be careful of, John,” Teyla had said. “Should their patience run out...”

She didn't need to finish the rest. Atlantis had also been there.

“What of this ability I have heard tell of that renders humans inedible to Wraith?” asked one of Turin's seconds.

“Uh...” Jennifer stuttered, the sales pitch dead in the water. Weapons talk to a soldier was like a dog with a bone. It was going to take some fancy vocal foot work on Keller's part to get back on the topic of medicines. “Well, if you've heard of that then I'm sure you've also heard of the Hoffan plague...”

This was what made John nervous. Glocian was a military society, armed to the teeth, but with a sudden, almost abrupt interest in science according to Atlantis' sources. Most especially anything in the medical field.

Except Sheppard had toured Glocian hospitals, their streets, the number of ill no more than what you might see in an American hospital. Jennifer had studied their illnesses, most of which already had effective medicines to cure them.

Nightmares of bio war fare had then danced in John's head night after night since meeting the Glocians. The last thing this galaxy needed was another bunch of benefits-over-risks wackos sucking Atlantis in with their promise of victory. John still mentally sifted through what remained of the Hoffan fiasco, trying again and again to figure out what they could have done different. Even clone Carson would bring it up more times than what was probably healthy.

Jennifer's polite but lengthy explanation on why the Hoffan serum was a bad idea left the Glocian commanders slightly sulky but not exactly thwarted. John had no doubts they would find a way to look into it, see if they could do what the Hoffans hadn't. Again, maybe he was being judgmental, projecting too much of an Earth military mindset on the aliens...

No. Hell no. He was right and he knew it. If these people could get their hands on the Hoffan virus, any virus, even the retrovirus to play with, they would. One thing you could always count on in any world in any galaxy: When the chips were down and you thought yourself backed into a corner, you took whatever advantage you could find. Being a relatively advanced society in a galaxy full of creatures that demolished advanced societies, the Glocians were well and truly backed into a corner. It was only because, like the Genii, they kept their technology hidden (in caves instead of bunkers) that they had lasted this long. They might look Victorian-Aged advanced on the outside, but on the inside they were skirting 1960s tech (including the beginnings of a computer). They were merely biding their time, scouring the galaxy for that one final piece of advancement that would make them untouchable.

The moment dinner was winding down to a close and John had polished off most of his kind-of salmon, he took polite leave of the table The consulate was a massive mansion, almost a castle, the epicenter of all things military and science in the guise of their president's home. The heart of its operations took place well below ground, in a maze of concrete and doors that could give the SGC a run for its money.

John preferred the well kept garden behind the house, flagstone pathways winding through a moon dappled forest of young trees and flowering bushes. Just beyond the patio was a fountain, water arching from the gaping mouth of two snake-like creatures with funky horns swimming away from each other. It was pretty enough, John supposed, but the snake-things looked too much like they were struggling to get away.

But the night was warm, the sky clear through the trees, water splashing into water almost musical. John took a deep breath of perfumed air and let it sooth whatever nerves it could. He wanted to relax, but “relax” wasn't in his vocabulary when off world.

“Colonel Sheppard.”

John whirled quickly around, hand going for his gun. He let out a breath when Academe Col stepped from the shadows, one hand raised, the other clutching tight to his crystal glass.

The smile he gave John didn't reach his eyes. “I did not think myself a danger of any kind to elicit such a reaction.”

“Habit,” John said, smiling tersely back. He let his hand relax at his side. “You're a quiet guy, doc. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Frequently.” Col took a breath, then a sip, and let the breath out. “I must apologize for the commander. He may not say it but it is quite plain he sees no fortune in our alliance.”

“I'm sure,” John said, neutral.

“He sees progress only in the number of Wraith dead.” He took another sip. “I wonder, though,” he said, gesturing at John with his glass. “What do you hope to gain?”

“We told you--”

Col waved him off, the movement so smooth the amber liquid barely sloshed against the crystal. “Yes, medicinal plants that hold the secrets against the illnesses of your world. But I am speaking of you directly, Colonel. You are a military man. Surely there is more you want other than a few medicines?”

John shrugged. “Actually I'm pretty content with the medicine. We have this illness on our world – we call it cancer. It makes your life a living hell and the cure isn't a picnic, either.” He bit his lip. “It took my mother. But Keller thinks your Caloy blossom could be the key to finding a cure that could increase the chances of permanent remission. I consider that a pretty sweet deal.”

Col nodded sagely. “I often forget your world does not suffer the Wraith.”

“No, but we still have our share of problems.”

“Perhaps. But I admire your perspective, Colonel. It is rare to know a guardian who seeks more than merely the increased body count of the enemy.” He tossed back the rest of his drink, curling his lip against its bite. “Still, I have been made privy to some of your people's research. I know what your people are capable of. Loathe as I am to have any sort of agreement with his high commander, I do agree that you seem to be holding back on your potential.”

“Yeah, well,” John said, keeping his voice level. “What you call holding back? We call learning from our mistakes. Trust me, Academe, there are roads we've traveled that you do not want to go down.”

“The nature of progress,” Col replied. “Roads are meant to be mapped, Colonel. Seas charted. Terrain explored. Even the dangerous places, or else the destination can never be reached.”

“Even at a price?” John said. “I can tell you, it gets pretty damn expensive.” Once again he found himself thinking back to the Hoffan drug, the retrovirus, Arcturus, Micheal, and how easily things went wrong when you favored results over caution. He added roughly, “And I'm not talking coinage.”

Atlantis had done a lot of good in the galaxy, but the road toward that good had been paved in a lot of screw-ups.

Col shrugged as though it didn't matter. He tilted his head to one side, the direction of his gaze angled at John's bared arm below his rolled up sleeve.

Col said, almost whimsically, “What a strange rash you have, Colonel Sheppard.”

John twisted his arm to catch more of the light from the porch lamps. His heart seized at the blue-violet carbuncle puckering from his skin.

-----------------------

A rod to the spine left John immobile long enough for someone to take blood from his blue-stained arm. They left him there, shaking, panting, tears racing each other down his face. His eyes met the crystal creature's eyes.

“They mean,” it said sadly.

“Tell me...” John coughed, “about it.”

“No stories?”

“Sorry... buddy. Not feeling... too hot.”

It lifted its head, or tried to as much as the collar would let it. “I tell you story. About clouds. Like clouds. Like to fly in them, around them. They wet. I like wet. Clouds are fun, yes?”

