Chapter Two: Bound

"The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel."

-William Shakespeare

"Any partnership demands that we give and give and give

and at the last, as we flop into our graves exhausted,

we are told that we didn't give enough."

-Quentin Crisp

A flurry of clicks and zippers rose as pockets were closed, vests put on and supplies packed. Larson towered over them, monitoring their progress closely. He helped Faith to her feet and tightened one of the straps on her pack.

"Thanks," she said sheepishly.

He smirked at her, and good-naturedly smacked the soldier next to him. "C'mon Corporal, we're set to leave now."

The soldier finished snapping his vest on and saluted him. "Yes sir, Captain."

Larson went to the last member of their team, a nervous man having trouble with his bag. "Alright there Dr. Marshall?" he asked.

The man fumbled with his glasses and straightened them, as he stooped under the weight of his things. "Ye- yes."

"Good. Let's hit it guys… -and lady." He hailed a technician sitting high in the control area, waving his arm. "Dial it up!"

The four made their way to the platform, halting near the center. The elaborate patterns on the Stargate started to light up, locking underneath their corresponding Chevron. The middle ring lit up and a kawooshing wave sprung towards them, then rearward. It collapsed, forming like a wall of water. It shimmered on them as they walked up to it in a line, holding their gear. Captain Larson scanned them over one last time, then stepped through the gate with them.

They emerged on a stone dais, glaring sunlight meeting them. The gate whooshed quietly as it shut off, disconnecting the wormhole from Atlantis. A sea of knee high grass expanded a good distance outward, fenced on the edges by innumerable trees.

"This is promising," said Corporal Damon.

He went down a flight of steps with Larson, followed closely by Faith, then Dr. Marshall. Their boots swished against the tall growth, everyone alert but calm. They heard the occasional chirp break the silence, but the area lay unstirred.

"I wonder what we'll find here," Larson said, somewhat sarcastic.

Marshall took in their surroundings and replied, "What or whoever, they're fairly far away. They must not use the gate regularly."

"Or it's a defensive tactic," said Faith. "Usually, Pegasian civilizations build farther from the Stargate. They associate it with the Wraith and therefore want less to do with it. However they're usually drawn by the economic and traveling advantages."

"Therefore there should be signs of recent activity," Marshall concluded.

"Exactly."

They reached boundary of the trees, finding mostly a tangle of large branches. A cascade of shadows fell from the tall dank trees, mingling with the dark far-reaching undergrowth. They studied the way before them, wondering whether to go on, or if it was possible. Damon removed his sunglasses and squinted at a tree, summoning Faith to him.

"Hey Doc Stu, check this out."

She slunk to his side and scrutinized what he was pointing at. Ahead, a large wooden plack with tight curled writing in red paint was nailed to an old gnarled trunk. Bits here and there were peeled or chipped, making it hard to read.

"What does it say?"

Faith walked forward slowly, attempting to decipher it. "'Only friends here…pass judgment-' I can't read the rest."

Suddenly a branch cracked underfoot, causing Damon and Larson to jump. Guns held high, they skirted her, scoping their surroundings.

"I don't like the looks of this. I think we should scrub the mission."

Dr. Marshall remained several feet away, fiddling with his glasses. "We can't make that determination until we know why it's here."

"Clearly there are people here," Faith said, motioning conspicuously to the sign.

"Well they might not be nice people," said Larson, matter of factly. Faith moved towards the tree, but he grabbed her elbow and marched the team to the gate. "Not so fast missy. We're going to check in with Atlantis."

She tried to wrench her arm free, but he didn't let her go until they reached the DHD.

"That's Dr. Missy to you," she growled.

"Dial it up Marshall," he said, ignoring her.

The scientist jittered slightly, then began sequentially entering the address. He pressed his palm into the middle, causing a series of glyphs to light up. It froze a moment, then faded back to its previous state.

"Um Doug?"

"The wormhole didn't engage," he said blankly.

He attempted it again, with the same result. Larson tapped his foot and urged Faith over.

"You do it."

It didn't work.

"What's wrong? Don't tell me we went to a planet with a broken DHD!"

Marshall examined the device closely and sniffed. "There's nothing wrong with it. It dialed and everything. The wormhole's not establishing because the Atlantis gate must be active."

