“Tripped over a kid,” The Marine mumbled, obviously embarrassed by his clumsiness. “It’s nothing, really.”

“We’ll see,” Carson replied as Dr. Salas came into the exam room. Both she and Carson saw the Marine visibly relax when she got there and Carson sighed softly. “Dr. Salas will take a look at your leg. It’s probably just a sprain.”

The Marine nodded as Carson left and Dr. Salas took over. Carson retreated to his office, thinking for the umpteenth time that he should simply quit trying to treat actual patients.

When he’d first gotten back to work after quarantine, most of the city had treated him normally. It wasn’t until word got around that he could shapeshift that people began acting strangely around him. Initially it was a Marine or two, then a scientist and some Athosians. Now about a third of the wounded or sick who came to the infirmary either asked for a human doctor or were obviously distressed by his presence.

The behavior made Carson sad and angry, but he didn’t think it was meanness on their parts. They were having to adjust to the idea of one of their own not being human anymore, and despite the entire mission’s openness some things took time. John and Rodney didn’t have the same level of problem, but they weren’t involved in such an intimate thing as medicine. No one thought John would stop protecting the city, and few scientists had obvious issues with Rodney being in charge. The medical staff themselves were fine with Carson’s continued position, even if he had to fend off constant requests to be put under a microscope.

It was the patients who were uncomfortable with him, and there was nothing Carson could do but have other doctors take care of them. Unless it was an emergency, Carson saw no reason to force people to put up with someone who made them uncomfortable.

Truth be told, he didn’t like touching people who were afraid of him; it felt terrible. His examination gloves helped, a great deal in fact, but there were times when he didn’t have to wear them. Keeping them on all the time sent the wrong message, in Carson’s opinion, and even though the people who let him examine them were the ones least afraid of him, they were still uncomfortable.

It did occur to Carson, however, that he didn’t have much in terms of comparison. Prior to his change, he could only guess how anxious a patient was, and if it was because of him. Perverse though it was, Carson hoped the anxiety was due to his recent changes and not him personally. Since his empathic abilities were recent, Carson had no way of knowing if his patients had always been this apprehensive.

•••

John focused on Teyla’s next offensive move, blocking her attack with his sticks. He managed to deflect her blow but lost one of his sticks at the same time. It clattered to the floor and spun away, well out of reach. Teyla smirked and moved forward again, obviously planning to take advantage of John’s vulnerability.

She’d been doing that ever since the first time they’d tried trading hand-to-hand techniques. John figured it was time to get a little of his own back, since she’d been wiping the floor with him from day one. He dropped low and formed another stick in his hand, one she couldn’t remove with a well-placed strike. As her sticks came down upon him he pushed up, knocking her off balance.

“Innovative,” She murmured, picking herself off the floor. “Does it injure you, to be struck like that?”

John shook his head and retrieved the real stick from the corner, making the substitute disappear. He rejoined Teyla in the center of the room and they began again. Having gained confidence from his small experiment, John tried out a few other ideas. The next time Teyla got him off-balance, John shifted and flowed downwards until his center of gravity was low enough to keep him from falling over. Then he reformed and turned around, striking Teyla’s sticks and disarming her.

By that point, Teyla was observing him with somewhat more respect than usual. “You’ve been practicing,” She stated quietly. “I doubt there is anything I could do to defeat you, if you discarded your human form.”

“Not with these,” John concurred, holding up the sticks. “I’ve not had the guts to see what a Wraith stunner would do, but bullets and sticks are pretty well useless.”

“Then why continue to train with me?” She asked curiously. “You are quickly gaining proficiency with your new body.”

“You’re still the best in the city,” John countered. “I’ve yet to convince Rodney and Carson to start learning any of this stuff.”

Teyla’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Except flying.”

John laughed. “Except flying, but I think they mostly enjoy escaping the city. It’s not the practical advantages that make them do it.”

“Scientists are not all practical by nature,” Teyla observed as she and John righted the room for its next occupants. “Many of them are dreamers.”

John didn’t comment, but he knew she was right. For all their work keeping the city together, Carson and Rodney were at their cores idealists, always looking at what wasn’t yet but could be someday. If not for the threat of immanent death the Wraith posed, John doubted they’d do anything practical at all.

