Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

Chapter One: Enter The Glove

4 years earlier

"You sure about this?" Stepping ahead of the marine squad, Major Sheppard waved his hand over the ancient crystals. The door shooshed open. "I mean, you don't even know what it is."

Rodney McKay, Atlantis's head scientist, scoffed as he followed Sheppard into the stairwell. "No, I'm only 85% sure—"

"That means you're still 15% UNsure."

Rodney snorted. "And in my case, the tiny number is so frequently the fraction that matters. Since when does a measly 15 turn you skeptic?"

"McKaayyy—"

"I mean, it's not like he'll care."

"McKay!" Sheppard stopped and turned. Firearms bumped, echoing noisily in the enclosed space as the escorting marines clattered to a halt.

Rodney almost walked into him. "What?"

"It's not that simple."

Exasperated, Rodney rolled his eyes ceiling-ward. "It's a GLOVE!"

Tilting his head, Sheppard stared at him disapprovingly. "It's an ancient device."

"Helloooo," Rodney laughed, "what part of GLOVE isn't simple?"

"The ancient part!" Shaking his head, Sheppard continued down the stairs. "Why store a glove in an air-tight, water-proof, pressure-reinforced lock box?"

"Because they liked it?" Metallic footsteps filled the air as Rodney hurried to catch up. "The ancients preserved everything. Take the plumbing, for example. Or the wiring. We've got 10,000 year old dead plants and piles of vintage off-duty clothing—"

"Only in sections that didn't flood." At Major Sheppard's gesture, the marines moved to flank them. "Look, McKay. I'm not trying to be difficult. I wanna try it too. My point is we don't know whether that THING does stuff yet."

"And my point is that this THING," Rodney waved the controversial accessory in Sheppard's face, "doesn't DO anything. It's exactly what it seems."

Sheppard batted the glove away, muttering, "Unlike everything else here…"

Rodney stuffed it back in his pocket. "Besides. Elizabeth gave the go-ahead. You can't stop me—"

"No, I can't. I'm just here to save his butt if it backfires."

"It won't backfire."

Sheppard shrugged. "In that case, I'll escort you safely to the infirmary."

"Must you say it so ominously?"

Sheppard kept his mouth shut, navigating the stairwell's flights and landings. The marines' gear and footsteps clattered rhythmically behind him.

Rodney pressed forward, jostling Sheppard's elbow. "Hey," he sounded unsure, suddenly, "you don't think he'll refuse, do you? Because this discussion's moot, if he refuses. We won't learn a thing. If he refuses—"

"I know, Rodney. It'll set back our plan to accelerate our investigation of the species." Having recited Carson's favorite complaint by heart, Sheppard eyed Rodney with poorly concealed amusement. "In other words, it really doesn't matter."

The scientist sputtered indignantly. "Of course it matters! It's a perfect opportunity! If Carson gets him to cooperate—"

"Quiet, Rodney," Sheppard slowed his pace, stopping before a closed door.

"I won't be quiet! You're not taking this seriously—"

"Oh, I'm taking it seriously." Rounding on McKay, he pointed at the entryway. "This is our goal. You know, the place we're traveling to?"

"How could I forget? My knees are jellifying from all the stairs."

Sheppard continued as if McKay hadn't interrupted, "The moment we open this, he can hear every word you say."

"Oh." Clutching his data pad, Rodney looked at the door. Silence engulfed the landing. Rodney stretched his hand towards the crystal controls, then snatched it back. He turned to Sheppard nervously. "Maybe you should do the talking."

Sheppard nodded pleasantly as McKay moved, placing the Major between himself and the door. "I was planning on it." He beckoned to the squad. The marines pressed forward, clustering behind the uneasy scientist. Two stepped up to flank Sheppard, carrying long-barreled, bayonet-tipped stunners.

Sheppard focused on the door. "Ready Ford?"

The good-looking, dark-skinned marine on his right smiled as he pat the glowing body of his scavenged wraith weapon. "Ready for anything, sir."

"And anything's what you'll get." Sheppard's hand lazily hovered above the door's crystal sensors. "On my signal." The lazy hand dropped, and the metal wall shooshed open, revealing a dimly lit flight of stairs.

