The Pegasus Tango

by Meloku

An AU, Save Steve fic. An ancient Atlantian lab yields an interesting artifact while Carson is collaborating with the Hoffans. Rodney and Sheppard decide to try it on their wraith prisoner. Steve/OC/team. Warning: flashbacks and wraith psych exploration

27. Chapter 24: Exile: Part 2

Chapter Twenty-Four: Exile – Part Two

3 years, 45 and ½ weeks earlier

"We have a dilemma."

In Atlantis's conference room, Major Sheppard grimaced, "Another one."

"Yes," Dr. Weir turned to Teyla, "Would you please share the Kiivarians' conditions for their visit?"

"Pssst, Rodney…" Dr. Beckett gave Dr. McKay a look, and the physicist turned his data-pad upside down on the table with huff.

"I'm listening."

"Sure you are," Sheppard quipped. McKay had started bringing the hybrid code everywhere. It was getting damn annoying.

Wiggling his fingers sarcastically, McKay crossed his arms and tucked them under his armpits, (to prove he wasn't typing anything), then blinked attentively at Teyla.

Teyla acknowledged McKay's focus with a respectful nod before addressing them all, "My ability to sense the wraith is uncommon among Athosians. On other worlds, it is very rare," Her gaze darted from Carson, to Weir, and then to Major Sheppard, "However, being very rare does not mean that it does not exist. The Kivariians wish to bring a trader that they trust, a non-Athosian, who has the gift. As well as me."

Drat.

Sergeant Bates gave an annoyed sigh, "So much for plan A."

"Yeah," Sheppard rocked back in his chair with disappointment, "I was wondering how they planned on verifying no wraith were here." Plan A had been an easy-peasy, no frills approach of strategically omitting Steve's holding cell from the tour.

So much for easy-peasy.

"At least they asked," Lieutenant Ford offered, "Instead of just, you know, bringing someone…"

Yeah, that coulda been a problem. Sheppard caught Bates's eye, "Something to keep in mind for the future." The Security Chief nodded agreement, and Major Sheppard looked around the table. "So… What do we do with Steve?"

The question hung awkwardly in the room until Dr. McKay abruptly pointed at the ceiling, "Shoot him into space, have him hang out in high orbit."

"In a jumper?" Major Sheppard eyed him disbelievingly.

"No, in a milk box," McKay huffed, "Yes, in a jumper! You have any other space ships in your pocket? No? Didn't think so."

Lieutenant Ford shifted uncomfortably, "Six guards, two pilots, and a wraith in a puddle jumper? For a couple hours? That sounds like a bad joke."

"Says the person who'd draw co-pilot," Sheppard quipped.

Sergeant Bates was frowning.

McKay waved their reluctance off, "He's not going to pull anything. Have him bring the laptop. He'll be happy as a clam."

"I'm afraid it won't work," Teyla shook her head apologetically, "I have sensed hive ships in space, Dr. McKay."

"Then go for a jaunt in the solar system. No need to stay in orbit."

She sighed sadly, "As appealing as that sounds, I do not know my gift's range. And there's no guarantee you'd be far enough away from this stranger."

McKay blinked, "You don't know your gift's range?"

The Athosian was at a loss, "It is not something I've ever had the opportunity—or desire," she meaningfully added, "—to test."

"I see your point…" McKay's fingers tapped thoughtfully.

Silence stretched as they considered the problem.

"Ah suppose," Dr. Beckett hesitantly inquired, "the mainland's out o' the question fer the same reason?"

Dr. Weir nodded, adding, "That and we don't want our neighbors to be uncomfortable."

Stiffening at the thought, Teyla firmly shook her head, "He would not be allowed near the settlement."

"Oh, aye. Ah was thinkin' maybe the other end o' the continent."

"I'm afraid, it's still too close for my gift."

"We could shoot him into space through a space gate," Major Sheppard was riffing off the puddle jumper idea, "Have him hang out in orbit somewhere else."

Sergeant Bates quickly nixed it, "And what if a hive flies by?"

McKay's fingers tapped faster, "Is that worth thinking about? I mean, anywhere we go we run the risk of random hives showing up. They could show up here."

Surveying her leadership team, Dr. Weir clasped her hands on the conference table and leaned forward, "What about M3Q-579 again?"

Silence stretched once more…

After a few moments, Sheppard skeptically swiveled his chair, "Steve hates the place. I doubt he'll agree."

Elizabeth shrugged, "I wouldn't be giving him a choice."

Oh, well, in that case… He smiled warmly, "Sounds like a great plan."

Sergeant Bates was nodding, "It messes wraith equilibrium up. He'd be at a permanent disadvantage."

"Not to mention," McKay was expounding on the idea with increasing excitement, "other wraith would avoid the place like a plague. If there's a world they won't randomly show up on, M3Q-579's it!"

"Which," Sheppard added, "means not having Teyla's wraith sense on site isn't as big of a problem." Seeing as the Kivariians wanted the Athosian with them on the tour.

"But wha' about Steve?" Carson looked at them all worriedly, "'E could barely stand when 'e came back. Tha' might not be good fer 'im."

"Oh, I don't know, " Sheppard wasn't terribly concerned, "Wraith seem… kinda hardy." Hardy being an understatement. "He's fine now. It wore off in a few hours."

"Aye, but repeated exposure—"

"Private Douger said Steve told Dr. Sheckle he'd eventually adjust. That's why he was wobbly. He was already adjusting—"

"After almost forty-eight hours, aye."

"See? Forty-eight hours. No problem. This'll only be a couple."

Realizing he wasn't going to win this, Dr. Beckett sighed, "Alright. But don' blame me if 'e doesn' unadjust."

Dr. Weir gave Carson a respectful nod, "Your objection is noted, Doctor. Actually, I was thinking that if our prisoner doesn't show any permanent effects—If he manages to adjust adequately—Atlantis might send him there on a more regular basis."

Lieutenant Ford looked at her in surprise, "Kinda like a wraith Alpha site?"

"Yes."

"Cool," he glanced at Major Sheppard and Sergeant Bates, "I like that better than the jumper idea."

Of course he did. "Your preference is noted," Sheppard obligingly acknowledged.

"Wraith Alpha site…" McKay's fingers were tapping again, "I can see the appeal." He huffed a bit, sounding torn, "We might have more tours, right? Diplomatic visits—Evacuations (not that I anticipate those, but you never know)—" McKay shook his head, "He didn't get any work done, last time. It'll slow the code analysis down."

Dr. Weir nodded, "Yes. However," her eyes slipped to Sheppard, "Dr. Sheckle is also posted there, and she knows basic Ancient." Her brown eyes swept back to McKay's skepticism, "If he has more translation questions, he can ask her directly instead of having someone carry his laptop all over the city."

Sheppard was definitely a fan, "I approve." He glanced at Bates. The security chief had frowned disapprovingly at the mention of Sheckle, but in accordance with his earlier support for the location, declined to protest.

"Huh…" McKay was musing over the prospect pensively, "Slow that down, speed this up, hope it balances out sort of thing?"

Weir nodded again, "Yes."

The physicist grudgingly conceded, "I suppose it might help."

"There won't be any space guppies to distract him this time," Sheppard innocently offered.

McKay's eyes rolled sarcastically, "I don't think it was Zelenka's cleaner organisms that distracted him."

Sheppard's eyes narrowed indignantly, "Space guppies!" Why was this particular name battle the only one he couldn't win? It just kept going on and on. Every single time he thought he'd finally nipped it in the—

"Whatever. It was the magnetic field that stopped him."

"Is it safe to say that," Weir gestured to Rodney, "beyond possibly slowing down the analysis, M3Q-579's an acceptable solution for everyone?"

A chorus of nods and a grudgingly conceding shrug from McKay sealed the deal.

"Alright, then," the expedition leader sat back with a smile and addressed Sheppard. "Please prepare our prisoner for temporary relocation. I'll inform Dr. Corde that he's about to receive guests."

"Yes, Ma'am. Understood." Major Sheppard stood up.

"You can put the Xex tube in my office," she added, "We should clear the cell out, so it looks unused. The flowers will blend in with the Penny Jar."

That… was actually probably true. "Good idea. Anything else?"

"Nope, that'll be it."

Sheppard gave a thumbs to the group and left.

"Time for a field trip."

The wraith had heard Major Sheppard's journey down the stairs, and had stood as he approached the cell door. At the abrupt announcement, the ghostly face tilted curiously, "Again."

"Yup."

Steve's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Where—"

"Same as last time."

A disgusted hiss whispered through the holding cell as Steve's lips curled slightly, showing a hint of teeth, "No."

Sheppard shrugged, not bothering to refute the statement.

"I refuse." The olive eyes swept him up and down, like the wraith was studying a disgusting bug.

"It's not up to you."

Another hiss. Steve turned sharply away, black not-leather slapping at his ankles. His long hair pattered ivory irritation against the edges of his glittering epaulets. "I'm unable to work there."

Waiting for the inevitable outburst, Major Sheppard watched quietly as the wraith stuck his hands on his hips. There weren't many excuses for him to run through, though. As if proving his point, the Ancient glove's amber beads glimmered angry spotlights against Steve's waist as he snapped, "I'll be unable to concentrate."

Which was just a variation on 'unable to work.'

Sheppard placed his hands nonchalantly on the horizontal bars and tried to sound reassuring, "Look, Steve. It'll only be for a few hours."

The wraith turned back to him with a glare, "It isn't safe!"

"The planet's fine—"

"It is not! Why do you not understand this?!"

Hardening his gaze, Sheppard snapped, "Those ruins have been collecting data for more than a hundred millennia," He was very grateful for Corde's recent bit of info, because upon hearing it, Steve's expression blanked. The wraith was suddenly eerily attentive and still. "It's not gonna suddenly blow up or blast off into space."

"A hundred millennia," Steve quietly repeated.

"Yeah. It's not going anywhere."

The wraith's smooth forehead wrinkled with a warring array of disbelief and confusion as his olive eyes drifted down to study the floor with unseeing bafflement. "I don't understand what the problem is…"

That sounded rhetorical. In the interest of achieving cooperation, Major Sheppard waited patiently while Steve came to terms with the new information.

After a few moments, Steve abandoned the conundrum with a soft chuff. He met his captor's eyes inquiringly and drifted closer to the bars, "Will you at least share why this field trip is necessary? I would much rather continue working down here. In peace…"

In peace? Wraith? Yeah, um, no. Guilt trip not happening. But the question was fair. "We're hosting some important guests, and you can't be here while they are."

The wraith's eyes slipped closed, "I see…" Releasing a long sigh, Steve brushed the thick padding of his gloved palm across the bars and opened his eyes again, peering hopefully into Major Sheppard's face. "What about your ships? You could—"

"Not an option." It was hard not to laugh at the wraith's reiteration of Dr. McKay's 'shoot him into space' idea. Resisting the urge, he tried offering a bit of mollifying sympathy, "Look, Steve. It's not all bad. Dr. Sheckle reads Ancient. She'll also be there. She can help you translate."

Steve's lips curled in annoyance, "What part of 'I'll be unable to work' did you not understand?"

