Feast of the Samhain

by KathainBowen

After Ronon starts to slowly turn into a monster by moonlight, Sheppard disappears for six years while searching for a cure. But what happened to break him so badly? Werewolves and whump, oh my!

10. Quicksilver Quickstep

FEAST OF THE SAMHAIN - QUICKSILVER QUICKSTEP

Richard Woolsey waited in the conference room, staring down with a weighted heart a rather imposing stack of documents and paperwork, all printed out in fresh, still warm copies from the last databurst from the SGC. All of it demanded in military and medical protocol for John Sheppard to be returned to Earth immediately, consigning him to the hands of uncaring, unfeeling strangers. All of it left a sour bile taste in the back of Woolsey's throat, and all of it Woolsey wanted to do nothing more with than to burn and pour the ashes into the churning spring tidal currents off the west pier to be ignored and hopefully long forgotten while he buried his own head under the sand and hoped against hope that Sheppard wouldn't accidentally kill them all... again.

Yet he could not so simply and discretely sweep this matter under the carpet and wash his hands of it. The SGC would eventually come calling for their broken shell of a man, perhaps with weapons and dreaded subpoenas for court marshals all around for those few stupid enough to dare defy Air Force orders in favor of the memory of a man who no longer seemed to exist within the terrified, cowering person that was this strange, new John Sheppard.

After Landry's transmission, McKay had rather quietly, dully, and - in a decidedly uncharacteristic moment - politely declined to attend the meeting when Woolsey had requested his presence. He hung his head, his shoulders hunched over in a rare silence for the scientist. Woolsey excused Rodney and watched the physicist drag out of his office to withdraw to the quiet of the labs in the fruitless search for some sort of solace. Woolsey understood, but that did not make McKay's grave expression and stark quiet any easier to bear.

A sound caught Woolsey's attention as the doors to the conference room turned with a slight, metal on metal hiss. He turned slowly, feeling shrugged and cowed somehow, as though facing the firing squad as they filed in and took their respective seats. Lorne slunk into the room, taking a seat to one side to represent the military forces. Birkita and Weylin, the Garou contingent, sat side by side to the right, their faces stiff and set. To their immediate left, Ronon skulked, plopping down in the chair with a sober expression. While those three remained darkly inscrutable, the two women who entered were clearly livid. Keller sat across from them, scowling intensely, along with obviously traveled far faster through Atlantis than Woolsey imagined.

He waited for perhaps too long of a moment to steel himself before admitting with a deep and weary sigh, "I suppose you all know why I've called you here." He settled down at the head of the conference table and shuffled absently through the transfer orders once more before forcing his hands to stop the nervous gesture. "The SGC has ordered us to return Colonel Sheppard to Earth for his continued care."

Woolsey had been expecting the outburst. He just never thought it would be nearly as violent as it was. The Garou snapped as the wolves they were, for a man they had never really known all that well. Keller jibbered on in a bandy of medical jargon that sounded vaguely like physician's profanities. Even Ronon rumbled from his place. Woolsey allowed this. He had known tempers would run high and reactions would be dramatic after the disconcerting quiet from McKay. Woolsey gave them a few minutes to vent themselves before holding up a silencing hand.

"This was not my decision," Woolsey breathed, smoothing his hands over the papers again. "But there's no other choice. We're sending him back."

Keller's scowl deepened, giving her a tight look before she smirked victoriously and dealt her personal trump card, "I haven't released him medically." She folded her arms across her chest, puffing up visibly. "He isn't stable enough for me to sign off for gate travel."

"They're aware and deemed that it is worth the associated risk." Woolsey pinched the bridge of his nose. "We don't have the facilities nor the supplies for the sort of long term care Sheppard is going to need."

The vain satisfaction swiftly retreated from Keller's face as the anger leeched back in its place. "So, what, you're just going to throw him to the wolves?" She flinched and glanced to Ronon and the two Garou seated at the table, quickly blurting a half-apology. "No offense."

"None taken," Ronon rumbled, his voice rough but even, his dark eyes never leaving Woolsey.

The director went on, "Dr. Keller, I've read your reports. You yourself have suggested that several of the scars could be indicative of bites." He rubbed his forehead. "Have you found anything conclusive to confirm or deny whether he was bitten by a Garou?"

Regreat flickered across Keller's features before she answered, as though she'd been caught. "His temp's too high to get an accurate baseline, and I haven't found any trace of the protein marker. But, Ronon's bloodwork also stopped showing the protein after a few years, too."

