I'm afraid I have no excuse for this wait other than that this chapter is ridiculously long compared to the others. (I refused to make an Accessorial Dilemma Part 4.) I hope you enjoy this installment. Thank you for your patience!

Disclaimer: I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

Chapter Six: Accessorial Dilemma - Part Three

3 years, 49 weeks earlier

"Ah don' care wha' Major Sheppard an' Sergeant Bates said! It isn't right!" Arms crossed over the clipboard carried against his chest, (almost as if to protect himself from what he'd just learned), Dr. Beckett stared pleadingly as Elizabeth. "There's a big difference between experimenting on a prisoner we didn' kno' we couldnae keep alive, which is wha' Steve used to be, an' catching a new prisoner specifically for the purpose o' testing experimental drugs. Ah can't support this."

Getting up, Dr. Weir came around her desk and laid a reassuring hand on Dr. Beckett's shoulder. "I understand your concern, Carson. Please believe me when I say this," she smiled earnestly, "it's not as bad as it looks."

Dr. Beckett's face portrayed the essence of disappointment. "Ah certainly hope not. 'Cause right now it looks like Atlantis is tryin' to 'ave her cake an' eat it too. Morals be damned. Ah'm tellin' ye now. Ah won't work tha' way."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, concerned. "You'd abandon the entire project? After all the work you've put into it?"

Carson met her questioning eyes seriously and firmly nodded. "Aye. Ah would."

"Even knowing the Hoffans will continue without you?" she pressed. "Knowing Atlantis might as well?"

Dr. Beckett frowned. "Ah doubt ye'll find a doctor willing to continue if ah stop. We all took the Hippocratic oath. We don' treat ethics lightly."

"Well, neither do I." Dr. Weir squeezed Carson's shoulder approvingly. "Actually, I would've been disturbed if you hadn't approached me about this. Your commitment to morality and ethics is invaluable." She gestured to the chairs lining her office's glass wall. "Please, take a seat. I see I have some explaining to do."

Reluctantly, Dr. Becket adjusted his lab coat and plopped down, laying his clipboard across his knees. "Aye, ye do." The Scottsman's fingers drummed nervously on his wish list of supplies. When Elizabeth opened her mouth to begin, he blurted, "Do ye have any idea how hard I've been tryin' to avoid a situation like this? Ah've been dropping hints ever since we figured out wha' tha' glove does. Preparing Perna for when Atlantis refuses to test the drug on Steve. Ah told her he's more cooperative than we expected. Tha' he's too valuable to risk offendin' or harmin'. Ah think ah finally got through to her, too. Last time ah mentioned it, she said it wasn' a problem…"

As Carson trailed into silence, Dr. Weir sat down in the chair beside him and lightly touched his knee. "And do you know why her attitude suddenly changed?"

Carson looked at her with disappointment. "It wasn' my hints, was it?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "But you did convince her that Atlantis had no intention of giving Hoff our prisoner. She told her superiors that."

"An' how do ye know this?" Dr. Beckett sighed.

"Because the Hoffans' military commander contacted Major Sheppard and asked him for advice on how to capture wraith."

"Bloody 'ell."

"My thoughts exactly." Dr. Weir got up and paced in front of her desk. "It seems they have the Gate addresses of several wraith planets. Not having access to our prisoner, but knowing from us that catching wraith is possible, they wanted a few."

"But they don' 'ave the technology!" Dr. Beckett protested.

"No, they don't," Elizabeth agreed. "They'd have been slaughtered. Or rather, caught and fed upon. And, in all likelihood, they'd have led the wraith to Hoff. The wraith would've seen the Hoffans' technological advancement—"

"An' wiped them off the face o' the planet."

Dr. Weir nodded. "Along with your project. And because we're collaborating on site for the project, Atlantis would've been caught right in the middle."

Wiping a hand through his hair, Carson stared at his clipboard in dismay. "So Major Sheppard volunteered to procure a wraith for 'em. To avoid calamity." He shook his head disappointedly. "Ah see how this went now. Why ye said yes to it."

Pacing to a stop, Dr. Weir leaned back against her desk. "I'm glad you understand, Carson. Atlantis is far better equipped to handle a capture in a safe, and untraceable, manner than the Hoffans. And they were adamant about doing it. I was lucky to talk them down to one wraith. They wanted five."

"Ah still don' like it," Dr. Beckett said, shaking his head. "We're not ready to experiment on human or wraith subjects. An' even if we were, there's still the Geneva Convention. Ah know ah'm not on Earth, and circumstances in Pegasus are unusual, but ah don' know if ah'm willing to violate tha' yet—"

"What are we talking about violating?"

Carson turned in his chair, and Dr. Weir snapped her focus towards the office door. Major Sheppard was peeking around the doorframe. Elizabeth raised an expectant eyebrow, and the military commander mock-grimaced, taking in the inquiring look unrepentantly. "Sorry," he waved a finger about, "the door was, you know. Open."

