Ronon set his loaded tray onto the table and dropped into the empty chair across from Sheppard.

"Hey Chewie," the Colonel greeted. "You done putting the new arrivals in the infirmary already?"

Ronon grinned. "Not my fault they're all soft."

"How many?" Sheppard sighed dramatically.

"Only four," Ronon shrugged, tearing off a hunk of bread and dipping it in the gravy.

"Out of twelve?"

"Yup." He popped the bread into his mouth and chewed.

"You're getting soft."

Ronon raised an eyebrow.

John smirked, then shook his head slowly. "Broken bones?"

"Nope." Ronon frowned. "Don't think so."

"Ronon, Colonel," Evan greeted, sliding into the empty seat next to John.

"Major," John nodded before turning his attention back on Ronon. "Doc's releasing them, right? I need them ready for Buckley's training session on 855 tomorrow."

"Doc wasn't there." Ronon made a face. "I didn't stick around to find out."

John and Evan shared a knowing glance.

"What?" Ronon scowled, even though he already knew the answer.

The Major and the Colonel both shook their heads. "Nothing," they parroted.

"Keep it that way," he ordered.

Ronon shoved a forkful of potatoes and gravy into his mouth to keep himself from smirking. He knew damn well they were trying to get a rise out of him about the Doc. The two were worse than a couple of gossiping fish-wives.

"Speaking of," John turned towards the Major. "You hear from either one of them yet?"

Evan shook his head. "Nope."

John looked inquiringly at Ronon.

"Nope," Ronon answered. He hadn't seen Jennifer since she and Laura left at breakfast. He suspected he wouldn't see her again until tomorrow morning, knowing the way Laura seemed to make her lose track of time.

"Well aren't you two are just a plethora of information," the Colonel retorted.

"Plethora?" Rodney snorted, snapping his tray onto the end of the table. "Word of the day calendar again?"

Evan shook his head. "Scrabble dictionary."

"That would imply playing the game of scrabble," Rodney shook his head. "Snakes and Ladders is more his speed."

"Ahem!" John frowned.

Rodney sighed and tapped his ear. "What," he grunted into his com. "No…I said don't cross-populate. Don't. As in do not. You do understand common English, right? You what? No, don't touch it! Don't touch anything…" The scientist stood and stormed out of the cafeteria, berating whoever was at the other end.

John grabbed the Jello off Rodney's abandoned tray and tossed it to Ronon. Then he flipped the rice crispy square at the Major and scooped the chocolate chip cookies for himself.

"Guess he won't be needing these…"


Laura managed to open one eye. The other seemed less inclined to obey. Nothing had changed. She was still trussed up in the dark and sporting a killer headache. Tequila shooters had nothing on this level of pounding room spins.

God someone was going to pay for this.

She held her breath as best she could despite the desire to go back to sleep. She listened, her ears buzzing with pain in the silence of the dead room. There. A faint wheezing coming from somewhere behind her.

Jen.

Laura exhaled. Still alive.

For the moment.

She tried to reason it out but the pieces didn't match up.

Someone had intentionally caused her harm.

Caused Jen harm.

Whoever it was couldn't have been a regular in the city, or they would have known they'd signed their own death warrant. If there was one thing Laura loved about her boys, was their crazy-jealous-big-brother-over-protective streak towards her best friend.

Their attacker wasn't going to live long enough for the cell door to close.

He was a dead man.

If he was a man.

Maybe he wasn't even human.

No.

The thought skirted through the pain and she dismissed it.

Aftershave.

She'd smelled after shave.

And she was pretty sure, or at least relatively confident despite the situation, that alien forces wouldn't bother with a splash of Hugo Boss.

"Jen?" She croaked. God. She needed some water. Or scotch. Straight up. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Jen?"

No answer.

"Come on, J…talk to me."

Nothing.

Laura sighed.

This was not good.


Jen struggled out of the darkness at the cool taste of water on her lips. She drank greedily. After a few long swallows she tried to pull back, but the flow didn't decrease.

She opened her eyes, but could see nothing in the inky blackness. A panicked roar started at the base of her skull, filling her ears. She knew someone was standing in front of her, could sense the presence, but could see nothing.

And whoever it was…wasn't a friend.

The water fell faster, filling her mouth. She started to cough, the flow too strong from her weak throat. A hand fisted in her hair, holding her head in place, forcing the bottle upright. The water spilled down across her chin, soaking the front of her tank-top.

She struggled weakly, her arms dead weight above her head.

The dizziness returned with a vengeance, bringing with it a sense of muddled calm. The pounding in her head subsided, leaving her feeling like she was floating. It took a few moments for her addled mind to recognize and process the information her body was sending. She fought for reasoning, but there was no hope.

The water had been drugged.

She slipped into oblivion once again.


He tossed the empty water bottle into the corner. It landed with a clattering slide. After adjusting the fit of his night-vision-goggles, he glanced towards the last two steel storage containers sitting in the corner.

He winced when he moved. The damn redhead hadn't been so easy to force the water on. She'd nailed him good with her knee when he'd tried to make her keep drinking. But he'd gotten enough into her system to knock her on her pert little ass.

Next time he wouldn't be so reckless.

He turned back to the dangling Doctor and the redheaded. It was a shame, really. He rather liked Dr. Keller. She'd treated him nicely since his arrival. But nice wasn't a game he played anymore. Not when he was this close to his goal.

He smiled to himself and stepped towards the redhead. It was time to finish setting the stage.

He dropped to the floor and quickly removed her shoes and socks. He tossed them in the corner towards the discarded water bottle. Next came her pants.

He left her underwear.

He might be a cold-blooded killer…but he wasn't a pervert.

He turned to Dr. Keller, quickly divesting her of her footwear and her jeans.

Standing, he surveyed the results.

The perfect misdirection…

He'd learned his lesson the hard way by the arrival of the Dr. and her friend that his sub-level hiding spot wasn't the perfect location he'd thought it was. So in the event someone else stumbled across his hidey-hole, he'd present them with a trail of clues leading in another direction.

Yes, if they were rescued, the women would no longer be within his control.

But that didn't matter.

Not really.

It was a closed city. He'd wait for the appropriate opportunity to finish them off.

He was nothing if not patient.

And in the event no one ever found them…well…that was okay, too. It would save him the trouble of having to take care of them himself, later.

Either way, it was a win-win situation.

No loose ends. And no witnesses.

He grabbed the remaining two cases and moved towards the exit.

Time to go.

Good night, ladies.

Sorry about your luck.