"It's a risk, a good one," Lorne stated bluntly and almost angrily. "Who knows if he turned and, if he did, what he could do on full moon to Atlantis."

Ronon's grip tightened on the chair arms involuntarily, hearing the wood creak and pop in protest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means we don't know what will happen," Keller breathed, answering for Lorne. "Carson's study of the ATA gene never included studies into severe psychological trauma nor the Garou's mixing. It's entirely possible that nothing will happen, that the colonel won't be able to use his ATA gene at all if he.... changes."

"Or he could be worse," Lorne argued in a low, reluctant tone, admitting gravely, "We almost lost Atlantis."

There came another uproar from those around the table, but Woolsey quickly ended it by jumping to his feet and calling out, "Enough." Woolsey swallowed hard, looking down to still himself before speaking slowly and sadly, all eyes upon him. "I understand I have not been.... easy to work with. I know I have intentionally distanced myself from expedition members to maintain a professional level of interaction." He moved his hands across the smooth surface of the table, as though seeking out some speck of dust or dirt to eradicate in a nervous gesture. "But I am not a fool. I have learnt incredible volumes about the people under my command simply by watching and studying- John Sheppard included."

"And?" Ronon grunted bitterly from the far side of the table.

Woolsey sighed. "Sheppard loved Atlantis, truly loved the city."

"Some great powers of observation," Keller quipped sarcastically, rolling her eyes at Woolsey's so obvious of statements. "Anyone with eyes could see that."

The man tried not to antagonize by arguing or coming back with a curt yet flat retort as could be expected from him, instead taking his glasses from his nose and rubbing his brow. "Sheppard..." He paused, correcting himself. "John, would never do anything to hurt the city or its people. In all the time I knew him, he was never that kind of person, always putting our lives and the city's safety before his own life."

"What are you driving at?" Weylin sniffed, the Garou tensing in his chair.

Woolsey shook his head. "Sheppard would never do that, but the man you brought back would and did try to." He saw the mouths of Ronon, Keller, and Teyla all drop to argue, but held up a finger. "Much as I am inclined to argue further with the SGC in favor of Sheppard remaining in Atlantis, I must face the simple truth that he is clearly not of sound mind and regretfully agree with the SGC that, if Sheppard remains, he will be a danger to everyone on Atlantis." Woolsey drew a deep breath, feeling the unimaginable weight of his words. "I know now- having seen McKay's data - that the man who came back isn't the same person we knew to be John Sheppard. Not at the moment. He might still be in there, though. The human mind does amazing and impossibly inexplicable things in the spirit of self preservation against incredible adversity. It is my sincerest hope that the man we once knew can be coaxed out once more and maybe even, in time, return to the program." He watched the heads dip around him before going on. "But, for right now, his leaving may be in everyone's best interest."

"But..." Keller opened her mouth to argue.

Woolsey shook his head, stifling any further discussion. "This decision isn't in our hands."

The room fell silent for a long moment before anyone dared speak. No one looked at each other. No one breached the silence roaring in their ears heralding the rush of hot blood through the heart and to their faces. They could not and would not admit their individual and collected anger at the thoughts of passing Sheppard off onto strangers.

When Birkita spoke, it was softly and sweetly. "We will go with him."

"Birkita," Woolsey breathed. "You can't take that kind of a chance." When she met his gaze with those icy and set eyes of hers, Woolsey frowned. "The SGC doesn't know about... well...." Woolsey waved a hand. "Well, about you guys. As far as they and most of Atlantis is concerned, your people come from some far flung reach of Pegasus, not their back yard."

"They know enough for us to pretend," Birkita countered, rising slowly as a gossamer web of crafted lies spun in the back of her mind. "Weylin will escort me. We can pose as the emissaries of Garou rebels seeking forgiveness for what happened to Sheppard and go on our hands and knees begging for help."

Woolsey arched an eyebrow. "And what if they agree?"

Birkita frowned, her barely pink lips scrunching tightly, but Weylin came to her aid. "We'll make sure the price stays too high. Throw them off. Baffle 'em with our bullshit."

"And if they see right through your plan?" the director contested smartly.

Ronon stood abruptly. "I'll be there to make sure that doesn't happen."

Weylin gave a low nod of approval, but Woolsey stared at the three before him in surprise. It had been no great shock that Ronon would volunteer with such conviction. In fact, Woolsey had been more taken back that the Satedan had waited so long for the true Garou to make the first move. It was Birkita that surprised Woolsey. She had staunchly argued not too many years ago that she would never return to Earth, under any circumstances, for fear that the SGC would discover the truth about the Garou's origins. And, yet, there she stood, her icy eyes boring holes into him.

