Present

Sheppard took deep breaths to calm his rebelling stomach. His knuckles turned white as he held the railing in a firm grip. He tried to push the memories aside, but they were rather hard to get rid of. It was almost like he once again was in that hut, feeling Mathar's breath on his skin as she kissed him. Her hands on his body touching him in ways he hadn't wanted. Or had he? His body's reaction to her touch was still very fresh in his mind, flooding him with a deep sense of self-disgust. Hurt and humiliation seemed to stick to him like a crust on his skin. And no matter how much he scrubbed, he still felt dirty.

How had they managed to turn him into such a mess? He'd been tortured worse in his life. Hell, his life had been sucked out of him by a Wraith! It couldn't get much worse than that, now, could it? But to him, the Rahelian's attack seemed to be hitting a lot closer to home. What they wanted to do to him was so much more personal than anything he'd suffered at the hands of an enemy.

Damn, he'd thought that he'd already managed to put a firm lid on that experience. That the nightmares haunting him were the last remnants of what didn't even qualify as an actual ordeal. He'd been kissed and touched without his permission, big deal.

Sheppard squeezed his eyes shut. The Rahelian's request had really caught him off guard. He should have known that escaping them had been way to easy. Somehow they knew that in this bargain, they held the higher ground.

He rested his forehead on his hands. The Rahelians weren't his enemy. They were allies and they had probably thought he would welcome their offer. He knew men who wouldn't have minded to sleep with Mathar. She was quite beautiful, but that hadn't been the issue, really. It was just that for him, there was nothing casual about intimacy.

Would the Rahelians understand if he told them? He didn't think so. They hadn't been willing to take no for an answer the first time around. Why would they reconsider? They desperately needed someone to safeguard their village, someone with the gene they had lost several generations ago. From their point of view, it was only logical to insure that the next generation would have the gene. He could hardly blame them for being insistent.

So what was he going to do now? Atlantis needed a ZPM if they wanted a chance to defend their city against Wraith, Genii or possibly even Replicators. Giving the Rahelians what they wanted was just another sacrifice he would have to make in order to keep Atlantis and the expedition safe. How was this different from all the other things he'd done? He'd risked his life a number of times, hadn't he? And now they didn't even ask him to put it on the line.

But if he sold his body for a ZPM, what did that make him? He didn't want to even think about it. A shudder ran down his spine as he thought about the girls who hadn't been so willing to offer themselves up to him. What about them? The last thing he wanted was to hurt a woman. And there was no doubt they would force him to do it.

Sheppard drew in a shaky breath and got to his feet. He sympathized with the Rahelian's problem, he really did. They lacked a gene carrier and thought that the only solution was that he fathered their children. While he could understand their reasoning, it didn't mean he had to feel comfortable with their approach. Much less with the violence they were obviously willing to resort to.

His radio crackled. It was Elizabeth's voice. "Colonel Sheppard, please respond."

Sheppard's hand trembled as he tapped his ear piece. "This is Sheppard."

She sounded worried. "What was this about, John? Are you okay?"

"Just fine." He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We need to talk about this some more." For a moment, he could hear nothing but her breath on the other end of the line. "You know that a ZPM could make the difference between survival and death. Don't you think that's worth taking a risk?"

"That's easy for you to say. You're not risking anything," Sheppard said through clenched teeth.

She didn't reply and once again, the line was silent. Sheppard felt a grim satisfaction that he'd obviously given her something to chew on.

Eventually, he heard Elizabeth's voice again. It was trembling ever so slightly. "I understand your reluctance and I wouldn't ask this of you, if it wasn't so important."

Sheppard didn't like the sound of that. "You're going to make it an order, aren't you?"

She dogged a direct answer. "Let's talk about this. Tell me about your reservations and I'm sure we can work something out."

"What is there to talk about?" Sheppard said bitterly.

He tapped his ear piece, severing the contact. Then he leaned his back against the wall, feeling the comforting tingle of Atlantis. Strangely, that only served to increase his feeling of entrapment.

Sheppard cursed. All things considered, there really wasn't a choice about going back to the Rahelians. When the next enemy stood at their gates, the last thing that mattered was his dignity. War had very little to do with pride or dignity. It was just a very messy business and if he didn't want it to end too badly for Atlantis, then no, he didn't have a choice at all.

A sudden burst of white hot rage flooded him with the force of a tsunami. He cursed again, followed by an angry roar that escaped from deep within. But that wasn't enough, not by far. Sheppard wanted to smash something into pieces. He slammed his fist into one of the metal beams beside him over and over again, barely feeling the pain of the impact.

Couldn't this damn galaxy respect that some things were just too much to ask? Why him? How could some stupid gene turn his life just upside down like that? He'd worked so hard to prove himself as military leader. He'd gone out of his way to keep this expedition safe. But in the end, it always seemed to come down to his genes. He'd accidentally ended up in Atlantis because of his strong ATA gene. And now that same ATA gene was the reason the Rahelians expected him to play stud for the foreseeable future.

His knuckles were bloody by the time he clenched his hands into tight fists. At least, the adrenaline running through his veins had chased away the last remnants of weariness. But he knew that his momentary high was going to be short-lived.