The eight men filed silently down the metal steps, stopping only when they entered the dark alcove that marked their goal. Following previously agreed-upon instructions, the scientist and the marines moved to the walls, letting Major Sheppard advance alone. Rodney fidgeted, watching with trepidation as his friend walked confidently into the brighter room at the alcove's end.

Atlantis's military commander paused in the entrance to the sparsely furnished space. He approached the cage that dominated the middle of the chamber slowly, letting the shadows thrown by the horizontal bars expose his face in increments, bit by exaggeratedly drawn out bit. It was a dramatic approach, but Sheppard suspected the silent figure standing in the cage's center with it's back to him, actually enjoyed the drama. Secretly, of course. Their unwilling guest would never deign to admit it. He never deigned to do anything. Except, you know, talking. He was good at that.

Especially the talking without saying useful stuff bit.

The shadows' crept inexorably upward, illuminating Sheppard's blue eyes and coming to rest on his mahogany muss of spiky hair. As they stilled, the silent figure turned its head, glancing Sheppard's way as if only now aware of his presence. After a second or two of scrutiny, it looked away, feigning disinterest.

Sheppard suppressed an urge to laugh at the elaborate ruse. He'd been detected the instant the door shooshed. Eyes on the prisoner, he circled the cage. Following a script they'd played out daily for almost a month, Sheppard didn't stop until he was standing before their guest, a spot directly opposite where he'd entered. This was the farthest he could be forced to walk in here. Turning, he fully faced the cell's occupant.

The captive wraith raised his eyes, finally meeting Sheppard's own.

Ignoring the intense, unblinking stare, Sheppard studied him. The bluish light from above had altered the wraith's appearance strikingly, making him resemble his race's namesake more than the Pegasus Galaxy's bane usually did. His black coat's faceted shoulders glittered dangerously, and his long, ivory hair was streaked with blue highlights. The tinted light bled the color from his skin, making his pale, lichen complexion appear white. All in all, he looked about the same as yesterday.

Except… Was that a hint of curiosity flitting across the ghostly face? Curiosity inspired by the large number of people in the other room, perhaps?

Sheppard smiled. Today's encounter might actually go well. "Now," he said, unvaryingly continuing their daily routine, "whenever I come down here, what's the first thing I always ask?" He held a finger up to emphasize the 'first.'

The wraith's thin lips twitched in annoyance.

Major Sheppard watched, unmoving, as the intense stare shift to his mockingly pointed finger. The next reaction would be telling…

After an interminable, and ill-boding, silence, the pale irises flicked to his face again. Slowly and deliberately, the vertical pupils slid towards the alcove. Then, just as slowly, they slid back. The wraith cocked its head.

"I am your death."

Sheppard suppressed a grin. Today was a cooperation day. Clucking his tongue, he frowned disapprovingly and gave an exaggerated shake of his head. "Sorry. I'm afraid I still prefer Steve."

Hissing with disgust, the wraith, Steve, spun away and began striding along the inner perimeter of his square cell. Winking at the alcove, Sheppard mirrored the move, circling outside the cage and quickening his steps to keep pace with him. Like the drama and curiosity, this stalking game was something the wraith responded to. Sheppard generally ignored it for precisely that reason, but, knowing Atlantis was about to make a request, he was inclined to indulge the prisoner today as much as possible. Their footsteps echoed as he waited for Steve to make the next move.

The silence between captor and captive stretched. Then…

"What do you want with me?" They'd just completed two circuits.

Sheppard feigned surprise. "Gee, Steve. I thought you had that figured out already. You're always going on about how we won't get information from you."

Violently expelling a puff of air, the wraith curled his lips, baring pointy, translucent teeth. "You won't," Steve hissed, "But you didn't come for information today." He eyed Sheppard suspiciously. "Today's different. Why?"

"No particular reason,' Sheppard shrugged, "Maybe I just wanted to give you the pleasure of my company. You must be getting pretty lonely down here."

"I'm guarded constantly. I assure you, that is not the case."