When she spoke once more, it was with a fire and steely determination that only a true queen could muster. "Sheppard risked his life to save Weylin and I, and our entire race without even knowing us, without owing us anything. He is a hero to the Garou. What kind of a race would we be if we turned our backs on him now?"

A breath of terse silence yawned over the conference table before Lorne heaved in earnest, "Human."

Birkita dipped her head and narrowed her frozen eyes, her voice laced with a calculated venom. "Precisely."

Woolsey sighed in resignation at the defiance in the pale Garou. "It's not like I could have stopped you if I tried." He rubbed his forehead once more. "Alright. I'll contact SGC to make appropriate arrangements. Be ready by 1400."

xxxx

Rodney had not wanted to attend a pointless meeting that would serve as nothing more than added pomp and circumstance to the already closed decision to return Sheppard to Earth. He had seen the look on Landry's face, stern and cut, resigned to this sheer stupidity. Rodney knew that look full well, after years of dealing with the American military in various facets, and knew the cold, unfeeling distance it posed. There could be no question; the SGC would not be moved on this matter.

Instead, McKay made his way first to the labs he had declared a home of sorts over the years to make a few false starts at a few projects. McKay often sought the comfort and quiet of his work. In the lab, hunched over a work bench, buried in his calculations and invention, the world seemed simpler, easier, less cluttered. The worries and tangled webs of a universe bowed by human sentiment fell away in favor of the math, pure and perfect, without any of the gnawing shades of gray that occupied the real world. Yet, that day, the work brought not even the tiniest of comforts, and the physicists soon found himself wandering the halls.

It surprised McKay when his feet brought him to the entrance to the infirmary. He hardly went to see Sheppard now that the colonel had been found. The physicist couldn't bring himself to visit often, as Teyla and Ronon had. This frightened, battered creature masquerading as Sheppard seemed an insult to the memories of the courageous soldier that had single-handedly saved Rodney's skin on innumerable occasions, and the mere thought of the scrawny, barely living body that Ronon carried back through the gate turned McKay's stomach sour. And, still, there he was, staring at the doors as though the firing squad stood on the other side waiting for him.

McKay sighed and steeled himself, pushing through the doors and throwing himself inside before his nerve had the chance to break. He couldn't go back with Sheppard. McKay knew it. There was too much to be done on Atlantis, too much that required his delicate touch and unfathomable understanding of Ancient technology, especially in the wake of the near catastrophic flooding. And, worse, to go home would feel like admitting defeat, acknowledging that this really wasn't the Sheppard he knew that they'd found in some dank, dark cell, shackled and trussed like a wild beast.

A few of the nurses waved their greeting, but Rodney largely ignored them in favor of the door to the isolation unit. He held a deep breath before stepping into what felt like a silent tomb. In the center of the room, Sheppard had been sprawled out upon a gurney, fully sedated, and restrained once more. Even under his chemical induced slumber, he looked utterly exhausted, fragile and delicate, so thin and almost brittle in a way.

Rodney had waited six years for Sheppard to come back. Six long years. And, during those long years, he had often imagined Sheppard would come back perhaps a bit the worse for wear, but nothing like this. He had dreamt of an easy return of their playful banter and verbal sparring, not the frightened panic Sheppard greeting everyone with. In his worst of visions of Sheppard's return, the physicist imagined he and the rest of the team taking shifts, holding Sheppard by the hand until he woke, but, now, McKay worried that even touching Sheppard would set off another fit of pure terror. Instead, Rodney settled for listening to the shallow breaths of his sleeping friend, savoring the sound of each and every miraculous, rasped inhalation.

The intruder did not dare mask their entrance. They strode in defiantly and heavily according to the footsteps, indicating a larger person by the weight. Ronon or Weylin. Rodney did not bother to glance over his shoulder. He waited for the newcomer to announce themselves, drawing a deep breath as he did.

Finally, the intruder spoke in a low tone. "You heard?"

"Yeah, I heard, Weylin," the physicist growled. "Heard the whole damned thing. I know they're sending him back." He curled his lip and feigned in an irritated falsetto, "Oh, this soldier's broken, we're better send it back and order a new one."

Weylin said nothing for a long moment, allowing McKay his time to vent, before announcing rather matter-of-factly, "We're going with him." Rodney finally looking over his shoulder to the Garou, cocking his eyebrow in surprise; Weylin supplied, "Birkita, Ronon and me."