Sheppard looked at the mess he'd made of his hand and sighed. Raging probably wasn't the best way to cope with the situation. And he'd never been one to simply give into his fate. He'd beaten the odds time and time again, so why couldn't he beat them now? All he needed to do was come up with a solution to the Rahelian's problem that didn't involve his lower body.

Sheppard had one last look at the sea around Atlantis and took a deep breath of the salty air. He felt a lot calmer. So calm actually, that an idea was forming in his mind. He set his jaw firmly, squared his shoulders and walked back inside.

After Sheppard had taken care of his bloodied knuckles, his first impulse had been to head straight to McKay's lab. But then he'd thought better of it.

His behavior had really been odd enough this morning. He simply couldn't afford to forget that he actually was on light duty. Strangely enough, Dr. Beckett hadn't insisted on confining him to the infirmary after his encounter with the broken chair. And he'd even believed when Sheppard had told him that another day of rest would be enough to get him back to normal. Truth be told, at the time Sheppard had believed it himself.

So, instead of running to McKay, he checked in with Lorne first. They discussed some issues with new personnel and Sheppard actually busied himself with some paperwork. That didn't just help him to keep up appearances. While his hands were filling out dull reports, his mind was free to analyze his problem much more calmly than before.

When Sheppard was finally on his way to McKay, he had an actual plan and was feeling a lot more optimistic. As he turned the final corner, he almost ran into Teyla.

She stopped. "John, there you are. I was worried about you after you left the morning meeting so quickly."

Sheppard stared at her blankly. He'd prepared himself for talking to McKay. Now that he was suddenly facing Teyla, his heart was racing again.

His mind desperately searched for something to say . "Yeah, um..."

"I guess, we did not realize how much this is still eating at you," she said softly. "You always seem so strong, even after everything Koyla put you through." She lowered her gaze self-consciously. "If our places were reversed, I know I would be more than a little apprehensive of having to leave Atlantis without a team."

He was slightly taken aback. She assumed that his recent ordeal at Koyla's hands was bothering him? He felt his heart pound in his chest as he saw the pain reflected in her eyes. For a brief moment, he was tempted to tell her the truth. He knew that his team had been tortured, too, by having to watch him suffer. And he really didn't know which form of torture was worse. Probably theirs, because he'd at least been able to do something, had forged an alliance to get himself out of Koyla's hell.

But how could he tell Teyla, what was really bothering him? Either she would be equally as shocked as he had been by the Rahelian's proposition. Or she would share their point of view, given that she was a Pegasus native. In a world where life could be so short, could anyone really risk being particular about their mates?

Sheppard ran a hand through his spiky hair. "I guess, the Rahelian's request kind of caught me off guard." At least that wasn't a lie. "Thanks for your concern, but I'll be all right."

She nodded and gave his shoulder a soft squeeze.

Sheppard froze. Suddenly, her words seemed to come through thick fog. "Are we going to have lunch together, later?"

He was hyper-aware of her hand that still rested on his shoulder. And all of a sudden, it was no longer Teyla touching him. He felt the weight of the men pinning him down again, a different set of hands on his chest and lower body, and Mathar's breath in his face as she forced a kiss on his lips.

His breath quickened and he wanted nothing more than get away from Teyla. It took every ounce of control he could muster to keep himself from flinching. His heart raced and cold sweat dampened his skin.

He felt Teyla's gaze on him, and with a start Sheppard realized that she expected an answer.

"Sure," he ground out.

The word had left his mouth before he had really thought it through. She smiled and removed her hand. Instantly, he felt more like himself again. The brief moment of uneasiness passed just as quickly as it had come.

Sheppard even managed a smile, though the prospect of meeting his whole team made him more than a little nervous. They knew him well enough to see right through any attempt at deception. What if one of them guessed that it wasn't a past trauma that was haunting him, but the very real threat of a new one just looming around the next corner?

Sheppard was grateful as Teyla excused herself and headed off to meet with Ronon for another sparring match. He watched her for a moment as she walked down the corridor. When he was certain that he was alone again, he collapsed against the wall and covered his face with his hands. This was insane. Nothing had happened to him, so why was he reacting like that? He'd managed to get away from his attackers before they had really done anything to him.

Sheppard huffed in frustration. Granted, he'd had panic attacks before. He knew he would get over them. But as long as they persisted, they were annoying as hell. Letting out another curse, he gritted his teeth, telling himself to get a grip. Then he remembered what had brought him here in the first place.

He closed the distance to McKay's lab and knocked at the door, before he hit the control panel and opened it.

McKay looked up from his work. "What are you doing here? I'm busy, Sheppard."

"There is something I'd like to talk to you about," Sheppard muttered.

McKay huffed. "Oh, are you going to tell me why you're ready to let a ZPM slip out of our hands over some stupid SOP?"

Sheppard closed his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt his anger rise again. What did McKay know? For a moment, he was absolutely ready to turn on his heels. He didn't want to explain any of this to the man who kept comparing him to Captain Kirk all the time. McKay would probably have a field day, if he ever learned what the Rahelian's wanted of him.