"So I see. To what do we owe this," pausing, Elizabeth quirked a smile, "unexpected honor?"

He poked his head further in. "Well… I thought you two might like to know, the masked wraith finished giving Steve his answer."

"Wha'? Just now?" Dr. Beckett's eyes widened in surprise. "But ah finished observing 'em more 'an an hour ago!"

Sheppard shrugged. "Yeah, well. He had a lot to say." Coming fully into the room, the Major grabbed a chair by Carson, sat, and lounged back in it. "Actually, he finished thirty minutes ago. It took Steve a while to filter out the relevant stuff."

Dr. Weir pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and crossed her arms, eyeing Sheppard with interest. "I take it a lot was irrelevant?"

"Ohhhhh yeahhhh." Sheppard huffed an exaggerated sigh. "I'd say, more than 90% was completely useless." He fixed Carson with an earnest stare. "Never, I repeat, never, ever ever ever… Ask a masked wraith what he finds interesting."

"Was it tha' bad?" Carson asked, "Really?"

"Want some examples?" Sheppard grinned.

"If it's not too much trouble," Elizabeth prompted.

"Okay…" Sheppard clasped his hands behind his head. "A couple centuries ago, he fed on a human with two different colored eyes. Right one green, left one blue."

"You're right," Dr. Weir interjected, "That is useless."

"It gets better. A few centuries before that, he caught one with eleven fingers."

"How fascinating."

"And once he took part in a culling on a planet that had eight moons and two suns. Apparently the place smelled like sulfur and rotten milk."

"Like I said," Elizabeth frowned, "fascinating."

"Actually," Dr. Beckett interjected, "it IS fascinating."

"It is?" Straightening, Dr. Weir looked at Carson in surprise. "How so?"

Major Sheppard looked equally surprised. "Yeah, what she said."

"Well, for one," the doctor turned his equipment wish list over and began making notes on his clipboard, "How does Steve know wha' color the human's eyes were? Those masks are solid bone. No eyeholes. Do masked wraith sense color some other way? Or is Steve inferin' it somehow through the telepathic link?"

Dr. Weir cocked her head. "You mean translating one type of sensory information into visual, light-based information."

"As in a sense we don't know about," Sheppard added.

"Precisely," Carson said. "We already know wraith 'ave at least two senses we don'. Telepathy an' whatever those pits on their cheeks do." He looked at Elizabeth meaningfully, "Ah'm still working on tha', by the way. Steve 'as been consistently an' deliberately vague when ah ask 'bout 'em. Ah suspect multiple purposes."

Sheppard unclasped his hands long enough to raise a finger. "I second that."

"But returning to the question at hand." Carson set his pen down and scanned his hastily scribbled notes. "Why is this the sort o' thing masked wraith find interesting?" He glanced at Major Sheppard. "Ah assume the rest o' wha' you got is similar?"

The Major nodded. "Very."

Pushing herself off her desk, Dr. Weir crossed to the glass wall. "What about the 10% that wasn't completely useless?"

Sheppard clapped his hands on his knees and straightened. "I'm glad you asked about that." He stared at Elizabeth and Carson seriously. "It seems this wraith was once assigned to his hive's queen. As a sort of personal guard or servant."

"That sounds promising," Dr. Weir murmured.

"Aye," agreed Carson.

"Apparently," Sheppard continued, still serious, "she has a mole on her left shoulder blade. It looks exactly like a dart."

Dr. Weir and Dr. Beckett looked at him.

"Sooo…" Sheppard scratched his ear, "if we ever have cause to, you know, strip a wraith queen, we'll be able to tell if it's her or not."

As Carson made another note on his clipboard, Dr. Weir frowned. "I thought you said this 10% wasn't completely useless," she accused.

"It isn't," Major Sheppard quickly defended, "It's just mostly useless."

"Can ye give another example?" Dr. Beckett interrupted.

"Sure," Sheppard shrugged. "Somewhere there's a Stargate. When you walk through, you can see two tall mountains dominating the horizon. Between them is a tower that looks exactly like the central tower of Atlantis."

Elizabeth smiled and looked out at the Gate room. "Another Ancient city ship," she breathed. "Did the masked wraith give us the address?"

Sheppard shook his head. "No. He didn't know it. Someone else dialed."

"So Steve says," Carson added. "'E could be lyin'."

"I highly doubt it," Sheppard sounded confident. "He wants access to the glove research. Badly. He's practically drooling for it. I don't think he'll risk jeopardizing the relationship he's trying to build with us."

"Are you sure?" Elizabeth pressed.

The Major nodded. "Yes, I am."

"So, the masked wraith did'nae know where 'e was," Carson wrote another note, "but 'e still found the ancient tower interestin'. This is fascinat—"

"Actually, he didn't find the tower interesting," interrupted Sheppard.

