Thank you for reading so far! Chapter Two's finally up. Sorry for the wait. It was a bit longer than I initially expected. (I tweaked a few places in Chapter One also, nothing big though.)

Disclaimer: I still don't 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 Two: The Glove Giveth

3 years, 50 weeks earlier

Getting up, Carson abandoned the collection of microscopes, cell cultures, and test tubes cluttering his workbench and hurried to the entrance of Atlantis's infirmary. He ushered the newly-arrived marines and their alien ward to a sunny spot by the expansive room's largest window. "An' how's our unwilling guest today?" Carson asked, gesturing for the surrounded wraith to seat himself on the waiting bed.

Steve glanced at his heavily armed escort, then at the nearby, ocean view. After taking in the whole infirmary, his greenish eyes finally flicked to the expectantly watching doctor. The wraith cocked his head. "As well as can be anticipated," he bared his teeth in a slightly disturbing, but pleasantly-intended, grin. "Perhaps if I were allowed a bath?"

Carson blinked, surprised. "A bath, ye say?"

"Yes. I'm beginning to feel distinctly unclean."

Thinking for a moment, the doctor shrugged. "Ah don't see why not. Ah'll ask the Major and Elizabeth for ye. Shouldn't be too hard tae arrange."

Apparently satisfied with that answer, the wraith pulled back his non-glove-obstructed sleeve and settled himself on the bed. Breathing deeply, he hissed in contentment as he was engulfed by the sunlight he'd requested yesterday.

-------------------------------------------------

In Elizabeth Weir's office, the head of the Atlantis expedition reached for the laptop displaying live video feed from the infirmary and snapped the volume off.

"I see what you mean, Major," Elizabeth said. She straightened and turned to face the assembled team. "He certainly appears docile."

Sheppard snapped his fingers. "Docile! That's the word I was looking for!"

"A little TOO docile, if you ask me," Rodney muttered.

Dr. Weir raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate, Rodney?"

Agitated, Dr. McKay lowered his data pad. "He went from, 'I hate you! You're the first I'll feed upon,' to ignoring me completely in the space of a day. Grudges don't evaporate like that. That wraith's experiencing serious mood swings—"

"And you're just an expert on wraith mood swings," Sheppard said.

Rodney stiffened. "No need to be sarcastic. I was merely pointing out that—"

Sheppard started talking over him. "That, aside from one exception—"

"One NOTABLE exception."

"—the prisoner has been treating you the way he always has."

"Just because YOU don't find random death threats disturbing—"

"Major Sheppard has a point, Rodney," Elizabeth interrupted, "Unresponsiveness has been our guest's normal reaction to you. Why does it bother you now?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because now I'm the only one he IS ignoring?"

Elizabeth observed her senior scientist seriously. "Explain."

Rodney sighed in annoyance, "Well, he watches everybody else."

"Yes," Dr. Weir nodded, "Bates mentioned that in his report."

"But the minute I step in the room, he turns his back and walks away."

"Again," pressed Elizabeth, "this bothers you?"

Rodney rolled his eyes in exasperation. "YES! He threatened my life, and now he's treating me differently from everyone else! Of course I'm bothered! Bothered is an appropriate response in this situation—"

"He wants you to stalk him."

Four pairs of puzzled eyes fastened on Major Sheppard. McKay sputtered disbelievingly, "What?"

Sheppard smiled innocently at him. "I said, he wants you to stalk him."

"Yes, yes, I heard that" the scientist waved it off, "What I want to know is why on Earth you'd suggest it in the first place?"

"Well," Sheppard tapped his knee and looked at the laptop, "whenever he turns his back on me, I stalk him and he starts talking."

Interested, Elizabeth cocked her head, "Really?"

"Yeah," Sheppard shrugged, "I think it's a way of initiating conversation or something."

"He turns his back on you, too?" McKay was still looking at Sheppard disbelievingly. "And you stalk him?"

"All the time," the Major raised an eyebrow, "Why, jealous, McKay?"

Rodney scoffed. "No, that idea is utterly ridiculous. If anything, I'm relieved. I'm not being singled out anymore."

"No, you've only joined the, 'first to be fed upon,' club."

"Very funny," Dr. McKay fidgeted with his data pad, then glanced at Sheppard distractedly. "So you think stalking a starving wraith will make it talk to me?"

Sheppard shrugged noncommittally. "It's worth a shot, anyway."

"What could Steve possibly want to say to me?"

"How on Earth should I know!"

Elizabeth raised her voice. "Gentlemen, please. As fascinating as this conversation is, we are getting nowhere." Standing, she walked around to the front of her desk. "This meeting was called to discuss unexpected behavior changes in our guest. Let's try to stay on topic." Her gaze slid meaningfully across Rodney McKay and John Sheppard, touched briefly upon a distinctly uncomfortable looking Lieutenant Aiden Ford, and finally came to rest on Teyla Emmagen. "Teyla, why don't you start?"