John smiled weakly. “Yeah. They are.”

“I like clouds.” It set its head back down. “I miss clouds.”

“Me too,” John breathed. He closed his eyes against another muscle spasm in his back. “Me too.”

--------------------------

John woke up with a gasp followed by a sharp crack of pain that shivered from the top of his skull down into his brain stem. He doubled up, clutching his hair until the jagged nails of his right hand furrowed into his skin, drawing beads of blood. John could feel those beads tickling hot over his scalp until they became soaked into his hair; could smell it, metallic and sweet, twisting his gut with aching hunger.

“No,” John moaned. “No, no, no, please no.” With the hunger came need, blinding, brainless animal need for satiation. It spread through his mind like a swarm devouring his world. He needed to feed. He needed to feed now.

With a snarl that was part frustration, part feral, John leaped from the safety of the branch, landing in a crouch on the soft forest floor. He lifted his face to the breeze and inhaled deeply through his nose.

There was something not far from him. He could almost see it flitting through the trees, smelling sweet like honey. John moved without sound, keeping low, downwind of his prey. He spotted it again through a coups of shrubs, darting from flower to flower like a bee. John bunched back on his calf muscles and lunged.

“John!” squealed his prey as they tumbled over the mossy ground. Another stab of pain ripped through John's head and they tumbled apart, John clutching his skull as warm blood slid from his nose.

“John?” a child's voice tentatively asked. When the pain ebbed back to a throb and John remembered who he was, where he was, and why he was, he lifted his shaky head.

Cloud was coiled in a shivering heap several feet from John, staring at him like he was the boogey-man having just crawled out from under the bed. John gaped in horror.

“Oh, hell, Cloud, I am so sorry, buddy, I... damn it, I don't know why I did that...”

Cloud immediately relaxed. “Is okay, John. My fault. You sleep so I eat, but song got too far away. Is my bad thing, not you.”

John heaved a sigh. It would only be a no win argument if he kept at it, so let it drop. He wiped his nose and studied the blood smeared across his hand.

That was new, another question to tack onto the perpetually growing list. Last he remembered, you didn't bleed when turning into a bug, and you didn't feel pain. Being the optimistic guy that he was, John hoped it meant this change wasn't like the last, that once he got home and got treated, it would be over as quickly as it had begun.

Problem was, he didn't remember when it had begun. At that banquet, yeah, but he couldn't even remember when the banquet was.

At least I know where my team is, John thought. He climbed to his feet. “Well, I guess I'm okay, now.”

Cloud nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. You have song, again.”

“Awesome, let's go.” John started off, grabbing some kind of giant beetle from off a leaf and shoving it into his mouth. He really needed to stop doing that. He could do without how much the lack of control over his eating habits was freaking him out, and there had to be a less creepy way of getting breakfast.

“Where we go today?” Cloud asked, bobbing alongside John as though the attack of moments ago hadn't happened.

“I don't know,” John said honestly. “Swing around, get closer to the gate.”

“But--”

“I know. It's guarded. But if a chance comes along that'll let us get through I want to be where we can be ready to grab it.”

“Oh, okay!” Cloud chirped happily. John wished Cloud's enthusiasm was contagious. He was hopeful, determined to find a way to get home, but no amount of determination could silence the niggling impression that he was only putting off the inevitable, and no amount of optimism could keep him from considering the possibility that his current metamorphoses could very well be messed up in all the wrong ways.

Since there was nothing he could do about it, he focused instead on ways of getting through the gate. As the day dragged on and one tree or shrub looked like another, he came to learn more about Cloud. Or, more specifically, remembered more. Such as that it ate out of flowers like a butterfly or bee, lapping up pollen with a thin, silver tongue. It was remarkably curious, and therefore easily distracted, darting off to check out that bird or that tree hole or this insect nest as though everything on this world were harmless and wonderful. John kept having to call Cloud back, and about panicked when it nosed a wicked looking mother of a spider with pincers.

Now he knew how Teyla felt whenever Torren toddled off too far.

And like any child expending too much energy, Cloud started to flag. It was around midday, John's hunger once again gnawing ravenously at his gut, dictating his brain to grab whatever was at hand. He nearly shoved some kind of squealing rodent into his mouth, but managing to reclaim his senses at the last second, tossed it aside. Bugs he could deal with. Mammals with fur and bones was where he drew the line. Lizards, too. Maybe he was being picky, but his body, his brain, damn it. No way was he going to let the insect in him win even the smallest of battles. Or he was acting on some kind of unconscious spite. If he had to become a bug, then he was going to take it out on bugs. It made him feel a little bad for the bugs.

The hunger as satiated on insects as it was going to get, John clamored up the nearest tree, settled back, and stretched out his legs. Cloud landed and he stroked its back.

“Tell me story,” Cloud said, yawning.

John chuffed. “I ever tell you about the first time I turned into this... thing?”

“No.”

John told Cloud, at least the parts he could remember. Which, unfortunately, he remembered quite a bit. He might have been an animal, but that didn't mean his brain had stopped absorbing information and storing it away. He still dreamed, sometimes, of scuttling across walls like a deranged Spider Man in blue – Atlantis' friendly neighborhood killing machine.

Cloud seemed troubled by this, putting wrinkles in its smooth brow. “This no normal?”

“No normal,” John said.

Air whuffed through Cloud's nose, the closest thing to a snort it could come to. “You need home.”

“Yeah, I need home.”

But as determined as Cloud was, it couldn't fight the allure of sleep. Cloud drifted off quickly, the summer chimes a gentle balm in John's head, soothing the savage beast. He dozed, whether he needed the rest or not.

Voices within the monotony of the forest sounds snapped John out of it. He sat up, tilting his head left then right. He heard all around him the whisper of leaves, the trill of the insects, the warbling birds.

There, to his left, a little behind. Definitely voices, and they were heading their way.

John shook Cloud. “Cloud, buddy. Wake up, we have to move.”

Shifting, Cloud groaned. “No move. Nice here. Sleep here.”

John, biting his lip, glanced frantically around. The voices were closer, close enough for John to see who was talking if the damn foliage wasn't so thick.

“Cloud, I'm serous. We have to move, now.”

But Cloud only grunted without so much as a twitch.

