Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Well, hel-lo!" 

Rodney beamed at the small, squat, but undoubtedly Ancient machine. It was definitely the source of the unusual energy readings he'd been picking up. 

Sheppard peered over his shoulder. "Whatcha got?"

Body-checking him back with his hip, Rodney set his laptop down on an adjoining console. "No touchee, Colonel. And I have no idea, but it's putting out a really strong signal."

"ZPM?"

Sheppard sounded so hopeful, Rodney hated to disappoint him. "No, the readings aren't right for that, but there might be an alternate power source."

"Did you not say geothermal energy was possible, Rodney?" Teyla put in, leaning closer. "Due to the volcanism on this world?"

"Well, yes, but—" Rodney pulled more connectors out of his pack, trying to find the right set.

"There's stuff happening out here!" Ronon called from the doorway. They'd left him keeping a watch on the small volcano in the middle distance. The valley around the outpost below the ash cone was a regular Yellowstone, and they'd had to skirt sulfurous mud pools and steaming turquoise ponds on the trek in.

"Like, lava?" Sheppard called, starting for the door.

"Nah, the mud. It started boiling, and water shot up out of the ground."

"Don't get close, it might scald you!" Sheppard said urgently.

"It's nowhere near here," Ronon said, unbothered. 

"Rodney, you better wrap it up," John called back over his shoulder a minute later, having taken a look around. "Ronon's right. It's all looking more active, and that volcano's started smoking."

"Damn it, I need more time!" He still hadn't managed to make a connection to download any data that might be stored in the device. 

Teyla was at his side. "The machine is not very large, Rodney. Perhaps it might be portable?"

"But..." If there was data in the nearby consoles, they'd lose all that information. Still, it was better than nothing. 

He reached down and grabbed one of the handles protruding from either side. It tingled a little—probably a loose crystal, but he could fix that back at the lab. Grunting, he bent his knees and grasped the other handle, lifting it. There was a crack, an electric shock, a flash of blue light. Cursing, he dropped the stupid thing. It made a dull clang, then sat there stolidly.

"Teyla, Rodney, get a move on!" Sheppard shouted. "I don't like the look of that volcano."

Teyla had been stuffing his gear and laptop back into his pack. She slung it over her shoulder, grabbed his arm and pulled him away. "Come, Rodney, we must leave it for today."

He stumbled after her, shaking his hands which still stung. "Damn machine bit me!"

"We will tend to you in the jumper," Teyla said, as they ran after John, Ronon falling in behind them. 

Another geyser erupted, closer this time but the sulfurous wind carried the spray away. The mud pools were much more active now, plopping and bubbling like chocolate custard even if they smelled like—

"Move it!" Sheppard yelled, pounding up the ramp and throwing himself into the pilot's seat.

Rodney risked a glance back. Ronon was right behind, and beyond him the volcano was erupting, a dense cloud of dark smoke and ash boiling up as lava flowed down into the valley.

"It's going to cover the outpost!" Rodney said despairingly, gasping for breath. Ronon shoved him up the ramp and they all tumbled inside just before Sheppard closed the back hatch and fired up the engines.

"Well at least we won't be in it," Sheppard said grimly, lifting the jumper up and away, soaring up towards the space gate. 

Rodney collapsed onto one of the benches, Ronon beside him. Teyla took the shotgun seat beside Sheppard. Having gotten them to a safe altitude, Sheppard circled the jumper back for a final look. Below them, roiling black smoke covered the valley, shot through with flashes of red. "Yeah, that was too close a call," Sheppard said. "No more volcano planets. I'm making a new rule."

Rodney massaged his hands, which were still aching a little. "The whole mission was a complete waste of time," he said, annoyed. "And the machine's probably lost for good."

Teyla twisted around, her face rueful. "It may not have been worth studying, Rodney."

"Yeah, most likely just another ancient toaster," Sheppard added.

"You're not making me feel any better," Rodney snapped. He sighed. "I just hate that we'll never know."

Wordlessly, Ronon offered him a power bar.

"Hmmm, very interesting," Carson said, the unfeeling quack, peering at Rodney's arm through a magnifying glass. It was always a little unsettling as well, knowing he was Carson's clone, so that didn't help.

It hadn't been noticeable at first, just a slight tinge of olive in his skin, and in some lights, not visible at all. But now, a week after the abortive mission, it was unmistakable. Rodney's skin was definitely green.

Sheppard leaned in. "What is it, doc? He turning into a Vulcan?"

"Does he have to be here?" Rodney said angrily.

"You want your team to go?" Carson asked, raising his eyebrows. He'd never had much luck before in evicting the team from the infirmary when one of their own was sick or injured.

Rodney sighed. "Just knock off the fucking green jokes," he muttered, shooting Sheppard a dirty look. "You're as bad as Cadman. She called me Shrek!"

"Aw, c'mon, Rodney, you gotta admit it's kinda—"

"Terrifying? I could have some appalling alien skin disease, for all you know!"

"Now, laddie, I don't think it's a disease. You're too bloody healthy for that," Carson said, patting Rodney's shoulder.