But now wasn't the time to fly off the handle. He needed McKay's help. Pretending to be ignorant of his rebuff, Sheppard folded his arms in front of his chest.

"You think we can repair the chair?" Sheppard asked.

McKay raised a brow. "Why would we need to repair it? As far as I can tell, it's not broken."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "And I'm telling you, it is."

"You just can't accept that there is ancient tech, that's not answering to you," McKay said smugly. "Doesn't sit well with you that just this once you're just like the rest of us mere mortals, does it?"

Sheppard groaned in frustration. "I'm sure that's not the reason why I could barely control the chair."

McKay blinked. "Why?"

He let out a slow breath to keep himself from exploding. "Because it just doesn't make sense that the ancients constructed a defense system in a way that hardly anyone would be able to control it."

That gave McKay some pause. "I admit that would indeed be odd. But I've been analyzing everything I could download from that chair. I checked every crystal I could find. There was nothing wrong."

"That's impossible," Sheppard disagreed. He needed a problem they could fix. "Check again."

"Don't you think I already did that?" McKay replied impatiently. "I had Zalenka stay up half the night to look through the data as well. Believe me, there's nothing wrong, John."

"But that can't be!" Sheppard felt increasingly desperate.

McKay rolled his eyes. But instead of throwing Sheppard right out of his lab, he obviously decided to grant him some sort of explanation. "Look, this isn't the first time the Ancients did things that didn't seem to make much sense. Perhaps the Rahelian's gene used to be much stronger than even yours. And they were just unlucky that all their gene carriers were culled. Maybe their gene was just slightly different from the Ancients to keep them from using other ancient tech?" He shrugged and threw up his hands. "What do I know? The Ancients have never been very forthcoming explaining their actions, have they? If this is just about your bruised ego, one piece of advice, Sheppard. Suck it up!"

He couldn't believe he was hearing this and from McKay of all people. His anger surged. "This is not about my ego! Damn, McKay, if anyone has a problem with their ego, it's you. The Rahelians need this chair fixed. Next time the Wraith attack, I might not be around in time to save them."

McKay sounded a bit like he was talking to a dumb child. "And how exactly is fixing the chair going to change that? They still wouldn't have the gene."

Sheppard felt pretty bold as he voiced his idea. "Perhaps you could modify the chair in a way that the shield works without the need for someone to operate the chair."

McKay stared at him absolutely dumbfounded. "Have you any idea what you're asking of me?"

Sheppard felt that a little groveling was in order. "Come on McKay, you keep telling me that you're the greatest genius in two galaxies. You can accomplish anything."

McKay shook his head. "Not that. And why would I even try? All you've got to do is indulge in some kind of ritual. So, trying to repair something that's not even broken to begin with is a perfect waste of my time."

Sheppard tried to protest. "But..."

"What?" McKay cut him off. "Is there something you're not telling us?" His friend looked unusually worried, all of a sudden. "The Rahelian's didn't turn out to be Wraith worshippers, did they? Or did you run into some rogue Genii?"

"What?" Sheppard asked confused.

He noticed McKay's horror stricken expression. He was reminded of Teyla's assumption concerning Koyla. It seemed like his team had actually considered that as the reason for his odd behavior.

For a moment, Sheppard wondered if it wouldn't be easier to just tell McKay the truth. After all, he was his friend. The closest thing to a best friend Sheppard had ever had. But he hesitated. Beside the fact that he really couldn't stomach another Kirk remark, he was afraid that McKay wouldn't share his thoughts on the subject. It wasn't exactly a secret that McKay wasn't all that popular with the girls. Sheppard assumed he'd never been. That was a problem Sheppard had never really known. Of course, as a teenager, he'd been just as self-conscious as any of the guys. But the girls had always liked to flirt with him. Part of him was afraid that McKay would be envious rather than sympathetic.

Sheppard's heart raced. Could he be right? After all, sex usually was a rather pleasant indulgence. If it happened in mutual consent. Or was he just being too skittish?

Memories of being pinned down to the floor flooded his mind. Mathar's hands invading his privacy had felt anything but pleasant. His stomach revolted as for a brief moment here was back there, feeling just as helpless. How could he do that over and over again for who knew how long?

"John?" McKay shook him from his waking nightmare. "Care to explain what's going on with you?"

"Nothing," Sheppard said dismissively. "Forget I asked. You're probably right about the ritual being the easiest way to get us the ZPM."

He left McKay's lab as quickly as he could without running. Nausea still threatened to make him lose his breakfast. Sheppard followed the corridors, fighting to get his emotions back under control.

Somehow he made it back to his quarters without puking all over the place. When the door closed behind him, he rushed to the bathroom. But he felt marginally better. After he'd splashed his face with some cold water, the nausea was gone.

He shuffled back to his bed and sank down on it, burying his face in his hands. Plan A hadn't gone so well. That left Plan B. He'd seriously hoped that he wouldn't have to resort to Plan B, because it involved talking to Carson. Well, better Plan B than Plan C, which would mean that he would go to the Rahelians and give them what they wanted.