"Why? So you can feel better about yourselves?" McKay snapped sulkily, shaking his head. "Sweep in to save the day and pretend like nothing ever happened? Play the part of the good samaritan?"

Weylin did not dignify the statement with the snarled response that lurked so readily upon the tongue. "No." It seemed more an affirmation to himself than to McKay, and, so, the Garou repeated it, tasting the word solidly upon his own tongue. "No. Birkita ordered it." He looked down almost solemnly. "We owe him."

Another long and exceedingly awkward moment spanned when neither man dared say a word. Neither had ever been anything close to friends over the years. If anything, Rodney rather blamed Weylin. After all, it had been the Garou who had sent Sheppard back on that suicide mission to retrieve Birkita. Rodney never cared for the wolves and their secretive ways, their brutal yet exacting methods, preferring to maintain a rather sizable distance between himself and the two true Garou to occupy Atlantis.

"I'm not a strong man. Not like Ronon. Not like you or any of your.... kind," Rodney whispered slowly and almost deliberately faintly before turning and glaring directly at the hulking Garou, his eyes dark and his voice cold. "But I am an intelligent man, more so than you could ever possibly imagine. Sheppard is a good man and a good friend, and, if you let anything happen to him - and I do mean anything - I will make damned sure to devote every waking minute of my life to ensuring that you and your entire species pays quite dearly for it. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"

"As day," the Garou rumbled in reply.

Rodney stood abruptly, kicking the chair out from beneath himself with a fury that the somewhat meek and whiny physicist hardly seemed capable of. "You swear it. Swear it, Weylin. Swear it."

"I swear," the Garou instantly replied without a shadow of question or uncertainty in his eyes.

Rodney nodded numbly, averting his gaze now that his nerve had broken when faced by the seeming impenetrable wall of sinew and bone that was Weylin; he looked to Sheppard once more and breathed, "You said your kind never goes back on their word."

"We don't," Weylin said with a stern conviction.

McKay gave another limp nod. "Don't force me to hold you to it."

"I won't," the Garou responded simply before adding brusquely in a tight snarl, "And you didn't have to make me swear. I told you. We owe him, and we always make good on our debts."

xxxx

Teyla had known long before the gentle rap on her door that she would come to her. The Athosian smiled serenely to herself, her lips curling faintly as she glided across the room, careful not to disturb her slumbering son taking his morning nap. She opened the door, unsurprised to find the young woman standing just at the threshold.

"Lady Birkita," she greeted, dipping her head slightly as she used the honorific to distinguish the Garou's human skin from her wolf pelt.

The Garou scowled. "Don't call me that. I'm not.... deserving."

Teyla allowed the self-reproach at a time when she might otherwise chastise the Garou for such a statement, stating softly, "Of course."

Birkita's time in Atlantis had been strained at best. She struggled daily with the position she had been born to by her unique eyes and pale skin, by a blessing the Garou perceived as more of a curse than a boon. She had often come to the Athosian in search of counsel, recognizing the woman's innate leadership skills borne of her own unique position. Teyla saw parts of her younger self in Birkita, nervous and wary of the sway she held over her own people, terrified that she would fail her own kin by one small slip, one tiny yet fatal error. Teyla took pity on the Garou, taking Birkita under her wing and teaching her the laws and ways of Athosian leaders, in turn coaxing the well guarded laws of the night from Birkita. The Garou made her place studiously at Teyla's right hand, even accompanying the Athosian off world, slinking by the woman's side in her snowy wolf skin.

"Are you prepared for your journey?" Teyla inquired, her voice carrying her concern for a creature that, at times, had seemed a sister of sorts. The Garou nodded and cast her gaze downward for but a fraction of a second; Teyla noticed and quickly asked, "You are not happy to return to Earth?"

"No," came Birkita's sullen reply.

"It has been several years since you have seen your people," Teyla began.

Birkita mentally calculated and supplied somewhat hesitantly, "Nine years, since the storm."

"I would imagine you would be elated to set foot on your home world once more, even if it is under unpleasant circumstances," the woman rationalized.

"Earth is..... it will be different," Birkita breathed before closing the distance between them and wrapping her slender arms about the Athosian in a warm embrace. "Thank you, Teyla."

"For what?"

The Garou smiled wistfully. "For everything." She looked away, averting her icy gaze. "I just.... I wanted to say goodbye."

"You make it sound final." Teyla furrowed her brow. "You are not interested in returning?"