He never complained, though; Rodney’s and Carson’s complicated, oblique minds were part of their charm.

•••

“Kavanagh is being ass,” Zelenka said as he sat down at Rodney’s work station. “Feel free to ignore him.”

Rodney snorted. “Kavanagh’s opinions rank somewhat lower than those of any parasites occupying my intestinal tract,” He spat. “The man is a cretin.”

“You have an intestinal tract?” Zelenka asked, surprised. “I would have thought, with your new form...”

“Not in the strictest sense of the term,” Rodney admitted. “But the sentiment endures. He is below gastrointestinal microbes on my rank-order of importance.”

“What are you working on?” Radek inquired. “Those soldering irons you mentioned to Kavanagh?”

Rodney nodded. “He obviously refuses to work on them. I’m trying to deactivate the ATA gene mechanism, but there’s a failsafe built in.”

“Hmm,” Zelenka murmured, peering at one of the opened-up devices. “So they will not run at all without the ATA unit?”

“It’s this central part,” Rodney explained, pulling out a bit of circuitry with some tweezers. The unit incorporates a type of switch that can’t be separated out. Without the unit, there’s no way to route power to the soldiering iron.”

“Is how every ATA mechanism works,” Radek stated. “Clever, really. That way is practically impossible to make devices universal.”

“Maybe,” Rodney commented. “I’ve got an idea, though, about that.”

“What kind of idea?” Radek inquired.

“From what tests we’ve run so far, the ATA unit is set to identify the presence or absence of a specific gene. In some technology, the gene is required for the neural interface—like the ‘jumpers. In other tech, like this soldering iron, it’s just a key,” Rodney explained.

“Yes, we have ascertained that much,” Radek confirmed.

“There’s not much to be done about the advanced technology,” Rodney admitted, “But for this simple stuff, I’m hypothesizing that we can adjust the ATA unit to identify a different gene sequence, one that’s more or less universal.”

Radek frowned as he thought it over, then grinned. “So almost any human could use soldering iron, ATA gene or not.”

“But no Wraith, or non-humans,” Rodney added. “It’s a long shot, and it would only work on the simplest devices in the city. Even if it could be applied to other stuff, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Why not?” Radek asked, curious as to why Rodney would prevent more widespread use of technology.

Rodney shrugged. “Right now we’ve got a natural limit on access to the most dangerous, rare and irreplaceable tech in the city. That might not be something we want to change any time soon. If something big is sabotaged or goes missing, the list of possible perpetrators is small. When we change any machine to accept commands from anyone...”

“Ah,” Zelenka murmured. “Could you set up like the doors and lights, were anyone can operate them manually but only ATA gene-users have neural interface?”

Rodney shook his head in the negative. “I don’t think so. First off, though, we need to get this ATA unit figured out to see if we can alter the comparison sequence. It should have a file of some kind that contains the base information...”

•••

John knew he should be asleep; he was exhausted from a succession of long days capped by nights of inventive, engrossing sex. He wasn’t complaining about the schedule, no. After all, how often could he ever say he had two lovers who by all appearances enjoyed fucking him into oblivion? The sex was very, very good and both Rodney and Carson made sure he knew he was wanted, both in their beds and in their day-to-day lives. He wasn’t a diversion, but rather an integral part of whatever it was they were becoming.

Maybe that was what was keeping John awake. Ever since Carson and Rodney had invited him to their beds, John had pushed away serious consideration of what it meant. Of course, they were discrete and not just for the military implications. John wasn’t really sure the military could do anything to him, since the three of them weren’t precisely human anymore and with only one biological sex, weren’t breaking any rules. In reality, life would become very uncomfortable were they found out. Some people had to suspect; John knew from experience that nothing went undetected for very long in a closed system like Atlantis. Unless they gave someone a reason to say something, though, their liaison would remain under wraps.

That didn’t help John any, though. This thing hadn’t lasted as long as some of John’s previous relationships, but it felt different. He still got the tingles of excitement and danger he got with everybody when things were just starting out, but there wasn’t that sense of impending doom. Maybe it was because none of them were bringing up scary things like houses and retirement, or group vacations and anniversaries. It was like they’d just fallen into a nice, even routine that involved a large amount of emotional support and hot sex.