“Damn, you are tired. Why the hell are you so tired?” John hissed. They were running out of time, the voices closer and growing in number. John lifted Cloud, wrapped it around his neck like a boa then shimmied down the tree. After landing on the moist ground in a crouch, he took off at a half run, head down as he darted from tree to shrub to whatever else he could use as cover.

Someone shouted and a bullet tore through the leaves inches above John's head.

“Son of a bitch!” John snarled. Then he was running, darting, dodging, leaping and ducking forest debris and enemy fire, Cloud a dead weight on his shoulders.

But the perks of being inhuman reared their contradictory heads, his pumping legs eating up the distance and the voices fading behind him. His sharp eyes took in every minor detail faster than any normal human eyes could: animals, plants, low hanging branches, dips in the ground and ravines hidden behind screens of ferns. He saw, coming up fast, a thick-bodied tree of gnarled roots half-hidden beneath shrubs, and had an idea. Skidding to a stop, John dropped to his knees, parted the shrubs and smiled.

Then removed Cloud from his neck, easing its coiled body into the protective niche between two thicks roots beneath the heavy bushes.

“Cloud, you stay here, you hear me? No matter what you hear or see, you stay here and don't move.”

Cloud mumbled a sleepy affirmative. Good enough, because the voices were coming, guns already going off.

John leaped to his feet and scuttled up the tree, its foliage and shadows thick enough, he hoped, to hide him. It was high time he assessed the situation, because no way could the hunting party have found him this fast.

Sharp eyes, sharp ears and height advantage showed John everything he needed to know: five hostiles – a scouting party and unlucky enough to be on the right track - heading his way, armed with rifles that he knew for a fact had a dead-straight aim.

Just like he knew, for a fact, that these guys weren't hunters. They weren't even an angry mob hell bent on burning him alive in the nearest windmill. These were soldiers, half camouflaged in dark green long coats, organized and focused.

And scared. John could smell it in their sweat, hear it in the rapidity of their thrumming pulse.

They were scared of him. Good. John could use that.

John pulled the fattest, hardest seed he could find from the cluster hanging heavy from the branches – about as big as an acorn and just as hard – and threw it. Its crack against a tree reverberated as a snap through the forest, freezing the soldiers like deer in the headlights. John threw two more seeds, their cracks twice as loud. The soldiers exchanged whispered words then veered off to investigate.

John thumped his fist against the trunk in quiet triumph. He followed them, crawling hand over hand over the thickest branch, easing onto the next available branch of the next available tree within reach, quiet as a shadow and just as invisible. He ghosted until they were as far from Cloud as he figured they were going to get.

Then he fell, dropping like a rock the moment the straggler at the back of the line was right beneath him. It was so fast, so silent, so unreal even to John: the soldier went down with barely an explosive exhale of forced-out air, John's hand over his mouth, the only sound the thump of their bodies hitting the ground. Then John's elbow to the kid's face put the kid out.

John wasn't supposed to enjoy mutating into something out of a bad 50's horror movie but damn if he couldn't help it, because it had everything he needed right when he needed it – the speed, the strength, the senses, the inability to die. He was a one man army.

The only one to notice a man down was the next guy at the back of the line, pausing at his own peril. John tackled him, hand over the man's mouth as he brought him down. A head-slam into the ground and now there were three. But it hadn't gone unnoticed. The real fight was on.

John moved in a blur of blue, black and flesh – around a tree, up it, over the branches and dropping onto soldier three. Soldier four and five took off running, twisting around to shoot wild into the woods, screaming their defiance overshadowed by their terror. And John pursued, ignoring the impact in his shoulder, thigh and under his ribs as easily as he would ignore a bug bite.

Man four went down, screaming. John slammed his head against the ground. It felt good. It felt right. You don't run from, you run to. You chase. You hunt. You triumph.

Target five stumbled over his own feet bringing himself to the ground, his weapon tumbling out of reach. John jumped him before he could reach for it. But he did not claim his victory, not yet. His prey was scared and it smelled so sweet. How much sweeter would it taste for the man to die in his terror. John stalked him, loomed over him. The man flopped like a fish in his pathetic mockery of escape.

“Please,” the man said. “No, please. Someone help me, please!”

“John?”

John froze. Pain ripped through his skull and down his spine. With a snarl of rage, he turned on whatever it was attacking him, because attack was the only explanation his animal brain would provide. He lashed out with his clawed hand, once then twice but the pain only grew.

So he ran, bellowing in rage.

“John, John, John!”

But the pain followed. It filled his skull until he thought it would burst, weakening his legs so that he stumbled. He pushed himself onward, his path growing erratic. His foot caught on the arched root of a tree and he fell.

The pain devoured him, burned him. He couldn't take it. He screamed.

“John?”

His name spoken in the frightened whisper of a child followed him into the darkness.

Part Two

”Quite remarkable, isn't it? I did not think the change would happen so fast. We're fortunate I was there to notice the first signs of metamorphoses.”

“But what of his people?”

“Calm, Josin. We prepared for this and it has served us well to do so. They believe he has been taken. They are even now sending their soldiers to seek him on Alseya.”

“I wish I had your optimism but he is already showing signs of aggression. What if he were to escape? What if the high commander learns of this?”

“You fear too much, Josin. Have faith.”

“Ancestors I... he is weeping. You can see his tears.”

“It will not last. I do apologize for this, Colonel. Please do not think this personal. It is for the best. The road about to be taken. You above all people should understand that.”

---------------------

“Now I give you something,” said Cloud, rising like a wisp of smoke into the air. The collar dropped to the ground, dark and dead.

John chuckled weakly. “Not sure what you could give me, buddy.”

“I give you song,” it said happily. “And I give you this.” It's frosted-glass body turned transparent, like a snake-shaped shimmer of a mirage. John tracked the mirage with his eyes as it passed through the narrow bars of the cage, the electric pulse of a disturbed forcefield rippling violet and blue. When Cloud reappeared, it was outside the cell.

John blinked. “Wow.”

Cloud giggled. “Now we go away. I get opening things!” And it darted off to the other side of the chamber. It came back not seconds later, a ring of keys like large computer chips hanging from its mouth. It was a lesson in time wasting; Cloud passing through the shield with the keys (it was able to pass its ability on to whatever it touched – sweet - but when John placed his hand on an invisible Cloud's back, it was only his hand that went invisible), then John adjusting the keys so Cloud could fit them into the lock one at a time, Cloud dropping the keys, John adjusting them again, and cloud fitting them in the lock. What felt like ten agonizing minutes of sorting, dropping, picking up, failing and trying again, the lock buzzed, the shield went down and John was free.

