A/N: Another party. Can't help it with all the reviews letting me know this story is being enjoyed, and that it's creeping people out. Excellent, my fiendish plan is coming to fruition. Next step - world domination, or would be if I wanted to take over the world, but I don't. Anways, pay attention to this chapter, some explanations are involved, and it might seem a bit complicated. It was certainly tricky to write, and I hope things are somewhat clear. Sorry if they aren't. I'm more looking forward to having you read the next chapter, but not until tomorrow. Ch. 19 - 20's the doozy.

Ch. 18

Not all Ancients were Friendly

Bart should have been a novelist – or wrote screenplays. He had a knack for leaving a subject hanging in the air, and driving the mind batty with suspense.

Until John was back in the parlor, getting properly treated for the cuts and breaks, Bart wasn't going to expound any further concerning Divante. The little genetic hob-goblin took John through the servants' passage, walking at a sideways angle to keep one arm wrapped around John's waist – which was as high as the creature could go. He took John's weight without effort or excess breathing, which would have been a trifle humiliating if John didn't suspect that besides brains, the genetic creatures had also been graced with a smidgen extra strength to make heavy lifting less of a hassle.

Entering the parlor, John was nearly knocked to the ground by Krissa bowling into him, throwing her arms his waist when Bart let go. Her aim was higher, and a cry gurgled from John's throat. He lurched back, prying the girl's arms from his abused floating ribs.

Looking at her face was a stab to the heart. Her cheeks were wet, and her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Krissa sniffed and wiped her nose with a handkerchief. " I heard the howls." Her voice was hoarse and thick. " I thought..."

John gave her a weak smile of reassurance. " Not today." He hobbled over to the couch and slowly lowered himself with a choked grunt. Krissa followed close on his heels. The moment he was sitting, she pulled the first aid kit from beneath the couch and began removing everything to set it on the floor in a perfect row. Bart went to the bathroom and returned with a bowl of water. After that, he moved to the fire and tossed on more wood.

Both Bren and Krissa aided John in peeling off the mutilated shirt. " What happened?" Krissa pressed, dropping the shirt to the floor and grabbing up a cloth and ointment bottle. Her shaking hands had the stuff splashing over everything except the cloth until Bren took it from her. " Did you save Sareeka?"

John shook his head heavily. " No." His voice had a scratchy quality to it, and he tried to recall when he had screamed. He then jerked his chin toward Bart. " Ask him. He seems to know what's going on. You still haven't told me about the dreams, Bart. You said something about Diavante talking through dreams."

Krissa began cleaning the gashes on John's arms. Bren unwound the bandages around John's chest. He looked at John quizzically, then shot the same look to Bart. Bart turned, standing butler-like with claws clasped behind the back. All that was missing was the prim black suit.

" Diavante finds dreams a more useful form of communication."

" What, he can't just talk face to face?"

" He prefers his method. More is revealed to him through the unconscious mind."

Krissa's attention ricocheted back and forth between Bart and John. Her hands were still unsteady, putting uncomfortable pressure on the wounds as she scrubbed them clean. John's mind, however, was honed, regarding the pain as little more than an annoying distraction not worth his time.

" What's Bart talking about? What's going on?" she asked.

John never took his gaze from Bart, as though doing so might give the creature the idea that the conversation was being dropped.

" Seems grandma's the big bad wolf," John stated. " Monsters of the woods my ass, Savine and her groupies are the ones doing the howling act. They're the one's that've been leaving skinned bodies on the wall. They're not all that human, Krissa. Your grandma's an honest to goodness – don't ask me how – shapeshifter. She can turn into a monster. She's the one forcing everyone to pull the disappearing act."

Krissa paused and looked up at John, searching his face, seeking out the signs that might reveal John wasn't being all that honest. But John was good with honesty, since even he was aware of his high intimidation level during moments of brutal veraciousness. He only had two dominating personalities – 'take it in stride' and 'don't put up with crap.' Although right now, it was more 'let's get the hell out of Dodge, now'.