Rodney poked him in the chest. "And what would you know? How many cases of people turning green have you treated, huh?"

"Perhaps Doctor Zelenka can assist," Teyla said, trying to be soothing. "Since it may have been caused when you touched that machine on the planet with the volcano." No one added that the machine was forever lost, buried deep in the rock-hard lava now filling the valley.

"Yes indeed, and we'll scan you, and then I'm going to need a wee skin biopsy," Carson said. 

"Oh my god," Rodney moaned. "There'll be nothing left of me after all your blood tests and samples!" Carson had already snipped off some of his hair and fingernails, which, thank goodness, hadn't gone green and were still their usual color. 

"Check his ears aren't going pointy, either," Sheppard suggested unhelpfully, still on the Spock bandwagon.

"Nah, you've got that covered," Ronon said. He grinned as Sheppard turned to glare at him. 

"Yeah, if anyone here's a Vulcan, it's you," Rodney said, smirking.

"Calm down, Kermit," Sheppard retorted.

"Out! Everyone out!" Carson shouted as Rodney tried to get past him to hit Sheppard, who was laughing his stupid laugh. 

Once order had been restored, Carson turned back to Rodney who of course felt worse now that the team had gone. "What the hell is it?" he asked miserably. 

Carson frowned sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Rodney, but you really will have to be a little patient. Dr. Keller and I need to assess all your test results and I need to get that biopsy. Now, into the scanner with you."

It took a couple of days for Keller and Carson to pore over all the blood and tissue samples, and by then Rodney's skin had stabilized out to a light, grassy green. Just his skin. His eyes were still blue, his hair still brown. He looked like a fucking leprechaun. But he'd cut himself shaving that morning as he hated looking at himself in the mirror, and his blood was still red, not Vulcan green. 

He'd been stuck in his room, working remotely, the team bringing him meals and making him take breaks from searching the database, looking for the goddamn machine.

"Radek and several others are combing the database, Rodney," Teyla said. "You do not need to push yourself so hard."

"Kind of hard to concentrate on anything else," he retorted, then felt bad. "Sorry, sorry, I'm just..." 

She put her hand on his arm, and he swallowed, seeing her golden brown fingers there as though she was resting them on a lawn. 

There was a cautious knock on the door. Teyla patted his arm and rose, opening the door and speaking softly. Then she stepped aside and Richard Woolsey came in, looking uncomfortable. Rodney sighed. He'd last seen Woolsey in the infirmary, hovering awkwardly.

"I just wanted to see how you were, Dr. McKay," Woolsey said. 

"Still green," Rodney said. He hated the way Woolsey made such an effort to act as though everything was normal. Nothing was normal. 

Woolsey smiled tightly. "Any news from doctors Beckett and Keller?"

"I'd have thought you'd have them reporting directly to you," Rodney said, just to be difficult. He was kind of glad Carson was with them again for a few weeks, covering Biro's leave back on Earth. Keller was nice enough, but Carson was more familiar. Even as a clone. 

"Oh no," Woolsey said, a little shocked. "That would breach patient confidentiality."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "It's not like my... condition can actually be kept a secret. But no, no news yet. Probably this afternoon."

"Ah, well," Woolsey said. "Keep me informed."

The door slid open and John and Ronon came in, bearing trays of lunch. 

"I'll leave you to it," Woolsey said with relief. "Colonel, Ronon." 

"Mr. Woolsey," Sheppard said, nodding as he put his tray down on Rodney's desk. He'd finally knocked off the Muppet and Star Trek jokes and had become much more subdued, the greener Rodney had gotten. Ronon seemed pretty much his usual self. 

Woolsey edged out past Ronon, who raised an eyebrow at him. 

The door whooshed shut and they began unwrapping packages while Teyla opened a container of salad. After a few minutes, Ronon looked up from demolishing his second sandwich. "What time're you seeing Keller and Beckett?"

"One pm," Rodney said. Surely by now Carson would have worked out what was going on? Diagnosing it was the first step to starting treatment. Ronon grunted, and bit into a muffin.

"No other symptoms?" John asked, glancing at him, then quickly away. He was having almost as much trouble looking at Rodney as Rodney was looking at himself, which probably explained the dumb jokes. 

"Not so far. Other than this, I feel fine. Tickety boo," Rodney added snidely, and Sheppard winced. 

"You gonna eat that?" Ronon pointed at a green heba-fruit from Pandara. 

Rodney waved acquiescence. "You go ahead. Not my favorite color."

Teyla sighed. "I am sure Carson and Jennifer will have some answers." She stood. "Shall we go?"

"The most important thing is that you're perfectly healthy, Rodney," Keller said, then raised a hand to forestall Rodney's inevitable protest. "Yes, yes, your skin color's not normal, but it's not causing you any medical problems."

"But what the hell is it?" Rodney cried, unable to contain his frustration and alarm. 

Carson spoke up; they were an annoying medical double act. "Well, the machine, if it was the machine that caused it, which I imagine we have to accept as the most likely cause—"

"Get the fuck on with it!" Rodney's hands were clenched in the sheet covering the bed he was sitting on. He looked down, then ripped his gaze away. Green, so very green against the white...

