Elizabeth had never raked it in at any of the poker tables during game nights. She was competent at the mechanics of card playing, but never cared for all the fake posturing since wearing a mask was part of the duties of her day job. Over the past week she had used her poker face so many times, it felt permanently chiseled in place.

She approached Ladon's bed; his advisor, Ashlin Krops, sat in a chair next to the leader. The silver haired diplomat didn't conceal his displeasure at her presence, whispering to the occupant of the bed of her arrival.

Krops rose to his feet as he flattened his once impeccable uniform now sullied by smoke and debris. "Dr. Weir, I've already expressed to Ladon my opinion about this meeting, but despite the dismissal of my counsel, I will remain."

"I understand," she addressed the older man. Elizabeth looked over at the Genii leader. "How are you feeling?"

Ladon's face was swollen, a tiny row of butterfly stitches dashed down the right side of his face, meeting part of his beard that had been singed. The tops of his shoulders were wrapped in bandages and peeked out from his hospital gown. Despite pain killers, his eyes were clear as they stared right at her.

"Your people are taking good care of me, Dr. Weir."

Elizabeth nodded. "Your security men have been given a clean bill of health by Dr. Beckett. I did not know if you wished them to stay or not, but they are in our waiting area."

"Under guard," Krops added.

"After what happened, we're worried about their security as well as---"

"--To suggest that we had anything to do with what---"

"--Enough!" Ladon snapped.

The agitated diplomat curled his fingers around his leather belt and adjusted it over the middle age pudge that hung over it. "We should demand an explanation for this reprehensible behavior."

"And you shall have one," Elizabeth said, cutting off a further tirade.

Ladon sat up further in bed, grimacing. "Let Dr. Weir talk."

She politely acknowledged the Genii for allowing her to explain without interruption, but she gleaned something else from Ladon's battered face. He knew something.

"This meeting was very important to our people, we have stepped on the wrong foot, time and again. Building an alliance between us is a high priority for this expedition, but I confess we did keep something from you."

"Voulsh," the Genii leader said, breathing out heavily.

There was no denying it anymore. "Yes," Elizabeth replied.

"The whole negotiation was a lure; it seems your deceit knows no bounds," Krops growled.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "Maybe we should have warned you of the possible danger, but we still have no idea who in your ranks were involved in hiring Voulsh. We had a chance to flush him out and we took it."

"It was a commendable effort. Was it Sheppard's idea?" Ladon inquired.

"It was. He didn't want any more casualties on his hands."

Ladon's eyes fell at her words, the underhanded tactic working. "How many deaths have you suffered from Voulsh's attempts?"

"Two Marines were killed yesterday when he attempted to make his way into the city. He's tried to kill Colonel Sheppard just as many times."

"Then this is a disaster of our own making," Ladon confessed.

"Sir," Krops implored.

"No, Ashlin, we only have our own sins to blame for this." Ladon looked up at her. "We should have contacted you as soon as we got wind of the assassination plot. I'd be lying if those in my inner circle thought it would only serve us in the long run if Colonel Sheppard was no longer part of any equation. That was wrong." The Genii closed his eyes and grit his teeth against a wave of pain.

Ladon took a shuddering breath, but held out his hand to stop any of her concern. "Dr. Weir, believe me when I say-- that I only had the best intention of waiting until my intel was proven accurate. I did not want to approach you with wild rumors."

"I understand. I'm also very sorry for the loss of your scientist and the injury to your military commander. A full investigation is underway."

"What are you doing to stop Voulsh?" Krops asked, crossing his arms. "He has Genii blood on his hands."

Elizabeth allowed her mask to falter just a little. "We believe him to be out on the mainland."

Ladon picked up on the slip right away. "No member of the Rashakash would abandon his mission unless it was completed."

She owed them an explanation, but not a window into her vulnerable side. "There is a plan in place that will not put anyone in this expedition or their guests in jeopardy any more."