" Not everyone," Bart chimed in.

John sucked in a sharp breath when Bren tightened the bandages. " What?"

" Savine was not responsible for every disappearance. Some of it was Diavante's doing."

Bren paused in tying the bandages to look up. Krissa slowed in her nervous cleaning, never looking, just listening intently with a paled face.

" I believe there is no reason to tell you, Mr. Sheppard," continued Bart, " that Diavante has taken a special interest in you. It is of no surprise, at least to me. You do come from the city that Master Diavante once called home."

John slowly straightened, and even Krissa couldn't hold back, and whipped her head around to give Bart the wide-eyed look of a deer caught in the headlights.

" Diavante's an Ancient?" John said.

" Ancient, Ancestor, whatever your preferred term. I have come to know all this during my assisting days with Madame Savine. Had to so that the goal of the experiments was made clear. Master Diavante was reknowned during his time when the water city was still occupied. Apparently – though here my knowledge is scattered – there were some discrepancies, some disagreements concerning many of his projects. Moral disagreements. It seems the belief that these projects were unethical and cruel was unanimous. Savine talked of it with Diavante. Diavante was quite insistent that this was not the case. But you have seen the storage cell, Mr. Sheppard. The judgment is more yours to make. Personally, I really don't care as long as I'm never asked to test anything. But that is moot. To escape the 'prejudices' of his colleagues, Master Diavante traveled to many worlds. But I believe his real troubles began when he started doing deeper research on something known as 'ascension'. To hear Divante talk about it, he makes it sound as though it were nothing more than a dogmatic religious belief that held no real use. The only aspect of it to catch his interest was the immortality and power that came with it. He wanted to harness that power, but not at the price paid – namely leaving under the strict guidelines that came with being an ascended. Not that I blame these ascended people. Knowing Divante, and people like Savine, it is an unsettling thought picturing them with such powers."

John's mind went to Chaya, good, kind hearted but lonely Chaya. John had brooded on and off over what he had seen as a rather cruel fate – forever guard the world you love, but forever be alone. But by mentally replacing Chaya with Savine, seeing her with the same abilities, but without the heart – it was starting to make sense, and that tore him.

There were reasons for rules.

" The details of Diavante's experimentations with trying to harness the powers of the ascended are detailed, complicated and unpleasant to go into," Bart continued. " He... made some headway. His goal was reached halfway."

Bren had finished tying off the knot as Krissa began bandaging the gashes.

" Halfway?" John asked.

" Power was... sort of... achieved. He became immortal. But a price was paid. Master Diavante was altered in a way that is most inexplicable. The best that I can describe – he is caught between an ethereal and corporeal state. He can alternate his form, change its shape, become solid or become mist, but never anything definite. Whatever shape his form assumes, it is never complete or permanent. He hopes to remedy this through Savine's efforts. His ability to morph his shape was the final ingredient that made Savine's transformation serum possible. Really they were searching for a way to provide Diavante more stability in his form taking. He has the bio-structure of an incalculable number of creatures within him – including wraith. It has given Diavante a number of fascinating abilities. But I believe he is growing impatient. He must be. Savine has been very nervous as of late. Normally she is not so quick to kill off the competition. She is usually quite content to simply frighten them when they begin their attempts to break into the private labs."

When Krissa finished with the bandaging, she took up the busy work of precisely placing the medical items back into the kit, lining them up in a neat row, largest to smallest, adjusting when something didn't fit just quite right. Uneasy fidgeting was all it was, to keep the hands and the small, nagging parts of the mind busy.

John leaned forward with a pain-screwed face as far as his chest would allow, and rested his arms on his knees. " What about the other two, prince charming and the Genii soldier? What did they do to piss Diavante off?"