"All of it," Major Sheppard turned his tone flip, "And none of it."

A disgusted eye-roll. "When do we leave?"

Cooperation. Good. "In a few minutes. Get your laptops ready and leave the rest." When the wraith glanced towards the pitcher and Xex tube with a frown, he added, "The flowers will be fine."

An unamused hiss whispered through Atlantis's holding cell.

An hour later, in the Ancient research facility on M3Q-579, Dr. Sheckle looked up from the research journal she was translating and watched as the echoing shadows moving through the ruin's outer hall coalesced into the bemused form of Lieutenant Ford, followed by a cohort of marines and a single, sullenly stalking wraith.

She gave the dark skinned Lieutenant a nod as he led the escort past the collapsible table. He was easier to get along with than Geerman. …At least, when he was off duty, he was. She admittedly hadn't worked with him in the field much.

Her gaze slipped curiously to the wraith.

…It looked like the magnetic shifts were already getting to him. The deadly predator's steps weren't entirely even, and his bare hand trailed conspicuously along the wall. His wrist was shifting position with minute twists, subtly catching and redistributing his weight as he walked. The metal claw guards made occasional scritching noises across the stone.

She wondered if he was leaving scratch marks… (Not exactly a useful observation.)

A sidelong, alien glance skewered her as the escort made its way to the far side of the underground room. The wraith studied her back, a brief moment of mutual recognition. Then he hissed, "Environments like this are not safe."

Okay… Dr. Sheckle raised an amused eyebrow, "Hello to you, too."

A soft snort was the only reply.

Steve then looked away and proceeded to ensconce himself near the wide passageway leading to the main sensor array. The plexiglass barricade was no longer there, (it was still blocking off the other room's multi-mile sheer cliff-face), but that didn't stop him from identifying and claiming the exact same piece of floor as before.

Dr. Sheckle turned back to her work.

The sounds of typing and low murmurs from the escort dominated the space for a while, punctuated by the occasional echoes from Dr. Corde and Dr. Torre in the other room. They were still extracting data and analyzing the sensor device.

Paper rustled as she flipped a page on her clipboard, scrawling a quick note.

"Human."

After the relative silence, the multi-tonal statement was a bit startling. Dr. Sheckle tried to refocus, but found herself listening. When nothing further was said, she glanced up. Steve was sitting facing the open passageway. The same directional orientation he'd chosen last time. And he was giving her that same, sidelong glance…

Sheckle looked questioningly at Ford. The Lieutenant shrugged.

"Yes…?" Was he talking to her?

Apparently so.

As Mira met his gaze, Steve narrowed his eyes and looked fully towards her, "Do not touch me."

…Alright… He was a good eight plus meters away. Nonsequitor, much?

"I wasn't planning on it." She'd been chewed out by several layers of interdepartmental authority for that brief transgression, which perversely made her want to do it again. But if he didn't want a repeat, she wouldn't.

The wraith's face tilted as he cocked his head, and a partial smile twitched his lips, "In that case… you are allowed to assist me."

…Well… That was benevolent arrogance if she'd ever seen it…

Dr. Sheckle was starting to feel like she'd missed a memo. A glance at Ford was entirely unhelpful. He just shrugged again, this time noncommittally.

"Assist you how?"

"You speak Lantean."

"Yes," as Steve hissed softly, she added, "Kinda of. I read it much better than I speak it." There wasn't really anyone to practice conversing with.

"That is perfectly acceptable." The wraith's white hair brushed his knees as he reached out and clicked open a laptop. "I am writing a program that involves a translation component. Your Dr. Weir made corrections to its output. I have generated new output based on those corrections."

"And now you need new corrections," Mira guessed.

"That is correct."

She glanced at the journal entry she was working on. The wraith was only going to be there a few hours. To be useful, she'd have to pause her own project and switch. What the heck. "Sure. I'll take a look."

Swiping her clipboard, Dr. Sheckle crossed to where Steve was waiting expectantly and lowered herself onto the cool polished stone. A deft claw turned the laptop to face her, and Mira leaned towards it, scanning the Ancient characters it displayed with interest. Then confusion. …Then dismay.

She frowned, shooting the wraith a disbelievingly glance. No offense, but… "…This is a mess."

Steve didn't seem terribly concerned. "I do not expect it to be comprehensible. It is half of a whole, and the structure of the whole is the main question."

So, whatever he was translating wasn't actually translatable? Seriously? "Hard to correct something when you don't know what the correct answer is."

"I am sure you will achieve something."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," She looked back at the symbols. A familiar mish-mash of grammar-less nonsense winked and flickered as she scrolled the mousepad.

"Even if you do not, the lack of achievement is also potentially informative."

Ahhh. One of those sorts of problems. Mira had run into those before. They tended to be particularly satisfying to unravel. An odd shape caught her attention, and she clicked a different window to prominence, "Is this wraith writing?" Atlantis had samples, but she hadn't had a chance to examine them yet.

A translucent claw brushed her fingers, returning the Ancient window to the foreground. "I do not require assistance with those—"

No, duh. Dr. Sheckle hid her annoyance at having her curiosity thwarted.

"Focus on the Lantean."

"Fine." The Ancient characters flickered and scrolled as she resumed her dubiously nonspecific task. Blatant errors. Repetitive errors. Consistent errors… If a structured source was responsible for the mess, somewhere in the chaos a series of underlying patterns would emerge. Patterns were her specialty, right? Right? Supposedly? That meant she just had to drink it in. Dump it all into her subconscious. Then wait to see what emerged…

As Dr. Sheckle flicked through the code, taking occasional notes, the wraith Sheppard had named Steve eventually winced with M3Q-579's next field shift and laid down, waiting for the world to stop spinning in a meditative state bordering slumber.

A few hours later…

"Well…" Leaning on the Gateroom's balcony, Dr. Weir hooked her chestnut hair behind her ears with a sigh as the wormhole whooshed out of existence, "That was an experience." The Kivariians had been openly suspicious. Of everything. They'd demanded to see everything, too. She'd managed to contain them as much as diplomatically possible, but Sergeant Bates was… displeased.

"Good riddance." Belatedly realizing he'd said that out-loud, Major Sheppard looked self-consciously around before giving her a tight, apologetic smile. "I didn't just say that."

"My apologies, Dr. Weir," Teyla Emmagen was looking uncharacteristically relieved, "They are normally much more polite. It is the rumors causing them to act this way." She gave a wry shake of her head, making her caramel hair sway, "For what it is worth, I believe we managed to convince them."

"Well, that's good," Weir accepted the observation with gratitude, "We sincerely appreciate your efforts."

"Just the same," Sheppard added, "I think I'd prefer to keep our contact with them… indirect. Through the Athosians."

Dr. Weir silently agreed.

"I understand," Teyla chuckled softly, "There were reasons I had not introduced you to them before." Throwing a rueful look at the inactive gate, "Not everyone is open-minded about humans living in the Ancestor's city. It is…"

"Irrational?" Sheppard offered, "Childish? Silly? Pain in the—"

"I was going to say vexing," Teyla took a calming breath before giving them a rueful smile, "Now, if you will both excuse me, I have some preparations to make before meeting the Tale Weaver."

"Yes, please," Weir nodded, "don't let us keep you."

They watched thoughtfully as the Athosian took her leave. Then Major Sheppard signaled Grodin and the Stargate whooshed open again. As the sounds of Lieutenant Ford being recalled issued from the Command Center, he turned.

"I'm thinking, M3Q-579 for the other tours, too." Assuming there would be others. And, of course, assuming nothing had gone wrong. "Just in case."

The expedition leader nodded approvingly, "I was thinking the same thing. That man with the gift—"

"Sabin."

"Yes, Sabin. Some of the things he and the Kivariians said gave me the impression that he might be well known."

Yeah, Major Sheppard had also gotten that impression. "Kinda makes you wonder if we'll be seeing him again after Teyla meets this Tale Weaver?"

"Yes," Weir studied the glowing wormhole, "if Sabin shows up again—"

"Gotta make sure Steve isn't here." Which brought them full circle.

Weir turned to him pensively, "How did he take this particular evacuation?"

Sheppard shrugged, "He doesn't like it, but he went along pretty easily." Remembering the wraith's confusion, he felt a flicker of amusement, "That whole hundred thousand years of data seemed to persuade him."

The Stargate shutdown again, and Weir began meandering towards her office, "I imagine it would." There was an audible smile in her voice.

Turning his tone questioning, Sheppard followed, "Do you know what they were studying, yet?" The wraith's insistence was still worrying.

She glanced back, "Something to do with tectonic plate movements."

He frowned, "That's it?" Hadn't he heard that already?

Raising an eyebrow meaningfully, Dr. Weir mirrored his earlier shrug, "People keep bringing me other things to translate every time I start to make decent progress."

Major Sheppard winced, "Yeah, sorry 'bout that."

She chuckled softly, "Not your fault. It's very data-heavy. Lots of equations and coordinates. Not as much narrative as the research journals normally have."

Ahhh… He supposed that made sense. "Well, if it was spread out over that long a time period, the project probably outlived the narrator," he offered.

Dr. Weir 'hmmm'ed thoughtfully, "I have wondered whether some of the entries might've been artificially generated. Some of them have a very… impersonal formulaic flavor." Reaching her office, she crossed to her desk.

As Sheppard watched, Elizabeth picked up the Xex tube, which was happily sparkling next to the bowl of orange beads, and carefully offered it to him. He took it with bemusement, gently pinching the cool chemical bottle between his thumb and forefinger. "Guess I'll just take this back downstairs?"

"If you don't mind."

As it happened, Sheppard didn't mind. He was a bit curious how the wraith would react, though, if the Xex tube wasn't there when he got back. …Or if it accidentally got dropped when he wasn't around.

…

Given the odd protectiveness their prisoner displayed towards the tiny vase, it would probably involve a lot of hissing. Ah well…

A few hours later…

Pushing aside the brightly dyed flap of the tavern's entrance, Teyla stepped from the cool night into the warm glow of a bustling, crowded space. Niivar was an oddity. A dual-origin society created by two over-culled worlds whose survivors had sought comfort in each others' company centuries ago. The building she was now in reflected the intertwining influences. Nomadic, mobile structures mingled with sophisticated permanent joinings that could easily be disassembled while retaining an impressive structural resilience after long journeys. They looked almost Athosian on the outside.

But the inside was more like the Menarians…

The heavy hide swung closed behind her, and Teyla made her way through the maze of tables, setting course for the serving counter. As she squeezed between a pair of customers waiting for drinks, the tavern keeper sized her up with a warm smile that matched the ambiance of his establishment.

"What can I do for you, traveler?"

"I am looking for Pareen."

At the Tale Weaver's name, the people nearby glanced curiously at her.

"Ahh," the tavern keeper's eyes twinkled with merriment as he craned his neck, pointing around the bar area towards a table in the far corner, "Over there. She's been waiting for you."

Teyla nodded politely, "Thank you."

"If you need anything, let me know."

"I will be sure to do so."