"You're photosynthetic," Keller said apologetically. 

The team blinked at Keller, then looked at Carson as though he'd leap in to dismiss what she'd just said as ludicrous. "He's what?" Sheppard said incredulously.

Carson spread his hands and turned to Rodney. "You have chloroplasts in your skin, now. There are some subtle metabolic changes as well, not problematic, in fact I suspect they're to help you metabolize the sugars and other byproducts of photosynthesis. The oxygen produced by the process just diffuses out again, and you absorb carbon dioxide from your tissues and the air."

Rodney was struck dumb. After a pause, Teyla cleared her throat. "I have not heard of this process. Could you explain, Dr. Beckett?"

"Yeah, me neither," Ronon said.

"Well, in plants, d'ye see, there are these little things like tiny green jellybeans, called chloroplasts," Carson said, as Rodney half-listened, dazed. Rodney figured Carson and Keller had borrowed a few texts from Botany. Jesus, Botany! Carson continued, warming to his subject. "They use sunshine and carbon dioxide—a gas in the air—to make sugars to fuel the plant, and the plant releases oxygen. It's plants, well, it's algae, really, that make breathable atmospheres for planets."

"So McKay doesn't need to eat now?" Ronon asked, looking thoughtful. 

Keller smiled. "Oh, no, I wouldn't go that far. He should still have a balanced diet." She raised her eyebrows at Rodney. "Although you might find your hypoglycemia isn't a problem anymore." 

Rodney made a chopping motion to shut the incompetent lunatics up. "So I'm a fucking plant, now?"

"It's absolutely fascinating," Carson burbled, clearly having no idea of the danger he was in. "It's a true symbiosis, a melding of—"

Rodney stood, trembling, his hands in fists. "So what's the cure?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Keller looked taken aback. "Oh, well, I'm not sure—" 

Rodney dismissed her. "What's the fucking cure, Carson!" he snapped, wondering what weird color he'd gone. Not red-faced, probably an unpleasant greenish brown.

Ronon was suddenly there, one big arm wrapped around his shoulders, effectively immobilizing him.

"It's not fucking fascinating when you're living it!" Rodney shouted.

"Yeah, okay then," Sheppard said. "That's enough discussion for today." Keller backed away as Teyla got between Rodney and Carson, Rodney straining in Ronon's implacable grip. 

"But I need more biopsies," Carson said plaintively.

"Quit while you're ahead, Carson," Sheppard advised him.

"I'll give you symbiosis, you useless Caledonian sheep shagger!" Rodney screamed, as the team formed up around him and dragged him, still struggling, away.

"I don't know about this," Rodney said nervously a couple of days later, his steps slowing as they neared the mess hall. 

"All will be well, Rodney—we are here to support you," Teyla reassured him. 

"Gotta get back out and about, buddy," Sheppard said, slapping him on the back. "Can't spend all your time in your room."

Rodney turned to look pleadingly up at Ronon, who grinned down at him, then turned to glare at a pair of passing sociologists who had been staring at Rodney, their mouths open. The sociologists scuttled past, eyes averted. "C'mon," Ronon said. "Pizza day." Which, point. It was always a little soggy by the time it got to his room. 

The mess hall was moderately busy when they arrived but the hum of conversation dropped away, then resumed as people started whispering to each other. 

"Oh for fuck's sake," Rodney said. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled piercingly, a handy trick Ronon had taught him. "Listen up! Yes, I'm green, as you'll all have heard. Accident with Ancient tech, yadda yadda. It hasn't affected my intellect in the slightest, or changed my personality, so if you give me shit about it there will be consequences."

"What he said," Sheppard snapped in his command voice, staring down the Marines in the room. "Anyone acting inappropriately will be doing extra training with Teyla and Ronon."

"My bantos are ready," Teyla said menacingly. Ronon just grinned, with teeth. 

No one looked at Rodney after that, which was just as weird, but hopefully they'd all get used to it soon. Just in time for him to resume his nice normal pink coloration. 

They got their pizzas, and salad. Radek joined them carrying two mugs of coffee, one of which he slid across to Rodney. 

"Any news?" Sheppard asked.

"There is. I came to tell Rodney." Radek glanced around. "But perhaps not here?"

"Look, just get on with it. I'm sick of people messing me about," Rodney said, leaning forward. "Did you find the device?"

Radek added sugar to his mug and stirred. "Yes, we have located it in the database." He opened his laptop and turned the screen towards Rodney, showing him Ancient text and a schematic diagram. "So then, linguistics have translated the text. Their initial report is that it was intended to supplement food supplies for engineers and scientists working on worlds being terraformed, where the local biome was too underdeveloped to produce food."

"Huh," Rodney muttered, scanning the screen and recognizing the stocky, bulbous shape of the thing. "Yeah, that's definitely it. Quite ingenious, really." He looked up at Radek. "How long does the change last?"