The Athosian woman nodded. "Very well. Unlike Dr. McKay and Major Sheppard, I haven't had much contact with our prisoner beyond participating in his original capture. I have, however, reviewed the tapes Dr. Weir gave me."

"Tapes?" Startled, McKay looked at Elizabeth. "I didn't get any tapes."

Elizabeth stared at him, "You didn't need any."

"They contained footage of the prisoner in his cell," Teyla said.

"Oh," McKay subsided, "That's all right then."

The group's attention refocused on the Athosian. "And your opinion after viewing those tapes?" Elizabeth Weir prompted.

Teyla shifted uneasily. "Analyzing prisoners is not my area of expertise."

Elizabeth nodded. "We understand that, but you have more experience with wraith than anyone else in this city. Any insight will be gratefully appreciated."

The toffee-skinned woman sighed. "In that case, I would like to start off by bringing our attention back to Dr. McKay's original point."

"I have a point? Could've fooled me. I could've sworn Sheppard eviscerated it."

"Which, I believe," Teyla continued, "was that he finds the wraith's change in demeanor suspicious." She looked at Rodney questioningly. "Am I right?"

The scientist sniffed. "Alarming is more accurate."

Dr. Weir leaned back, propping herself on her desk. "And you, Teyla? Do you find our prisoner's current demeanor 'alarming,' also?"

The Athosian considered her answer thoughtfully. "The change is worrisome, I admit. However, I must confess that I am mostly puzzled." Frowning Teyla gestured to the laptop, where the figures of Steve and Dr. Beckett were still silently moving across the screen. "What we just saw is not the sort of behavior I'd expect from a being facing certain death. Something about our prisoner has changed."

"I agree," nodded Elizabeth.

"Ditto," Lieutenant Ford seconded.

"Same here," Sheppard gave a brief wave.

Rodney McKay looked at them all in angry bewilderment. "Why the Hell was I being given such a hard time five minutes ago, then!?"

"Because the perspective you were demonstrating was lacking, Rodney."

Grinning, Sheppard jerked his thumb at Dr. Weir. "What she said."

"Well, hardy har har. Forgive me for being self-centric."

"If I may continue?" asked Teyla.

"Like you actually expect anything else from me," Rodney muttered. He quieted when the Athosian raised her eyebrows at him.

"At Dr. Weir's request, I reviewed tapes of the prisoner from several different times. While doing so, I observed a marked difference in his body language between the last two weeks and the weeks initially following his capture."

"And that difference is?" Elizabeth prompted.

Teyla shrugged, a gesture that somehow managed to look both serene and perplexed. "I would say stress. In the earlier tapes, there is a tension in his posture. His manner is clipped and confrontational, and his movements betray a mounting desperation. I believe I also saw signs of growing anxiety."

"Mounting desperation? Anxiety?" Voice cracking, Dr. McKay turned to Teyla in skeptical confusion. "You got all that from watching him pace and meditate?"

"Among other things," Teyla inclined her head, "Yes."

Looking about, McKay huffed, a sharp sound of disbelief, "How?"

The Athosian raised her eyebrows again. "Have you watched the captive meditate?"

"Course not," snorted the scientist. "That's Ford's job. I have better things to do."

Teyla looked to Ford. The Lieutenant shook his head. "Don't draw me in. Steve hasn't meditated on my shifts lately. I don't remember much."

Closing her eyes, Teyla smiled. "You illustrate my point exactly. He has not meditated in the recent tapes nearly as often as the early ones." She turned back to Rodney. "This tells me that the wraith no longer feels a frequent need to calm his mind. It suggests that his anxiety has decreased."

"Huh," Rodney pursed his lips, "I suppose that makes sense…"

"I suppose it does," Sheppard smiled approvingly, "Thank you, Teyla, that was very logical."

"You are welcome, Major." Teyla looked at Elizabeth again. "On the recent tapes, aside from the decrease in meditation, I also noticed a marked relaxation in the wraith's posture. His manner grows less hostile by the day, and the curiosity he's displaying towards his surroundings would, in a human, be taken both to denote a degree of comfort, and as a sign of wellbeing."

Sheppard smiled even wider. "Now you're just going psychologist on us."

Dr. Weir rubbed her chin. "You say he 'grows' less hostile. You believe his change in demeanor is ongoing?"

Teyla nodded, "Yes." She indicated the laptop with a gesture, "He explores Atlantis's infirmary and Dr. Beckett's personality as we speak."

"While last week," Elizabeth added thoughtfully, "he barely acknowledged Carson's presence. Even during the taking of samples…"

A few feet away, Lieutenant Ford shuddered, "Yeah, that was freaky."

Straightening, Dr. Weir clasped her hands behind her back. "One last question. If the change in the wraith's behavior is traceable, when did it begin?"

"That's easy," The conclusion of Teyla's study was pronounced with confidence. "It began the day after Major Sheppard and Dr. McKay put the glove on him."