As the keeper went back to pouring his customers drinks, Teyla threaded her way out of the clustered tables, stepping with relief into the less crowded outer edge of the tapestry-lined room. Painted hide, dotted with glass beads and cut feathers created a stylized landscape that framed the meeting place… The Tale Weaver's table was centered within a large forest-scape. Teyla approached slowly. The forest-scape's interior was partially obscured by strings of eccentric beading…

She hesitated, asking, "You are Pareen?"

An older woman with shoulder length white hair interspersed with jeweled trinkets and ribbon woven braids peered out and up at her with bright, intelligent eyes. The intense blue-streaked orbs studied the Athosian curiously as a sun-weathered hand beckoned her forward, indicating an empty seat.

Teyla pushed aside the ropes of polished shells, colored knots, and painted wooden beads that lent the cushioned alcove a measure of secluded privacy. They swayed into place behind her with a musical, wind chime clinking and clatter.

The woman indicated the carved chair again, then diverted her fingers to the platter of fruits and cheeses that rested before her, selecting a large, smooth-skinned purple berry. The muscles of her bare forearm were lithe and defined, suggesting a level of activity that belied her age. Her bracelets clinked as the berry traveled to her mouth. The fruit paused by her lips, and her eyes sparkled with amusement, "Please, sit."

Inclining her head in deference to the Tale Weaver's unexpected age, Teyla sat.

"You are Teyla Emmagen."

"Yes."

Filling an empty cup from a tarnished silver pitcher, the Tale Weaver pushed it towards the Athosian before topping her own off. "Why did you wish to see me?"

She accepted the cup, swirling the reddish liquid and taking an appraising sniff. It appeared to be fruit juice. Not yet taking a sip, she met the Weaver's gaze, "I require information. And I have a request."

A low chuckle was Pareen's response, "What sort of information?"

"Your story about Atlantis and the wraith. I need to know where it came from and what exactly you've been saying." She let the cup's base rest lightly on the table before her, "I also need a list of all the worlds where you've carried this Tale."

The Weaver's blue eyes thoughtfully narrowed, "And the request?"

"I respectfully ask that you stop spreading this Tale about Atlantis being a Wraith friend immediately. It is untrue, and my people are suffering for it."

"Untrue, is it…" Pareen toyed with a bit of cheese, "That is a serious allegation."

"I am aware," Teyla acknowledged.

"I pride myself on the veracity of my messages," Pareen's expression hardened as she spoke, "All true Tale Weaver's do, and the eye witness who requested I spread this was impeccably persuasive. I was—and still am—convinced they believed the truth of their words. Otherwise I wouldn't have agreed to convey such… controversial content."

"I did not come here to question your skills, Weaver Pareen. This person—"

"I also do not disclose the identity of those who require my services."

That was to be expected. Teyla revised her implication, "Who they are does not interest me."

Pareen ate the cheese with amusement, "Really?"

"Yes," Teyla confirmed, "I'm only concerned with their message."

"And why is that?" The Weaver selected a slice of fruit.

"Because it is inaccurate." Pareen didn't react to this reiteration of the untruth, so Teyla pulled her goblet of juice towards her slightly and elaborated, "This person. I believe they saw a small piece of a complex situation and misinterpreted it. This… misinterpretation is creating problems for my people."

The Weaver's blue eyes twinkled knowingly, "And for the people of Atlantis."

"Yes."

Eating the fruit, Pareen took a sip of juice and leaned back. Then she leaned forward again, laying her hands palm-down on the tabletop. Her voice lowered, reverberating with the hypnotic power of a storyteller's truth-saying, and she fixed Teyla with an earnest stare. "'The white haired demon and its human guards stopped beneath the tree I was hiding in. The demon touched the waters of the stream. The demon's guards gave it something to drink, and they left. Soon after, a pair of the demon's ships came through the Ancestor's ring and went to the forest to meet them. I escaped. The demon's guards came from the Hope Bringer's world. Atlantis. My hope died.'"

Tale Weaver Pareen sat back against the cushioned bench and took a sip from her tarnished cup. "Tell me, Teyla Emmagen… How was this situation, misinterpreted?"

Momentarily flustered, (she would've sworn from the skill of the recounting that the woman had been there herself), Teyla sipped her own juice and gathered her thoughts. That someone had actually seen the prisoner… There'd been someone hiding in a tree when SGA-1 was preparing to extract the neural filament seed!

Luckily, however, she'd been there, too.

She looked respectfully at Pareen, and prayed to the Ancestors that the Tale Weaver was as open-minded as she seemed. "What this person saw was a wraith prisoner." Pareen's intelligent eyes widened with interest. Teyla confirmed the words with a slight nod, "One who agreed to assist with salvaging wraith technology in exchange for concessions from his captors. The guards were there to prevent his escape. Not to protect him." She selected a piece of cheese with a rueful smile, "The arrival of those ships was unexpected. It almost caused us great tragedy."

"Ahhh," Pareen considered the light glinting off her cup's gleaming rim and added thoughtfully, "If this is true… That would be quite an error."

"It is true."

With a smile, the Tale Weaver brushed her white braids back and began perusing the cheeses again, "How will you prove this to me?"

Luckily, Teyla had also been a witness. For Tale Weavers such information was currency, "By sharing the other half of the story."

The startlingly sapphire eyes swept the Athosian with a wry, calculating gaze as Pareen took a considering bite, "And if I do not feel it's believable?"

Teyla met the challenge with a determined smile, "Then I will ask that you name your conditions for proof. And I will do my best to exceed them."

Gesturing to the platter, the Tale Weaver grinned, "Very well. Eat, Teyla Emmagen. Drink. Tell me your half of the story."

Teyla Emmagen took a deep breath, and began.

"Teyla, would you be so kind as to introduce me to our guest?" Masking her surprise, Dr. Weir descended the Gateroom stairs, carefully keeping her growing trepidation concealed behind a polite smile. The Athosian met her in the open area before the Stargate, gesturing to the woman beside her with an apologetic smile.

"Dr. Weir, I would like to introduce Tale Weaver Pareen."

"Tale Weaver Pareen?" Giving Teyla a question glance, Elizabeth surveyed the white haired stranger politely. "I'm Doctor Elizabeth Weir. Welcome to Atlantis."

"Thank you," the Tale Weaver respectfully inclined her head, eyes glinting with amusement, "Do not be displeased with your ally, Dr. Weir. I would not allow her to call ahead. Giving you time to prepare would defeat my purpose."

"I see… And what is your purpose?"

"I wish to have an audience with your captive wraith."

Weir didn't bother hiding her surprise, "She knows about our prisoner?"

Teyla nodded, "Someone was hiding in the forest when he stopped and drank from the stream. They saw the darts, too. That is where the rumor originated."

"Yes," the Tale Weaver smiled, "And I wish to determine for myself whether this wraith is indeed a prisoner."

Seeing Weir frown, Teyla added, "The person in the forest believed Major Sheppard, I, and the security team were the prisoner's servants."

Elizabeth's confusion dissipated, "That explains the content of the rumors."

The Tale Weaver looked up at the windows, taking in Atlantis's soaring architecture as she added, "The world you were on produces a delicacy that glows at night. It's hard to find during the day, but fetches a high enough price that ambitious gatherers are willing to brave the dangers of twilight." A rainbow of light twinkled in her white hair as she turned, making the beads in her braids catch the sunlight coming through the tall windows. Pareen smiled wryly, "Alas, since crossing paths with your captive, one of those gatherers has lost their nerve." Her blue eyes caught Weir's, and she nodded ruefully, adding, "The price is rising."

Weir raised an eyebrow, understanding, "Supply and demand. Should we apologize?" There was a joking undertone in the offer.

Tale Weaver Pareen snorted with amusement, "Don't bother. It happens every time someone stays too late. People get mauled. The price rises. People decide to take risks. And while I admit the delicacy is pleasing to look upon, (if prepared well), I've always found it a bit… gelatinous for my taste."

Liking the practical, dark humor of their unexpected guest, Dr. Weir gestured towards the stairs, "I will show you to the holding cell." She caught Teyla's attention, "Teyla, could you please inform Sergeant Bates of my whereabouts? And ask Major Sheppard to join us at the cells, when he has a moment."

"Yes, I will. Thank you for your understanding, Elizabeth."

"You're welcome. And thank you for contacting Tale Weaver Pareen for us."

As Teyla climbed towards the Command Center, Dr. Weir peeled off the staircase's other branch, leading Weaver Pareen into the corridor that would take them to the transporter. The Weaver surveyed their surroundings appreciably, smiling approvingly and glancing with interest at several of the lighting fixtures.

Her intelligent sapphire eyes fixed on Weir as they reached the transporter door and stepped into the glowing alcove. "I have been in spaces resembling this…" offered Pareen. She studied the glowing map of Atlantis curiously, "But none of the crystals glowed. They were all in need of repair. Dire repair…"

Making note of the comment, Weir selected the transporter location near the cells. When the doors whooshed closed, then reopened to reveal they'd moved, Pareen shook her head and smiled, "This is remarkable."

"Thank you," Weir resumed their journey, "The Ancients did a good job."

"Indeed they did."

As the neared the stairs to the holding cells, Dr. Weir turned serious, "Tale Weaver Pareen… The wraith you are about to meet. His presence is not something that we wish to become common knowledge—"

"If I determine that your story is true, I will not reveal his continued presence." Pareen's face hardened, "However, I must express my own concern about how you are feeding him—"

"We don't sacrifice people."

"So Teyla said. But she would not elaborate."

Weir nodded, "We found an alternate food source for him. That's the only reason we're able to keep him. And… it's the only reason he's willing to cooperate."

The Tale Weaver was frowning, "You speak of keeping him far too lightly. I have never heard of wraith possessing an alternate food source."

"They don't," Weir acknowledged, "He sees the benefit, and that's why he's helping us. A device of the Ancients is feeding him. We only have one. Atlantis hopes that, with his help, we can make more."

Pareen paused in the corridor, "You think this device could replace us?"

The expedition leader could see possibilities flash in the Weaver's eyes as she spoke, "If we could figure out how it works? And how to make more? Yes."

A soft laugh was Pareen's response. They started moving again. "I see now why so many who meet your people come away labeling Atlantis as Hope Bringers. I find myself looking forward to meeting this… kept wraith."

Dr. Weir internally winced, "Yes, well. Hopefully he'll be on his best behavior. He can be temperamental."

"Unsurprising. Being kept in a cage tends to disgruntle."

"That's one way of putting it."

Halfway down the stairwell, the sound of jogging footsteps began echoing behind them. Rounding a bend, Major Sheppard spotted them.

"Elizabeth!"

They stopped, waiting for him to catch up. Annoyance flickered briefly in his expression as he took in Pareen, but he diplomatically hid it.

"Major Sheppard," Dr. Weir deflected the question in his eyes. It'd been her call, and they could debrief over it later, "Thank you for accompanying us. I'd like you to meet Tale Weaver Pareen."

He nodded politely, "Yes, Teyla told me. Pleased to meet you."

"This is Major John Sheppard," Weir continued, "He's commander of the military forces here on Atlantis."