"But nobody was scheduled to leave after us," said Damon. "Maybe a team is in distress and needed to return early?"

"This team is in distress," said Larson, in frustration.

"No we're not," Faith said, elbowing him. "Why don't we do what we came here to do? I should get a better look at that sign. It might not say what I thought."

"I agree," echoed the other scientist.

The Captain sighed, but relented. "Fine, but caution."

The team returned to the unusual tree, the two soldiers moving along with her, as if glued to her hip. They were not happy about sticking around. Marshall hurried ahead of them to the sign, his notebook in hand. Faith's boot caught a rock and she tripped, getting caught by both men.

"Easy boys," she said, smiling.

In their distraction, they barely noticed a small object whiz by, or the following thunk. Dr. Marshall shouted hysterically, making the trio jolt. The scientist whipped at them, allowing them to see the small stake and fletch of an arrow sticking out of his backpack. Instantly, more arrows flew at him, striking him in both legs and the stomach. Damon hollered in surprise and the three stumbled away from Marshall. Before they knew what was happening, the ground gave way beneath them, a series of loud snaps merging with their yells. A torrent of dirt, plants, wood and rocks tumbled with them into darkness, until they slammed into a compact bottom. A large stone landed alongside Faith, striking her in the forehead. A spike of blackness met her, and she knew no more.

.-.-.-.

The thin band of light across her vision exploded into a bright glare as her eyes fluttered open. A panoply of shapes and colors swam before her, blurry and unfocused. She blinked furiously and moved her hands to rub them, but nothing happened. Her senses slowly returned, and she realized her hands were bound tightly behind her back. Her sight cleared, allowing her to finally see.

Damon was opposite her, slumped tiredly against a wooden wall. He perked when he saw her awake, studying worriedly.

"Heya," he whispered.

A painful throbbing began on the side of her head, and her mind swirled around nauseously. She winced and held still a second. "What the hell happened?"

"We were captured."

"Of course we were," groaned another voice. Larson struggled to sit straight in his corner, where he'd been lying on the floor. "I'm glad you're alive Stuart."

Remembering Marshall at once, she glanced around, but they were the only ones there. They were in some sort of cabin, with crudely hewn furniture and items strewn about, and wooden bars slatted against the windows. A small gap in the doorway showed there was a beam laid against it outside.

Larson gazed at her reproachfully, sensing her thoughts. "They strung Marshall up on a tree near the gate and killed him. I saw it as they took us out of the pit-trap they dug."

"Who are they?"

He shook his head. "No idea-"

He shut up at hearing the rustling of footsteps and a grating noise echoing from the door. The entrance opened, admitting three intimidating men. One was older and huskier than the others, grey hair clumped on top of his head, and his clothing rich. He grunted to a younger skinny sentry, who obediently stood at the door.

His other companion gruffed at them, "Get up."

He kicked the Marines in the ribs and grabbed Faith by the shoulders. Unsteady and anxious, the three stood stonefaced in front of their captors.

"Trespassers," said the old man. He straightened his red leather coat and stared at them inquiringly. "Who are you?"

When they did not answer, the guard punched Damon. He toppled, landing hard on the leg he was obviously favoring.

Larson mumbled to him sympathetically and spoke up. "I am Captain Ernest Larson of the United States Marine Corp. This is Corporal Oliver Damon and Dr. Faith Stuart. The one you killed was Dr. Doug Marshall, a good man."

He scraped his nails against his bearded chin, the corner of his mouth crinkling pleasedly. "He is not dead yet. But you words mean nothing to me Caa-ptan. Why are you here?"

"We're explorers," answered Faith. "We travel through the Stargate seeking friends and knowledge."

The man grasped her wrist in anger, wrenching it hard. "You are soldiers! My men found your weapons. Only our friends know where not to fall!"

"We wish to be friends," she said, her throat tight in pain.

"Outsiders are not accepted here," he bellowed, slapping her. "You are nothing, trespassers!"

"We can help," Damon blurted out, pitying Faith. "We're good friends to have. We've defeated many Wraith."

"The Wraith have not fed on the Unde for generations. Good many have fallen by our hands."

"On foot probably, but not in ships," Damon said astutely. "We have technology of the Ancestors, and advanced weapons. We can help protect you."

