Personal Disclaimer: This was actually one of the very first Steve fics I wrote, and after much re-writing here it is. Undisclosed Desires is designed to be a short prequel to Riddles in the Dark, a story I have been thinking up for a while now. To those at GW who I have been promising smut, it will come, but the first two chapters of Undisclosed are scene setters. Though my OFC Marie Cromwell is a historian with a penchant for coffee, the similarities between she and I end here. I did consider making her something else: an archaeologist, a scientist, a marine... but it never seemed to work for me. Undisclosed is my take on one of the many things Steve got up to during his many weeks in captivity... rated M for future smut... also, the first two chapters are very dialogue heavy. I apologise for this. P.S. Reviews of both the critical and praising type are very welcome. Lastly, I have no beta... so all spelling and grammatical errors are entirely my fault.

Official disclaimer: I do not own Atlantis, the team, the Wraith or any other aspect of this delightful franchise. I am merely borrowing them for my devious means. As for Steve, if I owned him I wouldn't need to write fanfiction :D

1. The Historian

Dr. Elizabeth Weir observed the white-haired historian perched on the chair before her. She knew from experience that his friendly shell encased a deep wealth of knowledge, knowledge that he generously shared with anyone who inquired. The last place Elizabeth had conversed with Professor Hamish Lawson had been his homely, book-lined office. Now, encased within the sharp lines and steel surfaces of Stargate Command, he seemed almost shaken with awkwardness.

Elizabeth frowned as she leafed through the personal file before her, "she is very young, very inexperienced."

Professor Lawson nodded, nervously biting his nails, "surely everyone going on this expedition is inexperienced in some way?"

Elizabeth responded with a humoured nod, "You are right. None of us know what to expect. However..." She trailed off, leaving the board open to Professor Lawson. He pounced on the opportunity.

"I admit; I have higher graded students and ones with more life experience. I understand your trepidation at accepting someone so young, but I feel she is the best suited to the kinds of pressures that you will face on this expedition."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed quizzically, "how so?"

"She is efficient and reliable. She also has certain quirks..."

"Ah." Elizabeth now smiled, "quirks seem to be a prerequisite for this expedition. However, it does not alter the fact that you are suggesting I put a twenty-five year old PhD graduate in charge of the entire historical team."

"Trust me, Dr. Weir. Marie Cromwell is the best person for the job."

ooo

Marie Cromwell was well aware she appeared a gaping idiot: her eyes were wide as dinner-plates; her mouth hanging open in an unflattering "O". In the utter disbelief that rocked her, she forgot all the niggling worries that usually accompanied new endeavours. No longer could her mind wrestle with the constant questions of: did I forget this? Did I leave the heater on? Did I forget to say goodbye to...?" It took an astounding sight to render the young historian both voiceless and thoughtless. A controlled wormhole to another galaxy was one of these sights.

"Oh, so you're the infant they have running the archaeological department?" The sneering voice belonged to a stocky man, clad in the blues of the science team. A surly expression tainted his otherwise pleasing features, "hardly surprising. It is a bit of a redundant department."

Marie felt a stab of anger, but ignored it. She knew exactly who this man was.

"Marie Cromwell," she snapped, extending her hand for him to shake, "I assume that you are Rodney McKay?"

"Dr. McKay if you don't mind," the man replied stiffly, "I did not study my way through several PhDs merely to be called Mister McKay."

Marie, despite her momentary surge of anger, did not hold it against the scientist. He was a genius, or so she was told. Her experience in academia had taught her that individuals of high intellect often worked on a different plain. Although she had a PhD herself, Marie did not exactly feel that she dwelt on this plain. A stab of self-doubt coursed through her. Why exactly had she been chosen for this mission? Of all the students, academics and hobby historians on the planet – why were they sending her on this expedition?"

Of course, such questions were redundant. The opportunity of a lifetime had been presented to her on a silver platter, garnished with a lofty income and the prospect of exploring an entirely different galaxy. She intended to consume this opportunity with utter gusto.

Several Months Later – Atlantis

Marie Cromwell was sweating.

Elizabeth observed the young historian enter her office, bottle of water clutched in her fingers. She was clad in grey slacks and an oversized t-shirt. Her raven black curls were poised in a messy bun high on her head.

"Sorry about interrupting, Marie."

The young woman smiled, "a welcome interruption, Dr. Weir. I have discovered that I am not much of a runner."

"Teyla informs me that you are doing well in self-defence."

The smile curled into a smirk, "Teyla is being generous."

"Teyla is not the type to exaggerate. She is genuinely impressed with you, as am I."

"Thank you Dr. Weir – Elizabeth," corrected Marie, evidently recollecting the countless times Elizabeth had insisted she address her by her first name.

"Please Marie, sit down. I need to talk to you."

Marie sat, eyes eager, "about my request?"

"You understand that allowing you to talk to our prisoner is particularly problematic. It is very unlikely he will be co-operative."

"I understand that. I just want to see him." Marie frowned slightly, "put everything in perspective."

Elizabeth sipped her tea, eyes boring into the historian's pale grey ones, "from what I have read of your work so far, you concentrate heavily on the Wraith."

