A/N: I've been playing with this story a bit, and reuploading. So, this chapter won't make much sense unless you go back to 9 & 10 first.  Sorry.

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There was light, shining just beyond the shield of his closed eyes. He was only slowly returning to himself.

"Abba?"

But even as he mumbled the word, consciousness returned and he knew it could not be. Blinking into the light, Gabriel frowned at the world around him, trying to remember where he was.

"Ah, so ye're awake," came a satisfied voice.

Memory rushed back in an instant. His senses tingled – danger was here, muted but present. But there was no urgency, just the constant threatening thrum in his mind. It was waiting.

Beckett's face looked him over carefully, searching for signs of something different, but Gabriel just shifted a little, maneuvering himself upright. An IV was dripping fluids into his arm, and he ran a hand over his face, feeling the brush of stubble there.

"How long was I asleep?" he managed, steadily sweeping the cobwebs from his brain. He was more rested than he had been in weeks – yet something was still not right. A sense of wrongness, nearby, jangled at him. He had to concentrate a moment, locking his nature tightly away. He could not afford to rouse more suspicion.

When he realized what he had just thought, in light of the previous circumstances, he could only just keep from rolling his eyes at his own foolishness.

"Two days," Beckett responded cheerfully, coming forward with stethoscope and cuff in order to take his blood pressure. Gabriel held his arm out patiently.

"What did I miss?"

"Well, ye're team's been right worried," Beckett easily evaded the question. "And as ye can probably tell, we're no longer under attack by the wraith." The doctor's blue eyes pinned him in place. "Thank you."

Gabriel looked away. What could he say? There was little use now in denying what he had done, and any further dissembling would only rouse more suspicions than it would placate.

"Was anyone hurt?"

Beckett didn't look at him. "Two." The answer was quiet, when it came. "Anthony Marduk was killed. We believe that he was at the site of the initial assault. The wraith wanted to prevent us from putting the shield up, which was what he was working on."

Gabe nodded. "I know."

Beckett shot him a look, but said nothing.

"And?"

The doctor glanced at him, distracted, as he counted heartbeats.

"You said that two were injured."

"Ah. Yes." Carson straightened, removing the stethoscope from his ears. "Ford was . . . used, by the wraith. From what I could tell, they were experimenting on him. He woke once, and was violent. He was restrained until his blood chemistry evened out – then I sedated him." Beckett looked to the curtain at Gabriel's right, for a moment.

"At the precise moment, there are far more questions about him than you. From what I can tell, you simply came down with exhaustion."

"I bet," Gabe murmured, giving Carson only half of his attention. "Who wants to see me?" He was conscious of a need for explanations, even if he didn't relish the prospect. Might as well get it over with.

Beckett paused, eyeing him carefully. "Sheppard, Weir, your team."

"In that order?" Gabe grimaced wryly.

Beckett quirked a grin at him, pulling the blood-pressure cuff off. Velcro protested loudly. "Pretty much," he retorted.

Gabriel was briefly thankful that the doctor, at least, was not pressuring him for answers.

"I already know everything I need to," Carson replied to his unspoken thought. "And I gave my report." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "From what I've seen from your bloodwork, and the experiments I've been running the past few weeks, this biological impulse of yours is completely unique and purely instinctual."

Gabriel tilted his head in bemusement.

"Ye have no control," Carson elaborated. "It's something like a lizard sacrificing its tail to escape capture by a predator. Biochemically, of course, not physically. It happens under extreme duress, and ye're left to recover afterward." He frowned, deep in thought. "It's more than likely a mutation. Hmm."

Gabriel bit back a smile at the esoteric, if apt, example. He settled more comfortably against the pillows, the doctor sitting next to him. "The official story," Carson broke the silence, moving to listen to Gabe's heart, "is that a security protocol was activated by the massive presence of wraith in the city. It released a biochemical and physical defense system built into Atlantis by the Ancients. That's what caused the shield to drop, and the light to blow out the wraith sensors."