His eyes flashed. "The Ancestors are gods. You are pitiful burglars violating our holy grounds."

"We didn't mean to-"

"Enough," he commanded. The guard shoved the trio to the floor. "You will die by starvation; an example to our enemies."

He motioned to the others and stomped out of the room. The door thunked ominously; leaving them sprawled on the floor.

"We're screwed."

.-.-.-.

"We've got to get out of here," said Larson. He got to his knees and tried peering out of a window, with limited success.

"What do you propose we do, MacGyver?" asked Damon.

"Shut up, I'm thinking," he snapped.

Damon rolled his eyes and crashed his butt onto the floor. "This'll take a while. In the meantime could someone conjure up Tylenol? My ankle's killing me."

"It's probably sprained," she said, noticing the way he was holding it.

"I thought as much," the soldier replied.

Faith gazed around the room and restlessly wiggled her leg, unexpectedly feeling a familiar lump in her sock. "Ernest," she hissed. "Come here."

Dolefully he made his way to her side, and said, "Please don't tell me you sprained your ankle too."

She nudged him reprovingly with her toe and lifted her boot towards him.

"Sorry, no handless foot massages yet. I haven't finished taking that class."

She sighed and twisted around, allowing him to see the lump protruding out of her shoe. "I've got a pocket knife in my sock. Now if you want to saw off these ropes and get out of here, I suggest you take it."

His eyes opened wide. "You actually took my advice? I decided I was kidding cause no one listens to me anyways."

"Captain, even you don't listen to you," Damon said, sniggering. "Or we'd be outta here already."

Larson turned around and struggled around her shoe with his bound hands, trying to slide it out. Faith held her breath so she could stay still, the fingers very ticklish. He finally got it into his hands and gripped it assuringly, a smile breaking out on his face.

He looked at her keenly. "If we get out of this, I'll buy you pounds of chocolate and be your love slave."

She snorted and allowed him to shove the open knife into her palm, their backs touching. Damon crawled over to supervise, in case she went too close to their team leader's body.

"Hold fast," Larson instructed. He began vigorously sliding his ropes against the blade, and little by little the fibers frayed. Finally she heard a faint snap, and Larson moved away, shaking his arms free. He took the knife and sawed at her bindings, removing them quickly. She jerked her arms as the rope broke, raising them gloriously past her head. He started on Damon, though the soldier winced several times and shifted uncomfortably.

"Take it easy, Captain."

"No time Corporal." He got him loose then darted to the door, testing it. "Damn, I was hoping for a stroke of stupid luck." He turned to his team, his eyes glinting. "Here's what we've got to do."

.-.-.-.

Faith jumped off the chair, grinning smugly. She went over to Larson and Damon by the door, whispering.

"They fell for it. They don't seem too happy either."

"How many?"

"The same two."

The men tightened their grips on each of their handmade weapons, and gave one to Faith. They'd broken the legs off a table and sharpened them with the pocket knife. They heard footsteps outside and lifting of the beam. The door was flung open, and the two men flew at them. The one with a bow was clubbed over the head, making him go after Faith and Damon. Larson leapt away from the second man, who brandished a dagger at him. He kicked and punched him, in an effort to disable him. Faith dodged her attacker, but lost her weapon, ending up in a hand to hand grapple. Damon hopped out of the way and awkwardly swung at the man, missing entirely. The Captain wrested the knife from his attacker and coldclocked him, then rushed at the other, stabbing him swiftly. The guard fell dead to the floor with a loud thunk. They bent over the fallen, stripping them of their weapons.

"C'mon," Larson hissed.

Faith put her arm under Damon's and helped him limp out of the cabin. Larson slunk ahead, checking for obstacles.

"I can get us back to the Stargate," he said lowly.

They cut through the trees along a dirt road, following it away from their prison. Soon, he pointed out a large row of posts across their route, completely blocking the way ahead.

"The village is that way. The paraded us there earlier. We're going to skirt it."

Suddenly, they heard a loud gunshot ring in the air, automatically making them duck.

"Was that-" Faith stuttered.

"We found our weapons," Larson said brightly.

"Sir," said Damon, grabbing his jacket for support. "We can't risk retrieving them."

The soldier shirked him off, nudging him onto Faith. "We can't risk not getting them. The Gate's going to be guarded."