“I see if safe or danger,” Cloud said proudly. It went invisible, and slipped through the next barrier between them and whatever was on the other side, checking that the way was clear. It pulled its head back in and nodded. John pressed the panel, the red light going to green, then opened the door on squealing hinges. He cringed.

The chamber on the other side was barely lit by dimmed lights, but it was empty. There were tables, very medical looking machines, trays of very sharp tools and shelf after shelf of equipment, papers, and jars of living things floating in pale blue liquid.

“Oh,” said Cloud sadly. It was floating in front of the largest jar. Inside, a head, just like Cloud's but bigger, a lot bigger. Cloud stared at the head as little tears rolled down its face.

---------------------

John wondered what the hell he'd been drinking, because as soon as he figured out what it was he promised he would never drink it again. He couldn't remember a time when he'd had this killer of a hangover.

“John? John? John?” Something nudged his shoulder. “John!”

John moaned. “K'p it dwn.”

“No, John. Up! Get up! Now, now, now!”

“All right, all right,” John growled. But when he tried to push himself up by his arms, he dropped back to the ground, the impact like a knife splitting his skull.

“Hurry! Please!”

Please!

John gasped, part in pain, part in the shocking rush of memories like getting hit with a bucket of ice water. He remembered, and what he remembered he didn't like.

“Crap,” he croaked, struggling to his feet. He managed it with the help of the tree next to him, digging his nails into the serrated bark for dear life as the world tilted around him and his legs shook like a newborn colt's. The pain did a jig on his brain, so he rested his head against the cool mossy trunk. “Crap, crap, crap.”

“No crap!” Cloud piped up, her nudging insistent, almost bruising. “Go now! Go now!”

“Trying, buddy. Just... give me a moment.”

“No moment! No time!”

“All right! I'm going!” John pushed from the tree. His first couple of steps wobbled, but locking his knees, he stayed upright. He stumbled onward weaving like a drunk whose blood-alcohol level was over the legal limit, clipping trees and branches with his head and shoulders and cursing up a storm. Cloud wormed its way under his arm and let him lean on it. But the more he walked, the more the world righted itself and soon he was able to free Cloud from his weight and break into a light jog.

And not a moment too soon. The soldiers were coming, John could hear them, still too far away to be a threat but soon to change if John didn't start hauling ass. The headache wouldn't let him, each step shaking it up like shaking up a rattler. John dug the heel of his hand into his forehead as though he could smash the pain out of existence.

“Cloud what the hell happened to me?” he tried to growl, but it came out as a whimper.

Cloud floated up beside John, its face heart-breakingly pathetic in its concern.

“You lost song. Had to give it back. It hurts you, no know why. I so sorry, John, I am.”

“Not your fault, bud, but I really think we should stick close together, I...” Then he looked at Cloud, really looked at it, and the four lines of puckered skin across its side, visible only to John's strong eyes.

He gaped in horror. “Oh, hell, Cloud.”

Cloud shook its head emphatically. “No fault too. None. No song. Go nuts without song.”

“Yeah, I'm finally starting to get that.” He smiled wanly with a chuff. “Guess that means I'm literally stuck with you.”

Cloud beamed. But it was different, not as buoyant as before, as though Cloud had just woken up and couldn't shake off the lingering traces of sleep.

“You still tired, buddy?”

“I fine,” Cloud said. But like hell Cloud was. It was flying lower to the ground, its leafy fins sagging. John would have happily stopped to let it rest, but he could still hear their pursuers, their voices a mosquito hum in John's ears.

Then John remembered. “Hey, you didn't tell me you could move through walls.”

“No need to, you saw.”

“Yeah, but my memory isn't what it's supposed to be. Anything else I need to know about? You wouldn't happen to breathe fire, would you? Because that could come in handy.”

Cloud looked at him cock-eyed.

John snorted. “Yeah, never mind.” But at least that was one question ticked off the list, with the bonus that he no longer felt guilty over having sent Cloud on gate reconnaissance.

John ran until the noise of the soldiers faded. He leaped from rock to rock over a raging river churning up fists of foam, eased carefully through a copes of nettles and waded through a shallow pond.

Then Cloud could go no further, and drifted to the ground.

“Sorry, John,” it wearily breathed.

John, breathless from the wading but still rearing to go, knelt beside her. “Don't be.” He gathered it up and wrapped it around his neck. “You carry me, I carry you - it's all good, buddy.”

He walked, not seeing the need to run, as well as to give his throbbing skull a break. The only sounds were that of the forest, gentle now that the day was in full swing of late afternoon, the air sleepy, warm and sweet-smelling. But hunkered low in the back of John's skull, something stirred, like an itch waiting to be scratched, a thirst waiting to be satisfied. And there was the hunger, always the hunger, never weakening him but always there growing in strength until his hands twitched to grab the nearest living thing.

Crap, he was losing it again, with the nearest living thing currently wrapped around his neck and weaker than a newborn cat.

“I'm the reason you're tired,” John said. He angled his face toward Cloud's drooped head. “It's getting harder, isn't it? The more I change, the harder it gets.”

“No,” Cloud sighed. “I fine.”

John clenched his jaw, his teeth grating. “No, Cloud, you're not. You're keeping me human and it's costing you. Do the math, bud. You can't keep this up forever. And the moment this thing inside me breaks free, I'm turning on you. You know it.”

“No, no. I keep it back. I can.”

“No,” John growled, “you can't. Not forever.”

“I can. Just 'till you get home. Just then. Then I rest.”

John, fist balled, squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the hard lump of frustration expanding in his throat. Why the hell did everyone he meet have to be so stubborn?

They hadn't traveled far, at least John thought they hadn't, when his nose caught something alien within the stink of mud, animals and wet wood. He couldn't really describe it, but he followed it, going slow and straining his ears to know when to bolt if bolting was the only option. It wasn't long before he stepped into a small clearing and could put a name to the smell – cabin.

“Didn't even know cabins had a smell,” John said. Having super senses certainly expanded ones world. He stood there, listening, but heard only insects and the breezes. All the same, John circled the cabin, spiraling closer, sniffing and listening until he was sure the place was empty.