"You're sure of this?"

"The transition is quite clear."

Elizabeth picked up a folder lying on her desk, by the laptop. "Thank you Teyla. It so happens that Dr. Heightmeyer, who also reviewed those tapes, agrees with you." Her dark eyes traveled one by one across the attentive quartet seated in her office. "Does anyone have anything else to add to Miss Emmagen's assessment?"

"I think Teyla's just about covered it," Sheppard said.

"And I'm just overflowing with socially informative commentary," McKay quipped. "Don't even bother looking at me."

"What about you, Lieutenant? You've guarded the prisoner frequently."

Resting his elbows on his knees, Lieutenant Ford, glanced from Dr. Weir to Teyla, and then back again. "I think she hit the nail on the Ma'am. Giving Steve the glove was definitely when the creepy staring began."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Creepy staring?"

"He means the 'watching,'" supplied Sheppard.

"Ah, from Bates's report," Dr. Weir switched the folder she'd picked up for another. "I must confess, I'm curious about this."

"No offense, Ma'am," Ford protested, "but that's not 'watching.' I don't care what Bates said in that. It's creepy staring."

"I take it you're one of the prisoner's targets?"

"Not one of the targets. THE target. Gives me the freakin' willies."

Sheppard peered at Ford with exaggerated surprise. "You're just easily disturbed, aren't you, Lieutenant?"

"It's in my job description, Sir." Snapping to attention, Ford stared at the far wall. "Of course, with all due respect, you'd probably freak a bit too, Sir, if a crazy, green-skinned alien spent the whole time it was being probed by needles staring at you."

Major Sheppard conceded with a shrug, "True. At ease, soldier."

In the chair beside Ford, Rodney muttered under his breath, "Of course, the easily disturbed part's probably why he's targeting you…"

"What was that?..."

"Nothing, Lieutenant."

"So, this 'creepy staring,'" Dr. Weir was focused on Ford, "It started after the glove? What exactly does it entail?"

"It's just what it sounds like, Ma'am. Creepy staring." Spreading two fingers in a 'V,' Ford demonstrated. "He stares, straight at you. No blinking, no words. Nothing. Just stares. Watching every move you make. Then, every once in while, right when you're finally getting used to it?" Ford paused, straight-faced, then lowered his hand. "He grins."

Elizabeth shivered. "That does sound creepy."

The Lieutenant nodded enthusiastically. "It is! When I got off duty the first time it happened, I swore the next time I looked in a mirror I'd see holes in my head."

"He grins?" Rodney repeated with disgust. "What kind of a punch line is that?"

Sheppard poked Dr. McKay in the knee. "It's not a punch line. I've seen Steve do it. And if you weren't so busy ignoring his requests to stalk him, you'd probably have been creeped out by it now, too. Ford's right. The grin is pretty unsettling."

Lieutenant Ford chuckled. "Yeah, man. Wraith teeth are weird."

"Indeed," agreed Teyla.

Dr. Weir tapped the folder containing Bates's report on her chest. "So, creepy wraith teeth aside. Are we all agreed the glove is the source of the odd behavior?"

A unanimous chorus of, "Yes," filled the office of Atlantis's expedition leader.

"All right, that brings us to our next order of business." Moving to the glass wall overlooking the Gateroom, Elizabeth contemplated the Stargate a moment before she turned back. "What exactly is that glove, and why has it affected the wraith like this?"

Silence invaded the room. Then…

"I do have a few theories—"

Ford raised his hand. "I have a theory too, Ma'am"

"And I have several hundred," Dr. Mckay snapped, "But unfortunately the lab we discovered the device in is so heavily damaged, I have no way of figuring out which one's right."

"Oh, so NOW it's an ancient device!"

Holding up a hand for silence, Dr. Weir looked at McKay. "I take it you were unable to salvage anything?"

"Did anybody hear what I just said? No. The data's completely irretrievable."

Teyla glanced quizzically from the irate scientist to Dr. Weir. "What data?"

Dr. Mckay sighed in annoyance. "The lab we discovered the glove, device, thing in, is located in one of the areas of Atlantis that was flooded by shield failure. It's a mess of water damage. The glove's lockbox was the only thing that survived."

"But surely, after it dried out—"

"No, no, no," Rodney shook his head, "Not that type of water damage. If it were that easy, we could blow-dry the equipment and reboot everything. No, I'm talking massive water damage. A hundred years at the least. The wiring is nothing but gooey clumps of corroded metal, and the physical degradation of the memory systems permanently corrupted the data within. Barely a byte survived."

"We did find a cool, rotting skeleton, though," Sheppard added.

Teyla raised an eyebrow, "A rotting skeleton…?"

"Yeah, in a stasis pod. It was mostly liquefied, but Carson was able to identify it as wraith."

"That sounds quite disgusting," Teyla frowned. "Why would the ancients have been keeping a wraith…?"