Ladon seemed regretful. "Colonel Sheppard is protecting his city by the only means at his disposal. I always did admire his brashness." His eyes were getting heavy. "When do you expect us to be able to leave? With everything that has happened, I want to ensure that my people know I'm alive and well."

"When Dr. Beckett says it's safe for you to be transported and I'm assured that security is restored."

"Very well." The Genii nestled deeper amongst his pillows. When he spoke again his was voice groggy. "Please keep me informed of any developments about the bombing..."

"Of course," she smiled politely.

"I wish the colonel success."

"Thank you." Elizabeth locked eyes with Krops; the stout man's expression remained steely.

"Suffice it to say, Dr. Weir, that I am still unconvinced of your people's intentions during your ploy earlier. I think whatever the outcome on the mainland, we will have to revisit the ramifications of the artifice."

She cocked her head to one side. "I look forward to discussing all of the deceptions of the past few days. Hopefully by then, we can learn to be more open with each other and avoid any future missteps that come back to bite us in the end."

Elizabeth was pleased with the outcome of her meeting with Radim. She wasn't sure how many more fires she would need to put out during this harrowing day. There had been no word from the small team sent out to find John and she still couldn't get over the fact that both she and Caldwell had allowed them to go alone. There was just something about the colonel's team, that indestructible bond that held them all together and constructed the backbone of their resolve.

Her little voice had rarely ever let her down and it begged her to trust Ronon's instincts. Right now there was member of the group that needed her and for once, she could feel effectual.

Elizabeth didn't need to hide under a neutral expression around Teyla; she would see right through it and shedding that burden was a relief. She approached the Athosian's bedside, her body a reflection of peace, but her eyes burning with the tenseness within.

"Any word?"

It was scary and amazing how close they had all become. With the others gone, Teyla surely felt physically disconnected and the past week had been a relentless trial in failure for them all. One by one they dealt with inadequacy in their own ways; the differences in coping mechanisms were as vast as the differences among their personalities.

"It's only been an hour since they left and radio silence is a must, if we're to keep Voulsh from knowing that backup has been sent."

"He must know we would go after John."

Elizabeth pulled up the plastic chair and rested her hands over the railing. "Ronon believes at this point, Voulsh is so determined to kill... that he's blinded by anything else."

Teyla frowned. "I think someone intelligent enough to avoid our people for a week and who has studied our ways would know we would not leave the colonel behind."

"Obsessions have a way of twisting our perceptions." Elizabeth stared at her hands. "It's conceivable that Voulsh thinks he knows John by now. And believes that the colonel would do this...meet him face to face without interference to keep the rest of us safe. That he'd make it happen somehow."

"Ronon thinks that Voulsh admires the colonel in some twisted way, doesn't he?"

Elizabeth wasn't sure anymore, analyzing societies that prized murder as a lifestyle was beyond her armchair psychiatry. "I don't know. I think more innocent people would have been killed during his vendetta than John could ever live with. You can't fight a person who will accept only death before achieving his goal. We all know Sheppard would do anything in his power to prevent any more bloodshed."

"I can't believe that John thinks we would ever allow him to face this evil alone." Teyla glared at her broken arm, her voice quivering. "I'm glad Ronon and Rodney will be there to show him otherwise. That we will always be by his side."

Elizabeth could feel her eyes well up, just as Teyla brushed away the moisture that dripped down from the corner of her eye. "He'll know... And they're going to bring him home safely."

Teyla pushed back the waves of hair that drifted over her face and stuck to her tear-stained cheeks. "Not being able to go with them...I have a greater clarity of what drove John to do this."

"Doesn't mean we have to like it," Elizabeth retorted, taking her friend's hand.

Teyla allowed a wan smile. "No."

"Dr. Weir?"

Elizabeth turned to see Lorne and Zelenka waiting for her apprehensively. She knew the major had been especially agitated at not being allowed to go after Sheppard and was one of the first to report to the Gate Room on standby.