Radek made an unhappy face. "Ancients were deployed long-term for terraforming. Months, sometimes years. It was considered unwise to use the machine repeatedly. Something about minor, cumulative genetic errors."

Rodney frowned. "But not after just one use?"

"Radek shook his head. "No, no, you are fine." He took a deep breath. "But, Rodney, I am afraid that only the machine can reverse the photosynthetic change. It is not temporary."

Rodney stared at him, stunned. "No, but..."

"We can look for another device," Radek said, a little desperately. "The Ancients did much terraforming, and you know they always left their junk lying around."

Rodney wasn't listening. Permanent. He was green, and it was permanent. He stumbled to his feet. 

"We will find a solution, Rodney," Teyla said, raising an ineffectual hand towards him. 

"Yeah, buddy, we'll add searching for another machine to every mission objective," Sheppard said.

"C'mon," Ronon said, "you need to hit something." He half frogmarched Rodney out through the crowd of curious faces that were trying not to stare, faces that were glancing at him then away, murmuring softly. 

At the gym, Ronon summarily evicted a couple of sparring Marines with a snarl and a curt gesture. He sat Rodney down and began taping his hands before fitting on boxing gloves. 

"Small bag to warm up," he said, leading Rodney over to the lighter of the two punching bags. 

"No, I—" Rodney said, then his brain resumed its litany of green, green, green.

"Just start," Ronon said, pushing the bag at him so Rodney was forced to fend it off. His right glove thudded into the leather, and it did feel kind of satisfying. He tried another punch, then a one-two with both fists.

"Good," Ronon said. "Harder."

At some point Ronon switched him to the heavy bag, which was better, as Rodney was punching viciously now and he wasn't great at dodging the lighter bag when it swung back. 

Finally, Ronon pulled him away, and Rodney stood there gasping, exhausted, but no longer numb or homicidal. His face was wet. Why was his face wet?

Ronon pulled him in and hugged him, and Rodney sobbed into his shirt. Okay, that was why his face was wet. Eventually he pulled back, sniffling, and Ronon got a bunch of tissues and made him blow his nose like a little kid, then sat him down on a bench and carefully removed the gloves. 

"Hands are gonna be sore," he said. "You're not used to it."

Rodney was feeling drained, hollowed out. "I have Tylenol in my quarters." He wanted to just lie down and sleep for a week.

Ronon nodded, then chivvied him down to the transporter and along to his room, coming inside to make sure he remembered to take the pills.

"Why aren't you as freaked out as everybody else?" Rodney asked, setting aside the mug of water Ronon had given him and looking over to where he'd propped himself on Rodney's desk. "Sheppard can barely look at me, and Teyla's got her diplomatic face on all the time."

"Lots of different soldiers in the Satedan military," Ronon said. "Locals, refugees from cullings on other worlds. People were all colors—it didn't mean anything."

"I bet they weren't green, though," Rodney said bitterly. 

Ronon came to sit beside him on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees and talking to his clasped hands. "My eyes don't see colors like most people. I got to be a soldier, even a weapons specialist, but not a technician or an air car pilot like Sheppard, where you need to watch for warning lights. My dad had it, too."

"Red green color blindness?" Rodney turned to peer at Ronon. "How did we not know?"

Ronon shrugged. "Never came up. Doesn't stop me killing Wraith."

"Huh," Rodney said, mulling it over. "But the lights on your blaster..."

Ronon snorted. "I know which light means what."

"So, um, I don't look weird to you?" Rodney asked carefully. 

Ronon shrugged again. "You look pretty much like you used to. Maybe a bit more tan." He shot Rodney a glance. "Not like I can't see green at all. What people call green."

"But green and pink aren't that different for you," Rodney said slowly. 

"Yeah, I guess."

Rodney yawned and rubbed his face. He really was wiped out. 

"Take a nap," Ronon said. "I'll wake you for dinner." He went to get up, but Rodney caught his arm. 

"Would you... would you stay? Just to nap, that's all."

Ronon regarded him seriously, then nodded. "Okay." Rodney lay down, and Ronon curled behind, spooning him. 

Rodney was asleep in seconds.

The sun on the balcony off the physics lab was pleasantly warm. It had been a favorite place for his scientists to take a break until Rodney repurposed it, opaquing the glass doors and setting up a spare mattress out there. Now it was his main sunbathing spot, off limits to everyone else—as the unwary had learned to their peril. If he was going to photosynthesize, he was going to do it properly, no clothes in the way. 

Carson had reassured Rodney that his skin now had inbuilt protection against UV light. He was never going to get skin cancer, but he did ration his time in the sun to make sure he didn't burn. A twenty minute session left him nicely energized, and he was drinking less coffee and snacking on fewer power bars than ever before.

He felt calmer, too. Sometimes that freaked him out—was he turning into a plant? Were plants calm? Carson, who had finally stopped badgering him for more biopsies, said it was probably just that his blood sugar wasn't fluctuating anymore, that and his reduced coffee intake, of which Keller and Carson very much approved, saying his blood pressure was down, as well.

There was a discrete tapping on the door. "What?" Rodney called, checking his watch. His time was almost up, anyway. 