Sheppard shrugged. "No idea, no data. But that's not the best part. Get this. That rotting, liquefied wraith? It was wearing a rotting, partially liquefied glove."

"Which is where I got the idea," Rodney interrupted, "that the glove was a restraint. The ancients were obviously experimenting on him."

"Hence our decision to put the intact glove on Steve."

"Which brings us full circle," Rodney continued, as if Sheppard hadn't spoken, "back to my theory about what the glove's actually doing." The scientist fell silent.

"And that theory is?" Elizabeth finally prompted.

Dr. McKay fidgeted. "Mind controlling drugs."

Everyone stared.

"I know, I know. It sounds crazy. But it's the best I've got now. Our equipment made no progress, whatsoever, analyzing it, and its energy signature is totally benign. Not to mention unique. I've no idea what mechanics it's operating on, and as much as it hurts to admit, when all real science fails, voodoo science is what's left."

Dr. Weir frowned at the babbling physicist, "You forget, Rodney, Dr. Beckett examined the glove too. He didn't find any trace of drugs on it."

"No, but he couldn't get inside it. Nobody could. The drugs could be concealed in the material of the wristband, or the palm pads, or… or those glowy bead things."

"Okay," Elizabeth conceded, "let's say the drugs do exist. What are they for?"

"Rendering him docile, of course," Rodney grinned excitedly, "The drugs reduce his negative impulses and dull his hunger, making him easier to handle."

"And the gradual behavior change Teyla noted?"

"I thought of that too. The drugs don't work instantly. They hang out in his system, slowly building up and exponentially increasing the effect. Like long-term anti-depressants. You know how Bates's report says the beads glow brighter sometimes?"

Elizabeth nodded, "I did."

Rodney's grin turned triumphant, "That's when the glove's dosing him."

Nodding, Dr. Weir frowned thoughtfully, "It's a good idea Rodney, however you've overlooked one important thing."

"What? What did I overlook?"

"If the drugs are building up in the wraith's body, why has Dr. Beckett found no traces of foreign substances in our guest's cell samples?"

Dr. McKay instantly deflated, "Damn! I should've read the voodoo report too."

"Okay," Elizabeth turned to the others, "Who's next?"

Lieutenant Ford raised his hand again, "I have an idea, Ma'am. It's a sort of mind control one, like Dr. McKay's—"

"Copy cat," the scientist muttered.

Ford shot Rodney a nervous glance, "—only it doesn't involve drugs."

"What does it involve, Lieutenant?"

"Parasites, Ma'am."

Dr. Weir cocked her head intrigued, and Major Sheppard looked impressed.

"Parasites, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Parasites, like the Goauld," encouraged, Lieutenant Ford continued, demonstrating with his hands the same way he'd mimed the staring. "Only they're not regular parasites. They're energy. The ancients trapped them in the glove for studying. It's a containment device, see? Like the thing the black shadow came out of, only smaller. And the parasites can only infect the wraith wearing it. So when Steve put it on, the parasites entered his feeding slit and took control of his brain. The behavior change is because the parasites are bad at mimicking him."

"So you're saying, Steve isn't really Steve anymore." Elizabeth frowned.

"No Ma'am," Ford emphatically shook his head. "He's trapped in his mind. The parasites are moving his body, talking with his voice. It may look like Steve on the outside, but it's not. It's the parasites. They're looking out at us from his eyes. Watching. And waiting. Studying us," Ford's eyes widened as he lowered his voice spookily, "Watching us, the way the ancients used to watch them."

"You're really hung up on the creepy staring, aren't you Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Ma'am," said Aiden Ford, straightening, "And not ashamed to admit it."

"I can see that." Dr. Weir sighed. "Unfortunately the parasite theory has the same problem as Rodney's mind control drugs. Carson's scans of our guest's brain show no significant change in neural activity. Mind controlling energy parasites would've shown up by now." Frustrated, she looked to Sheppard and Teyla.

Sheppard grinned smugly, "I have one that can't be debunked by Carson."

"Go on."

"It also involves mind control—"

"Copy cat," muttered Lieutenant Ford and Rodney.

"But it doesn't involve drugs or parasites."

Elizabeth nodded, "What does it involve then?"

Sheppard smiled broadly. "A mental interface that responds to wraith DNA, like the ATA gene technology." He leaned forward, "When a wraith puts it on, it activates, restrains his feeding hand, and links with him telepathically. It starts sending his mind signals, subtly, of course, so he doesn't realize he's being manipulated. It tells him he's safe, so he'll act less aggressive, and makes him feel full while suggesting he ignore the fact that he hasn't actually eaten anyone lately." Sheppard looked at Elizabeth proudly, "Bit more believable than body snatchers and voodoo drugs."

Rodney snorted, "Yes, except that it can be debunked by MY report instead of Carson's. Mental interfaces give off a unique energy signature when in use. I'd have detected it by now if the glove was telepathically active."