John could really get behind lots of emotional support and hot sex.

He was absurdly grateful that neither Carson nor Rodney was the type to dwell on their feelings. In that way, they were typical guys. The empathy thing sort of diffused issues before they became big fights, but still no one sat around whimpering that so-and-so didn’t love him anymore. And they didn’t care if John occasionally needed a night to himself, although such nights were getting pretty rare.

In short, John couldn’t think of many complaints when it came to his personal life. Still, he was awake hours after the others had drifted off to sleep and he couldn’t quite figure out why.

Carson moved around beside him, curling up along John’s side and propping his head up on John’s shoulder. “You’re awake,” Carson accused sleepily.

“Just thinking,” John whispered to the half-asleep man. “Go back to sleep.”

“You first,” Carson muttered. “Stop doing Rodney’s job. He’s the over-thinker.”

“Yessir,” John mumbled, closing his eyes and relaxing deeper into the mattress. On Carson’s other side, Rodney grumbled in his sleep and slid a hand across Carson to John, rubbing his chest in sloppy circles. John caught the wandering hand and pressed it with his own, stilling the small movement.

Thinking was something he could do later, John decided as he let his mind sink into sleep.

•••

“Did you ask him?” Rodney said to Teyla, who was trying to converse politely with a Wutahxo councilor. “Teyla!”

Teyla smiled stiffly. “I did, Dr. McKay, and he said they would be happy to discuss sharing technology with you over the trading table.”

Rodney frowned. ‘We have to trade for it?”

Teyla’s expression flickered with incredulity. “Yes, Dr. McKay. Like most things worth possessing, this must be traded for.”

“Well, yes,” Rodney admitted. “When do we meet over this trading table?”

“After the feast,” Teyla reminded him. “I believe Major Sheppard is in need of assistance, Dr. McKay. He was going to observe the town’s market for clues as to Wutahxo trading habits.”

Rodney got the hint and went away before Teyla tried to hit him with one of her beloved sticks. He found John ambling down a cluttered street, poking his head into various shops and vendor stalls. The wares spanned every conceivable product, from clothing to fresh fruit to cosmetics. “Did you see them?” Rodney asked as he joined John at one booth featuring knives.

“Yes,” John murmured, studying the blade on an exceptionally deadly looking item. “You want one?”

“Want one?” Rodney echoed, “Are you insane? I want as many as you can get your grubby little hands on!”

John smirked at Rodney’s vehemence. “I’ll see what I can do,” He promised. “But I think you should be there. They seem to be quid-pro-quo traders, so we may be coughing up some tech.”

Rodney knew he might be called upon to hand over some of his expertise, even if he didn’t necessarily like it. Still, if it got their hands on the Wutahxo weapon, he’d show them some of his tricks.

The weapon in question was a handheld device, braced on the lower arm and wrist. It fired a blast not unlike that of a Wraith stunner, but more precisely tuned to be effective against Wraith. It still did fine against humans, but according to the Wutahxo, their weapon would kill a Wraith with a single blast. They even had a few larger installations and had deflected the last culling. Rodney suspected they did so because there weren’t all that many Wutahxo to bother crushing like bugs, but still the weapon was an improvement over what they had on Atlantis.

Perhaps he could offer up the organic gel matrix as a suitable item for trade. It wasn’t an effective enough technology to supplant whatever they had running their city, which Rodney suspected was fossil fuel, but it could be beneficial to them as a portable power source for weapons installations and the like. It also wasn’t the same as handing over instructions on making nuclear bombs. The gel matrix wasn’t combustible; if something went wrong it pretty much shut down and turned into useless goo.

“Hmm...” Rodney hummed as he studied some cheap trinkets at another stall, “Maybe we should call Weir. I’ve got an idea.”

The idea, as it turned out, elicited a long, tense silence over Rodney’s radio. John had then jumped in, explaining how they weren’t actually handing over Ancient technology, but rather the stuff they’d found lying around the galaxy. Dr. Weir finally conceded, but only as a last resort. Rodney had been well-amused by her stinginess as it was normally him that drew the line too far back in the sand.

