A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting this. Thanks to all of you who left so much wonderful feedback. I guess I'll be wrapping this up in one or two more parts. So your questions should be answered, soon. Hope you enjoy this bit.

When Sheppard came to, he felt strangely lightheaded. Blood was rushing in his ears. Or was it just a static buzz? He had trouble bringing anything into focus, his vision changing between double vision and being blurry. His arms felt heavy and wouldn't move. When he tried anyway, his shoulders and wrists ached. A coarse rope cut into his skin. The feeling was familiar, kind of. Afghanistan, his foggy brain supplied. Hands tied behind your back. He let out groan.

But something about that just didn't seem right. Sheppard blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. He wasn't in a tent. Curtains were hanging from a wooden ceiling. His hands felt wood, too. Okay, so he was tied to a wooden beam. Now, he recognized his surroundings. He'd been here before, not Afghanistan, but Pegasus. MX... He didn't remember the numbers.

The cotton wool in his head lessened a bit and the static buzz turned into voices.

One voice, to be more precise. "John, are ye with me, lad?"

The thick Scottish brogue was reassuring, or was it? A nagging in the back of his mind told him that the other man shouldn't be here. His own warning reverberated through his mind, his plea to fall back to the gate. They were both in danger, if the Rahelians found out that… Sheppards eyes flew open. He spotted Beckett a few feet from him, sharing the same predicament. The doctor was sitting with his back against another solid wooden beam, his hands tied behind it.

Sheppard's tongue wasn't willing to work. "Ca'sn?"

There was so much that he wanted to say, but the rest came out as a muffled moan. The world was tilting to the side. Or was it his head, that seemed entirely too heavy for his neck muscles?

"Thank the Lord, ye're awake." Beckett breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Ye really had me worried. These people must be bloody daft to knock you out like that. They-"

Before he had a chance to dive into a full-blown rant, Sheppard cut him off. "Why didn't you… get back, like… I told you to? Did…they…knock you… out, too?"

This time, speaking was a little easier, though his tongue still felt stiff and lifeless. His eyes drifted shut again, his eyelids too heavy to keep them open for long. The lightheaded feeling remained with him and the world was spinning. With some difficulty, Sheppard managed to lift his head and rested it against the beam, hoping that the dizziness would pass now that the world was once again upright.

"No," Beckett replied. "I could nah leave you here alone."

Sheppard pried his eyes open and had a more thorough look at his comrade. "Did… they hurt… you?"

Beckett shook his head. "I'm fine. They hardly touched me. But how about you, John? How are you feeling?"

"Bit dizzy," Sheppard managed a wry smile. The fog was slowly leaving his brain. "Kinda like a hang-over, minus the headache. Guess I'll live." He grimaced, flashing Beckett a worried look. Then his eyes drifted shut again and the world did another somersault. "You shouldn't have stayed. What if they discover that you…" He trailed off, afraid that prying ears might learn about Beckett's genetic make-up.

"If it comes to that, we could at least share the burden," Beckett replied tersely.

Sheppard's eyes fluttered open and he eyed the doctor. "Fancy the job, huh?"

Beckett's lips became a tight line. "Not particularly, no. In fact, my preferences are much the same as yers in that department."

Sheppard laughed bitterly. "Really? Did your Dad betray your Mom, too?"

"What?" Beckett stared at him, obviously taken aback.

"My Dad," Sheppard muttered. Though he had no idea why, the words suddenly flowed from his lips and there wasn't a thing he could do to stop them. "He went to bed with about any female clerk he could get his hands on. Mom knew. She never said so, but she did. Think that killed her just as much as the cancer did." He looked down into his lap, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "I never wanted to become like him. After she died, our fights became more and more frequent. When I wanted to join the military, Dad suggested that I just needed to sow my wild oats another way. My brother Dave even tried to introduce me to some professionals. Said that I just needed to be f..-"

He managed to swallowed the word, blushing at his sudden need to bare his soul. Why was he even doing such a thing? These were private memories, very private ones.

Already his mouth was opening again. "Said it would help me get things into perspective. That being a virgin for too long can't be good for a man." Sheppard groaned. "Good grief, why am I telling you all this?"

Beckett looked at him sympathetically. "I guess that whatever they used to knock you out lowers your inhibitions. "

Sheppard pondered that for a moment. "Seems like it."

"Don't ye worry, I'll never tell a soul," Beckett vowed.

Sheppard grimaced again. "You better. Let's just hope that my losing my inhibitions won't let me do anything I might regret later."