"Lieutenant Cadman is here to see you," Radek said on the other side. "And your long range scanner simulation is nearly finished."

"Yeah, okay," Rodney replied, and began putting his clothes on. 

When he stepped into the lab he took a moment to let his eyes adjust; it always seemed dark. What the hell did Cadman want? He'd been green for several weeks now, and after that initial ragging she hadn't harassed him. None of the Marines or science staff had, although there'd been a tiresome uptick in gawping yesterday after the Daedalus docked and the new personnel arrived. They'd all been briefed en route, but people never really believed it until they saw him in person. 

She was waiting at his usual work station, a package in hand. "Hi, Rodney," she said, actually meeting his gaze, which was more than could be said of a lot of the expedition's more annoying members. 

"Cadman," he said, nodding. 

"I, ah, ordered this for you from Earth," Cadman said, handing him the parcel. "It's by way of an apology for... back at the start, when I was a dick."

"Oh," Rodney said, surprised. "Um, thanks. What is it? Coffee?"

"It's make-up," Cadman said. "Special concealer stuff that people with vitiligo use, you know, when their skin gets patchy from pigmentation loss. I figured there might be times when you might need to... I mean, like maybe for a trip back to see your family, or something."

"Huh," Rodney said, looking down at the package, then back at Cadman. "That's... that's actually very thoughtful. Thanks."

She waved a hand. "De nada. Hope it comes in handy."

"I'm not going to use it all the time, though," Rodney said, frowning at her. "People are still going to have to behave themselves and not be dicks, and that includes Sheppard." He was still a little weird around Rodney, and tended to talk in Rodney's general direction, rather than make eye contact.

"Sure thing," Cadman said. "We'll sort the incoming military contingent out, and Radek's already put the fear of, well, of you, into the new scientists."

"Quite right, too," Rodney said, satisfied. "But still, thanks."

Cadman shrugged a little awkwardly. "Look, cut the colonel some slack, would you? He can't help it."

"What, being a dick?" Rodney crossed his arms, feeling truculent.

"It's a phobia," Cadman said, spreading her hands. "You might not realize it, Rodney, but like this, you look... um, sort of like a clown."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Rodney said, exasperated. "He's lucky I don't stick on a red nose and chase him down the hallways."

"Nah, you're not that mean," Cadman said. She waved cheerfully and sauntered off.

Rodney set the package aside, pulled up a chair, and paused before reviewing the simulation results. 

Maybe he would visit Jeannie next Christmas, with gloves, the concealer on his face, and the Daedalus beaming him in and out. It wasn't like anyone showed much skin in a Canadian winter. Anyway, Madison would get a kick out of having a green uncle. He wouldn't mind being Shrek for her. Hopefully Ronon would come, and Teyla could bring Torren, if she wanted. Yes, and Sheppard. He could come too.

A few weeks later, Rodney waited in the Control room looking down at the Stargate. The hardest thing about turning green had been no longer going off-world with his team.

Sheppard had stood them all down for a couple of weeks initially until they knew what was what, but once it became clear Rodney wasn't going to turn pink again in the foreseeable future Woolsey had insisted the team find a replacement. 

Mostly that was Simpson, sometimes Miko, if a scientist with the gene was required. Radek himself hated going on missions, and had been needed to run the science department in the initial weeks while Rodney adjusted. Simpson and Miko were both competent at analyzing and jury-rigging Ancient tech, but they weren't Rodney. He couldn't help worrying.

He'd hidden in the lab for the first few missions, unable to cope with seeing them depart through the Gate, but obsessively monitoring radio traffic until they returned. Then he'd been unable to stay away anymore and had started seeing them off and being there when they returned. Luckily all those missions had been straightforward—that lucky streak couldn't possibly last.

So now he was on the Control room balcony, knuckles white on the railing. "I don't know how you do it," he muttered to Woolsey, who was standing beside him. "You and Carter, and Elizabeth."

"Yes, well," Woolsey said, shooting him a sympathetic glance. "It helps to keep busy, and there's no shortage of work."

"Tell me about it," Rodney said. He'd imagined he'd have plenty of time for projects, now he wasn't always off on missions, but of course the work had expanded to more than fill the time available.

Ronon looked up at him and raised a hand, and Rodney awkwardly waved his own. Ronon nodded and disappeared into the blue disc, the last one through. 

"I'll see you back here at six o'clock, then," Woolsey said, straightening and turning towards his office. 

Rodney thought of all the times the team hadn't returned on schedule. The times they'd come in hot, much earlier than expected, the times they hadn't come back at all and had needed to be rescued. He swallowed, watching the wormhole wink out. Work. He could do that.

He was deep in an argument with Radek about a system to boost the naquadah generators when his radio buzzed. He quickly looked at his watch; it wasn't six yet, so what—

"Dr. McKay? Could you come to the Control room please," Chuck said. "We have a situation." 

He ran, and when he got there Chuck wordlessly pointed to Woolsey's office. Rodney skidded through the doorway, panting. Teyla was there, looking frustrated and unhappy. She only ever looked like that when something really bad had happened. Woolsey and Lorne turned as Rodney entered. 

