Chapter 12: Sparring part 2

A/N: Kind of brief. I'm upping the rating. A little more sparring – hope you liked the verbal sparring between McKay and Kyte previously. Ncxt chapter, there will be major whumping.

The halls of Atlantis were mostly quiet and deserted at this early hour. The few people I passed barely noticed me or the soft thwack of my bare feet, much less case I carried. For a moment I reflected on my favorite hour of the day, as the city began to stir. If I had been home in San Francisco, I would have smelled coffee brewing and bakery ovens starting for the day. Over at the docks, one could hear a dozen languages as boats pulled in. Well, Atlantis had the language thing at least. I shook my head. "Focus on the task at hand," I scolded myself. "Either on my shield or without it." Face the fight and possibility of death or drop everything like a coward and run.

I walked into the brig and greeted the marines half-dozing around Dr. Lowell's cell. They didn't seem surprised or concerned to see me – which meant my escape had gone unnoticed for now. I didn't envy the tongue-lashing someone in the infirmary would get from Dr. Beckett if I didn't sneak back in.

"You think you could give me a few minutes with him," I asked in my politest voice – the one I use when I try to wheedle an extension out of a professor.

"Sure. No one's gotten much out of him, although I think Caldwell hasn't taken off the kid gloves yet," responded Lt. Browning. "After what he did to the Colonel and Major Andrews, I wouldn't mind a shot at him. I suppose you have a few ideas?"

"Yes."

"We didn't see anything."

"Thanks." I stepped into the cell. Dr. Lowell may have been half-asleep before, but now had his full attention. The expression on his face registered surprise, then contempt as he attempted to stare me down.

"Come to gloat? Glad to see you survived intact. Just because I'm here now, doesn't mean anything to you. Stargate Command won't simply let you go back to your life, once they know what you can do. At most, they'll get you a lab job somewhere in Cheyenne Mountain. They won't want you out of their sight. Forget your rights – you're government property –valuable government property," he smirked. A cat teasing the mouse smirk.

I felt my blood boil and bit back the bile in my throat.

"You owe me Kyte, actually. If we hadn't found you, someone would have, eventually. NID. Maybe one of the agents of the System Lords. I don't think they'd be quite as nice as I've been. A cell somewhere, remote, isolated if you were lucky."

I raised an eyebrow at his tone. "I owe you?"

"You found Atlantis, didn't you, and contacted Stargate Command? This is a nice gilded prison for you to bide your time. You were destined for this place, engineered to protect it. It's your inheritance.

"Engineered to protect Atlantis? Forgive me if I don't quite follow your twisted logic," I spoke as calmly as I could.

"I'm guessing you can access some of those archives, with a little better luck than General O'Neill. Knowing your old-fashioned background, you're honor-bound to tell them what happened, even if there are consequences. If the wraith come calling again, there are plenty of people who wouldn't hesitate to put a gun to your head, for that knowledge."

"I'd still have a choice. At least it'd be for a cause I'd believe in, not some power-hungry scientist's theory," I spoke quietly.

"All a question of semantics. That Brigadoon little town of yours taught you honor and guilt. I know why you can't go back. You want to, it eats you up. You'll do what they tell you here, because you're honor-bound."

"Enough," I interrupted. "You don't understand. Could never hope to comprehend what I know." I unzipped the case. "You should understand that where I come from a sword drawn in anger cannot be sheathed until it hads drawn blood." I pulled out a short, broad sword. To most people, it looked like something from the time of the Roman Empire. How had someone put it? Fifteen hundred years of tradition, unhindered by progress. I pulled out a large dagger, mate to the sword. Weapons of a Scotsman - or woman. "Defend yourself," I called to Dr. Lowell, tossing him the dagger. He caught it with a maniacal gleam. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the marines stir to attention, but not move to interfere.

About this time, Dr. Beckett walked into the infirmary carrying two mugs of coffee. "Kyte, lass, sorry about earlier. I brought you a …," he swore, seeing the empty bed and tangle of scrubs. "Dr. Weir, you haven't seen Dr. Randall?" he asked into the radio.

"No."

"She's disappeared. I just wondered if you had requested her presence."

"Sorry. Check with Colonel Sheppard or Rodney, they may know something."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Colonel Sheppard seemed offended at the question, then denied seeing the scientist. Rodney hesitated for a moment.

"Yes, I visited her a little while ago. She asked me to bring some clothes and a case from her quarters. Said she had some business to settle."

"Long, narrow case?" interrupted Caldwell's flat voice.

"Yes."

"Good god, you know what that contains?" barked Caldwell.

"No," apologized Dr. McKay.

"A set of swords, or more precisely, a sword and dagger." Dr. Weir, Rodney, Caldwell, and Sheppard were treated to a litany of Gaelic swearing.

When he had calmed down slightly, Dr. Beckett explained, "Kyte swore revenge. In blood. I'm guessing she means to kill Dr. Lowell, at the least."

"You think she'd kill herself?" Dr. Weir contemplated the unthinkable.

"I don't know. I wanted Dr. Heightmeyer to talk to her, before I released her. She's been through the bloody wringer. It may all be too much for her to process."

"We'd better find her quickly then," Caldwell interrupted briskly.

A/N 2: I once had a three hour discussion in a philosophy class about the situation – if someone held a gun to your head and said 'your money or your life' is that really a choice.