Teyla took charge of the actual negotiations, for which Rodney was both immensely grateful and maddeningly annoyed. While he got frustrated at times by her automatic deference to Wutahxo customs, Rodney knew he’d have put his foot in it at some point. When she called on him to offer up ideas for trade, Rodney did so with less than his usual level of wit and sarcasm. John was sitting next to Rodney and his amusement at the situation was obvious each time their trousers brushed. By the time they adjourned for refreshments, Rodney was on the verge of slapping John silly. Rodney couldn’t help but think John was silently laughing at him.

“What do you find so funny?” Rodney hissed as he and John searched for plain water amongst the many oddly-flavored offerings on display.

John smirked. “You.” Rodney was kind of cute when he was trying to rein himself in; he reminded John of an attack dog leashed in tight.

Rodney glared hotly at John. “And what, pray tell, is so funny about me?”

“Nothing,” John replied, grinning around the mouth of his water bottle.

Rodney closed his eyes and searched himself for a shred of patience. “John, I hate negotiations. I hate trading. This is a long, slow and mostly interminable episode of Dante’s Inferno for me. I won’t beg, but I will ask you to not make it any worse.”

John rested one hand on Rodney’s shoulder, a gesture that to anyone watching looked merely congenial. In truth, Rodney could feel John’s contrition, wordless though it was. “You’re just not cut out for negotiating, McKay,” John murmured. “I swear you took lessons from McArthur.”

Rodney sniffed. “As if! Really, Sheppard, what self-respecting Canadian would model his behavior after such a paragon of American imperialism?”

John laughed and stepped away, knowing Rodney was good for the rest of the negotiations. Anything that came after, John knew he could handle privately. Maybe.

•••

“Congratulations on your conquest,” Dr. Weir said, smirking, as the team walked through the ‘gate. They carried between them four cases of Wutaxho weaponry. Three boxes of organic matrix technology were simultaneously sent back through the ‘gate.

Rodney smirked triumphantly on his way to his lab, the others following along obediently.

Dr. Weir obviously wanted to inspect their bounty and was thusly confused by their quick retreat. “Dr. McKay, would you care to show us your find?”

“You’re welcome to stop by my lab during visiting hours, which won’t be in the foreseeable future,” He shot back over his shoulder. “Unless, of course, you’re coming by to contribute to our investigation and improvement of this new technology.”

“Major Sheppard!” Dr. Weir called out, sounding just a tad desperate.

“I’m not arguing with McKay,” Sheppard announced as they disappeared around a corner. “Like Bates said, he’s vicious,” Floated back, echoing out of the hallway.

“Well,” Weir muttered, hands propped on her hips as she stared at the now-disengaged ‘gate.

Rodney stored their new weaponry in a secure locker, locking it as soon as everything was inside. “Rest assured, Major, you’ll soon have plenty of those to play with.”

“As soon as...” John began, looking skeptical.

“As soon as I’ve checked them over to make sure they’re not going to explode when someone tries to use them,” Rodney finished for him. “Yes, the Wutaxho let us test a few out and explained their basic design but I don’t fully trust any technology I haven’t personally mastered.”

“Ah,” John murmured, while Teyla and Ford smirked, “So this isn’t some kind of ploy to keep all the neat, new toys to yourself?”

Rodney rolled his eyes dramatically. “Sheppard, they’re weapons. I’m not the one here who likes to blow things up.”

Teyla raised one eyebrow. “Except, of course, when given the opportunity to do so. I recall an incident on P5R...”

“That’s not the point,” Rodney insisted. “This is an issue of safety for everyone involved. I’ll begin running analyses immediately and while I can’t provide a definite timeline it shouldn’t take all that long. Perhaps by tomorrow morning...”

John grinned. “Tomorrow morning, then. Try not to ‘blow yourself up’ in the interim.”

“Big words?” Rodney murmured quietly as John followed Teyla and Ford out of the lab. As the door closed Rodney could hear John laughing at the comment.

“What, exactly, do you plan to do to test weapon safety?” Dr. Zelenka asked as Rodney promptly unlocked the storage unit and withdrew several of the devices.

“Kavanagh!” Rodney shouted, drawing the lanky man’s attention.