"What's going on? Where are—"

"Ronon has vanished," Teyla said urgently. "Miko says he is in danger."

"Vanished? Where?"

Teyla's fists were clenched. "We were exploring an outpost of the Ancestors. Miko had activated a console, and then a light flashed and Ronon disappeared."

Rodney swallowed. He felt hollowed out and filled with ice. "Is he, is he..." He couldn't say it. 

Teyla shook her head. "Miko says he is alive, but perhaps not for much longer. She was able to get data from the console. The pad Ronon was standing on was a kind of transporter and it sent him to an... an observatory, Miko called it. A space station orbiting a planet, for taking measurements of the stars, and of planetary activity. But she says it is not above the planet where the Ancestors' Ring is based. She does not know where it is."

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, 'not for much longer'?"

Teyla frowned. "I do not fully... Miko asks that you come, Rodney, to help her. She says the observatory's life support system is malfunctioning, that the oxygen there is too low. And the transporter pad no longer operates as it should. She tried, but she cannot bring him back. It will only operate one way."

"One way, okay, so..." Rodney muttered, his thoughts racing, bouncing through ideas, problems and solutions like a pinball machine. 

"Miko says she can monitor Ronon's life-signs through the console," Teyla added. "She thinks he might not be fully conscious."

"We'll send as many jumpers through as we can pilot," Lorne said, toggling his radio. "Colonel Sheppard wants to set up a search and rescue operation across the solar system there."

"And how long will that take?" Rodney snapped. "That particular system has 14 planets and 23 large moons! The observatory might be orbiting any one of them." He'd taken to researching any planet or moon Sheppard's team went to. It didn't help much, but it was something to do. 

"But with six jumpers—"

Rodney cut Lorne off with a curt gesture. "Even then it'd likely take hours, maybe as much as a day. Ronon has minutes, certainly not more than an hour. And he doesn't have a sub-q."

"This is precisely why it's protocol for gate team members to have subcutaneous transmitters," Woolsey said, his mouth tight. 

Rodney shot him an angry look. "You do recall Ronon's history with trackers, I assume?" He brushed the distractions aside. "Right. No more chatter. This is what we're going to do."

Five minutes later he and Teyla stepped through the Gate and hurried to the outpost, which was luckily only a few minutes away at a brisk trot. Lorne was organizing the jumper pilots and would follow on their heels. 

"How is he?" Rodney panted as they burst into the outpost's control room.

Miko looked up from the displays. Her face was drawn and her hair looked as though she'd been running her hands through it. "Still alive, but it is hard to tell. His bio-marker has not moved for several minutes."

"Where's the damn jumper?" Sheppard demanded. "I need to start—"

Teyla held up a hand. "Major Lorne and several other pilots are bringing six puddlejumpers through, John. They will be here very soon." 

Rodney was at the console now, double-checking Miko's findings. "Ronon's pulse is rapid and he's immobile. He's probably unconscious." He looked up at Sheppard. "By the time you find him, he'll be dead." He rapidly read the flow of data. The oxygen levels were too low to sustain life for long, but at least the internal temperature in the observatory wasn't freezing cold, so life support must be partially functional.

"Jesus, Rodney, we can't just do nothing!" Sheppard said angrily.

"We're not going to do nothing," Rodney said grimly. "I'm going through to the observatory."

"Like hell you are!" Sheppard's jaw was tight. "We're not losing both of you!"

"No, you're going to set up a search and rescue operation and come find us," Rodney said calmly. He readjusted his pack on his shoulders and stepped up onto a low, circular dais, turning to Miko, whose eyes were wide. "Is this the transporter pad?" She nodded.

"Don't touch that button, Miko!" Sheppard ordered. "You're not going, Rodney!"

"There's fuck all up there, John," Rodney said, locking eyes with him. "Not enough breathable air, no water, and no food. But one thing there is, is sunlight." He tilted his chin at Miko's console. "I saw the specs, and it's all-around windows, as you'd expect for an observatory. The sun here is very like that of Earth, and I make oxygen, remember? I can keep both of us alive until your puddlejumpers find us."

"But..." Sheppard said, his eyes flicking to Teyla for back-up. 

She nodded. "I will explain the plan, John. Rodney is well prepared, truly. You must let him try this. Time is of the essence."

"Now, Miko," Rodney said. Sheppard took a step forward, but Miko had already pushed the button, and Rodney dissolved in light.

Ronon had had the good sense not to collapse on the transporter dais at the observatory—that would probably have prevented Rodney from being sent at all. He was sitting slumped against a nearby wall, unconscious. 

Rodney ripped open his pack and pulled out a portable oxygen cylinder, opening the valve and pressing the mask to Ronon's face. He managed to find a carotid pulse—fast and weak, but there, and he was still breathing, barely. It took an anxious minute before Ronon gasped and twitched. His eyelids flickered and he took a deep breath, then another. 

"Wha..." he said blearily, opening his eyes, his words somewhat slurred behind the mask. "R'ney?"