He looked up, and on seeing Gabriel's blank stare, hurriedly told him of what had occurred to the entirety of the Atlantis team on the wraith hive ships. A few minutes later and much wiser, Gabriel was impressed at their ingenuity. "It was all McKay's idea," Carson informed him.

Gabriel raised a brow, wondering at his own surprise. He should have known.

"I'll just check these, then, and you're all set."

Brought back to the present with the words, Gabriel raised a brow. Beckett was gently removing a thick bandage from its place at the base of his throat. The wraith bites, he realized.

The marks themselves had almost disappeared after two days of rest. Nothing but pale bruises and old scabs covered the cuts made by the suckers in the wraiths' palms. If Beckett was surprised at the speed of the healing, he gave no indication.

Gabriel was awake long enough to eat before Sheppard entered the medical ward. Gabriel managed to keep from tensing up, but he couldn't fight the instinctive reaction that had him mustering the entirety of his being and removing it, sliding away from the notice of those around him. It had never worked on Sheppard, and all he could think was that it must be that damn Ancient gene again.

The moment of disquiet did not go unnoticed, but Sheppard didn't call him on it. Rather, he slouched comfortably in a nearby chair, and asked for Gabe's report.

Gabe gave it to him.

It was succinct, detailing his actions as the wraith kidnapped the Atlantis team, putting down his escape of the transporter beams to sheer luck; and it had been, more or less. He admitted to trying to use the ability he had to kill the wraith, and stretched the truth when he told Sheppard he hadn't expected to encounter so many wraith in one area. He truthfully admitted surprise on still being alive.

Sheppard nodded, seemingly accepting everything he was told. The Major waited until Gabe finished speaking. Leaning forward, he pinned the SF with steely eyes. "You haven't told me everything."

"Sir?"

Sheppard would not be deterred. He stared hard at Gabriel, waiting for an answer. Long, silent minutes passed. The other was unperturbed by the silence, and Sheppard nodded slowly.

Battle lines had been drawn, then. Sheppard would never stop watching or searching until he found the answer to what he had seen and heard from Gabriel in the control room. But Venner was in no way about to tell him.

Nothing more was to be said, but the rising controversy between them didn't need that simple acknowledgement. Both men were well aware of the situation.

Gabe's report to Weir was much more concise, and the explanation he gave his team was even simpler. Yet he was aware, the entire time that he spoke, of Sheppard, visiting his lieutenant, within easy hearing distance on the other side of a screen that was no block to sound.

As he moved and spoke, Gabriel gained strength and color, though Beckett insisted that he remain in the infirmary for at least two days before he was allowed back on active duty.

That night, with few eyes watching, Gabriel slipped from his bed and to his feet. Treading silently across the floor, clad in light scrubs, he pushed past the curtain to the right of his bed. And pulled up short.

The man lying there was only visibly unchanged from whatever the wraith had done to him. But as he got closer, Gabe realized that the source of the unease he had been feeling all day was emanating from the man – a boy in his eyes – unconscious in this bed.

He moved closer, the floor chill to his bare feet.

One more step.

The man on the bed didn't move, but Gabriel knew he was rising from sleep, consciousness spurred by the approach of a threat.

There were new, tiny lines around his eyes. Looking closely, Gabriel could see signs of the attack in the bags under Ford's eyes, and the looseness of his skin. There was no sign of the needle marks he had overheard Beckett muttering over, the lieutenant's rapid healing a source of confusion. Unlike Gabriel, whose medical history was sparse, Ford had a much more complete file, one that had expanded upon arriving in Atlantis. The only explanation lay with the wraith. But what, exactly, had they done?

Gabriel reached out a hand, his fingers gently resting on the other's wrist.

As if sensing his thoughts, Ford's eyes snapped open.

Expecting the rapid reaction, Gabriel didn't move. Even when the body on the bed struggled against the restraints, bloodshot eyes rolling in a panic, he did not move.

Instead, he assessed the man before him.

Something was wrong. Somehow, something the wraith had done had left him indelibly marked. There was a disconcerted jangle to his senses, warning him of a threat – but he could clearly see that something had been done to the man before him. He might be a threat, but he was also an innocent.