"What is it, Major?'

Zelenka stepped forward, holding onto a data pad and looking back and forth between them. "I have a preliminary report on the makeup of the bomb."

"So soon?"

"Well, it was a low level explosion, really, and we had more than enough material to work with," the Czech replied, pushing up his glasses.

Lorne shot the scientist an impatient glare. "Just tell her what you told me."

Zelenka fiddled with his PDA. "It was what wasn't there to begin with."

She raised an eyebrow and Lorne seemed to be losing his patience. "The bomb wasn't made up of any alien substances."

"Okay, and that tells us ..."

"It wasn't sophisticated enough and nothing compared to the technology level exhibited by the assassin," Zelenka expressed earnestly.

Teyla tried to ease closer to the edge of the bed rail to listen in and Elizabeth could sense the foreboding that the Athosian was attuned to.

"Go on."

"Voulsh didn't make that bomb," Lorne said, obviously tired of beating about the bush.

Now it was Elizabeth's turned to feel testy. "Then who did?"

Zelenka swallowed. "Based on previous samples and the fact that the bomb was faulty to begin with, I compared it to some of the Genii tech we have stored."

"It was a match?" Elizabeth asked incredulously.

The Czech nodded grimly. "Yes, 100."

Rodney clenched the Berretta after checking the safety, amazed at the light weightiness of a weapon that could tear a hole in a man's chest and shred everything in its path. Its very existence, like all guns, was to take a life in the most brutal way possible. Slipping it back into the holster around his leg, he actually wished for something deadlier.

Carson piloted the jumper since he was the calmest between them. Rodney alternated between bouts of sheer terror over their little operation and seething anger. He wiped at his forehead as a drop of sweat dribbled down one side of his face.

"This is the stupidest plan! We should have brought Lorne and his team."

"We don't need any more dead. This is better," Ronon said in an eerily calm voice.

"Define better? If the Boba Fett of the Pegasus Galaxy can elude all our search teams for days and get by all our extra security, only to try to blow up 'our' own trap---then we're going to need more than your blaster and my 9 mil."

"You're not comin' with me."

"What? Of course I am...that's the reason you asked me to--"

"Gonna need you to fly us back. I think Sheppard is going to need the Doc afterwards."

Rodney couldn't believe his ears. "I'm capable of firing a gun and you're going to need as much back up as possible."

Ronon rested his elbows on his knees with his arms hanging down and that scary cool, steely expression intimidating the hell out of him.

"I can be invisible, can you?"

"Well..."

"You have an injured foot and you're wound up too tight. You want to get yourself killed, or worse yet, lead Voulsh right to Sheppard?"

Carson's voice drifted over from the cockpit. "He's right, Rodney. We're not trained to go after assassins and we have no idea what the colonel is up to. For all we know, he's got some harebrained trap set up that we're bound to fall right into."

"I think some of us should just concentrate on flying!" Rodney lashed out.

"And I think we should listen to the expert," the agitated Scot retorted.

"If you mean an expert in recklessness, cave man behavior and a death wish, then you're right." Rodney seethed, fighting the urge to pace inside the cramped jumper. "Of course it makes sense that you can track Sheppard; you two obviously share a lot in common."

It hurt a little... knowing that he would be a hindrance, his many areas of expertise unable to do a damn lick of good in what was purely a combat situation. No...more like a deadly game of hide and seek. This was the last act of a sick little production, everyone could feel it. One way or another, someone was going to die in the final act .

Sheppard. Voulsh. Ronon. Or worse, all of them could succumb to a Shakespearian tragedy.

"I've located the colonel's jumper." Carson's news made him check the view screen. "And his life sign is several feet east of its location near the mountainside."

The runner studied the scenery below them. "Don't see anywhere to land."

"Yeah, there's no bloody way I can find a good spot."