"Don't talk, just breathe," Rodney said. "You'll need another few minutes of pure oxygen before you can start mixing it with the atmosphere here. Ronon pushed himself up out of his slump, coming back online remarkably quickly. Rodney hoped that meant he didn't have hypoxic neurological damage. "What's your full name, what did you have for breakfast, and what's the date?" Rodney asked anxiously.

Ronon frowned at him then replied, his voice a little muffled. "Did you hit your head? You know who I am, and you were there at breakfast."

"I'm testing you for brain damage," Rodney said, annoyed.

Ronon blinked. "Specialist Ronon Dex. Eggs and sausages, and a muffin. Do you want the date in Earth years or the Satedan calendar?"

"Oh never mind," Rodney said. "You seem okay. Can you hold this?"

Ronon nodded and took the cylinder, keeping the mask on his face. "You?" He said, tipping the end of the cylinder at Rodney.

"In a few minutes. I'm okay for now. I have to get some stuff ready so we can survive until the puddlejumpers get here."

Standing, he stripped off his uniform and shirt, boots, and socks, leaving on only his boxers. He looked up for the first time, seeing the blackness of space, and shading his eyes against the glare of the system's primary star. They must be on the side of the observatory away from the planet it was orbiting. The sun's light shone in through the clear, super-tough alloy of the windows, although Ronon was in a partially shaded recess. 

Rodney pulled the big, folded sheets of transparent packaging plastic out of his pack, and the duct tape. They recycled the plastic back to Earth via the Daedalus, but the ship wasn't due for another three weeks so there'd been plenty available. Two large rectangles of plastic were already cut to size, and he laid them out on top of each other, then quickly taped together three of the sides. 

He pulled his construction over so it lay in full sun, then brought his pack and set it nearby. Most of the rest of the space in the pack was taken up by water bottles, and several power bars. 

Ronon had been watching his preparations with an air of baffled interest. "You need to get over here and inside this," Rodney said, pointing at the giant plastic envelope. 

"Take my clothes off first?" Ronon asked, temporarily removing the mask from his nose and mouth to speak, and raising his eyebrows.

Rodney snorted. "Just your weapons—it's probably best to keep your clothes on. It's a little cold here and the Ancients very likely incorporated UV filtering in the windows, but I can't be sure of that." Ronon frowned, so he added. "I'll be fine. Carson says the photosynthetic change gives me more skin protection." He indicated the oxygen cylinder. "You can close the valve on that now, save the rest for later." Ronon did so, and took the mask off his face. "Okay, get over here, and bring that with you," Rodney said.

The big plastic bag was capacious, but it was still tricky to wriggle into it beside Ronon. Rodney brought the tape in with him and patched a seam, then reached his arm out and hauled over his pack. He got the water bottles and power bars and stashed them in the bag alongside the oxygen cylinder, then sealed the top of the bag with duct tape and released more oxygen into the cavity of the plastic sack before closing the valve again and setting the cylinder aside. 

"Cosy," Ronon said. They were lying side by side on their backs, their supplies piled up against one of the seams. 

"My back's never going to be the same," Rodney said dolefully. The floor was another Ancient alloy, cold and hard.

"Lie on me," Ronon said, and tugged on his arm.

"I'll be too heavy," Rodney said doubtfully, but Ronon hauled him in until he was half sprawled across Ronon's leather-clad length, Ronon's arm around him and Rodney's head nestled on his chest. 

"You like sleeping on your front," Ronon said, as though that settled it.

Rodney peered up at him, mostly seeing beard. "Ronon? You need to tell me if you start feeling drowsy or sick. We have atmospheric samplers in the MALPs but there wasn't time to extract one and make it portable, so it'll be guesswork getting the gas concentrations right in here. The cylinder will be used up eventually and we'll be relying on me to make oxygen for you to breathe." 

"What about you?" Ronon asked, his arm tightening around Rodney.

"I don't know for sure, but I think if the oxygen concentration's too low in the air in here I'll just absorb some of what I make. You're more at risk, so let me know. In fact, we should talk, as a way of monitoring each other."

"Tell me what happened." Ronon shifted slightly to get comfortable, which ought to have been impossible, but he'd slept on the ground for seven years as a runner. 

"Okay, so you remember exploring the outpost?" Rodney began, and Ronon rumbled assent.

"Ronon? Ronon!" Rodney poked him in the chest.

"'m okay, I was just thinking," Ronon said. He'd mostly grunted and hummed while Rodney brought him up to speed, then he'd gone quiet. "Surprised Sheppard let you come."

"I didn't give him a lot of choice," Rodney said grimly. "Besides, he's got the jumper search to keep him occupied. You know how he is."

"Needs to do something, 'specially in a crisis," Ronon agreed. "How long d'you think it'll take them to find us?"

"Hard to say," Rodney said. "It's extremely unlikely we were sent to a different solar system—that would need a Stargate, not just a souped-up transporter. But this is a big system, with lots of planets. People underestimate how far apart planets are, even with the immense speed of the puddlejumpers. They're orders of magnitude faster than any of the rockets we developed to explore our own system, back on Earth." 