"So the Major's theory is impossible too," Dr. Weir sighed.

"Dr. Weir, if I may?" Teyla Emmagen looked at her teammates, then continued when Elizabeth nodded. "What if we are over thinking this?"

Rodney scoffed, "That's impossible."

"We're having this meeting in a 10,000 year old alien city, Rodney," Elizabeth chided, "Nothing's impossible. Please continue, Teyla."

Teyla smiled at her gratefully, "What if the glove really is nothing but a restraint?"

Major Sheppard looked thoughtful, "Back to the simple glove theory…"

"Okay, so the glove's a restraint once more," Dr. Weir returned to her desk and looked pointedly at the laptop. "Why would a restraint affect Steve's behavior like this?"

"Yeah," Lieutenant Ford said, "I mean, he was already in a cage. Gloves are a completely different league from that."

"Yeah," Sheppard added, "JV B league."

"But he does not have the use of his feeding hand anymore," Teyla explained.

Rodney looked confused, "Why should that matter? He wasn't using it anyway."

"But it was an option."

"And now we've taken it," Elizabeth nodded, "I see where you're going."

"Well, I don't," Dr. McKay snapped.

The Athosian woman patiently explained herself. "It is not possible to completely disarm a wraith—"

"I wouldn't say THAT," Sheppard interrupted, "There's always physical dismemberment."

"It is not possible to HUMANELY disarm a wraith," Teyla qualified, raising an eyebrow. "Consider. Our prisoner may have lived for centuries, but for all his experience, he has never been without a weapon."

"And you think he's feeling vulnerable," Dr. Weir said.

Teyla nodded, "I think that is very likely."

Dr. McKay snorted disbelievingly, "Our wraith feels vulnerable. I don't believe that for a microsecond. He's ten times as strong and twice as fast as anyone else in Atlantis. His entire body is a deadly weapon. How could he possibly feel vulnerable?"

"Because he can't feed anymore, Rodney," Dr. Weir said.

"Like I said before," Rodney sniped, "He wasn't feeding anyway."

"But now he is physically unable to do so," Teyla explained. "Even if he were to escape, he would still starve. He cannot remove the glove. He's unable to destroy it, and even if he somehow managed to get back to his hive, there's no guarantee that his brethren would be able to get it off for him. He is in a very difficult position."

"He could still cause considerable damage here," Rodney said.

"But it wouldn't do him any good to do so."

Elizabeth stared thoughtfully at the silent image of the wraith being examined by Carson on the laptop's screen. "He knows the glove is ATA activated, and he's smart enough to guess removing it requires the gene too."

Major Sheppard frowned, "So he decides to play nice in order to convince us that he's not a threat in the hopes that we'll eventually remove it."

Teyla nodded, "That is my belief."

"A desperate ploy, seeing as he faces impending starvation," Elizabeth mused.

"Wraith are very patient," Teyla said.

"And Carson has no idea how long they go between feedings," Sheppard added, "For all we know, he could have plenty of time to play out an elaborate ruse."

Lieutenant Ford looked at the laptop uneasily, "That's a disturbing thought, Sir."

"I agree, Lieutenant." Dr. Weir leaned back against her desk, blocking everyone's view of the laptop. "Does anyone have any evidence that might support or dispute Teyla's theory?" Sheppard and Lieutenant Ford both shook their heads.

There was a moment of silence, then… "Unfortunately, no," Dr. McKay grudgingly admitted, "I'd play nice to get my muzzle taken off too."

Elizabeth set Bates's report back on her desk as Teyla nodded politely in acknowledgment of the implied compliment. "In that case, I think this discussion is over. Unless anyone has anything else they'd like to add…?"

Silence accompanied by a quartet of shaking heads.

"Okay then," Dr. Weir said, "In that case, I'll conclude this meeting. Our guest is cooperating, and the ancient device doesn't seem to be causing him harm, so I see no reason to remove it." She nodded decisively, "The glove stays, for now. We'll continue monitoring Steve's behavior. If he's playing a waiting game, I want to see how far he's willing to go." Circling her desk, Atlantis's leader took a seat and turned the laptop about to face her. Elizabeth surveyed the room, "Thank you, everyone, for your observations. You've given me much to think on. You are dismissed."

Chairs scraped softly across the floor as Sheppard and his team rose to leave.

"Major, do you have a moment?" Elizabeth asked.

"Sure," Major Sheppard stopped at the door, hanging back as the others filed out.

Dr. Weir waited until Dr. McKay, Ford, and Teyla were out of earshot. "Close the door and take a seat, John."

Quirking an eyebrow in puzzlement, Sheppard complied. He pulled the chair he'd used earlier close to the desk, so he was sitting across from her.

"What do you think?"

"What do I think about the discussion, or what do I think about Steve's creepy personality change?"

Elizabeth smiled, "Either."