"I heard about you from Teyla as well," Pareen regarded him with unconcealed interest, taking in his uniform and the firearm holster at his hip. "I understand you offered the wraith your water bottle."

"It's officially called a canteen, but, yeah."

The Tale Weaver chuckled, "I've put everyone out. It was my intention." She threw a glance down the stairs, "Shall we upset your prisoner as well?"

Major Sheppard shrugged, "You can try. I should warn, you. He doesn't see many new faces. He might treat you like… entertainment."

Pareen snorted, "I shall endeavor to amuse."

"And I can't guarantee he won't deliberately insult you."

Both the Weaver's tone and expression hardened, "As long as he refrains from eating me, I don't care."

"Oh, well," Sheppard glanced at Weir, who held his eye warningly, "He can't do that, so… I guess we're good, then."

"Good," Pareen stared at them expectantly.

Before the tension could rise, Weir gestured down the stairs, "Well, since we're all good, let us continue."

"Yes. Please," Weaver Pareen stepped quickly as they began moving again.

When they reached the bottom of the stairwell, Major Sheppard stopped briefly in front of the door, "Once this opens, he can hear anything that you say." That said, he moved back, deliberately placing himself slightly behind Dr. Weir.

"I understand," the Tale Weaver studied the closed door for a moment. She took a deep breath and slowly released it. Then she turned calmly to Dr. Weir. "I am ready."

Weir passed her hand over the control box, and the alcove door swooshed open.

Not expecting company, Private Laris, immediately blocked their way. Seeing who it was, she just as quickly unblocked it, resuming her post.

The Tale Weaver slowed as the illuminated square of the holding cell, and its light-washed occupant, became visible. The wraith's black-coated form was sitting before the laptops, facing away from them. Though he appeared engrossed in the task, their was a watchfulness in the Ancient prison's stillness. No keys clacked. As they moved closer, the white head shifted ever so slightly.

A soft inhalation followed the movement, whispering through the room.

Then…

"Who is this?" Steve's face turned, and his eyes flitted across Pareen, taking note of Major Sheppard's presence, before fixing with laser focus on Dr. Weir.

"She's a guest," stated Weir.

"Why have you brought her here?"

"She wants to speak with you." She raised a warning eyebrow, "Be polite. That's an order."

Steve's lips twitched in annoyance, "As you wish." His eyes snapped to the Tale Weaver. Pareen had frozen briefly at the sound of his multi-tonal voice, but she'd recovered quickly and was calmly approaching the cell. Not getting up, the wraith inhaled again, testing the air. "What do you want with me?"

And he smiled. A creepy, obviously performative, condescending smile.

Mayor Sheppard internally groaned. So much for polite.

The Tale Weaver snorted, "For starters, why don't you give me the courtesy of standing up? You're a bit far away. My old eyes don't see as well as they used to."

What little genuine amusement was contained in the mugging expression soured. The wraith stared at Pareen, not responding. And… not moving.

The Tale Weaver stared back. Also no longer moving.

Guessing what might be wrong, Sheppard cleared his throat, "We, uh… disoriented him a bit recently. He might not be able to stand properly."

Steve's eyes shot to him angrily, "I'm perfectly capable—"

"Of standing, sure. But can you stay standing?"

With an annoyed, rattling growl, Steve shot smoothly to his feet. Then froze. His olive eyes unfocused slightly and he released a short, semi-explosive snort. Then he released another, this time a bit longer. He refocused on Sheppard with a heaving breath, blinking irritably, then snapped his gaze to Pareen. His face belatedly followed his eyes, turning very smoothly, and slowly, towards her.

"Good job," Sheppard quipped.

Not moving his head, Steve shot him a sidelong, hissing glare. Then he narrowed his eyes at Pareen and resurrected the condescending smile, "Is this satisfactory?"

"Yes." The Tale Weaver's shoulder length braids brushed her shoulder as she finished approaching the cell. She stopped an arm's length from the bars, studying the wraith's expectant stillness with an unreadable expression.

The wraith studied her back.

"I have often wondered…" Pareen's voice was quiet and firm, and her tone oddly neutral, "what I would say to your Kind if I ever met one of you."

Steve slowly tilted his head, watching…

By the alcove door, Weir and Sheppard exchanged a glance, wondering if this had actually been such a good idea.

"And…?" Steve asked, still watching, "Do you have an answer?"

The Weaver's answer was an unconcerned, "No." Her lips twisted with a wry, self-deprecating smile, "I could ask of my Mother. Or Father. Or sons…" Pareen's sapphire eyes gleamed coldly in the harsh light as she swept the wraith with a clinical visual examination, head to foot, and back up, fixing on his face once more with a calm, "They've all been taken, you see. But I'm sure you've no way of knowing." She nodded slightly, adding, "Nor would care. One food beast's just the same as another." Her expression hardened, "We all practice husbandry. Both species…"

A chill permeated the holding cell in the wake of her matter of fact statement.

Beyond the bars, Steve's false smirk faded into a vaguely intrigued, and significantly more genuine expression. He drifted closer to cell's edge, leather coat-panels creaking… Then he reached out with his ungloved hand. Light swirled and sparked across the forcefield as he trailed a claw across the invisible barrier. He glanced down, directing Pareen's gaze to the rippling trails of humming energy.

The Tale Weaver raised an eyebrow at the revelation and stepped closer, continuing, "I never had a real home, because of you. Never stayed in one place. I learned early on, when my parents and every adult in my village were taken, that staying still was too dangerous." She gave Steve a disapproving stare, "That particular act of husbandry was poorly done. The settlement never recovered." Her clear voice slowed, turning bitter, "No… new… generations… to come… after."

A low hiss met her statement, "Do you expect me to apologize?"

"No." Pareen straightened a bit, studying the insincere, quasi-implied offer, "I doubt you personally had anything to do with it."

Steve snorted amusement, "That is likely correct." He moved closer to bars, studying her the way he often studied Major Sheppard. "For what it's worth… That it was poorly done, that act of husbandry… I agree."

"Mmmm… A waste of resources."

"Yessss…"

"Not the sort of thing you would do."

If the wraith recognized the subtly mocking hint in her tone, he ignored it. "No." Steve smiled smugly, "But managing food resources is not exactly my specialty."

"Isn't it?" Pareen's sapphire eyes slipped to the glove, which had moved to rest on the grey metal when she wasn't looking. Then she caught his eye again and changed subjects, asking bluntly, "How were you captured?

The wraith's expression blanked.

Silence…

Major Sheppard cleared his throat again, "We laid a trap for him. He walked into it." When Steve hissed in annoyance, he added, "Kinda slunk a bit, actually. After things started, ya know… blowing up."

"You are determined to humiliate me." Steve's olive eyes rolled in disgust. "They activated a signal beacon. I was assigned to investigate." Abandoning Pareen, Steve snapped a challengingly stare towards Sheppard, "If I recall, I subdued your female subordinate quite effectively. I was looking forward to feeding on her."

The Ancient glove's beads glimmered.

"Your projectile weapons are annoyingly painful."

Major Sheppard had no interest in rising to such obvious bait. "You're just saying that to make us feel good," he quipped.

Steve rolled his eyes in disgust again.

Tale Weaver Pareen tapped the bar, drawing the wraith's attention back to her. She indicated the black glove as Steve looked curiously at her weathered fingers. "Is it true this is feeding you?"

The wraith's ivory hair rippled with a short nod, "Yes."

"May I touch it?"

Steve froze… Then withdrew his feeding hand from the bar, retreating further back into the cell. "No."

Pareen watched the strategic withdrawal with amusement, "No?"

"No," Steve smoothed the buckles of his coat disapprovingly. "While I acknowledge the accomplishment you've achieved by avoiding consumption for this long, I know neither you, nor your purpose." He wrapped his feeding hand over his stomach and crossed his other arm over it, idly toying with the lower facets of the bottom edge of its glittering epaulet. "I've no interest in being prodded by strangers."

Irritated by the sudden obstinacy, Sheppard moved to approach the cell, but Weir's hand on his arm, stopped him. He raised his voice instead, "Well, perhaps you should get to know her a bit? Then you wouldn't be strangers."

Not looking at him, Steve snapped out, "I'm surprised, Major Sheppard, that you'd willingly endanger the project like this." Grimacing, he delicately pressed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, "I am done with this conversation." Emitting an annoyed hiss, he stepped back to the laptops and dropped into his former sitting position, deliberately angling his posture away from Pareen.

Major Sheppard frowned, "Steve, ya know, ya don't exactly decide these things. The conversation's done when our guest says it's done."

The closest laptop's keys started clicking.

"This barrier keeps me out as well as keeping you in." Leaning on the bar, the Tale Weaver peered calculatingly into the cell, "Are you truly intimidated by me?"

The wraith snorted, "I am simply being prudent," he tapped the mouse pad, not looking at her, "Your resentment towards my Kind is considerable. There could be any number of dangerous items concealed upon your person."

"And you have a food source literally at your fingertips," interjected Sheppard, "That's quite a bit of healing potential—"

"You would have me undergo pain and waste energy?" Steve shot an irritated glare over his shoulder, "You believe that's an acceptable risk?"

"We believe the risk to be minimal and the benefit worth it," Sheppard had no idea what the exact details actually were, but he was trusting Weir and Teyla on this. He glanced at Pareen, "She seems pretty trustworthy."

Steve narrowed his eyes, unimpressed, "I do not believe her eyes are weak. She has already lied to me once." With a decisive nod, he looked back at the laptop.

Major Sheppard blinked. Beside him, Weir surreptitiously pressed her fingers to her lips, hiding an involuntary smile.

The Tale Weaver openly laughed, "That's one of the most common fake deceptions in the book. I didn't expect you to actually believe it."

Silence…

"Are you worried I'll take your food away?"

The wraith's pale face turned slowly to look at her, oval-pupiled eyes hard and unreadable. The silence stretched. Then… "You think I am a fool." More silence. Followed by a calm, unexpressive, "You may continue to think so."

…And Steve turned back to the laptop.

The clicking resumed.

Glass beads clinked and glimmered as Pareen nodded and straightened, crossing her arms, "And there's the arrogance I was expecting." She turned to Weir with a dark chuckle, "One like that wouldn't voluntarily confine himself to deceive herd beasts."

"You believe he's a prisoner?" Weir confirmed.

"Yes—"

"Of course, I'm a prisoner! You think I'd stay here by choice? In this dark, empty space! Without a proper work station!"

As they all startled at the abrupt shout, Major Sheppard half expected to see the wraith smacking the forcefield, but the annoyed figure stayed put, apparently content with directing the abuse at the laptop.

Weir gave Pareen an apologetic, "I think we should continue this outside."

"Hiiiiissssssssssss!" Eerie rattling pervaded the space, followed by glimpses of misty, ink-black shadows nipping the edges of their vision.

"Knock it off!" Sheppard glared at the cell, carefully hiding his shock. It'd been weeks since Steve tried that. Was the wraith taking a belated cue, or throwing a tantrum? …It was hard to tell what level of subtly he picked up on…

They exited the holding area, and as the alcove door whooshed shut, Major Sheppard added, "I might need to have a chat with him about the definition of polite."