Bart narrowed his eyes. " Well, apparently, 'piss' you off. Logic dictates it since you were the one they last confronted. Talk of your dreams confirms it. I've heard your sleep mutterings, Mr. Sheppard. Perhaps you were not aware, but you were begging to be left alone. I have heard such mutterings before. Not always similar – some beg to know more or hear more. Others have gone as far as killing themselves to make it stop. Diavante has entered my mind to relay instructions. I am quite aware of how..." Bart shuddered, actually shuddered, but the facial features didn't even twitch, " unsavory it is. Unnatural."

" Disgusting," John spat. " Like someone's walking through your brain wearing muddy shoes and spraying a mud-filled hose."

" Quite," Bart replied. " Diavante cannot enter the minds of the awake. Too difficult. Dreams open up inner secrets for him. He has obviously found something in your mind he likes, or he would not have intervened as he had."

John shivered. " Should I be worried?"

Bart's response was a one shouldered shrug. " Difficult to say with Diavante. His mood shifts are unpredictably sudden. But had Diavante not taken a liking to you, you would have been dead weeks ago."

John eased back against the cushions of the couch with a moan and gritted teeth. He was still shaking, leaking adrenaline by the gallons that was putting his body into a state of lesser, non-threatening shock. It was making him cold, and so thirsty his tongue felt like leather that kept sticking to the roof of his mouth. Then there was the stinging, stabbing, burning, throbbing pains that were sending his stomach into acid-churning fits. He licked crack lips, but didn't have the saliva to remedy the dryness.

Krissa pushed the neatly arranged kit back beneath the bed. She then stood, and moved to sit beside John, hands lying loose in her lap, and eyes to the floor. She had turned inward toward thoughts that made the muscles of her brow twitch as though uncertain whether to furrow or smooth.

" Do you know why," John said, " Diavante's interested in me?"

" It is your head, Mr. Sheppard, not mine," Bart replied. " I am neither a mind or dream reader. Diavante's attempted discussions should give you some insight."

John closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the cushions. " Yeah, one happy trip down memory lane." He sighed. " He asked me about Atlantis."

" Homesick then, I suppose," Bart said.

John opened his eyes and squinted thoughtfully up at the ceiling going from writhing shadows to blue-gray spreading from the window and the outside world heading toward morning. Diavante's escapades through John's unconscious would have opened up quite a number of classified info – including the fact that Atlantis wasn't gone. John's heart skipped a number of beats.

Okay, so Diavante knew. If nostalgia and homesickness were all the Ancient were after, John would gladly give him a couple of mental pictures of the place in exchange that Diavante stay out of John's head. But if there was more, a plot behind the poking around, then John had stumbled into his all time screwup. The information in John's skull concerning the city could be the ultimate bidding item – sell out Atlantis for scraps of the rarest metal.

No, that didn't sound right. Atlantis was techno-paradise. With Diavante being the power hungry, die-hard scientist that Bart made him out to be, he'd be more inclined to take Atlantis for himself. That sounded more plausible, and slightly less intimidating. Give a little, get a little – if Diavante was willing not to be a stickler about his finds, Dr. Weir would probably be more than willing to let even a form-altered Ancient have run of a few devices.

Nope, that didn't sound quite right either. The Ancient had been run out of the city for ethical issues, and had butchered the art of Ascension. Not the kind of guy one would want tinkering with – for example – a drone chair, or a retrovirus. John's mind flashed to that nano-infection that had nearly half of Atlantis screaming in terror, and a few hemorrhaging to death.

No reason not to think that Diavante had played a hand in it. That disease had been pretty morally debased in a 'kill all inferior humans' kind of way. Had that been the ethical dilemma?

Another question – if Diavante is so homesick, why not just go home? He probably still recalled the address, he could have awakened the city himself. Unless he had forgotten. A couple of thousand years could really do a number on the brain, or so John assumed.