They sidled in the direction of the noise, and began hearing a panoply of laughter. They knelt among the bushes, the Captain commanding Damon to stay put. He and Faith crawled on, finding the source of disturbance. In the center of a clearing, four men sat over their belongings, going through various pockets and playing with the guns. Larson silently motioned his instructions to Faith, and she crept around to the other side. Readying herself, she ran behind one of the men, bashing him in the head. The three others leapt in surprise, yelling and drawing their weapons. One charged at her, but met her boot and stick. She heard another yell and fall to the ground, Larson's knife in his throat. The last guard decisively raised a gun he'd held, and sporadically fired at Faith. She dove behind a boulder, narrowly missing the bullets. Larson grunted and leapfrogged on the assailant, finishing him off.

He went over to Faith and helped her off the ground, beaming at her. "Good job."

He riffled amongst their stolen equipment, tossing her a vest and Damon's P-90. He supplemented himself, pulled out the rest, and herded back to their teammate. They startled a distraught Damon, who was lying in wait amongst the foliage. Larson gave him a vest and two semi-automatic handguns, but was greeted sourly.

"That's my gun," he said to Faith.

"Quit it. I know how to use it," she sniped, taking him on her shoulder again.

"I'll have to thank your brother for that," he muttered.

Awkwardly they made their way, the Captain leading them through the dense forest. Twenty minutes later, they emerged on the border of the meadow, finding it completely clear.

'Stay down,' Larson motioned to them.

They went further down to search for the Gate, unable to see it from their cover. Their nerves were taut and their muscles strained; their bodies aware of each tiny movement. A few yards farther, they paused, hearing a faint voice.

"He-…lp."

Taken off guard, Larson mouthed to them, 'Marshall."

Quickly they went on, and soon located a familiar spot. Now, a gaping hole was beneath the wooden sign, signaling the loathsome trap and a ghastly sight. The sign was still tacked to the tree, but tied below it was Dr. Marshall. His body was torn and covered in blood, as if beaten horribly. Faith lowered Damon to the ground, while Larson surveyed the surroundings. Getting an all clear, they dashed to his side, examining his wounds. His eyelids opened slowly and he acknowledged them, before he moaned and exhaled in pain.

He stopped moving.

"Get him down," Larson commanded, pulling out a knife.

Hastily they sawed at the ropes and laid their comrade onto the grass. He assayed the scientist's body, while Faith began applying pressure on large wounds. His fingers lid from the man's neck and he desperately faced her.

"No pulse, we need to do something-"

Suddenly, a thunderous crack sounded overhead and two figures sprung out of the branches, landing atop the pair. Instinctively Faith screamed and kicked against the hulking body, flailing and struggling to rise. Her fingernails met his cheeks, but halfway onto her knees, a pain shot into her shoulder, as a knife pierced her skin. She rolled and smashed her fist at the attacker, her left arm in wrenching agony. The rocky soil scraped against her as she strove against the knife. With her free hand she clawed for a nearby stone, wriggling closer and closer. Finally she gripped it, and slammed it into his head, knocking him unconscious.

"Stuart," Larson gasped.

He slugged his way over and pushed the man off, easing her up. She seethed at his touch and removed her jacket, feeling the warm pooling of blood on her back.

"God," he murmured. He patted her rewardingly and shoved a packet of gauze at her, returning to Marshall's side.

"He's dead," he said, falling back from the corpse.

Faith messily wrapped a bandage over her shoulder, trying to repress the urge to cry.

Damon came up behind them, dragging himself along. "I'm sorry guys."

Larson looked at them soberly, defeat and anger simmering in his eyes. "Stuart, take Damon. I'll take Marshall." She hesitated, but he said pointedly, "Now!"

With some assistance, she donned her vest and jacket, then took Damon on her good shoulder. The team endeavored for the Stargate, walking carefully in case there were more traps. Damon entered his IDC and they went through the open wormhole, not looking back.

.-.-.-.

The gateroom was silent and the lights low, a serene glow settling over the city for the evening. Unexpectedly, the glyphs on the Stargate began to cycle, and an open wormhole formed.

A man's voice echoed in the room, "Off-world activation. Receiving Corporal Damon's IDC."

"Lower the shield," replied Dr. Weir.