“What?” Kavanagh muttered. “Does something need mopping?”

“Comments like that will get your ‘fun assignment’ privileges revoked,” Rodney snapped. “Now, if you promise to do exactly what I say, when I tell you to do it, and don’t do anything else, you can help Zelenka and I test these weapons.”

Kavanagh grimaced. “Why would I want to do that?”

“I think the technology they use is one similar to things you’ve worked on,” Rodney explained, “And besides, are you really going to pass up an opportunity to shoot at things?”

“I know I am not,” Zelenka murmured. “I rarely get chance, without Wraith standing in front of me.”

“Alright,” Kavanagh said, managing to sound simultaneously excited and aggrieved.

Rodney set out the weapons and began explaining their operation, while Zelenka and Kavanagh compared the notes procured from the Wutaxho to what they saw. Before long they had one weapon disassembled and were testing out various bits of circuitry.

“There has to be a better way to power this thing,” Kavanagh grumbled, holding up the power cell he’d extracted. “What will this last, a day or two?”

“Something like that,” Rodney agreed. “See if you can make it recharge faster or something.”

“You know,” Zelenka murmured absently, “With few modifications Wraith stunners could produce almost identical charge to these things. And do these things have name?”

“They should resemble stunners; I think the Wutaxho used them as a blueprint,” Rodney replied. “And their proper name is unpronounceable. Ford wanted to call them ‘blasters’...”

Both Kavanagh and Zelenka shuddered. “But Major Sheppard had the presence of mind to remind Ford that he isn’t allowed to name anything, especially by using terms from Star Wars.”

“Stun-gun?” Kavanagh suggested. “Since it’s like a stunner but a hell of a lot smaller.”

Rodney winced. “Better than ‘blaster’ but still disturbingly science-fictional.”

“We could simply use military designation,” Zelenka commented. “Although we did not with ‘jumpers.”

“We didn’t name the jumpers,” Rodney pointed out. “Or they wouldn’t have been ‘jumpers at all.”

“Ray gun?” Kavanagh tried out. “Which is worse, yes, but has a certain retro charm.”

“Kavanagh, you are hereby forbidden from naming anything,” Rodney declared. “Go work on the power source.”

“I thought we were going to test fire them!” Kavanagh protested, waving about the diminutive power cell.

Rodney smirked. “And we will—once you’ve made progress on the power cell. See if you can incorporate the organic matrix system. These weapons don’t draw much energy—or that tiny battery wouldn’t last three shots. The gel matrix would require less input for continued functioning.”

“Especially if we could build water and mineral cartridges,” Zelenka mentioned. “You know, these things use considerably less power than stunners do...”

“And?” Rodney prompted curiously.

“Well,” Zelenka said, “Is not inconceivable to rig Atlantis with automated security system that fires on Wraith specifically. We already have capacity to differentiate Wraith from humans, so if we can design system with minimal power input...”

“It wouldn’t work just here,” Rodney added quickly. “You could set it up anywhere—both Wraith sensor and security system. Kavanagh, don’t forget to map out how that cell interfaces with the weapon itself. We need to know why it uses so little power to operate.”

“I told you stun-gun was a good name,” Kavanagh muttered, mostly to himself.

“Keep that up and all you’ll be firing are paperclips at the wastebasket,” Rodney warned.

Meanwhile, Zelenka had done up a rough model of the new weapon on his computer. “See? This circuitry matches up with Wraith stunner, but here is where it starts to change. The Wutaxho have narrowed range here and here, and that allowed them to utilize lower resistance...”

•••

“So Rodney’s got a new toy,” Carson stated when John came into his quarters and flopped down on the couch.

“Yep,” John replied, stretching his arms and shifting into more comfortable clothes. “I doubt we’ll see him until tomorrow. He had that look in his eyes.”

“That one, hmm?” Carson murmured. “The one that means the only thing that’s going to be touching me tonight is my own hand?”

John grinned. “It used to, but now you’ve got me.”

Carson’s smile turned positively evil. “Right you are.” John watched, fascinated, as Carson stalked over to the couch. When Carson reached down and pulled John to his feet, he rose eagerly. Carson leaned in to kiss John, but pulled back when their skin touched. “Dare I ask why you’re uncomfortable?”