Another wave of dizziness washed over him and he closed his eyes and bit his lips, adamant that he wasn't going to tell Beckett more things he'd rather have kept to himself. Instead, he listened to the sounds around him. The steady flow of his own breath, the few noises Beckett made beside him. However much he tried to stay focused, he felt himself drift off again. His thoughts wandered. It was impossible to tell how much time passed, hours or minutes.

Sheppard's stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in while. The few bites he'd had for breakfast were but a distant memory. Another noise roused him from his dizzy state of half-sleep and he opened his eyes. Tarhan was standing in front of him, just as broad-shouldered and intimidating as Sheppard remembered.

His expression was grim. "Good, you're finally waking up. We were hoping you'd come back to us."

Sheppard looked at him defiantly. "There was no need to sedate me. I'd have come willingly."

"I have seen how willing you were," Tarhan replied. His jaw tensed. "I thought you had come to save our people. But the truth is that you really just saved your own people. We mean nothing to you."

"That's not true," Sheppard growled. "This was never just about my people. But I can't give you, what you're asking of me."

"Why?" Tarhan shouted angrily. "I chose our most beautiful women. And I know that you're not indifferent to them. I've seen you react. Or do you want to tell me that you're more into men?"

"That's none of your damn business," Sheppard felt himself blush furiously. This conversation was turning too private for his taste. He should have ignored Tarhan, but again he just couldn't. "At least half of them were only girls, barely fourteen, if even that."

"They were old enough to bear children," Tarhan stated. His eyes were resting on Sheppard with a steely gaze. "I've heard stories about your people. You were the ones who woke up the Wraith. You brought this threat upon us and now you're unwilling to help us protect ourselves." He brought his face closer until Sheppard could feel Tarhan's hot breath in his face. With his arms and legs, he was preventing Sheppard from moving. "We're merely taking what we need to survive."

"But it won't help ye," Beckett piped up. "Even if Colonel Sheppard does what ye ask of him, the children he fathers will nah be old enough to operate the chair when the Wraith attack the next time."

Tarhan turned his head to look at Beckett. But with his weight, he was still pinning down Sheppard's legs, making it impossible for him to move a limb. His position became increasingly uncomfortable. But everything still felt so strangely fuzzy. Kind of like he was just watching the scene, instead of being right in the middle of it.

"What do you suggest?" Tarhan asked.

"We could help to relocate yer people to a safer planet," Beckett said quietly.

"There is no safer planet than Rahelia," Tarhan disagreed. "I've been to countless worlds, and none of them had a defensive system the likes of which we have here. I've never expected to see the Wraith run in fear of our strength."

"Ye've seen the state the Colonel was in after his fight with the Wraith," Beckett reminded him. "And his gene is the strongest I've ever encountered. There's no guarantee that any of his children will even be strong enough to operate the chair. If you stay here, you will nah survive."

"I'll rather take my chances," Tarhan replied. "You're awfully interested in the power source of our chair. Who's to say you're not telling lies, simply to get ahold of it without the need to pay for it."

"We're willing to trade honestly. Perhaps we can find something else you need," Sheppard said. He bit back a grunt of pain as Tarhan shifted his position on his legs.

"We need this gene," Tarhan said stubbornly. "And you're going to bring it back to our people."

Beckett and Sheppard exchanged a glance.

"Perhaps you'd at least grant the Colonel the opportunity to give you samples of his seed," Beckett gave it another try. "I am a healer. I could inseminate your women and we could spare the man the need to be intimate with so many of them. He's not comfortable sharing a bed with a woman he doesn't love."

Tarhan frowned. "What is that supposed to mean? We'll accept no such thing. If you want this ZPM, you keep talking about, Sheppard has to complete the ritual of Raheel. And I will watch him."

Sheppard gulped. "How many women are we talking about exactly? And how long does this ritual take until you consider it completed?" He felt a surge of – was it really panic? If so, it was a muffled, detached version.

"The Ritual won't be completed until the first child is born," Tarhan replied.

"We don't have that much time," Sheppard tried to argue through the fog in his brain. "Our home world is going to be attacked by the Wraith. If you don't give us a ZPM, none of us will survive to give you back the gene."

Tarhan's lips became a tight line. "How much time do you have?"

Sheppard sighed, hoping his memory wasn't playing tricks on him. "Two days, at the most."

"Then you should get started," Tarhan growled. "If you comply with our rules from now on, we will lend you the ZPM to defend your world. When you have destroyed the Wraith ships, you will return to our world and keep your end of the bargain. I will come with you to make sure that you do not betray us again."