Sheppard shrugged, "I suppose they're connected, aren't they?" Leaning back, he crossed a leg over one knee. "From what I've seen, Teyla's on the right track. Steve isn't being coerced by weird tech. He's cooperating because he wants to."

"But you don't agree with her reasoning," Dr. Weir said, noting the hint of skepticism on his face.

"No," Sheppard frowned, "By now he's figured out that he can't escape. McKay is right. Taking away his feeding hand shouldn't matter."

"Then why IS he cooperating?"

"I don't know," Sheppard shook his head, frustrated, "And I'd like to add, cooperating is a strong word for the situation. It's not like Steve is bending over backwards to please us. It's more like he's giving quarter, grudgingly. He's just as disdainful and disagreeable as he was three weeks ago."

"But he IS giving quarter."

"Yes, in a stalking, wraithy sort of way, he is."

Clasping her hands, Dr. Weir leaned her elbows on her desk and rested her chin on her thumbs. "But is it enough?"

Sheppard stared at her, puzzled, "Enough for what?"

Elizabeth glanced pointedly at the stack of reports between them. "Dr. Beckett informs me that his work with the Hoffans is progressing quickly. They're very close to replicating the reconstructed protein in bulk, and the delivery system is developing similarly. You told the Hoffans about Steve—"

"Every so often I consider maybe regretting that."

"—What do you think they'll ask to do when the prototype is finished?"

Major Sheppard tapped his knee, "They'll want to test it on him."

Dr. Weir nodded, "Given the obsessively reckless mindset they display, I think that's very likely."

"Likely is an inappropriate term," Sheppard quipped, "I'd go with certainty."

"Tell me, John," Elizabeth's dark eyes stared earnestly at him, "When they do ask for access to him, will you support granting it?"

Meeting her gaze, Major Sheppard took a deep breath. Then he looked away, letting it out in a frustrated sigh, "If you'd asked me that two weeks ago, I'd have answered with an unhesitating, 'Yes.'" Suddenly agitated, he pushed his chair back and got up. "Heck, even two days ago, I'd have said that."

"And now…?" Dr. Weir watched as Sheppard began pacing around the small room, waiting patiently for her second in command to put his thoughts in order.

Finally Sheppard stopped. He surveyed the Gateroom through the glass wall for a moment. Then he turned to face her. His confident voice was perplexed. "Did I tell you Steve actually volunteered information yesterday?"

Elizabeth nodded, "Your report did mention that."

"I mean, it wasn't much," Sheppard continued, "Nothing groundbreaking or anything. Common sense could've predicted most of it."

"You're referring to all the hives waking up and culling their territories in preparation for coming after us," Elizabeth said.

Sheppard nodded, "Yeah, but my point is I didn't even ask."

"Go on."

"I walked in the room, started circling the cage, like I've done every day since we captured him, and before I even ask what his name is, he starts talking." Sheppard scratched his head, "He had no incentive. He asked for nothing in return."

"But he talked anyway."

"Yeah. Answering a question I'd asked weeks ago." Mussing his hair, Sheppard skipped back to his chair and plopped into it. He leaned across the desk and stared intently at Elizabeth. "Something has changed. Interrogating prisoners is a psychological power struggle. The power of life or death over him, vs. the power to take vital information to the grave. 'Til recently Steve's been acting like he expects to die, no matter what. No reason to learn about us. No reason to expect better treatment. He kept silent, being deliberating vague and unhelpful. But now? Now he's watching us like hawks, volunteering information, and asking Carson for baths and sunlight. He's acting like there's a structure he can work within to better himself. The way I see it, in Steve's mind, a new element has been introduced to the power struggle."

Dr. Weir frowned, "But you don't know what it is?"

Major Sheppard shook his head, "I haven't a clue. But it's working in our favor."

Elizabeth cocked her head, "How do you figure?"

"It's just a feeling I get…" Sheppard pursed his lips, as if wrestling with a mind-boggling dilemma. He crossed his arms, "Okay, try this. It's like I'm playing Go Fish."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"I know, I know. Bear with me. It's like I'm playing Go Fish, and I'm holding a wild card, only I don't remember putting it in the deck. I don't know what it's for, or how many there are, but I can tell from the way my opponent is playing that he knows I'm holding it. So I'm thinking, why hasn't he asked for it?"

"I assume the wild card represents the glove?" Elizabeth interrupted.

"Yeah," Sheppard tapped Bates's report, "So, going back to my analogy, I'm sitting there, looking at my cards, wondering. Can I use it with my three of a kind? Or are there enough wild cards for a book? He's obviously waiting to see what I'll do. Should I ask for it? But if I ask and there aren't, he could get something from me. By now he knows everything I'm holding, and since the game is halfway over, he's likely to draw something I want soon. Is the wild card important enough to risk losing my three of a kind for? And what if asking for it defeats its purpose, rendering it useless? There aren't wild cards in Go Fish, so I'm obviously playing with new rules."