Elizabeth shrugged, "He started off pretty well."

"I have no complaints," Tale Weaver Pareen brushed the concern off, "He was more accommodating than I expected. No dissembling. No deceit."

"Teyla thinks he's bad at manipulating humans because he's never had to do it before," offered Dr. Weir as they climbed the stairs, "Since he knows it won't work, he doesn't bother trying."

"Teyla strikes me as very wise for her age," Pareen murmured. As they turned at the landing, she glanced back down the stairwell, "He's very protective of that device."

Sheppard nodded, remembering Steve's immediate retreat, "Yeah, well… He knows it's the only reason he's still alive." He paused, wondering how much to reveal. It was probably alright… "Also… The device is touch activated. Lots of Ancient technology can only be used by people who have Ancient genes."

"Ahhh…" the Tale Weaver walked in silence, considering the information. "He had no way of knowing whether I knew this. Or whether I could deactivate it."

"Yup."

Pareen chuckled, "In that case, I suppose the reaction's more prudent. I was merely curious, though…"

In the quiet that followed, Dr. Weir asked, "Is it true? All the things you said?"

"Yes."

The neutral tone had a subduing effect on the expedition leader. "You've had a hard life."

"As have many others." Beads clicked like rain as Pareen shook her head, uninterested in pursuing the subject, "My circumstances are not uncommon, Dr. Weir. The lifestyle I chose in response is the rarity."

"Never staying in one place—"

"Spreading word of cullings," Pareen corrected, "So no one goes unaware of the loss of loved ones. Making sure no children are left alone to fend for themselves."

Weir nodded, accepting the Weaver's placement of the work's importance over the negative experience that started it. "It must've been a natural evolution, then, to begin spreading news in general."

"Yes. Especially once I realized others were also doing it. I was not alone." With an amused snort, Pareen glanced at her two hosts, "But enough. You satisfied my conditions. I will share the worlds where the news spread, and I will stop trafficking it. It may be useful if Teyla Emmagen is present. She's likely familiar with a few settlements."

"You have Atlantis's gratitude," Dr. Weir smiled, "Thank you." She hesitated, "The person, the gatherer, who saw our prisoner. Would it—"

"I will speak to them myself. And return their fee. I do not share my clients' identities."

"Understood."

Major Sheppard looked between Weir and the Tale Weaver with confusion. "Wait. Somebody saw Steve?" What in the world had he missed?

A few hours later…

The wraith hadn't bothered getting up this time. He was still sitting, back to the alcove, scrolling through code and intermittently typing on the laptop.

"I am starting to dislike your visitsss."

The Major ignored the complaint, "Time for another field trip."

A low hiss met the no-nonsense announcement. Then…

"I am your Death…" The mutter almost sounded like its utterer meant it. White hair swayed as the wraith looked over his shoulder to watch his captor's approach. As Sheppard stopped by the cell door, Steve's lips twitched in a silently disgusted chuff. "I'm still disoriented from the last one." He grimaced, staring. When no elaboration was forthcoming, he hissed a sigh, "How many of these 'field trips' will there be?"

Sheppard… didn't actually know yet. "That's not your concern."

He could tell from the hardening of Steve's glare and the abrupt hunching of shoulders that the answer wasn't satisfactory. Disbelief colored his multi-tonal voice, "If I'm not allowed enough time to adjust to either location, it becomes my concern. It is very concerning. And it concerns me that you seem unconcerned by it!"

Interesting verbiage choice. Sheppard actually wasn't unconcerned. He hadn't missed the way Steve pinched the bridge of his nose earlier. That was the wraith's response to stunner headaches. Sheppard just… couldn't see a better way around the dilemma, yet. …He tried distraction, "You like that word, don't you?"

"No, I do not," Steve chuffed, briefly baring his teeth, "But your Kind use it with me frequently, so I'm drawing attention to it."

That… was kinda true, wasn't it? While Sheppard was trying unsuccessfully to come up with something that might paint the hated exodus planet in a better light, the wraith got up. After a brief hint of unsteady wobbling, he stalked to the bars.

"Are you punishing me?" With a magnanimously inquiring finger twist, Steve turned his bare hand palm up and cocked his head, setting his ivory hair swinging, "Have I not been amenable? I have given your Kind considerable cooperation, Major." The olive eyes scanned his face as Steve leaned closer, "I do not understand this disrespect."

Cute.

"You're still a prisoner, Steve."

The wraith released a low, warning hiss, "You are proving my point."

Yeah, well… Major Sheppard was forced to admit that, from the wraith's perspective at least, Atlantis was being a bit of an asshole. And Steve had just behaved very well for the Tale Weaver…

Fine. He could explain a bit, if nothing else. "Yes, Steve," Sheppard agreed, "You've been amenable." Pausing to gauge the wraith's reaction, he added, "You've been TOO amenable."

Steve blinked, slowly resting his hands on the usual horizontal bar, "What?"

Amused by the confusion, Sheppard continued, "You've been so amenable, that when someone saw your guards off world, they assumed they were a protective escort."

An explosive bark of disbelief cut the air, followed by a sharply hissed, "When did this happen? How could anyone see us?"

Placing his own hands on the other side of the forcefield, near Steve's, Sheppard shrugged, "They saw you in the stream. When I gave you my water bottle."

The wraith's expression blanked, and he glanced away.

"Yeah. You were a… bit distracted, then. If I remember correctly."

Steve snarled in annoyance, skewering him with an irate glare. But just as quickly as he'd snarled, the wraith bit his retort off with a huff, glancing away again. "I take it… A sort of diplomatic conflict has ensued."

Smart cookie. Not interested in rubbing further salt into the memory, Major Sheppard nodded, "Long story short, the person who saw you was exceptionally talkative, and we're having a number of guests over who, like before—"

"They can't know of my presence."

"Yup."

"And your ships—"

"Still not doing that." It was really hard, resisting the urge to laugh. Sheppard shook his head, "Look, Steve—"

"I have a request." A low, quasi-hiss permeated the cell as Steve took and slowly released a deep breath… "If you insist on sending me to that unsafe planet—"

"Yeah, it's the same one."

The wraith closed his eyes with a grimace, and his lips curled distastefully, apparently pre-regretting what he was about to say. "Leave me there for the entire duration of time that you're receiving these visits."

It was Sheppard's turn to blink, "What?"

"Stop bringing me back in-between." Another slow, quasi-hiss… The olive eyes reopened, "I'm unable to work."

"Looked like you were working just fine a few minutes ago."

Steve gave him a long-suffering stare that would've been comical if he wasn't…well… a wraith. Since he WAS a wraith, Sheppard found it a bit unsettling. "Simple, repetitive tasks that require little thought. Nothing substantial or complicated." The meticulously maintained ivory strands rippled with annoyance as Steve shook his head, adding, "Nothing that would create novel progress…"

Major Sheppard mulled the idea over. It would require scheduling a rotation of off-world security details, but that wasn't hard. Dr. Corde's research team hadn't reported any complaints… The wraith was doing a decent job of looking miserable, and Sheppard was pretty sure most of that misery wasn't feigned. Exaggerated, maybe. But to be exaggerated, something had to exist in the first place.

Said wraith was watching him hopefully. Sheppard shifted his weight, tapping the bar, "If we leave you there—"

"I will eventually adjust. My body is already adjusting. That's why changing locations becomes unpleasant. The interruptions—"

"Are as disorienting as the field shifts," Sheppard guessed.

"More so. Because the adjustment process itself is disrupted." Steve leaned closer to the forcefield, earnestly studying him, "If you continue transferring me between locations, I will be useless in both places. And… I'll end up taking longer to recover when you're finally done." Steve hesitated uncertainly.

Well, the Major was both fond and not fond of the idea of deliberately incapacitating him, so… "Go on."

A soft huff, "If you intend to use this location in the future as well, allowing me to completely adjust will ultimately be beneficial."

"Unless we like keeping you literally off-balance."

The wraith froze, staring, obviously unimpressed by the flippant quip.

"Sorry." Not really, but… Diplomacy was Atlantis's word of the day.

"It is a waste, Major Sheppard. A waste of time." Steve glared past the bars confrontationally, "Every second we spend talking brings the Others a second closer to making their decision to come here. If you wish to waste those seconds by perpetually disorienting me, you may. I am your prisoner, after all," the multi-tonal voice was thick with bitter accusation. "For my part, I would prefer to spend them on research."

Yeah. Research. And also figuring out how to survive the Others' assault while, (in all likelihood), simultaneously absconding with the glove. From the wraith's perspective, that was probably the optimal outcome. Sheppard didn't say that, though. He just listened. …And watched with concealed concern as the wraith winced.

Steve narrowed his eyes with a hiss, grimacing, "You are not foolish enough to waste my expertise, Major Sheppard. Stop playing games."

"But I thought you liked games?"

With a growl of disgust, Steve turned away, leather swishing, "I am going to sit down."

"Suit yourself," Sheppard watched the retreat. Slightly unsteady, the wraith's smooth movements had an air of carefulness about them. "Get your computers ready. You'll be leaving soon."

"As you wish…" Pressing the bridge of his nose for a moment, Steve released a slow breath, then leaned forward and began clicking windows closed.

"Logistically it's fine. He's already guarded around the clock. It just adds a hike to the beginning and end of the shift changes."

Sheppard was having a little pre-departure chat with Weir and Dr. Beckett regarding the wraith's request.

"You're sure it's not a ruse of some sort?" Elizabeth regarded him seriously.

"Nah, I doubt it." The look on Steve's face when he suggested the idea was a clincher in Sheppard's book. "He hates the place."

"So he's being practical," Dr. Weir turned, "Carson?"

"It's definitely plausible," Dr. Beckett had watched several clips of the wraith's movements after returning from M3Q-579. "The brain is incredibly adaptive. Especially when it comes to adjustin' sensory input. Ye could put on a pair o' glasses wi' special lenses tha' turn everythin' upside down, an' after a few days, ye'd be seein' normally. Takin' the glasses off would be as disorientin' as puttin' 'em on."

Major Sheppard blinked, "Really?"

"Aye. Ah imagine wha' Steve's experiencin' on M3Q-579 is a similar phenomena."

"That would be very confusing, then," Weir mused, "Putting them on and taking them off repeatedly in a short time span."

The Scotsman nodded, "Definitely. Yer brain would, quite literally, not know up from down."

"And possible headaches?" Sheppard asked.

Carson laughed, "All ye need is a new prescription to set tha' off, Major." He sobered, "Fer wha' it's worth, the timin' on his wobblin' seems ta roughly match wi' the unstable intervals of M3Q-579. Ah imagine the fact tha' the intervals' lengths are variable, an' not exactly predictable, probably hasn' helped."

"Understood," making her decision, Dr. Weir turned back to Sheppard, "Check with Dr. Corde. If his team doesn't mind, I'll allow it."

Corde's team didn't mind. And a short while later, the wraith was on his way up, and Atlantis was preparing to welcome the first of a slowly growing list of envoys.