There was a gleam in his eyes that didn't bode well for Sheppard. Another time, time hairs in the back of his neck would have stood on edge. But in his sort of drunken stupor, Sheppard idly watched as Tarhan reached down and produced a knife that had been strapped to his thigh. He brought it up, holding it close to Sheppard's face.

"You are lucky that we would be lost without this gene of yours." Tarhan's voice was low, but there was no mistaking the fact that he could be a very dangerous man. "Our laws demand that any man who refuses to take part in the Ritual of Raheel shall be killed. I always thought that was a pretty drastic punishment. But then I'd never really understood how crucial this Ritual is to the survival of our people."

"If you're not going to kill me, why show me the knife?" Sheppard grunted as Tarhan once again shifted his position on his legs.

"The council of eldest decided that blood must be shed," Tarhan replied.

Sheppard's breath caught. Surely, he couldn't mean… He blinked to clear the cobwebs from his mind. His gaze wandered over to Beckett, who had visibly paled. So, his thoughts obviously went in the same direction as Sheppard's. Maybe, it would be for the best to spill the beans and tell them that Beckett might be just as useful to them as Sheppard himself. He –

A sharp pain in his upper leg took over any coherent thought. Sheppard gasped for air and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the blade go deeper inside. A strangled cry escaped his lips, much as he tried to bite it back. Black spots danced before his eyes as Tarhan slowly removed the knife from his flesh. Instantly, hot blood soaked his pants.

"John," Beckett cried out, the worry in his voice obvious. "Are ye bloody insane? What did ye do that for? He's already tied to that beam. How much more trouble do ye think he could give ye?"

"Gnnn," Sheppard moaned. He bit his lips to keep another groan from escaping his throat. He stared at Tarhan defiantly, settling for anger rather than despair. "This is how you treat someone who has saved your people?"

Tarhan's expression was almost apologetic. "We treated you with the respect you deserved, Sheppard. But you refused to really help us save our people. All you did was buy us some time. You left us to die another day. We're merely taking what we need to survive. And I just insured that this time you won't hurt any of our women."

Tarhan kneeled down beside Sheppard and rubbed his blade dry at the rim of the Colonel's shirt. Then he started to cut it and rip it off until Sheppard's bare chest was exposed. Beads of sweat pooled on Sheppard's forehead. He wasn't quite sure if that was because of the agonizing pain in his leg or the prospect of being stripped off his clothes once more. He had no chance but to watch as Tarhan slowly got rid of first his shirt and then his pants.

Sheppard leaned his head against the beam behind him, slowly breathing through the pain that was radiating through his body. "Being stabbed is kind of a turn-off, you do realize that, don't you?"

"Oh, I'm sure Mathar will make you forget about the pain." Tarhan leered at him.

"Untie me and let me have a look at him," Beckett demanded angrily. "I'm a healer. He will bleed to death if I don't tend to that wound you inflicted."

"Our women will take care of his leg, among other things" Tarhan said. He got up and looked down at Sheppard who was now only wearing his boxers. "I'll leave that last piece of clothing for them to get off of you. I figure you'll rather have it removed by female hands." Then he turned and left them alone.

The pain in his leg had an awfully sobering effect on Sheppard. Any residual fuzziness in his brain had disappeared. And the fear of what else was to come returned with a vengeance.

Sheppard let out a curse. "So much for diplomacy. Looks like I really don't get out of this one."

"Your leg," Beckett asked. "How bad is it?" His eyes were wide with shock.

"Hurting," Sheppard replied with gritted teeth. "Bleeding, but I don't think it's as bad as it would be if he'd nicked a major vessel. Guess, I'll live if someone patches me up sometime soon."

"I wish I could help ye," Beckett said unhappily. "That bloody son of a -

"I know." Sheppard interrupted him, before he could finish the sentence. He gave the doctor a wry smile. "Don't worry! They won't let me bleed out. They still need me."

Beckett grumbled something that sounded like a string of curse words and struggled against his ties. It was futile. They both knew it. Even if Beckett managed to free himself, they wouldn't be able to run away, not with his leg hurting like hell. But he appreciated the thought.

Soon, the curtain was drawn to one side and Tarhan returned with Mathar. She was once again carrying a bowl that she set down next to Sheppard. Immediately, she dipped a piece of cloth in the water and began to clean the wound.