John's eyes slid closed, and he released a long, drawn out exhale that took the last of his meager energy with it. Even with the pain pulsating through him, it was at a lower frequency, and his muscles relinquished their tense hold.

" Why hasn't Diavante ever gone back to Atlantis?" John finally asked out loud, his words slurring.

" I don't know," was Bart's answers. " I'm not privy to all Diavante's plans and reasonings."

Bart's voice was starting to sound far off. John felt something in a detached sort of way – a very small increase of weight, softness, and warmth pooling around his shivering frame. Trembling decreased to muscle twitches, and his body completely lost the will to feel. He would have reveled in it, but all thought took him for a merry ride.

" Joooohn."

The tone wasn't too happy. Caressing, more caressing, then a building, agonizing pressure at the back of his neck.

" Atlantis! Oh my Atlantis!"

John bolted his head up long before his sticky eyes could snap apart. He blinked away the goo trying to seal his eyes for good, and darted his gaze around the gray-lit parlor. The fire had diminished to glowing red embers and gray ash. Neither Bart nor Bren were present, but John could hear the rasping voice from the bedchamber caught up in a one sided conversation. He heard Savine's name mentioned, and the serum.

John turned his head to look the other way, and started on seeing Krissa still sitting rigidly beside him, staring at her hands resting in her lap. John pushed himself straighter, wincing, pulling the blanket back up that had slipped down his bare and bandaged chest.

" Were you sitting there all night?" he asked.

Krissa's index finger twitched. " Wasn't much night left anyways."

" Did you sleep?"

She shook her head. " I want to go home."

The innocence, vulnerability, and conviction of that statement had Krissa more a twelve year old than she had ever been since John had met her. Even younger, actually. Intelligence and harsh realities could have a mind skipping years, but it didn't create a grown-up overnight. There were limits that had even those of John's years and older reverting to the simple, straightforward, needs and desires normally seen only in children. Suicide runs, wraith ships, attempted culls had all reduced John at one time or another – for mere seconds – to begging for the simple desire of wanting to go home.

Krissa had just hit her limit.

" Bart told us about the serum," she said next.

" It explains a lot," John said.

" Savine could have killed you."

John smirked. " Not if Diavante has anything to say about it. He likes me, remember?"

" He wants something from you." She stated it monotone, as though coming to an unfavorable realization. " It's the only reason you're still alive. It's the only reason we're all still alive. He needs you, he needs me... But when he doesn't need us anymore..." She didn't finish because she didn't have to. She shivered.

John moved the blanket from himself to place it around Krissa's shoulders. The cool air of the fire-less room attacked without mercy, and his muscles tightened until they twitched. This didn't go past the ever observant Krissa.

" Don't do that, you don't need to. You're cold, I'm just scared." She took the blanket off and placed it over John's back. It made John laugh even with it seeming an inappropriate time for laughter.

" Who's taking care of who?"

Krissa allowed her lips to turn up in a small, wan smile. " You're protecting me, I'm taking care of you. That's what people do. So get used to it."

John, still chuckling, shook his head. " Man, my buddy McKay would love you."

Krissa placed her hand on his shoulder. " You're still shaking."

John nodded. " I'm still tired." He then cleared his throat. He had an idea, one that wasn't a long shot, but risky if Krissa didn't agree to it. But the girl needed to get away from this hell hole before absolute desensitization kicked in. She didn't deserve to be stuck in the devils' playground. " Krissa, listen... I have an idea about how to keep you safe without you having to be on the run all your life. But you have to promise me something. I need you to keep what I'm about to tell you a complete secret, all right? It's not a bad secret, but if others find out, bad things could happen. I'm putting a lot of people's lives at stake if I tell you what I'm about to tell you. I need you to realize this, and not tell anyone else."

Krissa, smile gone, nodded soberly. " I understand. I won't tell."

John cleared his throat again. Second thought was being a backseat driver, but he felt no qualms over what he was about to do. He trusted Krissa. Time to test that trust.