"Okay, you're not lonely. But you must be bored with the scenery…" Sheppard gestured at the walls. "Black, square," he gestured at the cage, "Light, square. You have to agree, Steve. This place is a bit monotonous."

Steve froze, momentum making his long, black coat brush the cell's lower bars. Eyes widening, he snapped his face towards the alcove. The silhouettes of the marines were distinctly visible against the dim light spilling down the stairs. Without turning, the wraith's focus darted back to Sheppard. "What exactly are you offering?"

Sheppard shrugged, also stopping. "Not much, really. Mostly a change in scenery. If you behave yourself, it might even become a regular change."

"More regular than these pointless visits?"

The major pursed his lips, pretending to consider the question. "I'd say… Roughly equal in regularity. Give or take a bit."

Posture neutrally motionless, the wraith eyed him warily. "I'm listening."

"See, it's like this." Moving closer, Sheppard rested his arms on the outer edges of the horizontal bars and leaned forward companionably. "Our head medical expert, Dr. Beckett, likes you. A lot. He thinks wraith physiology is fascinating. Especially the whole, feeding off human life-force bit." Sheppard pretended not to notice as Steve twitched. The wraith was visibly fighting the urge to lunge at him. "But the problem is, every time he examines you, you're unconscious. And why are you unconscious?"

Steve hissed, balling his feeding hand into a fist.

"Exactly. 'Cause if you weren't unconscious, you'd try to eat him."

"I fail to see this conversation making progress."

"Just bear with me," Sheppard said. "Carson insists he'll get different readings from you if you're not stunned. And he insists the differences in those readings will be important—"

"You wish for me to willingly let this, Carson, examine me?"

Sheppard nodded. "That's the gist of it, yeah."

Blue-washed hair whispered across leather as the wraith turned his head, fully facing his captor again. "And in return? What do you offer me?"

"Relief from monotony." Looking up, Sheppard let his eyes wander across the ceiling. "The sight of the sun. A chance to see a quasi-ancient infirmary. Relief from boredom. New conversational companions." Catching Steve sneering derisively, he fixed the wraith with a knowing stare and played his trump card. "Relief from the constant, pounding headache Carson assures me you're experiencing."

The sneer quickly vanished. Backing off, Steve dropped his eyes and turned away, retreating to the middle of the cell. Eyebrows raised, Sheppard watched the surrender curiously. He'd hit a nerve. The wraith had been rendered senseless frequently recently. They were taking samples for the Hoff project daily, and Carson's predicted side effects for repeated stunning on humans had been right on the mark.

Trailing a hand along the bar he'd been leaning on, the Major circled the cage until he stood before Steve again. Feeding hand tucked to his waist, the wraith had closed his eyes and was pinching the bridge of his nose.

"That bad, huh?" Apparently Carson's wraith side effects were right too.

Steve's multi-tonal reply was quiet, no longer confrontational. "You realize, this Carson would be acquiring information from me?"

Sheppard shrugged, "Doesn't count. Not military. That's the stuff you're interested in hiding." No need to rub salt in.

"I see." A low sigh hissed in the austere room. "What do you want me to do?"

At Major Sheppard's sharp nod, Rodney emerged from the alcove, flanked by Lieutenant Ford and a second marine. Steve looked up. His pale eyes zeroed in on the hated stunners. The tremor of a hastily repressed shudder crossed his face.

Hyper-focused on their dangerous captive, Rodney noticed the tremor instantly. "My God," he stared at the wraith in amazement, "Carson was right. He's scared of the stunners. He doesn't want o be hit again. He—"

"Quiet, McKay!" Sheppard held out a hand.

"Oh, right. Right…" Tucking his data pad under his arm, the scientist fumbled in his pocket, nervously muttering, "I'm not good at the interrogation thing…" Finally snagging the glove, he slapped it into Sheppard's hand. "Here. Take it."

Closing his fingers around the thick fabric, Sheppard stepped to the bars. Shaking out the dark material, he thrust it into the cage, letting it dangle a second before tossing it to the floor. The cell's force field, which had disengaged courtesy of a prearranged signal, reactivated after he withdrew his arm. Catching Steve's eye, he pointed to the limp glove encouragingly. "I want you to put that on."