Rodney pointed to the flashing dot that signaled where the missing colonel was located. "What? He's right there."

"Aye... how the hell am I supposed to get near him? There's no clearing anywhere close. I'm not even sure how the blazes the colonel squeezed the jumper there...it doesn't seem possible."

"Just do your best. I'm sure that was the reason he parked the damn thing in plain sight."

Ronon scrutinized the snarled tree line and the rougher terrain. "He's trying to flush Voulsh towards him where he'll use the foothills as cover."

"I still have no idea how's he getting around, even with the pain killer and the stimulant. There's no way he can be very mobile- morphine can only do so much," Carson fretted.

"Just land," Ronon instructed.

Rodney didn't hear the litany of rarely used curses under Carson's breath, but at least the physician had something to do; he had nothing to occupy his frantic mind. Ronon patted down what passed for his uniform, making sure every knife and other hidden weapons were in place.

The jumper lowered towards a grassy area and, doing the math in his head, Rodney knew that Ronon would have quite a hike to make.

"Did we ever teach you Morse code? Because maybe you could flip your radio off and on to signal us about what's happening," he suggested.

"I'll radio you when Voulsh is dead."

Rodney didn't like the sound of that, but refrained from adding his usual commentary. "Just don't bring him back on his shield."

Ronon pulled out his blaster. "Keep the jumper cloaked. I'll be back."

Rodney resisted making a smart assed remark; that was Sheppard's department to make every corny movie joke and reference that came to mind. Carson made his way next to him and the two stared silently as the runner exited the ship and sprinted off into the forest.

Carson went to one of the compartments and rummaged through a medical kit. "Guess I'll take an inventory."

"I'll keep an eye on their signals and we can follow what's happening from the screen," Rodney suggested.

"We'll know when Ronon finds him, but what about the assassin?"

Rodney watched in fascination as the moving white dot that was Ronon began his journey to catch up with the colonel. "When both dots begin heading back, then I guess the coast is clear."

He didn't want to mention the possibility that one or both dots might simply vanish from the screen. "Ronon's about one kilometer away."

"Then it shouldn't take long… Right?"

Rodney didn't think his friend could say anything more ominous.

In 1994 Sheppard had been asked to test pilot one of the V-22 Ospreys that were under consideration for a remodel for use in the Air Force. The bird was developed for the Marines and the early evaluations of the aircraft had produced mixed results. The higher ups wanted the tilt rotor craft for long range special operations. He'd been the envy of many other test pilots and even ridiculed for trying to show off.

The Osprey had been grounded after killing all eleven of its crew the year before, but Congress couldn't let their shiny new toy just gather dust in a warehouse. What airman could resist a three-bladed prop rotor, that took off like a chopper and, once airborne, the blades rotated forward 90 degrees in as little as twelve seconds for flight.

He'd been mostly a chopper pilot; everything from Blackbirds to Apaches, yet he didn't let rotors dictate what took him up in the air. With experience flying F-16s and Hornets under his belt, he'd been the perfect candidate or gullible fool to try the CV-22 version of the Osprey. The night before his initial run he threw up all his dinner; the morning of the flight, his breakfast followed.

Who wouldn't be scared shitless of such a high speed craft that could 'transform' in the air? The damn thing was born to go fast and the fact that some of his buddies were making wagers on his success only fueled his desire to show what the lady could do.

That had been the day that John Sheppard got too much attention from people who liked to wear their chest candy every chance they got during medal ceremonies. The successful flight had been one of the craziest rides of his life and that night he'd been asked to join an elite group of special operations pilots. The Air Force jumped at the chance to capture his reckless bravado in the air and train him how to operate on the ground as well.

Evacs, recon, secret missions; they all fed the adrenaline junkie in him and leeched away, little by little, all of his respect for following the rule book to the letter. It was tough to stomach all the red tape involved in the decision making for rescue missions; he'd be recruited for his expertise, yet stonewalled every other mission over protocol and statistics for success. Maybe his destiny had been carved in stone; no matter how hard he tried to take care of his people and safeguard those around him, many ended up in body bags.