" Atlantis isn't gone. It wasn't destroyed. It was a rumor we started in order to keep the wraith from returning. But the city is still around. And if we can get out of here, I can take you there. You'll be safe. You won't have to run. But it means having to lie. We wouldn't keep you there, you could visit your family and stuff, but you wouldn't be able to tell them the truth. It's not that we don't trust your people, we just have to play it safe. You know the wraith, what they can do, find out. We can't risk them finding out Atlantis is still around."

Krissa, however, seemed not to have heard the part about having to lie. Her face lit up like a spotlight and her next smile was the kind that went all the way to her eyes. For the first time in days, she was genuinely happy.

" Really? You'd let me come to the water city? To live!"

" Shh!" John hissed. " Not so loud."

" Oh, we can trust Bren, and Bart of course..."

" That's not what I meant. The doors aren't exactly soundproof here. But yeah, I'll take you to Atlantis."

Krissa suddenly leaped forward and threw her arms around John's neck. " Thank you, thank you, thank you Mr. Sheppard, thank you...!"

John, clenching his jaw to stifle a grin, had to pry Krissa's arms from off his sore neck. " All right, all right, thank me when we actually cross the Stargate. We do this auction thing, then we go."

Krissa nodded excitedly. When Bren and Bart entered the room, Krissa burst to her feet and ran to the older man, throwing her arms around his waist.

" Mr. Sheppard has offered us sanctuary!"

Bren looked down at Krissa, then at John.

" When I head home, you can come with me," John said. Bren smiled and patted Krissa's back.

John looked at Bart. " You want in on this?"

Bart narrowed his eyes. " Master Diavante will not be happy should he find out about this."

John stood, keeping the blanket pulled tight around his shoulders. " What's the big deal? Krissa said she's only able to make so many of the sils. She makes one, gives your boss the blueprints, then he doesn't need her anymore and she can go where she pleases. It's not like we're bailing on him right here and now."

" Except that Diavante will not want her to go," Bart said. He turned to Krissa. The girl's smile was wavering, ready to plummet back into a frown, and did at Bart's scowl. " Mr. Sheppard is not the only one holding Diavante's interests."

Krissa released Bren and regarded Bart with growing trepidation. " I'm aware. I would not have been invited if Diavante had not found interest in my work."

Bart shook his head. " No Miss Krissa, it is more than that. The details are vague even to me, and what I know I know only from snatches of conversation. Before the competition, of all the candidates considered, you were the one Diavante talked of the most. He knew of your inventions, including that of the sil and your prototype. Much of his focus was on you, but I cannot say why. I believe the sil has involvement, since – as you know – it was at the top of the list he sent you of inventions he wished you to create. Miss Krissa, I can honestly say you have a place on his staff even though the contest is not over. Really, the contest is nothing more than a way to fill a few vacant spaces left by those who – to put it mildly – didn't come through. But you – you've already won. Now that Diavante has you, he's not going to let you go so easily. I am sorry."

Hope drained from Krissa, along with the color in her face. " W-what?"

John glared at Bart. " She's stuck here?"

Bart turned to face John. The genetic hob-goblin was still scowling. " You are surprised? Those were the conditions of the competition. The place is permanent until services are no longer required, and Miss Krissa's services have been very much required."

" Why?" John pressed. " If she gives him the sil and the plans..."

" My guess," Bart interrupted as though trying to hurry things along. " Is that he may not want Miss Krissa where others could reach her and discover how to build a sil of their own. Diavante has been known to – prevent such things."

" What do you mean prevent?"

" If a staff member becomes obsolete but carries knowledge concerning certain devices Diavante does not want others to know about, Diavante does what he feels he must to prevent that member from going out into the world. And Diavante is quite adept and making others disappear. Do you understand what I am saying, Mr. Sheppard?"

John sneered in disgust. " Yeah, he kills them."