"No. I love it here. Aside from a few assholes, the people here are good people. You just.... accept what Weylin and I are, like it's nothing horrible, nothing to be hidden as though there is something... wrong with us." Birkita gave another dreamy smile. "I like not having to hide what I am, to be ashamed of my second nature and fearing for my life purely because I am... different. Even among the Garou, I am treated oddly." Birkita shook her head, tousling her ivory mane. "It's nice not having to worry about all that, but I must be realistic. There would be too much working against me if I ever even dared dream about coming back to Atlantis and Pegasus."

"Like?" Teyla questioned, her curiosity piqued at this.

Birkita gave an elaborate shrug of her slender shoulders. "I am responsible for John Sheppard." She fixed a feral glare upon the Athosian. "I will not leave him."

"He will heal, with time," Teyla stated, unsure as to whether she said it to assure herself or to assure the Garou before her.

The albino sniffed. "Even if it were that simple to just will him to be better - and you, of all people, must know it isn't - it's just.... not that simple." Birkita paused for a moment, reflecting oddly on the subject. "I am a holy person among my people. They aren't likely to just let me vanish again if they ever found out I'm still alive. Even if the Tribes consented to allowing my return, I seriously doubt the army would let me waltz up and ask to travel back through a thing that doesn't exist, to a place that doesn't exist, to a city that's just a myth, to stay with people who are all tucked quite safe and sound on Earth working on mundane but entirely hush-hush projects. And that's providing this plan actually works." The girl gave a barking laugh. "Doesn't seem in the stars."

"You do not know that," Teyla argued softly.

Birkita frowned once more, toying with one of the many pockets of the BDUs. "No, but you do. This return will not be an easy one, Teyla. We have broken many of the laws of the Garou, and there will be consequences."

Teyla nodded slowly in commiseration. "It is an extremely lonely road that you and I must walk with the burdens we bear for our peoples."

Teyla stepped back, just enough to survey the Garou. The albino creature seemed strangely ill suited to the black fatigues supplied by the Atlantis expedition. Something so colorless as Birkita had no business juxtaposed against something so unyieldingly dark, coming across as harsh to the eyes and unnatural. The girl looked both awkward and uncomfortable to be confined in such clothing.

Finally, Teyla's lips curled into a tiny and mischievous smirk. "Returning royalty should look fitting to their station." The pale girl's brow knit, but Teyla bade her to enter. "I have just the thing."

The Garou cocked her head to the side in an almost canine expression of curiosity and wonder, drifting alongside the Athosian as Teyla ferried her to an almost innocuous trunk nestled on the side of the room between bookshelves with assorted pieces of literature and antiquities collected on various missions. An artfully arranged cluster of meditation candles had been carefully placed upon it with the care of zen gardening, but Teyla quickly scooped up the offending pillars. With little adieu, the Athosian eased the trunk open, revealing the silvery, embroidered robes and gleaming jewels contained therein. It was the ornate and gilded silk and filigree jewelry that Birkita had come bursting through the gate to the Alpha site draped in.

"I thought I asked for these to be destroyed," Birkita whispered, touching her fingers tenderly to the fabric before jerking her hand away as though burnt.

Teyla nodded. "You did. I had thought that, with time, you might think differently than you did at that moment." She gave a knowing look. "I had hoped that the situation might change, and that you might be in need something a little more formal one day."

Birkita's lips quirked at the edges as she stroked the fabric that had once been so symbolic of her servitude to Turali Sin'ai and now heralded her freedom, her escape. "This could work."

xxxx

Six years earlier :

Rodney and Teyla obediently followed the old Garou through a downright ancient feeling woods that loomed menacingly over the trio. The tall trunks cast eerie shadows over them as narrow slivers of silver light slipped down to a floor bedded by soft, spongy moss and thick groves of rustling ferns. The cushioned loam seemed to absorb the sounds of the stranger's moments as he slipped nimbly through the underbrush, leading the way with an ease that betrayed his prior weak and feeble visage. He lead them swiftly and without delay through the forests to a narrow, babbling stream.

Only then did Rodney finally bark in his irritation, "Wait, wait, wait."

The Garou turned on a dime, snarling, "We don't have time for this."

"Make time," the physicist snapped. "Who the hell are you people? How do you know about Earth and Canada?"

"Rodney," Teyla whispered low in caution. "We should keep moving."

"No. I'm not moving until I get some straight answers." The Lantean shook his head and made a frantic, halting gesture with his fingers. "All these.... these Garou have done is lie to us and trick us." Rodney said the word as though it were a curse in its own right, vile and disgusting to utter. "He could be leading us right into a grizzly, horrible trap, and we'd be none the wiser until it was sprung."