Empty but not abandoned by how well-kept it looked - probably a hunting or fishing place. He peered through a window at the furniture protected by what looked like white plastic sheets. The door had an iron-wrought and ornate handle, but the lock was no match for his strength. Inside, the scent of dust was strong, and John sneezed, Cloud flinching in response. He moved to the right and an open door where there was a bed covered in plastic. John swept the plastic aside and coiled Cloud on the clean mattress. Then he explored.

The cabin was just like the places his dad would take him, way back before things between them went south. Dad had been all about experiences, and making sure his sons had plenty. Dave had whined a lot about there being nothing to do, but John had loved it – hiking, swimming, canoing, or just sitting back and soaking in the hushed tones of nature.

It felt like a lifetime ago, just one more memory he was going to lose.

John's chest ached. He swallowed. He could feel the itch, slinking like a lion toward a zebra, crawling like ants over discarded food, swarming the things that made him John.

And Cloud was right next door, its song a whisper in his head. It made him feel so tired. But that's the way it worked, he figured – make the man sleep, make the monster sleep, conserve energy.

But it wasn't working.

“Damn it,” John hissed, slamming his fist on what he'd looked to see was a writing desk. He pressed his lips into a line and scanned around as though the answer to his problem were right in front of him, he just wasn't seeing it.

“You know the answer, John,” he said. “You're screwed.” And Cloud would be screwed with him.

How much longer before the song failed? Before the 'gate? When they arrived? If he wreaked a path of carnage to the 'gate, how many bullets would it take to bring him down? Because even Ellia had dropped eventually. If he managed to make it through, then what? Forget to dial and keep killing? Or dial and take the killing to another world, then another, never making it home?

Or make it home and take the carnage there.

And Cloud would be first, hovering close by, always within easy reach, made oblivious by its utter faith in its song.

“Damn it.” John ran both hands through his hair, one blue, one flesh. He then lifted his shirt, stared at the blue scaled skin covering the entirety of his right side, tiny spikes growing from the chitin along his ribs and collarbone. He pulled at the waistband of his pants; more scales ran down his hip.

John's body deflated. “Oh, damn.”

It was only a matter of time, and time was running out.

“Screw it,” John said. He ripped away the plastic covering the desk and rummaged through the drawers. Outside, he could hear shouts, still a safe distance away but eating up even more time he didn't have. John pulled out a sheet of paper, a pencil, and wrote fast. Finished, he rolled up the note then headed into the room, rummaging through the dresser. He found a scarf. It would have to do. Gathering Cloud back around his neck, he left and ran.

“Whole damn planet must be after me,” John said. He didn't slow even when the voices faded, not until what felt like twenty minutes later, when Cloud started to stir.

John stopped. “You awake, bud?”

“Yeah. Guess.” Cloud yawned.

“Well, you need to shake it off. I got a job for you.”

That perked Cloud right up, rising off John's shoulders into the air. “What job?”

“A mission,” John said. He pulled the scarf from one pocket and the rolled note from the other. “An important mission.” He tied the scarf around Cloud's neck. “But you're not going to like it.” Then slid the note through the scarf.”

Cloud eyed him suspiciously. “Why I not?”

“Cause you have to leave, buddy. Go it alone.”

Cloud pulled violently away, glaring. “No!”

“Yes!” John snapped. “You have to. Cloud, listen to me and listen carefully. It's the only way. I need you to take this message to my people, okay? You need to go through the 'gate and go to Atlantis. You're the only one who can because you're the only one who can get through the guards unseen and pass through the shield.”

“We go together,” Cloud countered with petulant finality.

“Damn it, Cloud!” John barked. At the stubborn set of Cloud's face, John closed his eyes, breathed deep, slowly released it, and opened his eyes. “I'm fading, Cloud.” He tapped his chest. “This thing inside me is fighting. It's weakening you and the song. And even if we made it to the 'gate without getting shot to pieces, if you lose control on the other side and this thing in me breaks free...”

Cloud's anger weakened, giving sadness the foothold it needed.

“I'm not taking that chance, Cloud, okay? I know you don't like it, and you don't have to like it. I just need you to understand it. We're out of options, buddy.” He tapped the note. “This is the only one we've got.”

“But... but the monster.”

“I know,” John said. He smiled. “I'll be a little nuts for a while, but Atlantis will find me. We don't leave people behind. Trust me, bud. Will you trust me?”

Cloud's head bobbed, devoid of enthusiasm. It sniffled. “Yes.”

“That's my pal,” John said. Crouching, he sketched out the gate symbols in the dirt. “Memorize these symbols. Remember that table looking thing next to the gate? You press the symbols on that table in this exact order. Got 'em memorized?”

Cloud nodded dejectedly.

“Good.” John rose. Resting his knuckles under Cloud's chin, he brought its head close and whispered. “Good luck, buddy.” Then kissed its cheek.

Cloud whimpered and touched its snout to John's forehead. It was with a reluctance like having to severe a limb that Cloud slowly, inch by painful inch, floated away from John. And it did hurt, like a tearing in John's chest, because he might never see Cloud, never see his team or Atlantis, again. And Cloud was crying.

“Bye, bye, John,” said Cloud, and floated away.

Seconds ticked. John could feel them, like drops washing him away one memory at a time. The itch spread like oil over his brain, consuming him. The hunger was ravenous, his legs twitched. All he wanted to do was run, hunt, kill.

So he ran, no destination, no goal, no hopes and dreams, his only companion the pounding drum beat of his hammering heart. He ran, and it felt so good. It was all he needed in life. All he remembered, knowing only that he had been born running.

-----------------------

Night was best. It covered, hid, had prey. He ran, grabbing things that squealed, tearing into them, hot blood falling down his face, bathing his chest. He made no sound, was quiet like a shadow, flowed like water. He smelled things, prey things and enemy things. The enemy things were coming closer, always closer, too many to hunt. He knew, he could hear them, smell them, feel them.

“There he is!”

“Other side! Close in the other side.”

He threw aside his meal. He wasn't afraid. The enemy things couldn't hurt him. They were a game. They were fun.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, he's gone. He is so far gone!” squealed an enemy thing.

“He is not completely scaled. There could still be time,” said the female enemy thing. “Ronon!”

“I got him!” The male enemy thing.

Red light crackled over his skin. It stung. It made him angry. Male thing was dangerous, had to be taken out. He attacked. Male thing fired, over and over. Blue stinging lights joined them.

“It's not working!”

“John?” said a child thing. The sound of chimes in a summer breeze filled his head. It made him tired. So tired.

John. He knew that word.