A moment later, Larson came backwards through the portal, half dragging Dr. Marshall with him. His team members emerged next to him, striving to walk properly. The Captain respectfully laid the scientist on the floor, covering him with his jacket.

He turned to Damon and Faith, saying sternly, "Both of you. Infirmary."

They complied, limping out of the gateroom as people began surrounding Larson.

.-.-.-.

The clean linen sheets of the hospital area loomed invitingly in front of them as they entered. Damon's boot clopped irregularly on the floor as Faith brought him to a bed, burdened with his weight. Dr. Beckett and Dr. Greene descended on the pair, appearing quite concerned.

"What happened to you?"

She clenched her teeth and took off her vest, shaking her head. Carson saw the red stain on the jacket, and grabbed her hand, motoring her towards an empty bed.

"Sit down."

"But Oliver, he sprained his ankle. Larson's hurt. Marshall-"

"Shh, love," he said, gently removing her jacket.

He freed a trickle of blood as he removed her crude bandage and slid aside her tank top. He handed her gauze and picked through a nearby drawer, allowing her a moment of stillness.

"Are you okay?"

She lifted her head and saw the next bed over was occupied by none other than Major John Sheppard.

"I dunno," she said hoarsely.

Carson threw out gauze and pressed something cold against her wound.

"This is deep. You're going to need stitches."

She nodded weakly and gripped the bed as he started working on her.

"How did this-"

"I was stabbed," she said, angrily recalling the attack.

Sheppard sat up in bed, watching her intensely. "You were attacked?"

"Yes, on M49-GF7." She caught sight of the bandage on his neck. "You were too?"

His eyes darkened. "It's been a hard day for a lot of us."

She froze, feeling the suture needle begin its work.

Beckett patted her good shoulder a minute later. "Didn't flinch at all. Does it hurt anywhere else?" She parted her hair and showed him where she'd hit her head, then where she'd scraped her side. He rolled up the bottom of the shirt, shaking his head. "You've got a nasty abrasion there."

"I could do with some aspirin," she said hopefully.

"You seem like you could use a cleaning up," he said.

She peered at her clothes and noticed she was caked with mud and blood.

"Can I leave then?" she asked, longing for her bed.

Sheppard chuckled, but Beckett gave him the evil eye. "Not a chance. You've lost a good deal of blood, and may have a concussion. Wash up here. You're staying."

At that moment, the doors slid open to the infirmary, and Dr. Weir came in, escorting Larson.

"Carson," she said. "Take care of Captain Larson, and make sure he doesn't leave until he's okay. He keeps trying to debrief me."

Dr. Greene tried to commandeer him, but he swerved towards Sheppard and Faith.

He stopped in front of her. "Faith, are you alright?" he asked, seeming a bit frantic.

"I'm good."

He was hunched so pathetically, that Faith leaned forward and hugged him. He drew back slightly, but returned the embrace. Sheppard coughed behind them and he jumped, finally noticing his superior officer.

"Major, sir. What are you doing in here?"

"Long story," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "You?"

"Long story sir."

Dr. Greene grabbed Larson and managed to tug him away, placing him near Damon. The two soldiers exchanged a few words, then settled in their beds.

A half hour later, Faith found herself clean and ravenously eating in her infirmary bed. She was starving, but no longer sore. Beckett had given her something for the pain, finally stopping her headache and muscle complaints. Sheppard watched her eat interestedly, enviously eyeing her cup of blue jello.

"Feeling better?" he joked.

She nodded and eagerly ate another bite. He shifted in his bed, glancing at the now sleeping Damon and Larson.

"Where's the fourth member of your team? Dr. M…?"

She paused, putting down her spoon and not looking at him. "Dr. Marshall. He died."

"Oh. That sucks."

"Yeah," she said quietly.

- -

A/N: I did have mixed feelings about posting this story. It's definitely a departure from my usual mode. I know people are reading it, I've gotten nigh 200 hits already. Review, or else. I was going to put it on another account, but I feel honor bound to put all my work under my usual pen name no matter what it is. Just say "hi," or even "this doesn't suck" and I'll be satisfied, okay? I'm not out to plagiarize Atlantis, of course everything belongs to such and such. Certain episodes though, provide good background for my stuff.