" Exactly. And personally I do not wish to see Miss Krissa suffer the same fate. Diavante's interest in the sil tells me that he would go to such lengths. The sil is worth a great deal, though I am uncertain as to how much. As I have said, I am not privy to all his plans."

John began pacing in long angry strides. The warning klaxons in his skull were back, melded with a cacophony of voices screaming warnings. This wasn't just about Diavante's murderous streak or that Savine could go Incredible Hulk on a whim. This was about a device that could break down shields, and Diavante's interest in Atlantis. It was natural for him to put the two together, but that didn't mean there was a connection. Diavante had his opportunities to go home, unless he was missing something. The sil could be nothing more than his potentially hottest selling item. John could be jumping to conclusions, but he wasn't going to be stupid enough to disregard the warnings a third time around.

He forced himself with a shudder to recall Diavante's mental visitations. The recent one had Diavante sounding pissed, then desperate. Homesickness to a psychotic degree. Maybe he was going to attempt heading home, and needed the sil to get passed the gate's shield.

And yet he had all that time before to take Atlantis back, so why now?

John hated crap like this. It was all reasoning bouncing off the walls with out a direction to show for it.

Screw Diavante then.

" Krissa, is the sil almost done?"

Krissa nodded.

" Then let's use it to get out of here, get through Diavante's shield. As long as he doesn't have the sil, he can't get to us. Our gate has its own shield..."

" Oh," Bart said, " Diavante doesn't need a sil to get through a shield. He has the means of energizing his body enough to disrupt any shielding long enough for him to get through. Only him though. No one else could follow."

John jerked to a stop. " Then why the hell does he want a device that can break down shields!" The thought of Diavante selling out Atlantis, then handing over the sil as a bonus for the lucky party to use and attack, raced back into John's mind. John passed his hands up his face then through his hair, gripping it, pulling his scalp back. " Son of a bitch! We can't let him have that thing, that's all there is to it. Forget the auction, forget waiting around. We need to just go. This is messed up enough and to tell you the truth I don't care what Diavante's plans are just so long as we're thousands of light years away while he's plotting them."

" You cannot leave," Bart said. " Savine will prevent that, and she will not hesitate to kill you. Whatever Diavante's interest in you, Master Sheppard, it will change if you aid Krissa in escaping. Savine will kill both you and Mr. Bren, and bring Krissa back."

" Then help us out here! Isn't that why you've been telling us all this, because you don't want to see us die? Kind of pointless to let the cat out of the bag only to have the cat get hit by a car. I mean, come on, it can't just be over that quick. There has to be a way out of this place, out of these woods."

" I saw some prairie vrat in the stalls," Krissa said. " They're fast..."

" Savine's men are faster."

" Then what do we do!" John practically screamed. " Special interest or not, one of us is going to end up dead! Now, later, it doesn't matter! We -can't – stay -here."

For the first to top all firsts, Bart adopted another expression, a new one John thought he would have never seen. The genetic hob-goblin's ears sagged, and the brow turned up. Bart was wearing a look of sorrow, honest to goodness sorrow, eyes shimmering and everything. John was thrown, stunned into silence.

" I am most sorry, Mr. Sheppard. I do not wish harm to come to any of you. That is why I revealed all this to you. I thought revealing all that goes on here would help keep you safe while you live here. Escape," Bart shook his head, " It's not possible, not with Savine and her men assigned to keep you here."

" Hey, I took one down," John countered.

" Because they were forced to hesitate," Bart said. " They will not hesitate again."

" I can take them again!" John insisted.

" Not in your current state. You've been hurt."

John resumed his pace, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders. " I'll think of something." He didn't really believe that himself, but he could try. He found no comfort in the relative safety that this 'interest' of Diavante's had wrapped them in. They had until the competition, and after the competition, and whatever else time they needed so long as their usefullness or interest or whatever remained intact. It just didn't feel like it. It felt more along the lines of having no time at all.