John.

It was his name.

Red swallowed him, stinging his skin and he, whose name was John, fell to the ground and slept.

----------------------

Electricity ripped through John's body, locking his muscles and preventing his scream.

“I will not ask you again, Colonel,” said General Turin. “What are you?”

“I told you,” John rasped, panting. “N-nothing you want to keep around--” another jab to the stomach with the stun stick cut him off. General Turin looked on, the picture of unflappable military superiority. Except for the pale skin and stink of sweat. He turned to Academe Col standing confined between two officers.

“You're fortunate we can use this Col, but unless you unlock the secret of this... thing... then that fortune is short lived.”

Col looked as though he couldn't care less, shrugging. “Whatever you wish, Commander.”

Turin slapped him, ever the scandalized commander cheated on by the scientist who'd never given a damn about his wants in the first place. “Guard your tongue, Col. The ice you stand on is thin.” He turned back to John. “Again.”

A jab to the thigh.

“What are you?”

Another to the ribs. Another to the back.

“That is enough,” said Turin.

The soldier torturing John sneered in disgust and exited the cage.

“Figure him out, Col,” said Turin, moving toward the door, his subordinates following. “Make the consequences of your 'secret' worth it.”

When they were gone, Col looked to John, and John could have sworn he looked sad.

“It's for the best, Colonel,” he said, like pathetic justification. “You of all people should know this.” And he, too, left.

It was just John, blinking back tears, and the glass snake who lifted its weak head.

“You have sad, too?”

Windchimes filled his head. John smiled.

“Yeah. I do.”

---------------------

John opened his eyes, and panicked. Or would have if he hadn't felt like his limbs had been replaced with two ton led. He was lying down, not a good thing. Immobile, even worse. And he was staring up at a metallic ceiling, surrounded by the stink you only ever suffered in hospitals or morgues. Off the charts of how bad things could get. He started to squirm, to get the blood flowing and his muscles warmed enough for an escape that might ultimately prove futile but he didn't care.

No way in hell was he anyone's lab rat. If he was going down, he was taking whoever wielded a scalpel with him.

Then a familiar face loomed over him, and John went still.

“R'dny?”

Rodney seemed to melt in on himself, muscles winding down as though finally free of having to lug around a lot of weight.

But he said, as though John had punctuality problems, “Finally! Seriously, Sheppard, early to bed, early to rise gives everyone else less heart attacks. As does letting people know sooner rather than later that you're not dead after all.”

John's confused expression went ignored, or was misinterpreted, as Rodney plowed on. “Yes, we got your little note. Thank you for gracing us with one after two weeks! 'I'm still here. Turning into a bug. Please take care of Cloud?' What the hell, Sheppard, you can't even give us the courtesy of letting us know whether you want us to back off or save your miserable ass? Like we would have backed off but some clarity would have been nice--”

“Rodney,” Jennifer huffed, literally elbowing her way in to replace Rodney in John's line of sight. “Give him a break. He just woke up.” She shook her head, exasperated and tired. But looking down at John, she smiled. “You with us, this time, Colonel?”

“Guess,” John rasped, working his arms which still refused to budge.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Jennifer said. She then proceeded to unbuckle the restraints around John's wrists – that explained a lot – followed by moving a cup with a straw within reach of John's mouth.

But free and a little more hydrated, John still felt like gravity wasn't his friend. Just lifting his hand to rub his face made his whole arm shake with fatigue. “How long?”

“How long have you been missing or been sleeping?” Rodney butted in, all but shoving Jennifer out of the way.

“How long... been human?”

“Two weeks,” Jennifer said, busy checking the machines. “Your metamorphoses was faster this time around – don't ask me why, we're still looking into it – so the gene therapy was fast. Well, not super fast but faster than the last time this, you know, happened. I swear it was like the mutation had a mind of its own. It pushed so hard we weren't sure we could counter it.”

“Don't forget to tell him about all the bullets we found in him.” Rodney said it like it was something he'd been waiting ages to reprimand John for. “Ten. Ten bullets. Please tell me you didn't go human hunting.”

“Didn't go... Hannibal Lecter on... anyone...” John said. He puckered his brow in worry. “Ten? Really?”

“I removed them,” Keller said kindly. But grimaced. “But you're going to feel a little sore for a while. There was still enough mutation to help with major repairs but,” she shrugged. “You remember just how 'reverse' the reversed process can be.”

Boy, did John ever remember. He could feel the pull of stitches, the ache of unused muscles, and the general “ick” of having been in bed for far too long.

All of which he was happy enough to take. It meant he was human, one-hundred percent John Sheppard. Except...

John looked at Jennifer, long and hard. “How did this happen?”

Keller and Rodney exchanged looks, not troubled, but asking the silent question of whether to tell him now or when he was more awake.

They knew him well. Rodney shrugged and said, “That Academe guy. It's a long story that we promise to tell when you're more awake, more coherent and we don't have to repeat ourselves. In the mean time--”

“Rest,” Jennifer said.

Rodney frowned at her. “I was going to say stay awake so that Teyla and Ronon can have the privilege of knowing that you're not going to die on us after all.”

“They already know, Rodney.”

“Yes, well... it's a little easier to except when the not-dying person in question has his eyes open. Oh, here they come.” At Jennifer's glare, he added an indignant but pathetic, “What? So I gave them the heads up, so sue me.”

Teyla and Ronon moved quickly to the bed, all huge, toothy smiles as they surrounded John. And behind them, bopping along like a flying pup, was a brightly beaming Cloud.

“John, it is so good to finally see you awake,” said Teyla, touching her forehead to his.

“Sane and coherent,” Ronon said with a hefty pat to John's arm.

“You should try being the guy who's awake and coherent,” John said with a weak grin. “Feels like it's been a while since I felt this... normal.”

“Normal's subject to interpretation in this galaxy,” said Rodney. It was with much amusement that Cloud started nudging his head, and no amount of Rodney shoving it back would dissuade it. “And would you please do something about your alien carrier pigeon? My brain is too important to be used as its toy.”

“Cloud,” John said without a lick of reprimand. Cloud focused on John, bobbing up and down, trilling and squeaking, but not talking.

John realized he could no longer hear the sound of windchimes.

------------------

John tapped his finger quietly on the conference room table, multitasking between staring at the pale skin and blue veins of his human hand, and listening to the exchange of information between his team, Keller, Lorne and Woolsey.