"Their impact on this galaxy fascinates me. You cannot learn about any culture here, not even this city, without encountering the problem of the Wraith." The historian bit her lip, "the only this is, I'm looking at it all from an outsider perspective. I am getting first-hand accounts from the peoples we have encountered, I am observing how the Wraith culling has stunted cultural development first hand, but I have never actually seen a Wraith."

"You have incorporated pictures in your report."

"Pictures aren't the same as flesh and blood."

Elizabeth sighed. This woman was almost as persistent as Rodney. "You did your PhD on Vikings in ninth-century France. Evidently you did not need to observe an actual Viking for that?"

"If there had been a ninth-century Viking in the brig, I would have asked exactly the same thing." The historian turned her piercing eyes away, fidgeting awkwardly with the water bottle. "The prisoner is behind a force field. He is constantly guarded and as you have said, he probably won't say anything to me."

Elizabeth sighed deeply, "I will discuss this with Major Sheppard, but I cannot promise anything Marie. I really don't know how useful the prisoner will be to you."

ooo

Major John Sheppard was a man who could lace even the direst situations with humour. The city loomed under the threat of invasion, its band of human inhabitants vulnerable to any space-bound attack, yet he always managed to keep things positive. It was for this reason that Marie found herself growing rather fond of him.

"Steve's not exactly the talkative type," he warned as they shifted down the corridor toward the brig. Marie clasped a notebook in hand. "He's probably just going to talk about how much he wants to eat you, if he says anything at all."

"I'm happy just to be seeing him."

John chuckled, "he's an ugly life-sucking alien... not much to see really."

"An ugly life-sucking alien that has detrimentally altered the historical dynamic of this entire galaxy," Marie reminded him, "I personally think that even the sight of him will be fascinating."

John shot her a quizzical glance, "when I was your age I was partying hard and seducing girls in the back of my car, not yearning to see murderous aliens. Has anyone ever told you that you're odd?"

The historian grinned at him, "not a day goes by when I am not reminded of the fact."

Steve was pacing his cell when they arrived.

As his gold-toned reptilian eyes fell upon her, Marie felt herself shrinking behind John. She had studied pictures of the Wraith, even watched footage of this very prisoner, but in the person he was something else entirely. John had called him ugly, but Marie found him to be quite striking. His demeanour was predatory, proud and in every way stubborn. Her eyes were drawn to his waterfall of ivory hair, which splashed against the stark black leather of his jacket. She momentarily wondered what it would be like to touch that hair, whether it would be soft or coarse. Of course, this thought was short lived.

"I've brought someone to meet you, Steve."

The Wraith pulled back his lips in a wide grin, his pointed teeth glistening in the teal halo of the cell, "Sustenance?"

John frowned, "be nice." He urged the Marie to step forward. She ventured as far as she dared, her eyes not leaving those of the prisoner.

"This female is weak." His multi-toned voice rung with threat, but the historian did not break his gaze. "She would hardly make a decent meal."

"I thought I told you to be nice, Steve," John warned, "Steve, this is Dr. Cromwell, head of our history department."

"She is a child."

Marie scowled, causing the prisoner to chuckle menacingly.

"A silent child," the Wraith started to move again, breaking eye contact. "You are here to ask questions, yet ask none. Do you fear me?"

"Yes."

"Ah, and so the child speaks," Steve stopped, grinning at her once more.

"I am not a child."

"So ask me your questions, Marie." The way the Wraith hissed her name sent shivers down her spine, though not in the way she expected.

"Will you answer them?"

"That depends on the nature of the questions you ask."

The historian tilted her head in contemplation, "what if I were to ask if you were aware of the historical implications your race has had on the human population of the Pegasus galaxy?"

"I would reply that it is of very little concern to me."

"What if I were to ask about your own history? Your peoples origins, your technological advancements?"

The Wraith came dangerously close to the gratings of the cell now, and Marie was ever glad of the force field. She did not withdraw, desperate not to reveal further her inner weakness, the weakness he had already perceived.

"If asked in a historical manner, I may consider," the Wraith hissed, "but not today."

John cocked an eyebrow, "I don't really think it's up to you, Steve."

Steve ignored him, his eyes still plastered on the historian. The leather of his sleek black outfit groaned as he stretched his lithe form, beginning yet another slow lap of the cell. "What exactly brings a child like you to a place like this?"

Her features creased with disbelief, "you're the one behind bars, Steve. My history is of little consequence."

The prisoner sneered, expelling a long breath. The air was so still now that only the gentle hiss of his coat lapels against the floor could be heard. "An exchange of information is only fair."

"I kind of have the upper hand here."

"You tell me something about yourself, and I will tell you something in return. It may even be something useful depending on whether or not Major Sheppard accompanies you." The Wraith sent a vicious glance toward his captor.

Marie's body shifted into a defensive posture, "you're trying to compromise me."

"And I will succeed," Steve uttered in barely a whisper, "as I previously stated: you are weak."

Marie shifted from his gaze, "John take me away from here."

"You will return Marie," Steve purred from the cell, "you cannot resist the temptation of knowing what I can give you."

John rolled his eyes, "Now you're just creeping her out, Steve."

"It's a bit late for that," came the furious voice of Marie from the hall. Steve could only laugh...