Title: In Sickness and In Health

Author: LinziDay

Rating: PG 13 (language)

Disclaimer: SGA could be mine. In, you know, an alternate universe. . . .

AN: Written for the comment fic challenge over at sgahcchallenges on LJ. Written for Stealth Dragon, who asked for John ill and wanting to rest but not allowed to by the rest of the world/his duties. Team saves the day!

It starts in the back of his throat, a dry and sticky feeling that's more irritating than anything. John downs a bottle of water before the morning staff meeting and figures that'll fix the problem.

It doesn't.

By the time Rodney's giving his report — something about new minions and potential explosions and the potential explosion of new minions — dry and sticky has evolved into scratchy and sore. He clears his throat a couple of times —

"Sheppard!" Rodney glares at him from the front of the room.

— or maybe it's more than a couple of times, but that doesn't help either. John thinks of the Kalum tea the Athosians make, the one that tastes like licorice and lemons and knocks out a sore throat within seconds. He usually hates tea, but this is good tea. Helpful tea. The kind of tea he could use right about now. The mess hall keeps it on hand. He should have just enough time to grab some before his supply meeting with Woolsey.

But Lorne is waiting for him outside the conference room with two sopping wet, disheveled Marines, and John suddenly has to spend the next half hour standing right there, tearing his throat to shreds informing two 28-year-old military officers that they cannot, in fact, steal medical gloves from the infirmary, fill them with water and rage a water balloon war while on duty patrolling Atlantis' remote corridors.

"Sorry, sir," they say contritely in unison, but John still doesn't have tea. On the bright side, he does now have a nice stabbing pain right behind his eyes.

Aspirin. His first-aid kit has aspirin. First tea, then to his room for aspirin.

But Woolsey returns to the conference room before John can leave, says "Ah, Colonel, right on time," and launches straight into a discussion of supply lists and inventory counts and the Daedalus resupply schedule. An hour-and-a-half later they know exactly how many TAC vests they need and when they'll get them, and John's headache has ticked up several notches.

Aspirin first, then tea.

But Radek meets him on the way with an Ancient gizmo, says "Touch here, please," then "Hmm. Here?" then "No, no, no. Perhaps here."

Then one of the new techs grabs him on his way past, pointing at a red dot coming in fast on his screen and asking, wide-eyed and high-voiced, whether they should evacuate the city. The red dot is the Daedalus. So, no, they should not.

Then Lorne needs his opinion on an emergency duty roster change because Lowell and Kyle obviously can't patrol together anymore after the Water Balloon Incident, Perkins and O'Donnell are still on the mainland with one of the science teams, Lincoln and St. Pierre are restricted to light duty after getting trampled by those boar-things on —

Frankly, John isn't even a little surprised when the fire klaxons sound.

It's Rodney's lab, of course. John takes off at a run. (Not just because it's Rodney — even though, yeah, shit, Rodney — but also because it's *Rodney's lab*, which means the biggest experiments and the most dangerous toys and all the things most likely to make the city go boom.) The adrenaline rush, at least, beats back John's headache and sore throat. . . right up until he gets to the lab and finds Rodney safe and sound and fuming at two new scientists, their sleeves singed and faces smudged with something blue.

John stops in the hall and bends nearly double as he tries to catch his breath, even though he's never had to catch his breath on this sprint before. As the adrenaline bleeds away, the headache and sore throat return with a vengeance. Now he's also hot. And a little dizzy.

Bed, John thinks. Bed, aspirin, tea.

The lab is mildly smokey but fine. The scientists are mildly smokey but fine. Rodney is more than mildly angry but fine, or at least fine enough to notice John isn't.

"You look like crap," Rodney says, breaking away from the scientists and letting the medics move in.

"Yeah, well," John tells him and leans against the wall, "we can't all be, you know." And wow, he's pretty sure that doesn't even make sense.

Rodney crouches down, eye level, and John realizes he slid down the wall and is sitting on the floor. "You're sick," Rodney says, making it sound like an accusation. "Why aren't you in bed?"

John thinks about pointing out he is the military head of Atlantis, that people need him to do things and sign things and stop things from happening, even if it is just the Daedalus in orbit and not the Wraith. But he's hot and dizzy and hurts too much to explain.

"Bed," John says fondly, like it's a wish too good to come true. He closes his eyes.

--

When John wakes up it's to a soft pillow, cool sheets and the dim lighting of the infirmary.

He's exhausted, feels floaty. But something woke him up. Something important sounding. . . .

"No, he cannot go over the jumper maintenance logs with you."

Rodney.

"Because he can't." Pause. "*No*" Pause. "Tell you what, I'll come down and go over them with you, and we can see what kind of moron you are that you need — " Pause. "Yes, I thought they could wait."

John lets the darkness tug him back down.

--

When he wakes again it's sudden, to light and commotion.

He squints at the light and turns his head at the sound coming from the other end of the infirmary. Marines Perkins and O'Donnell are being pushed into the room by. . . Ronon? John is able to see their uniforms are torn, Perkins is pressing something to a gash on his cheek and both men look embarrassed, but then the doctors take over and block his view. John feels weak and he's not sure he could make it across the room, but if there's a situation —

"Found 'em fighting outside the gym," John hears Ronon say.

"They did this to each other?" Keller's voice.

"Yeah, mostly."

"Mostly?"

"I told them if they wanted a fight, I'd give them a fight."

John closes his eyes and prepares to get up. Shit, Ronon, you didn't —

"So you beat them up?" Keller's voice, incredulous.

"Nah. They tripped down the stairs trying to run away." Pause. "Don't think they'll be fighting anymore, though."

John sinks back down into the bed. Before he can decide whether Ronon's discipline methods are scary good or just scary, he drifts off again.

--

He dreams of Kalum team, hot and bitter with a bite. He dreams that it slides down his throat, down, down, away, taking all the pain with it.

When he opens his eyes, the head of his bed has been raised and a mug is in front of him.

"One sip, John. I promise you will feel much better."

John lifts his eyes to meet Teyla's. He wants to say thank you, but the mug is already at his lips and the warm liquid is sliding down his throat and the tea is working its magic.

"Ahh," John says.

Teyla smiles. "Better?"

John leans his head against the pillows. No one needs him to turn something on or light something up. The Marines are taken care of. The city is taken care of. Everyone is safe.
His team has it covered.

His team has him covered.

"Better," John agrees. And he lets himself go back to sleep.