Accelerated mutation followed by accelerated demutation was hell on the mind and body, as it turned out. Two weeks of sleep was the result when the brain had to reboot itself, kick out the inhuman that had fought tooth and nail to take over, then slot the human – memories and all – back into place. Keller hadn't been too happy trying to stave off muscle atrophy, but couldn't argue that the body's self-induced coma had been a blessing. She hadn't wanted to begin to imagine what it would have been like if John had been awake.

As it stood, John was one-hundred percent human, but he'd been premature to think himself one-hundred percent, period. Muscle atrophy and liquid diets did not do a body good. He was thinner, tired easily, and even after three days of being awake and moving around, was still confined to a wheelchair and denied the joys of bacon cheeseburgers and meat lovers pizza.

And Cloud could not longer speak to him.

It was wrong, on so many levels, that there were times when he caught himself missing what he'd almost turned into. When that happened, he had to think of the people he almost killed – yeah, he remembered that. Remembered the overbearing hunger, the mindless running, the love of the kill, and of raking black claws against glass-like skin.

“We found the notes day two into the search of Col's labs,” Lorne was saying. “They weren't word for word so it still stands that he only saw enough of Dr. Beckett's research to use as a starting point and figured the rest out for himself.”

“Should we be scared that a man from a society that can't make a computer stronger than a battery powered go-cart was able to hack into our tablets and steal secure data? And make a bad thing worse?” Rodney said.

“I think it's our own fault for underestimating him,” Keller said. She looked around at everyone, apologetic. “I mean, they have Ancient tech and know how to use that. Figuring out an Earth-made tablet would have been a cake walk. I honestly believed I hadn't brought enough of the data for anyone to utilize if they did manage to get their hands on it. I am so sorry.”

John's first mutation had at least come with the silver lining of shedding a little more light on a couple of genetic mysteries, mysteries such as genetic diseases that made people's lives hell. Finding a cure for certain genetic diseases had been one of the many Golician/Atlantis alliance projects, and the mutation data had been sorely needed for it.

“Not your fault, doc,” John assured. “The guy was doing all kinds of crap behind a lot of people's backs. The only way we would have seen it coming is if he told us.” And the bitch was, according to Lorne, Col had admitted everything. It was like he didn't care, Lorne had said. Like it didn't matter. There'd been a hearing, both Col and the Commander convicted, but the case reopened now that John was awake and clear-headed enough to toss in his story. Which seemed redundant to him – Col and the Commander were screwed to the point of never seeing daylight again.

Lorne went on to explain what was found in Col's notes, how Col had slipped the modified retrovirus into John's drinks at every opportunity, how he had everything prepared for when the signs of change first started to manifest, and that by “everything prepared” Col meant a means to dispose of John when he became too volatile to handle.

The meeting ended. John put his hands on the wheels to turn the chair around.

“Colonel, a word,” Woolsey said.

They both waited until it was just them, everyone else out of ear shot.

“Colonel, about the creature that delivered your message--”

“Cloud,” John said.

“Yes, Cloud. I've been wondering – strictly for curiosity sake – what you plan on doing with... Cloud.”

John shrugged his shoulder, but never took his eyes off Woolsey. Woolsey could push his nonchalance all he wanted, John wasn't feeling even remotely comfortable with where this conversation was going.

“Hadn't really thought about it.”

“Well, it's quite welcome to stay, of course. It's just that... there have been requests from zoology and biology--

“No,” John said, flat and harsh.

Woolsey sighed heavily. “They have no intentions of harming it. They merely--”

But John shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”

Woolsey pursed his lips, then said, “Understood.” And maybe for Woolsey, he did understand. Biology and Zoology? Not so much. Two people from both departments had already approached John several days ago while he was still laid up and mostly out of it. John vaguely recalled Ronon having chased them off. They tried a second time the very next day.

Progress, they'd said. Something about scientific progress and stealth technology. John vaguely recalled being the one to throw them out by chucking a kidney dish at them.

John wheeled himself out of the conference room and through the control room for as long as he was able – part of his therapy to regain muscle. When his arms gave out, Teyla wheeled him the rest of the way, having waited for him just out of hearing (or so she said). They didn't go to the infirmary but to Teyla's room, where Cloud was playing with Torren.

It was a punch in the gut: Teyla could hear Cloud, Torren, even the damn iratus bugs. Keller had figured it a telepathy thing, because when they had needed eggs, Cloud had been all over it. It had sung its song, putting the bugs into a coma and letting the team walk in like they had belonged.

The friggin' iratus could hear Cloud, and John couldn't. Not unless he wanted to turn back into a monster.

But Cloud could still understand him. John had asked, and Cloud had nodded.

No words could describe how unfair it was.

When Teyla wheeled John into her room, Cloud lifted its head from where it had been stacking blocks much to Torren's giggling delight. Cloud floated over, subdued as though it had been using the song all day, and touched its snout to John's forehead. It still thought it would work, and wouldn't take its endless failed attempts as an answer.

“Hey, buddy,” John said, rubbing its glass-smooth head. Cloud chirruped and squeaked, bobbing.

“It says it has been having a fun day,” Teyla said, moving around to Torren, who bounced and squealed now that momma was joining him in his games.

“That's good to hear,” John said, swallowing the lump trying to lodge itself in his throat. He was grateful for Teyla's help in communicating. But it couldn't be helped, he missed like hell Cloud's fractured babbling.

When Cloud next chirped and squeaked, Teyla frowned.

“Cloud wonders if we have figured out a way to let you understand.”

John sighed, “Still working on it, bud.”

---------------------

The addition of John's testimony wasn't a spectacle, thank goodness. John barely had the energy to deal with the eleven people crammed into the president's stuffy office – John, his team, a marine, Col and the commander in chains, two guards and madame President Halene herself.

John told his story, as much as he could remember, which was enough to make the Commander squirm. But not Col. If Col had any opinion concerning his fate, he didn't show it. He had made his bed, and had no compunctions about laying in it. Whatever followed after no longer mattered to him.

It pissed John off. Knowing that Col was going down didn't make a damn difference.

“Have you anything to say, Academe Col, Commander Turin?” said President Halene, standing tall, expression stern, but brow glittering with sweat. Col and the Commander may have been the wolves among the sheep but it was still Halene's flock, and Atlantis was still undecided as to whether or not to maintain the alliance (as far as Halene knew. Woolsey planned to honor the treaty, but wished to withhold this little fact in order to gauge Halene's sincerity. It was actually a Teyla tactic, something common in the Pegasus Galaxy. Take the goods being offered off the table to see how much they mattered, then put them back once the begging began).