Dr. Weir was nodding, "But you don't know what the new rules are."

"No, and the only way I can find out is by taking cues from my opponent."

"A being motivated by alien psychology that we can't even pretend to understand at this point," Elizabeth smiled ruefully. "That's a difficult game you're playing, John."

"I know. And it gets even more confusing. While I'm playing it safe, deciding what to do with the wild card, my opponent stops making books. He starts holding stuff. Stuff I want. Stuff he knows I'll ask for. Deliberately letting me advance."

"So you're saying Atlantis is winning?"

Sheppard shook his head, "Not quite. More like heading towards a sort of compromise. Steve collected a lot of points earlier. The more I learn about the new rules, the less confident I am that the game will result in a clear winner or loser."

Elizabeth frowned, "So we're heading for a tie."

Sheppard nodded tentatively, "You could say that, yeah."

"I see," Dr. Weir absently fingered a corner of the nearest folder. "And do the benefits of a tie with Steve outweigh the benefits of winning our hand against the Hoffans?"

"Yes. Definitely," Sheppard's reply was unhesitatingly quick, but he qualified it with an emphatic, "But only if he continues holding cards for me."

"And there's no way of knowing if he'll volunteer information again," Elizabeth said, "Or whether what he volunteers will be useful…"

"Exactly," Sheppard scratched his chin, "It's a gamble. Do we bet on the power of the wild card and see what happens? Or do we play it safe and go for the sure win?"

"There in lies the dilemma," Elizabeth murmured. "The cooperation of a wraith could provide us with a wealth of knowledge and tactical advantage."

"But the Hoffans' drug could too."

Hooking her wavy hair behind an ear, Dr. Weir glanced at her laptop, "Which brings us to my original question. How powerful is the wild card? What exactly was Dr. McKay's glove designed for?" Pursing her lips, Atlantis's leader turned the laptop sideways, so they both could see the screen. "More importantly, how do we find out?"

Glancing at her quizzically, Sheppard watched the screen silently for a moment. Then… "Beats me. We could always ask Steve, but that could undermine our bargaining position. He'd know more about our hand."

"And that brings me to something that bothers me, John," Elizabeth stood and walked to the transparent wall, surveying the Gateroom again. "Why IS there a bargaining position? This psychological power struggle… You said Steve's acting to better himself. That there's a structure he's working within." Dr. Weir turned, skewering John Sheppard with the intensity of her hazel stare. "What structure," she slowly asked, "can a starving wraith use to his benefit if he knows he's as good as dead?"

"How should I know? I'm not a starving wraith!"

"You're not listening, John," Dr. Weir pressed. "Why better the conditions of your captivity if you won't be around to enjoy them?"

"You think he sees a way to avoid death?" Major Sheppard twisted in his chair to face her, looking utterly perplexed, "How's that work? We've got nothing to feed him."

Dr. Weir raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Sheppard snapped, "We're not into sacrifi—" The Major's mouth dropped open as his eyes widened in shock. His lips worked silently a few seconds. Abruptly he spun to face the desk, simultaneously yanking the laptop towards him. The pile of folders sent their contents slipping to the floor. "Shit!" Sheppard studied the tiny forms of Steve and Carson with renewed interest, "Why the Hell didn't I think of that earlier?" he whispered, "Now everything makes sense…"

-------------------------------------------------

Several levels below the Gateroom and Weir's office, Dr. Beckett walked the length of Atlantis's infirmary with the goal of obtaining a clean syringe. "Ah fully admit it," he grumbled, "Ah just don' understand. Yer physiology is truly amazing."

The wraith, Steve, watched the doctor's progress from his sunlit bed.

"Not a hint o' deterioration. Consistent regeneration. Cells fully energized…"

Green, alien eyes peered out from between narrowed eyelids.

"Ye appear to be in perfect health. I'd 'ave thought ye'd show signs o' discomfort by now. Yet if anything, yer fitter than when ye arrived. Yer metabolic efficiency is nothing short o' astounding."

Steve's lips twisted in annoyance as the Scotsman stopped at a supply rack, "For what it's worth, I don't understand you, either, human."

Ignoring the disgust evident in the multi-tonal tone, Carson scanned the shelves for the box he needed, calling over his shoulder, "Wha's not tae understand? We're simple compared to ye."

"You Lanteans," Steve spat. The wraith's body barely moved as he threw his gaze across the eclectic mix of equipment cluttering the infirmary, "You operate machines of the ancients. You even seem to understand them. And your weaponry," he glanced meaningfully at the marines flanking his bed, "while primitive in comparison, is, for your species, remarkably advanced." Steve's eyes darted to a counter littered with an assortment of analyzers. Technicians clustered about it, performing tests on the fresh samples Dr. Beckett had just collected. "As is your computer technology."

Having found the right size, Carson pulled down the flimsy white box and selected a sterile needle from it. "Is it aer intelligence tha' puzzles ye? Tha' we're capable o' making some o' this stuff?" He returned the rattling needles to their shelf.