John winced. “Lingering aftereffects.”

“Of what?” Carson inquired as he pulled John towards the bathroom.

“Long mission, tiring, exciting, boring, that kind of thing,” John muttered.

“Well then,” Carson replied lightly, “A bath should be just the thing.”

“Are you gonna be there too?” John asked hopefully, trying out his best puppy-dog look.

“Of course.”

John planned to drag Carson into the bath with him, but once submerged in the hot water all thoughts of such things fled. Carson edged out of the room and left John to drop off to sleep whilst soaking away a long, exciting day.

An hour later, Carson returned to the bathroom to fetch John, who was by now completely underwater. When the water drained away, John woke in a sputter, shifting instead of trying to cough up what had settled in his lungs. “You know,” John said as stepped out of the tub, already dry, “It’s a little bit weird to just forget not to drown yourself.”

“Yes,” Carson agreed. “Bed now?”

John nodded tiredly and was led back to the main room. They ended up underneath some blankets, John once again asleep before even getting comfortable. Carson dimmed the lights and told himself morning would be soon enough to garner some attention from one of his lovers.

At least, if they weren’t caught up in playing with their new toys.

•••

“Where are they?” John barked as he and Ford walked into Rodney’s lab. “You said they’d be ready by now.”

Rodney appeared seemingly out of nowhere, having been sitting on the floor behind his desk, trying to avoid all heights above that level. “Five, on the lab table. Use them,” he said, leaning heavily on his office chair. “Don’t point at people. Probably kill someone.”

“So they won’t blow up on us?” Ford inquired as he picked up three of the devices. “I mean, the blasters are safe, right?”

“How many times have I told you that you don’t get to name stuff?” John said flatly. “But they are safe, right?”

Rodney nodded tiredly. “The chances of them blowing up under normal usage condition is minimal,” He told John. “We’ve tentatively named them ‘ST-70s’.”

“ST-70?” Ford echoed. “That’s... not catchy.”

“Dare I ask what significance that carries?” John inquired, already familiarizing himself with the controls he’d been shown earlier.

“Stuns & Tingles, seventy shot capacity,” Rodney explained, smiling at John’s use of a big word. “As in, stuns and tingles if you get your fingers caught in the works and will fire seventy shots on a single, full charge.”

“Ah,” John murmured. “It could grow on me.”

“It’s not catchy,” Ford protested. “And you said it tingles?”

“Like a joy buzzer,” Rodney confirmed, “Mostly to remind you to keep your fingers out of the circuitry. We’re working on some modifications. Right now, you have to wait three-quarters of a second between shots, and it needs a good five-minute rest every twenty-five shots or so. It’s a limitation of their mechanics.”

“You’re fixing that?” John asked hopefully.

“Among other things,” Rodney assured him. “Go, play with your toys. I’m gonna go pass out somewhere.”

With that, Rodney walked very slowly out of the lab and left John and Ford to try out their new toys. John spared a thought for Rodney, knowing the scientist would be rather exhausted for some time, after staying up all night. “Ford, go get Bates and Stackhouse and meet me at the practice pier,” He said, hanging back. Once Ford was gone, John cued Carson on his radio.

“Beckett, McKay’s on his way to someone’s quarters. Make sure he actually gets some sleep,” John said, waiting only long enough to hear Carson’s confirmation before following Ford to their makeshift practice range.

Carson left the infirmary and found Rodney as the man walked into his quarters. “Fancy meeting you here,” Carson murmured as he followed Rodney in, noting the dullness of his lover’s eyes. Rodney really was dead-tired, and he probably hadn’t eaten anything in hours.

“Yeah, whatever,” Rodney half-whispered as he angled towards the bed, half-walking, half-stumbling towards it. “Next time I do that, remind me to take uppers.”

Carson helped ease Rodney onto the bed, sensing just how tired he really was. Rodney barely managed to think away his clothes before he fell asleep so Carson draped a blanket over him and turned off the lights, retreated out of the room and back to his office. At the rate things were going, Carson wasn’t ever going to see one of his lovers in any state other than near-coma.

At least he still had his hands.