Turin straightened. “I stand by my statement. The Lanteans have lied to us. They have the means for victory against the Wraith but refuse to share. The change Colonel Sheppard had undergone could have been utilized as our strongest weapon.”

Rodney muttered, “Yeah, only after he slaughtered you all.” Teyla rolled her eyes. Ronon glared at Turin and growled, but Turin ignored them all.

“Academe?” said Halene.

Col stood there, stock still and impassive, until he suddenly looked directly at John.

John met his gaze. “Liked the road you walked down, doc?”

Col looked away. “I have nothing to say.”

“Then I will add to my decision. For treason, Col, life with no chance of freedom. Commander Turin, you are hereby stripped of rank, and will share in Col's sentence. And may you be a reminder to us all: With every action, with every decision, there is always a consequence, for good or bad. Take them away.”

Turin was led out first, Col about to follow when he struggled to a stop.

“Wait,” he said. He turned his head to John. “The creature in the cage next to yours. What became of it?”

John had hoped to wait and address the matter when Col was out of the room. But now seemed as good a time as any. He pulled from his pocket a picture of a smiling Cloud.

“You mean this?” John asked. He glared. “It's a hell of a lot better off, that's where.” He slipped the picture back into his pocket. A severely frowning Col was prodded the rest of the way out of the room.

“That was a Seloian,” President Halene said, awe-struck. She looked at John quizzically. “They are among your world as well?”

“No,” John said. He rolled closer to the President's desk, pulled the picture from his pocket and set it down. “But I'd really like to know where they come from.”

---------------------

To the north of the Glocian capital were the Ranurow Mountains, considered the true heart of the Glocian empire. Deep in its caves were hidden the technologies that put Glocia ahead of the other worlds. Jagged, snow-capped peaks pierced the scattered clouds, their wide bases hidden under a carpet of trees.

Those mountains filled the screen of the 'jumper as John piloted closer, coasting along, just him and Cloud.

“See that, buddy?” John said. “You just keep watching, okay? Don't take your eyes off those mountains.”

Cloud's head nodded vigorously.

It was good fortune, President Halene had said, if you should look up and spot a Seloian swimming through the sky. Because when a Seloian flew, then you knew that everything was right in the world.

John brought up the HUD a third time and followed the dots of the LSD. “Keep, watching, bud. Just keep watching.”

There, gliding out from the clouds, a serpentine body like frosted glass, three times the size of Cloud. Cloud bobbed and squealed in delight, and John didn't need to understand it to know that it was laughing.

“Cool, huh?” John said. “This is where you come from, bud. This is home.”

Cloud stopped bobbing to give John a look so woebegone it made John's chest ache. Cloud trilled softly.

“Hey, hey, come on. Don't be like that. This isn't goodbye. You know where to find me and I'll know where to find you. We can see each other any time, right?”

Cloud perked up and nodded.

“Right,” John said. He angled down toward the cloud where the bigger Seloian had appeared. “So, what do you say we fly through some clouds, get this jumper a little wet.”

Cloud squealed, bopping around all over the 'jumper.

John grinned. “That is definitely a yes.” He dove into the clouds, and his mind filled with the memory of summer chimes.

The End

Comments

[sian1359]

Very sweet for its horrific premise.

(You have left a couple of beta notes embedded in the story, however, that you might want to edit now.)

[kriadydragon]

Thank you :D

Dang it, I thought I got all the notes! I can't edit since it's the mods who posted, not me :(

[sgarb_mod]

Sorry about that. It should be fixed now.

[kriadydragon]

Thank you :D

[cesare]

I wrote for Airmail too, and I love the different direction you took with the image-- Cloud made such a charming character, and its ability to safeguard John's mind while his body mutated was really cool. It was so bittersweet when John couldn't hear Cloud anymore. But it was lovely when John returned Cloud home.

[kriadydragon]

Thanks :D I really loved writing Cloud, and was actually kind of ticked when I broke the connection between Cloud and John.

[shaddyr]

That was a great story! It was very true to the image as well.

I love how John is struggling with remaining human and how he wants to protect Cloud. I enjoyed the angst he had over not hearing Cloud anymore and the obvious Joy he had over being able to take Cloud home.

[kriadydragon]

Thank you :D I was tempted to find a way to let John keep the connection, but the plot wouldn't let me :/

[history13041985.livejournal.com]

I love your story! It is so lovely! Cloud is such a cute character. How old he is ( i know you use it but i prefer to use he)? Is Cloud the only one Seloian? I'm really curious about the Seloian.

I really like too that the president was not happy about what happen to John.

[kriadydragon]

Thanks! :D I figured Cloud to be around five in human years. An adult Seloian is slightly longer than a jumper, and there are a ton of them. but because they're constantly flying, it's rare to see one.

[chkc]

I could go *Sqeeeeee* but it's definitely not adequate to express my happiness at this story. I love Cloud's personality. (So cute!) Even though John can't communicate with Cloud any more, at least they can still hang out and share a love for the sky. :)

[kriadydragon]

So glad you enjoyed it :D I loved your picture to bits and was beyond chuffed that I was able to write for it.

[danceswithgary]

What a wonderful character your Cloud is! I really enjoyed this. :-D

[kriadydragon]

Thank you :D

[omg_wtf_yeah]

It was tough reading about John going through that, struggling to keep himself together. I was really hoping that he'd find his way back to his team and his home and I was happy when they finally found him. Really lovely, surreal imagery. I loved John in this, the alien cultures, Rodney (came in less but certainly packed a punch), Teyla with Torren... Very nice with a bittersweet ending.

[springwoof]

I love your character of Cloud! She's a real alien with real alien thoughts, but utterly charming and likeable at the same time. I like how you let the reader understand, without telling us in so many words, that Cloud is a child of her species. Sheppard's friendship with her feels genuine and lovely--just like the unlikely friendship he struck up with Ronon and the unlikely alliance he came to with Todd. I like that depiction of John Sheppard, as someone who can make true friends and allies even when he's at his worst and in the most trouble. The loyalty and care that John and Cloud show each other is very touching. Your bad guys are understandable and very Genii-like; you depicted them well too.

I thought your story matched extremely well with the artwork. Kudos to you!