Until that which was within him drove him to –

Gabriel ruthlessly cut the thought off.

Ford had stopped struggling, now, staring at him. A trapped animal, backed into a corner. Gabriel was not unaware of the sudden danger.

In a surprisingly swift move, Ford's hand twisted just as the SF's fingers loosened from his wrist. Ford grabbed Gabriel's hand in his own, and the other froze.

Something was pulling at him; only faintly, but still. Perhaps Ford couldn't feed like a wraith, but he was nevertheless trying to. Even if he didn't know it. Gabriel could feel his own spirit rising to meet it, his soul now familiar – too familiar – with this kind of an attack.

He wrenched his hand away, shoving the power down and jumping back. Quelling the instinctive reaction, he stared hard at Ford, reminding himself that the man was blameless.

Ford's eyes were not trapped now. Gabriel could see the sly calculation buried behind the confusion there. The lieutenant blinked, more of the man emerging from underneath the machinations of the wraith.

Gabriel stepped back before he could speak, slipping past the curtain and moving softly through the moonlight. The nurse on call was scandalized to see him on his feet, but much more concerned when he told her that Ford was awake. She went to check on the man, and Gabriel hovered unobtrusively nearby, protecting them both. But nothing disturbed the calm of the night, and when he peered carefully around the curtain, he saw that Ford had lapsed back into sleep with his disappearance. Emerging, the nurse was horrified that he was still on his feet, and ushered him back to bed, brooking no protests.

The two days' worth of bed rest was intensified after Beckett heard of his nighttime wanderings. There was a nurse posted just outside his small, curtained-off bed for the next two nights, preventing any more such jaunts.

As a result, he missed most of the active clean-up and reestablishment of Atlantis. Wasting no time, the hive ships and much of the city were scouted for wraith presence. None were found, though the occasional pile of ash betrayed their former presence. The only spark on his senses grated from a mere ten feet away.

Being forced to stay in the infirmary, however, led to unexpected advantages.

"It's a wraith enzyme," was Beckett's final pronunciation. Gabriel could hear the frown in his voice.

"Well, surely it's worked its way out of his system by now?" the civilian head of Atlantis sounded confused.

Weir and Sheppard were both speaking to Carson; the latter directly concerned for one of his men and a member of his team, the former because what Beckett had discovered posed an unprecedented threat to the Atlantis venture.

"Not hardly. Look." Gabriel raised a brow at Beckett's grim tone. "I've found the same enzyme stored in sacs near the apertures in the palms of the wraith. They apparently use it to drain macroprotein complexes and cellular bioelectric currents from their prey."

"What?" Sheppard's notable temper had run thin.

Beckett heaved a sigh. "It's the juice the wraith use to suck the life from humans, for lack of better description. We don't really know what it actually targets in the human system yet, as it seems to act on a variety of – well. The point is that this enzyme isn't being purged from Ford's bloodstream by normal means, such as the endocrine or immune systems. It's lingering, having a lasting effect on body, and brain and blood chemistry."
"And the result?" Weir moved, the sound of her footsteps circling around the bed and coming to a stop near Ford's head.

Gabriel didn't need to see to know Beckett was shaking his head. "I'm afraid that it could be creating a dependency."

There was an incredulous silence, a pause before the storm.

"You mean Ford's addicted to wraith death-juice?" The expected explosion was no less venomous for its low volume.

"Essentially."

"What will it take to break the addiction?" Weir finally asked.

"I couldn't predict that, at this point."

"I want you to do the best you can to figure it out," Sheppard snapped. "He's pulled from active duty until then, and I am not losing a member of my team to the wraith."

Gabriel could help himself no longer. Though he knew it would do no good, he turned to stare at the curtain walling him off from the sedated man, and the three who contemplated his future over his unconscious form. He had to shake his head, and stopped listening with an effort, turning his attention to the book in his hand. It had been something dropped off for him by Dylan. He had only one more day to go, before he was released.