Not today... not again.

He was in control of his fate and would make sure that no one else paid for his sins. The day he flew that Osprey marked the beginning of his current journey.

He watched some of the gung ho black ops guys and the Die Hard trilogy enough to hold off a whole company of Genii. Mensa or not, he adapted to situations real quick, scaring those around him enough times at how easily he assimilated in a given situation.

It was funny how reminiscing brought back such vivid memories; he felt very much like he did on that tarmac, heading towards the cockpit of his very own Voltron. Right now, he was firing on all cylinders, part of him numb to everything around him and the rest, ready to throw up at any moment.

He pulled out the C-4 and concealed the explosive in the space between two large boulders that made up the groundwork of the mountain. An explosion would more than likely bring down hundreds of pounds of heavy earth on anyone near it. Knowing his would-be assassin's tenacity, he didn't want to count on the damage from the actual kaboom to kill the bastard.

He still needed to lure Ugly close enough to face any lethal blast, but he was also still making things up as he went along. The bottom of the mountain was made of slabs of smooth stone, much like the area in Arizona where he'd been stationed for a short period of time to participate in desert survival. The area was perfect for novice climbers since the mountain didn't have a sharp ascent.

There was a niche carved out along the side where he could hide; the wall of granite could protect him from behind and the area in front was perfect cover. He could rest his P90 over one of the boulders and take easy pot shots. He had a ribbon for marksmanship, which wouldn't do any good against bullet proof exoskeletons, but this was all part of his fly by the seat of his pants plan.

He hobbled over to another section of rock to place more of the explosive, but his strength was being drained by the sun and his eyes burned from salty perspiration that rolled down his face. The air seemed thinner than he remembered and he was panting like he'd run a marathon in the Sahara. He used the sleeve of his black t-shirt to soak up the sweat of his brow and ignored the feeling of lightheadedness. The ground shimmered with specks of dirt reflecting the sunlight and every step he took became more languid and difficult. For a moment, he forgot what he was going to do and had to remind himself to plant the C-4 in another crevice along the wall.

The detonator shook as he tried to apply it to the plastic goop and it took two tries to plant it where it needed to go. He could feel a tremor build in his leg and knew it was about to give up the ghost. Limping had grown nearly impossible and in the past few minutes his pain tolerance had become paper thin. He needed to get off his feet before gravity pulled him down and he was unable to get back up again.

He recognized the sound of a ship, the invisible craft circling for a place to touch down. It could have been a jumper; it had the same pitch and tone, but he wasn't sure. It headed west to land, giving him enough time to reach his fox hole. This time he couldn't suppress the groan that escaped, adrenaline forcing him the few feet around the wall of rock that jutted out.

His knee buckled and Sheppard braced for the next fall as his body landed painfully on the heated stone, every muscle screaming out from fatigue. He lay there for what seemed forever, the sky spinning above and his head ready to explode.

Morphine's not what it used to be, he thought.

He had no choice but to crawl the rest of the way behind the safety of the rock, sliding his cane across the canyon floor in front of him. It took every ounce of energy to get upright again and he leaned over the boulder with his P-90 propped on top. His ears perked up at the sound of a second ship overhead, doing the same song and dance as it searched for a place to touch down.

"Damn it!"

One of them had to be his friends and the other belonged to Voulsh. He didn't know who was who and secretly hoped the Hunter would live up to his reputation and find him first.

Thanks for holding on—I know while many have been excited about the confrontations coming up, there were several aspects of the story that needed to be covered including plot points that still required development and certain characters that needed to get somewhere at the pace set by the whole fic. As always thank you very much for the support.

For those interested a link with a picture of the V-22 Osprey is located at my bio since I found the idea that Sheppard once flew one to be fascinating.