"We only had air cars on Sateda. For local transport, or big ones that went to the other continent," Ronon said.

"We sent a manned mission to Earth's moon," Rodney said. "We sent probes further, small robotic spacecraft that took measurements and pictures, but they took years to reach the outer planets."

"But it won't take years here?" Ronon asked. 

"Not with the puddlejumpers, no. Probably a few hours, if we're lucky."

"Okay, so what'll we talk about?" Ronon said. "What do you miss most from Earth?"

"Hot chocolate," Rodney said quickly. "No, I mean, a lot of things, but that's the first that comes to mind."

"Are you still sad?" Ronon asked. "About not being able to go back because you're green?"

Rodney thought for a moment. "I was at first, but I can still go back for short trips, and I've realized I don't want to live there anymore."

"Yeah," Ronon said. "I don't want to live there either. No Wraith to kill."

Rodney rolled his eyes, not that Ronon could see. "What do you miss most about Sateda?" he asked, to change the subject. He didn't like thinking about the Wraith when he was practically naked. 

"Torkan," Ronon said, with a reminiscent sigh. "It's a spirit made from tormack roots. Kind of purple-colored."

"Mmm, tormack," Rodney said. He squeezed Ronon's arm sympathetically; Ronon had lost so much more than he had. Hesitantly, he asked. "Would you... would you tell me about Sateda?"

"Wake up, McKay!" Ronon said, slapping Rodney on the ass.

"Jesus! Don't do that," Rodney complained muzzily. "It's hard enough being draped all over you without adding foreplay." Oops. The dream had been very nice, but he hadn't meant to say that.

Ronon laughed. "That's for sure. But you gotta stay awake so I can check you're okay." 

"It's been a long, stressful day," Rodney muttered, blushing. "I'm not hypoxic, just tired. You're our canary in the coal mine, anyway."

"I'm what?" So then Rodney had to explain about Welsh coal miners, and how attached they'd gotten to their birds. It had led to the cages having oxygen cylinders attached, to revive the canaries.

"It seems okay, though," Ronon said. "In here. Been a few hours, now, without using the cylinder." 

"Hopefully, yes," Rodney said. "But we still need to keep each other awake, just to be safe."

"Wriggle up me a bit," Ronon said. Rodney did that, and Ronon cupped the back of his neck, raised his head and kissed him. 

"Oh!" Rodney said, when he got a chance. "I'm not sure that's—"

"One way to pass the time," Ronon said, and kissed him again, unhurriedly.

"This is probably a bad idea," Rodney said, but not like he meant it, when he surfaced a while later. Ronon was a very good kisser. "We can't have sex. It'd use up too much oxygen."

"Not gonna. Keep it low key," Ronon murmured, nuzzling his jaw.

"Easy for you to say," Rodney whimpered. His boxers weren't concealing anything, pressed up against Ronon as he was. 

And of course, that was when a puddlejumper rose up outside the windows, Sheppard's unmistakable spiky hair visible as he waved through the viewport. Beside him in the copilot's seat, Major Teldy was pointing sideways along the observatory's curved exterior, presumably towards the airlock.

The debriefing was interminable, especially with Sheppard being smug about his guess that the observatory would be orbiting the system's only gas giant and that it would have a docking bay made for puddlejumpers, and dropping innuendoes about how Rodney and Ronon had been "real comfortable" when he'd found them, and how they'd "made good use of the confined space."

It was a relief finally to escape and get back to his room, where Rodney had a long, luxurious shower and got into his sleep clothes. It was after midnight and he was very tired. Staying awake when you weren't doing anything was exhausting. 

His door chimed, and Rodney cursed under his breath. If that was Sheppard wanting to boast some more about what good time he'd made coming to rescue them, he'd—

He opened the door, to find Ronon holding a couple of steaming mugs. "Hi," Ronon said, a little shy.

"Get in here," Rodney said, standing aside then closing the door. "Is that?"

"Hot chocolate," Ronon said, nodding. "You said you missed it."

"Give it here," Rodney said greedily, taking a mug and inhaling the sweet, rich scent. He took a long swallow, then looked up to see Ronon leaning back against his desk, smirking.

"Teyla keeps some for Torren," Ronon said. "I'll trade for more to pay her back."

Rodney drained his mug; it was the perfect temperature, not too hot. "And how am I going to pay you back?" He heard himself saying, licking his lips. Christ, could he be any more obvious?

Ronon downed his own hot chocolate in one long swallow, wiped his mustache, and grinned. "Reckon it's me who owes you," he said. He took both mugs and set them on the desk, then pulled Rodney down onto the bed, rolling them so Rodney was straddling him. 

"Well, Sheppard did rudely interrupt us," Rodney said thoughtfully, tracing Ronon's lower lip with a fingertip.

Ronon smiled wickedly and licked his finger. "And we've got plenty of air to breathe, for a change."

"Oh, I think I can make you breathless," Rodney said confidently.

Ronon grinned. "Bring it on."