"No," Steve's narrowed eyes widened as Dr. Beckett walked back to the bed. "The intelligence of your species is not in question." His oval pupils turned to slits in the bright light as he stared at the white-coated human intently. "What puzzles me is the methodology supporting your technological development."

"Aer methodology?" Carson repeated, "We've been criticized fer many things, but this is the first time I've heard tha'. Wha' about it puzzles ye, exactly?"

"Everything!" the wraith spat. He cocked his head, "It is completely backwards. Your scientific method is flawed. Fatally. It should not work."

Dr. Beckett unwrapped the syringe, staring at Steve, "Cheeky today, aren't ye?" he said, sounding offended, "My scientific method's just fine, thank ye."

"It is not," Steve glared at the syringe in annoyance, "It's wrong. These tests are an effort in futility."

"Ah think ye just don' wan' tae be stuck again. Now roll up yer sleeve."

The wraith hissed in frustration, "Your pin pricks are nothing to me. I don't even feel them." Tugging at the arm of his coat, Steve bared his left wrist.

Carson grasped the grudgingly proffered limb and gently palpated the veins, coaxing the dark green shadows to the surface. "Somehow ah doubt tha'. The inside o' the wrist's a delicate area. Sensitive in humans. Structurally speaking, we're nae tha' different, ye an' ah. So ah'm willing tae bet this stings, at least a wee bit." Satisfied with the swelling vessels he'd found, Dr. Becket sighed, "This would be sae much easier if ye'd take yer coat off so ah could get yer elbow. Are ye ready?"

Narrowing his eyes, Steve turned his face away. The wraith looked out the window, watching the ocean while Carson deftly inserted the thin needle.

Depressing the plunger to make sure he'd hit the vein, Dr. Becket nodded when dark, almost black blood slowly welled up into the syringe. "Right first time today."

Steve didn't acknowledge the comment.

Eyeing the slowly filling syringe, Carson tried again. "Sae ye think my scientific method's flawed. Wha' makes ye say tha'?"

The long white hair swayed as if in a breeze as the wraith minutely shook his head. "You mix control groups and tests groups without care. You treat both the same, yet still expect different results."

Dr. Beckett protested, "Ah most certainly do n—"

"You DO!" Steve laughed, a short bark of disdainful amusement, "And then you act surprised when you do you not get the results expected." Cocking his head, the wraith looked at Carson suddenly, studying him with apparent curiosity. "I do not understand how your culture achieved its technological success when the basic building blocks of your science are intrinsically flawed. You are unnaturally lucky."

Carson frowned, "I assure ye, we most certainly are not."

"It is the only explanation."

Noting the syringe was half full, Dr. Beckett bit back a frustrated retort, "Fine, aer methodology's flawed. Just wha' evidence do ye 'ave supporting this?"

The wraith smiled, a downplayed display that bespoke the epitome of toothy smugness. The multi-tonal voice purred softly, "I will illustrate with the most glaring example. Day after day you comment disbelievingly that my health does not decline."

Sighing, Carson let a trace of annoyance enter his reply in response to the deliberate vagueness, "An' wha's tha' got tae do wi' it?"

Steve's smug smile widened, intensifying into a self-satisfied grin. He leaned forward, moving his pale face uncomfortably close to Carson's. The marines on either side audibly tensed. Narrowing his eyes, the wraith tilted his head and ignored the implied threat. He whispered superiorly, "If your intent is to study the effects of starvation on my species, why provide me with sustenance?"

Carson's voice rose in confused protest, "But we hav'nae provided ye any."

The wraith's green eyes darted pointedly to his gloved feeding hand, then back to the perplexed human in front of him.

Dr. Beckett followed the pointed gaze to the innocently motionless glove, then refocused on Steve with bewilderment, "Yer nae serious?"

Steve met the perplexed eyes with a confident smirk.

Consternation blossomed, "Ye don' mean…? Are ye trying tae tell me…?" Letting his stare drop to the glove in disbelief, Carson spluttered for a moment. Finally he blurted out a shocked, "But it's nae possible!"

The confident smirk on the wraith's face diminished slightly.

Taking a deep breath, Dr. Beckett let out a long, deliberate sigh. Then, calmly and steadily, he withdrew the glinting needle from Steve's wrist. With similarly careful movements, he capped the syringe and set it on the tray.

Discomfited by the suddenly tranquil actions, Steve watched closely as the doctor picked up his feeding hand and gently fingered the dimly glowing beads. "Ah think ye'll agree wi' me when ah say this," Carson began. The corner of his mouth quirked wonderingly as he met the wraith's slightly quizzical gaze, "But this 'ere?" he laughed softly, tapping the glove's wristband. Then he laughed a bit louder.

Steve flinched as Dr. Beckett abruptly grinned like mad.

"Holy crap!"