Sergeant Bates was, (predictably), not happy. But it was the visitors the Security Chief was displeased with. He'd resigned himself to the M3Q-579 plan when faced with the incoming influx of egregiously-basic security violations.

"We're not an embassy. We're an outpost."

"Believe me, I know," Dr. Weir had received another container of beads from the flooded lab's Fish Finders and was rearranging the overflow jars on her desk again, "But as much as I might wish we could live off Menarian Tava beans and Athosian berry crops, it's not exactly a balanced diet."

Displeased, Sergeant Bates conceded the point, but still shook his head, "This goes against so many SGC rules, I can't even count them."

"Which is why I'm here to handle the civilian and diplomatic parts of the expedition." With a rueful smile, Weir poured a glittering cascade of orange spheres into a tall, snake-necked vase, "We can't lose our ability to make trade agreements by ignoring this. We need to be quick and decisive."

"If I'd known the wraith would be this much of a liability—"

"We didn't know," Leaning nonchalantly by the office window, Sheppard headed the second guessing off with a flip, "We had no way of knowing some random person would be hiding up a tree somewhere." He shrugged, "It's a fluke."

"True." The Security Chief's expression said that though he acknowledged the 'flukiness' of the situation, he had no intention of liking it.

"It's not like we had any plans of making him a permanent member of a future off-world team," the Major was pressing his luck with that one, but—

Bates unexpectedly snorted with amusement, "Also true."

"If we manage to unravel the artifact's construction," Elizabeth slid the vase towards the far corner of her desk's surface, near the wall, "and mass produce it," she eyed the angle of the twisted neck, then slowly rotated it, changing the way it caught the light, "It isn't all that far-fetched to think a peace treaty could cause that to happen…". Emptying the plastic tub's last stragglers into a curved dish, she poured the small outrider bowls into it as well and positioned the semi-circle beside the vase, so it looked like the beads had poured down into it. Pleased with the effect, Weir looked up, taking in Bate's frown and Sheppard's uncertain pensiveness with a soft laugh, "This is probably at least three or four years into the future, mind you. If not longer…"

Torn by both potential and pitfalls, Sheppard waffled, "Even then, I imagine we'd have to be very careful where that team was sent."

"Yeah, uninhabited worlds only," muttered Bates.

Elizabeth's lips twisted wryly in agreement, and she crossed her arms, surveying the decorative crystal vase again.

"Ya know…" Sheppard cleared his throat, directing her gaze to the Penny Jar, which was still on the glass table by the door, surrounded by a trio of small (also full) bead dishes, "If we keep finding those. People who visit you are gonna start thinking you have a marble fetish."

She nodded sagely, "Or that it's an Earth status symbol."

Status symbol. Sheppard liked that. Should he commandeer the next batch?

"Maybe even some sort of currency."

Even better! He nodded, "Mmmm… Conspicuous display of wealth."

Reluctantly amused, Sergeant Bates shook his head, looking from the Penny Jar to the vase and back, taking in the hundreds of glistening 'caviaresque' Ancient beads. "I wish to Hell we knew what these were."

Dr. Weir and Major Sheppard nodded solemnly in agreement.

"If ya find a fancy bowl while you're out exploring, Sergeant, I bet we could fill it for your office."

"Thanks, but no thank you, Sir. My office is good."

Sheppard shrugged, "Meh. More for me."

Elizabeth's dropped her jaw in mock offense, "Are you saying you intend to start stealing my marbles, Major?"

He eyed the trio of bowls by the Penny Jar. The one on the left was kinda cool looking, "Well, if they're gonna be status symbols, I should have some. Just saying."

"Hands off. That's an order."

Fine. Sheppard put on a mock pout, "I'll find my own bowl to fill."

"See that you do."

They shared a laugh while Sergeant Bates rolled his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"No. But my discomfort's irrelevant." In the shadowy main room of the ruins on M3Q-579, Steve spun a laptop around and pushed it a few feet across the stone floor. Then he sat back, closing his eyes, and dipped his face towards the glowing screen, "I made adjustments based on your corrections. And I've new output."

On the far side of the room, Dr. Sheckle studied him a moment before looking at the waiting computer. He'd been grimacing and wincing since his arrival. Considerably more so than during his earlier visit. And that visit hadn't been that long ago…

"That was fast," she observed.

Steve hissed softly and cocked his head, slitting his eyes open to throw her a glance, "They were simple replacements and substitutions." The oval pupils vanished behind tightly closed lids again.

Mira hesitated. She wasn't convinced the discomfort was irrelevant. Private Laris had been carrying the laptops this time. The wraith had apparently stumbled in a stairwell, almost dropping them. Whatever the fields were doing to him was compounding somehow.

…But she wasn't a medical expert. Dr. Beckett probably knew what was going on and had likely 'okay'ed it. It wasn't her place to second guess that.

"What are you waiting for?" Steve's eyes had reopened, and were now staring expectantly at her.

…The impatient assumption in his voice was a bit off-putting.

Not liking it, Dr. Sheckle blinked impassively, deliberately not moving, "I'm not actually assigned to you, or anything."

The black-coated form stilled, and the wraith expelled a confused chuff, "You… do not intend to assist?"

She indicated the laptop sitting on the table before her, "I have my own project. Helping you is something I'm allowed to do at my own discretion. It's not mandatory."

That didn't seem to compute. "Last time—"

"I felt like doing it, so I did it."

Another chuff. Steve stared at her quizzically before drifting his gaze slowly down to the laptop. "I… prioritized finishing the corrections when I learned I'd be coming back here. I assumed you would look at them." White hair swayed across his closer knee as he cocked his head, studying her sideways. His eyes darted across her neutral expression uncertainly, "I… would appreciate your continued assistance."

…another soft chuff.

Much better. Suppressing an urge to laugh, Dr. Sheckle got up and walked to the waiting laptop, "Your verbal expression of appreciation is appreciated."

The olive eyes widened, and Steve snorted, watching curiously as she picked it up. She could feel the scrutiny follow her back to the table. "Perhaps in gratitude you could tell me a bit about the structure of telepathic communication," Sheckle tossed the idea out as she reclaimed her seat, deliberately not looking back. "Not now, of course," she added, "When you're feeling better. Just something to think about…"

A low hiss whispered from the wraith's direction. "Isss… this a requirement?"

"Nope. Just a friendly exchange." (With an interdisciplinary professional who was insanely curious about the massive web of interdependent patterns and phenomena that telepathy undoubtedly represented. Oh, the study teams she could construct.)

Silence…

Not expecting a response, she began scrolling through the Ancient gibberish. It seemed… slightly less gibberishy than before. In a weird way she couldn't quite put her finger on… Mira kept scrolling.

After a while, a rustling and the creak of leather interrupted her thoughts. "I… expressed appreciation when I first spoke. You simply… could not receive it."

She looked up. The wraith was arranging his coat, smoothing it out around his crossed legs and assuming a meditative pose. "That must be frustrating."

…and fascinating. It implied that telepathic context accompanying verbal speech was routine. Possibly instinctive, or even reflexive. (Otherwise, why waste energy transmitting if you know the receiver won't hear it?)

"Is there anything else you've said to me that I couldn't receive?"

Apparently that question was pushing her luck.

Studying her sideways with wide eyes and a wary snort, he glanced away, "I am not prepared to discuss this."

Sheckle gave a soft laugh, "Why? Did you say something rude?"

Turning back, Steve bared his teeth with a short warning hiss, "No." The sound lengthened into an introspective, "I do not believe so…" He looked away again.

As Mira watched, the wraith winced, closed his eyes, and began to meditate, fingers intermittently tensing on his knees. Quickly giving up the pose, he switched to touching his fingertips together while bowing his head.

Yeah, he wasn't feeling well. She turned back to her new puzzle. "I'm going to have to copy this and take it back to the city. My shift's almost over." Selecting a data stick, she began taking screenshots, "I'll bring my corrections tomorrow morning."

"You may take the entire laptop. I'm unable to work in this state."

Really…? Dr. Sheckle looked questioningly at Private Laris and the rest of the security escort. The marines had a brief huddle, then dispatched Private Douger to chat with her. He pointed at the machine.

"Don't attach any devices to this. Except the power cord. It has to stay isolated."

Sheckle put her data stick back. "I didn't plug that in yet."

"Good. Its wireless access features have all been disabled. Don't take anything off or put anything on it without running it by security."

"Understood," she looked at the unassuming machine with renewed respect. It hadn't occurred to her that the wraith might've written a virus while using it. But that's why they had a security department, "Anything else I should know? Or not do?"

Douger shook his head, "Nope. That's it."

"Alright. I'll be careful."

"Good," he gave her a casual finger salute and resumed his post.

Checking the time, Dr. Sheckle went back to scrolling…

A few hours later…

"Why does Dr. Sheckle have Steve's computer?"

Exiled to his lab (voluntarily) for the duration of the evening's 'tour', Dr. McKay peeled off the sticky note he'd just found and waved it at Zelenka. On the other side of the shared workspace, the Czech peered over the tops of his computers at the yellow paper. He shrugged.

"She's doing translation tasks. The tasks you shoved onto Weir."

Ignoring the jab, McKay sputtered, "Why?"

Zelenka shrugged again, "The wraith asked her?"

"And she said yes?" There was disbelief in the quasi-squeak.

"Apparently she was curious." Zelenka fingered his chin and looked back at his screen. The red head had double checked about the laptop with security as soon as she returned through the Stargate. "Bates didn't want her keeping it in her quarters—"

"Duh—"

"—I told him to put her in your isolated lab. Have her work by the Ancient console." He tapped a few keys, "It's same project. Keeps it all in one place."

"Good thinking," McKay pinched the note a few times, wiggling it about between his fingers, "Maybe I should go down, take a look at Steve's progress—"

"Don't bother," Zelenka absently mussed his grey hair, muttering, "She is attempting to correct chaos."

"Chaos to you, maybe—"

"No," Zelenka snorted, darkly emphatic, "What she's looking at makes no sense, whatsoever. That's why you shoved it off in the first pl—"

"I did not shove it off onto Dr. Weir," McKay waggled the note admonishingly at his co-worker, proudly adding, "I strategically time-managed it. There's a difference. Weir wasn't as busy then—"

"Exactly. But now she IS busy. So it strategically time-managed itself down to Dr. Sheckle." Dr. Zelenka shook his head, remembering the horror he'd briefly glimpsed on the laptop's flickering screen, "Don't drag it back up the food chain."

"It's the hybrid-code we're talking ab—"

"It is literally incomprehensible," Zelenka fixed his superior with a serious, deadpan stare, "I saw it. You don't want that."

"Fine," glimpsing the memory of his own brush with the chaos in Zelenka's traumatized expression, McKay grudgingly backed down, "I have another question, though. A more important question."

Zelenka sighed with relief, "What is it?"

Dr. McKay brandished the sticky note at him with a triumphant flourish of accusation, "Why was the note saying where the wraith's computer was, stuck on the rim of my coffee cup?"

"Honestly?" The Czech didn't even bother pretending to be sheepish, "Because I thought you'd be more likely to see if you accidentally ate part of it."