"Rodney!" the Athosian hissed in surprise at his sudden acidity.

"No." He glared viciously at the stranger. "Who are you, really?"

The old Garou seemed to slump and shrink back slightly in what may have been regret or what may have been carefully masked annoyance, answering steadily, "My name is Vortigern Canagan of the Avoyelles."

"Where did you come from?" McKay demanded, folding his arms across his chest.

"I told you. Avoyelles," the Garou growled, lifting his lip in a wolfish snarl, before giving a shake of his head at the clear confusion. "S'a little parish just north of Baton Rouge."

The physicist blinked in shock, too stunned to savor the satisfaction of being right, stammering, "B-baton Rouge?" Vortigern gave a slow nod, and McKay swallowed hard, breathing, "I knew it. I knew it." Teyla furrowed her brow, and McKay explained, "Louisiana." At the Athosian's continued confusion, Rodney blurted out, "Earth! They're from Earth!"

"Earth?" Teyla cocked an eyebrow, turning to the old Garou. "You are truly from Earth?"

"Yeah." The Garou lifted his nose to the sky and sniffed deeply. "We'd better keep moving. Guards are coming."

"Why should we trust you now?" Rodney argued defensively, taking a small half step back and away from the Garou.

"Look," Vortigern leveled his gaze squarely upon the bitter and seething physicist. "We really don't have time for this. So you can either follow me to the gate and I promise we talk about this later, or you can set down right here and wait for them to come and get you. You go ahead and do what you want-" he gave a nod in the direction they had been traveling in. "-but me? I'm going for the gate. You comin'?"

Teyla looked to Rodney imploringly. The physicist flustered, jerking his head back and forth between the path they had just come and the Garou ahead of them. He thought of the citadel they had fled, of the fights in the pit and the rogue Wraith standing guard over 's heart fluttered for a second as she worried that, perhaps, Rodney might actually turn back to Sin'ai's castle, but, eventually, he sighed and gave a solemn nod.

"Okay, okay, fine. But you and your friends owe us some serious explaining," Rodney conceded as he slogged into the stream beside the Garou.

Vortigern smiled warmly, almost fatherly. "An' I promise I'll let you'll get them. Just get us home."

Their worries vaguely assailed for the moment, the three continued on their trek through the dark woods, led once more by the Garou. Occasionally, Vortigern - Fineas, whoever he really was - turned his nose once more, drawing in the varied scents of the night studiously, maintaining a grim scowl. He would come to a dead stop suddenly, his muscles freezing stiffly in place like a wolf on the hunt, sending shivers down Rodney's spine until he continued one once more. After a time, Vortigern hunkered down behind dense shrubbery, turning his head to the side as though to listen and absorb the sounds about him from the forests.

While the Garou continued to contemplate in his silent, predatory reverie, Rodney dared venture peer above the bushes, finding a gloriously horrible sight. There, in a small grove of what seemed this planet's equivalent of golden birches, stood the gate, bathed in a swath of bright moonlight. His heart leapt at the sight of it, trilling in his throat at this, what had become the most beautiful thing in the entire Pegasus galaxy. Then, Rodney swore under his breath as contingent of perhaps twenty guards emerged from the dark, taking up post around the gate and turning out to the woods.

"Stranded offworld in the woods with a Roger Corwin extra." Rodney groaned inwardly, "Where's Sheppard when you need him?"

xxxx

Weylin loped uneasily through the forests, his left foreleg dripping thick droplets of blood upon the ground. He paused for a moment, glancing down at the wound with wide, canine eyes and daring to lick at it slightly. His own blood tasted warm and salty with a hint of something metallic underneath it all. The wolf's lips twisted into a feral scowl. The bleeding refused to staunch.

Guards shouted behind him, rallied as they ran through the woods. The wolf's pointed snout jerked up to look behind him. The guards were close and closing, judging by the steady crescendo of footfall through the otherwise silent and still woods. He turned his nose upward, drinking in the night and the scents carried upwind from the guards to him, sampling their musk and sweat as they ran under heavy, confining armor. Weylin could have laughed it he still had the appropriate mouth and vocal chords to form the sound. Weighted down as they were, the soldiers had allowed a sizable distance to yawn between them and the escaped Garou; it would be a few minutes before they caught up with the lone wolf.