Though he tried hard not to flinch, Sheppard didn't manage to completely stifle the groan that escaped his lips. He squared his jaw and rested his head against the beam he was tied to. Agonizing minutes went by as Mathar cleaned the wound thoroughly before she pressed a dry cloth against it to stem the bleeding. Then she began to tightly wrap the wound. Now and again, Sheppard let out a soft hissing sound, but otherwise remained quiet through the procedure. He still felt throbbing pain in his leg, thought the firm wrapping seemed to have dulled it a bit.

When she was done, Mathar set the bowl aside. She got up and vanished for a moment behind the curtains. Tahar stood at the far side of the room, a smirk on his lips. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest. His eyes rested on Sheppard, studying him with a gaze so intense that it was quite unnerving. Sheppard shifted his position as much as his ties would let him. Instantly, he regretted the motion, as another intense wave of pain shot through him.

This was bad. He really didn't know how he was supposed to get in the right mood for – no scratch that. He really didn't want to get in the right mood for anything like that. But he got the sinking feeling that the Rahelians weren't going to care much about his wishes.

Mathar returned. Her hands were now clean and she was no longer wearing a gown. To be precise, she wasn't wearing much of anything. Sheppard squeezed his eyes shut. His breath quickened as her legs brushed against his as she sat down next to him. Her hands started to roam his chest in what could have been an enticing manner.

Sheppard only really felt sick to his stomach. "Is it really necessary that my friend has to watch?"

He hated how desperate he sounded. But this was humiliating enough without a witness. His stomach was tied into a tight knot. His breath sounded labored as he fought to bring it back under control and relax as best as he could. After all, there was no way he was going to stay true to his promise to help the Rahelians if he was this tense.

Mathar's hands wandered lower and if at all possible, Sheppard stiffened even more.

"Get off of him," a low growl sounded from the back of the room.

Sheppard's eyes flew open. Ronon was standing behind Tarhan, holding a knife to his throat and pulling him with him. Within seconds, the room was crowded with people. Someone pulled Mathar away from him and pushed her to the floor. Sheppard recognized Teyla the next moment. She flashed him a reassuring smile, before she countered Mathar's attack. The ensuing fight was short. Teyla quickly won the upper hand, dragging her away.

"Where's Sheppard?" McKay yelled. He stopped dead in front of him, staring at him with wide eyes.

Before he could move again, Teyla had returned and knelt down beside Sheppard, her beautiful features creased with lines of worry. She reached for a knife that was strapped to her thigh and cut him free.

"Are you all right, John?" she asked softly.

"Yeah, you came just in time," he muttered.

"Oh, thank god," McKay croaked. He visibly relaxed.

Sheppard managed a wan smile. But the initial relief of being rescued from his fate was short lived. He averted his eyes and rubbed his wrists, trying to get the circulation back into his hands. His cheeks burned with embarrassment and he silently wished that the earth would just open up and swallow him. He hated that Teyla saw him like this. Half-naked and bleeding, attacked by a woman, who'd wanted… He pushed the thought away.

"What took ye so long?" Beckett grumbled, as Teyla sat down beside him to cut him loose as well.

"You should have told us what was going on here," Teyla replied softly.

Her gaze wandered toward Sheppard again. She managed to look reproachful and sympathetic at the same time. Beckett came over to check out his wound and McKay rushed to his side as well. Sheppard desperately tried to ignore their presence and how crowded they made him feel, but failed miserably. With Teyla, McKay and Beckett all over him, he felt another panic attack creeping up on him. His breathing quickened.

"I'm good," he shouted. "Get the hell off of me!"

Three pairs of eyes looked at him, startled, but also full of sympathy. Their pity was almost as difficult to bear as the humiliation he'd suffered at the hands of the Rahelians. However, his lashing out had the desired effect. His team mates, and even the doctor, were giving him the space he craved. They stepped back behind the curtains, allowing him some semblance of privacy.

With a grunt of pain, Sheppard reached for the pile of torn clothes Tarhan had discarded at his side. But as he rummaged through them, he found that they were ruined beyond repair. There was no way any of these items were going to cover him even half-way decent. He cursed, smashing his fist against the beam next to him.

As he looked up again, he spotted a neatly folded set of clothing that Beckett held out to him, quietly. It was of Rahelian design. Obviously, Tarhan had already been prepared for later.

Sheppard took the clothing from Beckett's hands. "Thanks," he mumbled. "And I'm sorry for lashing out at you like that."

"It's all right, lad," Beckett said. "Get dressed. When ye're ready, I should have a look at that leg wound of yers. I figure it needs some stiches."

"Okay," Sheppard nodded.

"Do ye need help, lad?" Beckett asked.

Though he could have used the assistance, Sheppard shook his head. "I'll manage."