Blinking, McKay quickly lowered the note, surreptitiously covering the damp, torn semi-circle of darker yellow paper on its top edge with his thumb. "Touché."

The next morning…

"He's alive, right?" Setting her laptop on the collapsible table, Dr. Sheckle directed Lieutenant Ford's attention to the prostrate form of the wraith at the far end of the room. Dr. Corde's team had returned with the morning guard change, and, though it'd been several minutes, Steve hadn't moved. That included when Corde and Torre had walked by him to reach the passage leading to the sensor array. Given Corde's occasional clumsiness, and the fact that the wraith was partially blocking said passage, it was a minor miracle he hadn't been stepped on yet.

Or asked to move. And honestly? That's what Sheckle actually found puzzling. She didn't personally care, mind you. (Which in retrospect was probably why the situation continued. No one else minded either. Weird, right? I mean, deadly alien, sprawled out on the floor, waiting to trip someone, etc…)

Following her gaze, Lieutenant Ford opened his mouth to reply, then stopped as the rustle of leather and a low hiss superseded him.

"I continue to draw breath," the wraith's closest arm slid a few inches, lifting to rest on his stomach instead of the stone floor, "Regrettable, though that may be…"

Ouch. That sounded like it was entering existential territory.

Beside his superior, Private Douger gave Ford and Sheckle a small shrug, "He's not in a good mood. No worse than when I arrived, though."

Letting the marines continue their shift-change debrief, Dr. Sheckle set her thermos on the table and went back to unpacking. The wraith's laptop came out next, followed by a clipboard and the papers she'd taken notes on. She flipped through the pages. All there. The corrections were still in the right order…

"Okay…" slipping the pages onto the laptop, she carried them across the room, then stopped, looking down at the spray of white hair by her shoes.

Steve was facing away from her, head lolling towards the nearest wall. As Sheckle waited, he shifted slightly and slit his eyes open, staring sideways up at her.

"You have correctionssss…?"

"Good morning. Yes."

The olive gaze slipped to the laptop and papers, "I will look at them. Soon." He closed his eyes again, "Leave them."

"Okay," Mira crouched, carefully setting the laptop on the stone floor, "You look miserable. Are you sure you're—"

"Some adjustments result in things getting worse before they become better."

"Ahhh. I take it, this is one of those."

No response.

Deciding not to test the wraith's mood by criticizing his silence, Dr. Sheckle went on to the sensor array chamber to learn Corde's agenda for the day. Which was translation. (Unsurprising.) Translation coupled with a healthy dose of marveling at the array's construction, because Dr. Torre's spectroscopy readings had made it through Atlantis' analyzing backlog.

"This housing is incredible," Torre gushed, "You could drop it into an arctic ice sheet, and the internal circuitry would be completely safe."

"Sounds extreme," Sheckle observed.

"It goes the other way, too," Torre's grin was far too wide for this early in the morning, "You could stick it in the center of a desert on the equator, and it wouldn't break a sweat."

"Seriously?" Sheckle stared at the pedestal and its crystal sphere with renewed appreciation.

"Yes! That's how well designed the power distribution and insulation matrices of the—"

"Why would it need that?"

"Aside from a hundred thousand plus years of assured durability?" the astrophysicist shrugged, "No idea. Now, I'd stop short of exposing it to liquid magma," she continued, "But if a massive comet or asteroid hit the planet, creating a pocket of temporary vacuum exposure, it would probably survive."

Sheckle stared, absorbing the info. Then she ran her palm over the cool crystal, studying it uneasily. "…We don't need to worry about that, right?"

"What? No, of course not. It's just a hypothetical disaster scenario."

"Good."

"Earthquakes, though—"

"What?!" Mira turned, staring wide-eyed at Corde, who'd come up beside her.

Surprised by her vehemence, their team leader blinked, "Earthquakes. Plate tectonics? A hundred thousand years is bound to bring a couple tremors."

Sighing, Mira hid her chagrin by brushing some errant curls back, "Right. I haven't had my coffee yet." Tectonic plate movements, which were a data set the sensor array was actively collecting, were, well… earthquakes.

Irrepressibly unphased, Corde chattered onwards, "Anyway, the flexibility the material gains from its ability to withstand temperature extremes may actually be what the Ancients constructed it for." He began fastening his data-pad's crystal probes to the sensor's interface nodes, "The array's core extends down through the entire mountain, and it'd need to be extremely flexible to last for so many millennia without fracturing from natural crust movements and weather events."

"You're thinking the temperature durability is a happy side-effect?"

Corde looked to Torre, who nodded, "In the absence of research journal translations and the diffused results caused by the data-partitions?"

Torre finished for him, "It's our current working theory."

At the reminder that she was in danger of becoming an information bottle neck, Dr. Sheckle internally winced, "I'll try to speed my translations up." The wraith's project kept distracting her, but she'd found an entry related to M3Q-579's gate address in Atlantis's database the other night… "I might've found an indirect lead."

Dr. Corde grinned, "I can't wait."

"Looking forward to it," added Dr. Torre.

"I'll get to work on it," Sheckle tapped the crystal sphere, "If you find anything that looks like a written journal entry, give me a shout."

"Will do."

"Same."

Trailing fingers idly over the corridor's smoothly chiseled stonework, Dr. Sheckle made her way back to her table in the main room and sat down to work on the database entry. She'd let it churn through the first phase of their Ancient translation program overnight, so there was a decent framework to build on…

Typing and the distant murmur of voices dominated the stillness of the underground ruins as she worked. After a while, the rustle of paper and leather, followed by a scraping of metal and clicking told her the wraith had finally mustered himself to peruse her corrections. Soft taps and occasional hissing murmurs joined the soundscape…

As the morning wore on, Mira frowned at what was forming on her screen. It looked like instructions for fine-tuning some sort of calibration… On the Stargate? It was getting pretty technical in places. Some of the less common terms could use a second opinion. She composed an email to the translation team, asking for a second set of eyes, then queued it to send during the next data-swap with Atlantis.

"Human…"

Sheckle glanced at—yup, he was staring at her. "I have a name."

No response.

Whatever. "What do you want?"

Steve held her gaze a moment, then looked down at the paper he was holding, "You… undid a previous change."

"What?" That shouldn't have happened. She came over, crouching by the laptop and fanned pages to see what he was referring to.

The wraith's slim fingers smoothed the paper in question against the floor, indicating the character with a delicate claw twist, "It was this the first time."

"…and grammatically, it should be that now." She quickly scanned the surrounding nonsense, double checking.

"You changed several others that were previously changed as well," Steve murmured, "But not back to their first iteration."

"If the translation's getting more accurate, it should be evolving, not regressing…" Sheckle glanced at the neatly fanned papers framing the wraith's knee and laptop, "How far have you gotten?"

"Not far…" the curved claw tapped two pages that'd been flipped upside down.

Not even half done yet, "Well, I guess we'll find out if there's more." Pulling a pencil from her pocket, she circled the character, "Mark any others like this."

Steve snorted softly, then winced, "I have not been entrusted with writing implements." He grimaced, closing his eyes.

"Oh," Sheckle looked to Lieutenant Ford, who was positioned by the nearest wall, "May I give him this?" She held the pencil up.

The dark skinned marine nodded, "Make sure you get it back later."

Excellent. (Geerman totally would've skewered her for suggesting it.) "Alright." She laid the pencil on the papers and started to get up.

A soft hiss stopped her.

"Dr. Sheckle…"

So… He was using her name now. Buttering her up, perhaps? "Yes, Steve?"

Eyes still closed, Steve angled his face towards her, "I've changed my preference."

Really… Sheckle studied his wincing expression with wary bemusement, "Which preference are you referring to?"

The wraith hesitated, then his pale features swung slightly away, and he slit his eyes open, regarding her sideways through narrowed ivory lashes. "Friendly gestures of reassurance may occasionally be acceptable."

What? Hiding her confusion, Mira waited patiently as the olive gaze glanced away, drifting about before settling uncertainly on the wraith's own knee.

"Provided they're confined to my wrist," Steve continued. His eyes swept hesitantly back to her with a low hiss… "Or… possibly my shoulder…"

Oh… He… was taking back the 'no touching' rule. Dr. Sheckle blinked. His shoulder was a bit awkward due to the epaulet, but—

His gaze shifted, indicating his upper bicep.

—That was less awkward. "Alright." Recapping her previous, 'do it before thinking about the consequences' routine, Mira targeted the spot he was looking at, gripped the faceted material, and gave it a slow, firm, one-handed squeeze.

The wraith's eyes popped wide at the contact, and he froze.

Stunners shifted, sounding loud in the sudden stillness. In the other room, the murmur of Torre's and Corde's voices continued in eerie obliviousness.

Just when Sheckle was starting to worry that he hadn't been serious, Steve narrowed his eyes with a chuff and averted his face, leaning his body away slightly. In contrast to the retreating movement, Sheckle felt a faint pressure against her palm. It… was like he was moving visually away for the guards' benefit while simultaneously inviting the contact to continue. Strange… And surreptitious.

She obliged, watching his face. The heavy material was stiff under her fingers. She could feel the myriad of tiny, angular facets pressing into the skin of her palm. It was rough… like a very coarse sandpaper. What was it made of? The coat was supposedly all organic. Was it shell then? Or chitin? Or a reflective ion matrix…? She'd heard the coat's 'metal' accents were actually shell with suspended silver ions—

As the warmth of Steve's arm seeped through the thick material, drawing her attention to the wraith's deceptively slender build, he released a chuff, finally looking at her again. His eyes narrowed, blinking a few times, and he drew his lips up, baring his translucent teeth with an oddly snapped, "That's enough."

Dr. Sheckle obediently let go, suddenly intensely curious about the meaning of physical contact in the wraith's social context.

He cocked his head, regarding her sideways with a low hiss, and his odd posture from before reversed. It now seemed like he was leaning towards her, though his shoulder had actually pulled slightly away.

"You are either very brave," Steve hissed, still studying her, "or very foolish."

Reductionist much? (Not to mention, cliché.)

Unimpressed, Sheckle raised an eyebrow, "There's a third option."

He blinked, watching her with patient, olive-tinted expectancy.

She started with flattery, "That I trust you're intelligent enough not to risk your life killing me." As the expectancy turned smug, she flicked her gaze meaningfully to Lieutenant Ford and the other security guards, "And that I also trust them."

Steve's eyes widened. Then they squeezed shut as he turned away, filling the underground ruins with an echoing diffusion of musical, multi-tonal laughter. After a few seconds, the sound dissolved into a clicking chuckle as he ran out of air.

While Sheckle watched with concealed surprise, Steve turned back to her, visibly catching his breath. "You are amusing," he half-panted.

Well, shucks.

"You're welcome."

Feeling oddly satisfied, Sheckle gave the part of Steve's arm that she'd touched earlier a light tap, which elicited a startled chuff, (along with a warning frown from Lieutenant Ford), then got up to return to her work.

Clicking keys and sporadic paper rustling soon dominated the space again.

That afternoon…

"It's weird. It's like she actually gets along with him."