Weylin gave another glance to his wound. He could shift and move faster on two legs for once, taking the weight off the injury. He could also put pressure on the gaping wound then in hopes of stopping the bleeding or at least stemming it enough to stop leaving such a damned obvious trail of scarlet splatter right to him.

The wolf closed his eyes, clenching his muscles as the night sang through him to shift, but stopped when a voice cried out in the night from behind, "LOOK OUT!"

Weylin's golden eyes shot open. Birkita. He would know her voice anywhere and anytime; she sounded frightened and horrified. Weylin's heart thundered in his chest as he instinctively spun about on legs meant for running with the night and catching the dawn. His long toes curled, gripping into the soft loam as he bolted through the forests despite the throbbing agony of his shoulder. There would be time enough to tend to wounds later.

xxxx

The abrupt motion from the albino and the quick shriek caught Sheppard off guard, sending him jumping from his resting spot at the base of the tree, and just in the nick of time. The damp trunk exploded in a burst of sodden splinters right where he had been crouched in respite. Sheppard whipped about to spy the rogue Wraith, clad in his crimson armor, expertly jerking his curved sword from where it was embedded into the ancient tree, where Sheppard's scrawny neck had resided just milliseconds before.

The Wraith hissed through his teeth, and the colonel swatted his hand in Birkita's direction. "Get back!"

Birkita needed no instruction, slipping back into dark shadows that could not even conceal her ghostly pallor. She stood out in the darkness, practically glowing like the moon with reflected light, giving her a downright ethereal appearance in the black. Her robes shimmered with the motion, adding to the almost supernatural look.

She obeyed, but, out of the corner of Sheppard's eyes, he caught the ripple of muscles bulging and knotting beyond their natural breadth. The girl bit her pink lip as though biting back the urge to change, to shift to the wild that lurked below and embrace the predator within. Claws grew long and curled, digging into the soft wood of the tree before her. Sheppard could have kicked himself as he noticed that right while the Wraith sprung, recalling that the girl was just as much of a walking, talking weapon as the other damned wolf, Weylin.

The Wraith swung, sweeping his long, dangerously honed blade at Sheppard, who narrowly ducked below it; the colonel silently thanked his lucky stars for all of both Ronon's and Teyla's intensive training as he felt the cool kiss of air on the nape of his neck from a rather close shave. He came up swiftly, dancing back easily from the predator before the Wraith could swing again. The colonel bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, skimming over the ground and keeping his eyes training between both the approaching Wraith and the earth beneath his feet, mindful to watch his step for the myriad of roots and fallen branches that threatened to trip him, another of both his tutors' hard learned but well remembered lessons.

The Wraith growled audible, slinking and circling to the left, hunching his shoulders and lowering to a feral and stalking crouch, like a predator dropping its center of gravity. Sheppard slipped to his left, keeping as much distance between himself and the heavily armed and clearly enraged Wraith as possible. The colonel mirrored his actions, mindful that the only way he could really best the heavier, stocky Wraith was to get below him and offset the beast's balance.

The Wraith swung again, thrusting forward with the motion. Teyla whispered in Sheppard's ear, guiding him back and away. The Wraith stepped into the motion, drawing back and trying to catch the colonel on the back swing as he whirled about. Ronon grumbled faintly his own tutelage, and Sheppard dropped to his knees below the sword, kicking out and springing back, away from the Wraith.

The lonely howl of a wolf broke the night.

Sheppard glanced over his shoulder as the Wraith charged again, just in time to see Birkita lift jowls only part human to the sky to answer with a keening cry, lamenting it seemed.

The Wraith took the momentary distraction to his advantage and drew close, stabbing out and slashing with the blade, catching Sheppard off guard and by the arm. The colonel grunted as the sharp edge clipped his forearm with a white hot oath. The blade flashed back, coated with crimson from where it had drawn blood. Sheppard jerked back in surprise, but the Wraith stood his ground, licking the red stain with an eager tongue before casting the sword aside. Sheppard swallowed; he knew all too well from personal experience a hungry Wraith with blood on the air was infinitely worse than a merely pissed off Wraith.

Sheppard gasped and shouted, "Birkita, go!"

The albino gave a quick nod and bolted to the black of the night, leaving the rogue and the colonel. The Wraith lunged, casting his sword aside, its ghastly feeding hand rearing back to strike at Sheppard as the colonel stumbled back and away. The human's ankle caught on a loose root, tripping him to the ground. The Wraith sneered as it leapt, catching the colonel by his aching wrist and holding his prey tightly. Sheppard's eyes went wide, following the slit in the palm as it came crashing down towards him.