Not budging, the wraith eyed the foreign object in his cell balefully. "What is it?"

"What does it look like?" Sheppard answered.

Steve glared at him.

"That's actually a fascinating question," interjected Rodney. "See, it's appearance and function are comp—" Noting the Major's disapproving stare, he cut himself off, "Sorry. Shutting up now."

"Good." Sheppard's focus returned to Steve. "It's a restraint."

The wraith's eyes narrowed. "A restraint… That?"

Sheppard smiled pleasantly and nodded. "Yes. A restraint. One cleverly designed to safely, and comfortably, neutralize a wraith feeding hand without impairing mobility." He felt a buzz of satisfaction as Steve began circling the glove. The offer might be accepted. "In short, it's a safety precaution."

"Neutralize?" The half-lidded eyes shot Sheppard's way, scrutinizing him.

"Safely and comfortably." When the suspicious stare continued, the Major shrugged innocently. "Can't have ya eatin' the good doctor."

The wraith crouched, a fluid, controlled movement that made his black coat open, revealing lithely muscled legs and polished boots. The deliberate motion was mirrored by his arms, which he stretched down to retrieve the glove. Grasping a corner of the striated wristband, Steve lifted the material delicately. Without touching it with his feeding hand, he turned it over, peering quizzically at the dull yellow beads decorating its wrist and the thick pads built into the fingertips and palm. Pulling it close, the wraith sniffed, briefly touching the fabric to the thin orifice on each of his cheeks.

Finally lifting his head, Steve snorted disdainfully. "I don't want it."

"Then the deal's off."

"It smells like chemicals. And magnets."

Sheppard's eyes hardened. "You're not leaving this cage conscious without it." He wasn't about to let a feeding hand loose in the infirmary. Steve could be merely feigning cooperation, hoping for an unguarded chance to literally grab a bite to eat. "Carson's a gentle person. He doesn't allow patients to have weapons in his infirmary. Given their deadly properties, feeding hands make him nervous."

"They make other people nervous, too."

"Quiet, Rodney!"

The wraith eyed him calculatingly. An almost palpable tension filled the air as his oval pupils bored into the Major's round ones. Then he looked away. The wraith took a deep breath, letting it out in a low hiss as he stood up. "Very well." Opening the glove's wristband with a flick, Steve's translucently-clawed fingers elegantly disappeared into it. The deadly feeding apparatus followed, its pale skin concealed by a series of quick, deft tugs. Steve curled his lip, looking at Sheppard in disgust. "It doesn't fit," he spat. "This 'restraint' isn't comfortable at all."

"That's because it isn't active yet," Rodney pointed out.

Not bothering to reprimand McKay at this point, Sheppard beckoned for the wraith to come to the bars. When Steve grudgingly complied, he raised his right hand. Ford and Geerman moved forward, stunners at the ready.

Startled, the wraith froze, staring at his captors accusingly.

"They won't shoot without reason." As Sheppard finished speaking, he waved his hand through the wall of the cage, demonstrating that the force field was off. "Okay. Before we go upstairs, I need you to stick your hand out."

"I think not."

"All I'm gonna do is touch it, Steve." Amused, Sheppard turned his palms up, showing they were empty. "See? Not holding anything."

"You look like you're doing a coin-trick," muttered Rodney. "Nothing in my pocket, nothing up my sleeve, nothing in the—"

"McKay, I think you should be quiet," Lieutenant Ford warned.

Steve's pale eyes darted from the bayonet-tipped stunners to their grim-faced owners. Passing over the fidgeting, chastened scientist, they fastened on Sheppard.

Sheppard concentrated on looking innocent.

The wraith finally stepped forward and stretched his feeding hand through the bars. Slowly and deliberately, and careful not make any sudden movements, Sheppard reached out and tapped his left index finger firmly on the glove's wristband.

The effect was instantaneous. A low hum exploded into the air, and Steve sprang backwards, hissing as the yellow beads blazed with light. The wristband contracted around his skin, slipping beneath his leather coat's arm guard.