When he was finally back on his feet, Gabe returned to full duty. With the excuse to his team that he was fully medically cleared, and with his superiors well aware of the situation, there was no more need for his medically inactive status.

And so he was on 'gate-duty three days later, when they were attacked.

"What's wrong, Gabe?"

Dylan's impatience scratched for his attention. The other smiled, a little hesitantly, his eyes still roving the gateroom.

"Nothing," he answered.

"You're wound tighter than a spring," Pete commented, crouched for cover and facing the 'gate. "Even I can see it." Incidentally, Pete was parked across the room from his friend.

"Funny," Gabe sniped back. He shifted his stance, a little, and glanced over his shoulder again.

"Venner." Hank this time. He must be more obvious than he thought, if they were all picking up on it. He didn't usually disregard his instincts, but the idea that they could be attacked from behind, from within, was –

"Something's wrong."

The others stared at the crispness of his words.

"We're more likely to be attacked from the gate than from the control room," Pete pointed out. Gabriel didn't miss the speaking glance the other shared with Hank.

They had been actively hovering over the past few days, since his release from the infirmary. They couldn't quite believe that he wasn't dead, and didn't know why not. He could sense the tension there, the need for more answers than he could give. They saw him too clearly, and refused to let him slide from their memories. Like the rest of the Atlantis team, they clung to the reality of his existence, when even he would deny it. He had no explanation they would believe, but they wouldn't accept his half-answers for much longer. They also deserved more of the truth than he could give them, but there was nothing to be done about that.

"I know," he finally responded, stretching out his senses. He perked up again, catching something, there – something familiar. Hazel eyes widened. "What?"

Blasts from a stun weapon tore through the control room, all four men in the 'gateroom spinning to focus on the balcony above. Blue bolts died out, and a sudden noise behind them made Gabriel twitch.

"Shawcross! Heath! The 'gate!" Hank roared.

Pete and Dylan whirled to cover the Stargate, as they were the ones closest to it on each side. Chevrons were locking, and in moments the wormhole burst into life, collapsing back into the shimmering event horizon. Though he didn't see it, the sudden glow illuminated the 'gateroom.

It was then that something deep within his mind screamed a warning, from that strange sense that mortals didn't even have. He strained to see . . .

A burst from a wraith stun weapon took Dylan down, but they still couldn't see the target. When the attacker stepped out from behind a sheltering wall, however, he used the second of shock that hit them to take out Hank. Pete whirled, but neither he nor Gabe fired. It was one of their own.

Ford strode forward, and Gabriel dove out of sight. Pete scrambled for cover on the opposite side. Gabriel poked his head carefully up, seeing Ford walk confidently toward the wormhole.

At that moment, Pete burst from cover, firing a burst from his P-90 at shin height, clearly aiming to disable. Moving faster than should be possible – wraith speed, Gabriel's intuition told him – Ford dodged out of the way, lifted the stun weapon and fired a deadly accurate shot. Pete went down – but Gabriel was presented with Ford's back.

Silent and swift, he launched himself forward, tackling the lieutenant to the ground. There was noise behind him, telling him that reinforcements had arrived, but they were in too close for anyone to do anything.

The stun weapon had gone flying.

Ford rolled over, grappling desperately with Gabriel. His strength was strange, wild eyes unseeing. Gabriel broke his hold easily, trying to flip the other and pin him, but Ford wrenched free with little care for pain. They were alarmingly close to the event horizon, and Ford paused a moment.

Gabriel had him.

And then, with the flat of his hand, Ford slapped his palm onto Gabriel's wrist. With the contact, power poured through the hunter, and he gasped in surprise, yanking it down and away. In the moment that his concentration slipped, Ford was free, rolling through the event horizon.

The hunter growled a curse in a long-dead language as the wormhole died, rolling to his feet. He was greeted by the muzzles of fifteen M-16's, and froze.

"Stand down." John Sheppard lowered his own weapon, eyes scanning the room now that the threat had escaped. Temper sparked in blue eyes. "He's gone."

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Well, now that exams are over for a while, and I actually have some time to myself, I'm back!