"Really?" Dr. Beckett had asked Sheppard to let him stop by the next shift debrief so he could inquire about the wraith's wobbliness. What he was receiving instead was Lieutenant Ford's unexpected version of an alien socialization report.

"Yeah," Ford looked at his companions, and the other members of the security escort nodded agreement. "She initiates contact. He initiates contact. There's no posturing, no baiting. She puts him in his place. He doesn't seem to care." Ford shrugged, adding, "And she doesn't seem to hold grudges about it."

"No stalking," Sheppard confirmed.

"No. But, to be fair, Sir…" the Lieutenant grinned, "He can't exactly stand straight long enough to participate in stalking at the moment."

"True," Major Sheppard was admittedly curious to see if that would change after the wraith finished 'adjusting,' as he'd apparently called it. "What do you think, Doc?"

"Honestly, ah'm not sure, yet," Dr. Beckett wished there was footage to review. "From wha' ye've said, it sounds similar to 'ow 'e acts in the infirmary. Minus the electrodes, o' course. It's possible tha' 'e's enjoyin' workin' wi' someone who doesn' 'ave any power over 'im. 'E's 'hardwired to enjoy problem solvin'."

Major Sheppard's thoughts flew back to their previous conversation from a few meetings ago, "Low stakes social interaction combined with a puzzle buzz."

"Aye. But it's also possible tha' 'e's too physically uncomfortable ta try anythin'."

"Ok, scratch the puzzle buzz."

Dr. Beckett shook his head, "Ah'm really just throwin' ideas out, Major."

"Yeah, me too." Sheppard was actually a tiny bit worried that Dr. Sheckle was secretly attempting to domesticate the wraith while he was off-balance, but he didn't know the scientist well enough to evaluate the suspicion. Or her likelihood of success, for that matter. …Which tied into the 'Queen' idea somewhat. Steve deferring to Weir, Steve allowing Laris to take the Xex tube when Geerman was being confrontational. Steve… striking up some weird space guppy, linguistic, arm-touching friendship?

Was Steve subconsciously gravitating towards female authority? Or were the female personnel he was encountering simply good at diplomacy? Dr. Weir was a diplomat, and Private Laris had a bunch of embassy assignments in her file. And Sheckle… was apparently an expert on bring disparate specialties together.

…It was something to think about.

For the moment, though, Sheppard summed his thoughts up with a quipped, "The wraith is weird."

Ford chuckled, "You're just now figuring that out, Sir?"

"Nah. It was… kinda a given." Crossing his arms, Sheppard turned seriously to Beckett, "AND… given that Steve apparently rescinded his 'No Touch' policy," (Sheppard was STILL baffled that the wraith had needed to enact it in the first place), "I'm starting to wonder about the significance of physical contact among Wraith."

"Aye," Carson's expression turned thoughtful.

"They don't strike me as a touchy feely sorta race," Sheppard added, "but ya never know. We haven't exactly seen a bunch of them hanging out together."

"No," Carson agreed, "We've seen the occasional, unmasked male, usually in the presence o' masked drones. Or bunches o' masked drones in combat with no unmasked males visibly present. An' tha' one female on the hibernatin' hive." He rocked pensively on his feet, making his lab coat swish, "Honeybees can be very touchy feely. So can ants. Our own species is exceptionally social. But ah don' know about Iratus bugs…" Beckett gave the Major and waiting marines an apologetic smile, "We've no way o' knowin' how unmasked wraith typically interact outside combat."

"Something to think about, though."

"Oh, aye," Carson brightened, "We pulled some files on the Iratus after," he hesitated, awkwardly glancing at Sheppard's neck, "ye know—"

"I know."

"Ah'll take another look. See if ah missed any potential behavioral insights."

"Thanks, Doc." Major Sheppard turned back to Ford and the soon-to-be-off-duty security detail. "Since the whole arm-touching-thing is apparently a thing…" (he felt really weird giving instructions around this), "Stay cool. Let it evolve—providing it seems safe. Use your judgement there. And…" What else to say…? Oh, right. He almost missed the important part. Catching their eyes seriously, Sheppard eased smoothly into an emphatically cautionary tone, "Just… keep an eye out for if, or when, Steve gets the bee in his bonnet to try touching her back."

That outta do it.

A chorus of nods and 'Yes, Sirs!'

Sweet. Pep talk success. "Except for Ford, you're dismissed. Get some rest. Ford!"

The Lieutenant straightened, "Yes, Sir?"

"That last bit. Steve knows Geerman's a stickler for protocol. It'll probably happen when someone else is in charge. My instinct says, it'll either be you dealing with it, or Private Laris."

Ford nodded thoughtfully, "Thanks for the heads up, Sir."

"Could you pass the memo along to Laris?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Alright. You're also dismissed."

As Ford saluted and left, Sheppard noticed Carson still standing expectantly nearby. "Why're ya still here, Carson? Need something else?"

"No, oh no." The Scotsman looked sheepish, "Ye just haven' dismissed me."

Major Sheppard stared, "You're not part of the military. Only Elizabeth can dismiss you."

"Ah know. Ah was just… feelin' left out."

Not really comfortable with setting the precedent, even if it was only pretend, Sheppard gestured benevolently to the door, "In that case, I humbly suggest—humbly, mind you—that you use your medical authority to dismiss yourself."

"O'," Dr. Beckett blinked, "Ah can do tha'?"

"Yes, you can."

"Ah suppose ah will, then." Straightening his lab coat, the Scotsman gave Sheppard a mock salute and headed back to the infirmary.

The Major watched him go, shaking his head.

"What am I looking at?"

Dr. Weir studied the data-pad she'd just been handed with carefully sculpted interest. It held a star-scape diagram of their solar system…

…and on the far edge—so far out it was almost entirely off the screen—a tiny, unlabelled…

…dot.

Fidgeting anxiously, too nervous to sit down, the young scientist, Dr. Gall, watched her study the tablet with barely contained excitement, "It's a satellite! An Ancient weapons platform. Part of Atlantis' last line of defense against the Wraith!"

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued, "You found this in the database?"

"Yes!" He beamed proudly, "And there's no record of it being destroyed."

Setting the pad on her desk, she clasped her hands over it and looked up at him, "Is that lack of a record significant?"

Dr. Gall nodded emphatically, "The other satellite entries I found all had destruction dates or dismantling notes attached. This one, though." He paused dramatically, "It might still be out there."

"And if it's out there—"

"It might even be running! Or dormant. Or repairable." Gall's eyes widened as he belatedly realized he'd cut her off, "Sorry! I'm really excited. I hadn't found anything useful yet—"

"You think we might be able to reactivate it for when the Wraith come?"

Taking her cue, the young man took a deep breath and visibly calmed himself before meeting her questioning gaze with professional seriousness, "Yes. I do. I believe it's a viable possibility."

She looked down at the star-scape again. And the tiny… very far out… dot.

"How far away is it?"

Gall's response was immediate, "It's within ship range. Depending on whether we push the engines hard, we should be able to reach it in fourteen to sixteen hours."

So it was close, but not close.

"That's a long ride," she mused.

"For outer space, it's actually quite short."

Hmmm… Sounded like someone was potentially volunteering himself. "Have you ridden in the puddle jumpers yet?"

Dr. Gall hesitated, "I visited the mainland once."

Keeping her expression neutral, Dr. Weir mulled that over. Long ride, possibly nothing there, but good potential. Now that McKay had the ATA gene, he needed to learn to fly. They were short on pilots, so… At minimum, it was a good learning opportunity. From the sound of it, there was also little to no risk…

"Do you have the ATA gene?"

His face fell a bit, "It didn't take. My research partner, Dr. Abrams, has it."

Weir looked up from the dot, "Has he been in the puddle jumpers?"

"No? Maybe a little?" Gall started fidgeting again, "Not much more than I have, I mean. He might've gone on a space-gate mission. I'd have to check."

"No, I can bring up his file if needed."

"Alright."

She smiled, watching as his young face oscillated between hopeful excitement and crestfallen confusion… She decided not to keep him in suspense for too long, "Tell me, Dr. Gall. What's your opinion on field work?"

The smile that her question elicited practically lit Weir's entire office up.

That evening…

"I have new output."

At the quiet announcement, Dr. Sheckle looked up from where she was packing her things away and once more turned her attention to the wraith. He'd closed his computer, and was in the process of meticulously piling her papers onto it.

"Your continued assistance would be, again, appreciated…"

His pale, green-tinted fingers smoothed the thin stack as she approached, and amber light flickered briefly as he delicately placed the pencil on top with his gloved feeding hand. A circled character winked suspiciously up at her from beside the graphite point. A quick scan showed another circle half-hidden by the eraser.

"I take it you found more?"

His ivory head dipped, "Yesss… Several." Steve watched her with passively narrowed eyes as she carefully lifted the closed laptop. "I am now keeping track of which characters you change. And when you decide to change them." The white curtain on his back shifted as he craned his neck, maintaining eye contact as she stood, "Hopefully… it will provide insight."

Sheckle nodded approvingly, "Good idea." Then she frowned slightly, "How long are you staying here?" Neither the wraith nor his security escort showed any signs of packing up anytime soon. She'd known they were going to be there for a while, but this was two overnights in a row. The ruins… weren't exactly comfortable.

Steve hissed softly, glancing away, "Until your Dr. Weir and Major Sheppard determine that it is diplomatically feasible for me to come back without enduring a continual procession of disorienting interruptions."

Ouch… "Sorry I asked."

A soft snort, "Do not be."

Sheckle chuckled, and his olive eyes darted curiously back to meet hers. "I'm not," she explained, "That was a poorly delivered joke of commiseration."

"I see…"

"Well, get some rest," she hefted the laptop, "I'll bring this back in the morning."

The wraith dipped his head in acknowledgement, and Dr. Sheckle went to add the items to her bag. Halfway through stowing them, she pulled a page out and flipped it over, scrawling a quick note on the back. Then another. Short-handing out a rapidly growing list before the idea vanished back into wherever it'd come from. Names, half-remembered article titles, summit presentations… There was—

A tap on her arm startled her.

"Ready to go?"

Heart racing, Sheckle blinked at Dr. Corde in surprise, then down at the list. The idea was gone, but the notes remained. Success! "Um… yes?"

He followed her eyes curiously, "What's that?"

"Not sure yet. Hopefully a breakthrough."

"Really?"

Hearing his excitement, she winced, "Not for us. For the Wraith."

Corde's face fell a bit, "Oh."

"Sorry."

He shrugged the disappointment off with customary enthusiasm, "It all helps everyone in the long run. Keep it up." He pointed at the papers as Torre appeared beside him, "And pack it up. We're done for the day." He watched like a hawk as Mira slipped the papers back into her bag. "No disappearing into work until after we've all eaten."

"Says the man who forgot to eat yesterday."

"And I regretted it. Which is why I'm helpfully reminding everyone."

Torre leaned in, interjecting, "For today only."

"Yes," Corde acknowledged, not offended, "Sadly, tomorrow I'll probably forget again. And you'll be on your own."

Zipping her bag closed, Dr. Sheckle shook her head in amusement and followed her teammates out of the ruins, beginning the half-hour hike back to the Stargate.