"Rodneeeyyy!" Sheppard yelled. "What the Hell is it that THING doing?"

The wraith scrabbled futilely at the pulsating accessory.

The scientist peered over Ford's shoulder in fascination. "Don't worry! It's supposed to do that!" He frowned, "At least, I think it is…" Rodney nodded, bolstering his confidence. "Yeah, it is." Grinning idiotically, he clapped Sheppard's shoulder, "Look, it's molding itself to his hand! One size fits all. It's designed perfectly—"

"What do you mean, 'molding itself to his hand!?' You said it was a simple glove!" Sheppard glared at McKay angrily.

Rodney sputtered. "Well, you said yourself, it's an ancient device. It had to do something cool. Simple gloves are boring, right—"

Ignoring McKay, Sheppard lunged to the bars. "Open this door! Steve, stay calm! It won't hurt you." He cursed, muttering, "At least it better not. Carson still needs him."

"Everyone knows, comfy things fit better—"

The atmosphere tingling hum abruptly ceased, and Steve froze, his ungloved fingers splayed haphazardly across the back of his feeding hand. The light blazing from the yellow beads faded to a warm, dimly glowing amber.

The cell door chose the moment of unexpected stillness to slide open.

Panting heavily, Steve straightened and turned to face it.

A pair of stunner bayonets thrust towards him briefly before withdrawing at a wave from Major Sheppard. Somehow he didn't think the disheveled wraith would bother making the requisite escape attempt.

Sheppard was right. Ignoring the open door, Steve let go of his feeding hand and looked down at it. The glove had, indeed, molded to fit its wearer. It looked as trimmed, sleek, and tailored as the rest of the wraith's outfit. In fact, it was so form fitting, Sheppard doubted it could be taken off. At least, not without deactivating it. During Steve's frenzied assault, the fabric had demonstrated remarkable rip resistance…

"See? What did I tell you?" Grinning, Rodney gestured to the cage as if it was a white board. "Wraith restrained."

Lieutenant Ford swallowed uneasily. "That was disturbing, sir."

"You did say you were ready for anything," muttered Sheppard. Swarming out of the alcove, the marines clustered around the open door as he stepped into the cage. "You ready for the trip upstairs, Steve? Carson's waiting for us."

The wraith didn't respond.

Sheppard took another step, frowning. "Steve?"

Briefly glancing at him, Steve refocused on his hand, staring like he'd never seen it before. As the Major watched, he poked it repeatedly, each time snatching his ungloved fingers away as if they'd been burned. After a silent minute of this, he switched to tapping the pads covering the enzyme-injecting hooks in his fingertips. Then, slowly, he drew a finger across the padded palm, over his feeding slit. Gasping, the wraith snapped his feeding hand back, staring in shock as he held it away from his body, looking, (at least to Sheppard), as if he had no idea what to do with it.

Slightly wigged out, Sheppard stared, skeptically. "Steve, are you okay?"

A dazed glare was his answer, and the wraith's feeding hand twitched like he was resisting the urge to slam it onto Sheppard's chest. Breath hitching, Steve lowered his eyes and wrapped the displaced appendage over his stomach. Still panting slightly, he stalked out of the cell. He paused when he came abreast of Rodney.

Cocking his head, Steve snarled at him. "Is it your fault I'm wearing this?"

Intimidated by the irate glare, Rodney began babbling. "Well, I s-suppose. Since I found it— Indirectly, yes. I found it, so yes. Indirectly, mind—"

The pale lips twisted, expelling a barking huff of shock. "Then I hate you," Steve spat. Whirling away, he stalked towards the alcove, surrendering himself to the clutches of escorting marines. Stunners ready, Ford and Geerman hurried to catch up.

Rodney stared after the partially obscured wraith in surprise. He fell into step beside the Major. "Should I be worried by that? He never spoke to me before."

Sheppard shrugged as they left the holding cell. "Look at it this way," he quipped. "At least you're not the first he'll feed upon."

An angry hiss echoed from the stairwell. "He is now!"

Sheppard winced, "Ouch."