It never connected. A black blur slammed into the Wraith and sent the beast to the ground. The Wraith snarled and grunted as it landed, recovering quickly, but the blur moved faster. Weylin, come to Sheppard's rescue. The wolf snapped and bared its teeth, growling intently as the Garou pinned his ears flat down. His ebony pelt stood on end, as though electrified by the night and the hunt as he jumped for the Wraith again, mouth gaping wide with ivory teeth. The Garou tackled the fallen Wraith once more, biting and swiping with massive paws meant for primal battle.

A part of Sheppard felt entranced by the battle, the same part of him that vaguely enjoyed late night nature bad horror movies. There was something perfect and honed about both the Garou and the Wraith, clearly upper members of their respective food chains. As the Wraith scrambled and twisted under the heavy Garou that bit and slashed, Sheppard could not help but feel the small, child watching some cheesy, b-horror flick of Dracula vs. The Wolfman, or something equally inane.

Weylin seemed to be holding his own well enough until the Wraith dug its long, talon like fingers into the wide gash in Weylin's shoulder. The wolf yelped a high pitched note of pain. The Wraith sneered in the Garou's face, delighted in the Weylin's suffering, before hurling the wolf from off of him and sending the black creature flying. Garou were strong, nearly as strong as the Wraith, but no creature could best a Wraith in a contest of pure, physical ability. The Garou collided sharply with a tree, landing to the ground in a crumpled heap. The Wraith rose quickly, crossing the ground to his fallen foe in a heartbeat, savoring the disorientation in the Garou that lay before him as Weylin seemed to be hauling himself back to his senses. The Wraith reached down, snatching the black beast by the scruff and hauling him off his paws.

John hurled himself at the Wraith, throwing his arms about the monster's wide shoulders and neck to choke him out. The colonel knew from past trial and error that it was a futile attempt at taking down a beast like the Wraith, but he had only opened to break the beast's hold of Weylin. The Wraith snarled, jerking back and twisting abruptly, shaking Sheppard loose and tossing him to the ground. The colonel landed hard, the wind knocked from him hard, his wrist crying out with white hot shards of pain lancing through him. The Wraith spun about, Weylin stil in hand, kicking the fallen colonel square in the ribcage, eliciting a stifled grunt before drawing the Garou up and returning his full attention to the ebony wolf.

"I told you I would remind you of your place," the Wraith intoned with no small measure of venom.

The colonel almost wanted to run, to leave Weylin and the other Garou to the Wraith and whatever punishment the beast deemed fit. Yet Sheppard could not. His body moved of its own accord, his hand slipping to the side and grabbing a hefty rock, reassured by the weight. As the Wraith reached up with his free hand to twist the Garou's head and snap Weylin's neck, Sheppard moved, his legs carrying him without thought, without care, and without fear right for the Wraith. He drew the rock back, coiling his arm like a snake to strike.

When Sheppard did strike, it was powerful and driving, with a blow that he hardly thought himself capable of delivering. The rock smashed down upon what passed for a skull in the Wraith with a sickly, fibrous crunching sound of hard chitin crackling beneath the skin. The Wraith's grip on Weylin instantly slipped, and the ebony wolf dropped to the ground. Sheppard struck again and again, until the Wraith finally went down to his knees. Maddened by fight and the thrill of victory, Sheppard drove one, last blow, felling the Wraith. He stood there, panting, and staring down at the rogue Wraith, collecting himself.

Sheppard glanced to Weylin who moved awkwardly to get back on his feet, both well aware that a little thing like massive cranial trauma would only keep a Wraith down for so long. Sheppard let the black stained rock fall to the ground beside the Wraith, his body still trembling and quivering with the massive flooding of adrenaline, his breaths still harsh as he worked to control the sensation and ride out the lingering runner's high. The ebony wolf shook its head, loosing the last remnants of disorientation. Both moved with a purpose, readying themselves instantly for flight.

Sheppard let out a deep breath, willing his muscles to relax and his heart to still once more, before looking to the shadowed wolf. "Come on."

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Author's Notes : Bah, lots of present time drama, but no Dog drama. *pouts* I promise, this chapter was necessary to set up both present and past tense drama.

Next chapter: Homeward bound? Is it really such a good thing for Sheppard, Ronon, or the true Garou? Yeah, you guys guessed it: it's not. But at least Ronon's sticking around to keep the puppy safe from horrible, evil fic writers who love creating too much havoc and dramamine. Angst abounds with appearances from Carter and O'Neill!