"But ye just said—"

"He found the snake-necked, two-headed bird flying in front of the tower interesting."

Dr. Beckett scratched out his last note, and Dr. Weir stared down, through the glass, at the Stargate. White-coated medical personnel hurried across the floor, slowly building a pile of portable lab equipment before the dormant portal. "So the masked wraith," Elizabeth said, watching, "showed our unmasked wraith the bird—"

"It's easier to call him Steve," Sheppard quipped.

"And Steve," she conceded, "noticed the tower in the background."

"Yup. That about sums it up."

Carson tapped his pen on his clipboard. "Is all o' the mostly useless stuff incidental information? Lackin' in context like this?"

Sheppard nodded. "Except for the mole, yeah."

Dr. Beckett gave a low whistle. "Ah don' envy Steve the task. It must 'ave been extremely tedious for 'im."

"I think it gave him a headache."

Turning away from the Gate room, Dr. Weir looked thoughtfully at Sheppard. "Were there other places of interest besides the tower? Places where—"

Static squawked. "Dr. Beckett?"

Carson tapped his radio. "Yes, Teyla?"

"We have finished gathering the supplies on your list. They are by the Stargate."

Flipping his paper back over, Dr. Beckett twisted in his chair and surveyed the Gate room. The pile of lab equipment had stopped growing, and the personnel he'd requested were assembling around it. "Thank ye, lass. Tha' was very helpful."

The Athosian's smile was audible. "You are welcome, Doctor. It was a good opportunity for me to familiarize myself with the infirmary. I have also gotten to know some of your colleagues better."

Carson stood for a better view. Teyla's slim form was clearly visible, standing a few meters from the Stargate. "So ye did'nae mind bein' commandeered too much?"

"Not at all. In fact, I was wondering if I could accompany you to Hoff? I am not busy, and I would like to assist with the equipment set up." Teyla paused. "I believe it would be a useful experience for me."

Catching Elizabeth's eye, Major Sheppard whispered conspiratorially, "She doesn't want to be recruited by Rodney's bead hunters again."

Dr. Weir mouthed an understanding, 'oh,' and glanced at Carson, who looked at her questioningly. "If you can truly use her, I'll authorize it."

Carson nodded, "Aye, ah can. She's dead useful. Follows instructions very well." He reactivated his radio. "Teyla, ye can come. Dr. Weir gave ye permission."

Down on the Gate room floor, Teyla cocked her head. "You are with her?"

"Aye. Ah'm in her office." Dr. Beckett waved as the Athosian turned and looked up. "We're just finishin' now. Ah'll be down in a jiffy. Tell everyone it's time to go."

"We will be waiting for you." Teyla inclined her head towards the office respectfully. "Please thank Dr. Weir for me."

"Tha' ah will. Beckett out." Clutching his clipboard, Carson relayed Teyla's thanks, which Elizabeth had heard, and moved to the door. "Ah guess ah'll be on my way. Wish me luck." He paused and turned seriously to Dr. Weir. "If ye'd keep wha' we discussed earlier in mind, Dr. Weir, ah would much appreciate it. Ah intend on handling this project in a safe, morally and ethically sound way."

"You have my word, Carson." Laying a hand on Dr. Becket's white, lab coat-covered shoulder, Elizabeth ushered him into the hall, while studying him intently. "I want you to know. Just because I authorized a second capture, that doesn't mean I'm committed to performing live trials anytime soon. Or ever, for that matter."

The Scotsman's brow furrowed. "Ah know ye say tha'—"

"I'm not just saying it. You are in control, Carson." Dr. Weir let her hand drop. "I won't even consider the question unless you ask me first. And then I'll expect reasonable assurances that proceeding in such a way is safe."

Carson sighed, torn. "It just feels so final. Catchin' another like tha'."

"I understand," Elizabeth held his conflicted gaze reassuringly. "Just remember, no matter how far it seems we've gone, until we actually stick a wraith and human in a cell together, we can always choose to turn back."

Dr. Beckett smiled uneasily. "Ah don' think it'll be coming to tha'. But if ye could let me know 'aforehand, maybe? Give me fair warning?"

Smiling earnestly, Elizabeth nodded. "Of course. It was never my intention to blindside you. I WILL keep you in the loop next time. That's a promise."

Carson tucked his clipboard under his arm, looking vastly relieved. "Thanks, Elizabeth. Ah appreciate ye takin' the time to listen. Ah've got a lot goin' on, an' wha' with the way it happened so unexpectedly. Well… Ah got a wee bit worried." He glanced at the Stargate. "Ah should be goin' now. If ah could 'ave yer permission?"

Elizabeth gestured towards the control center. "Be my guest." She radioed the 'go ahead' to Peter Grodin, and Dr. Beckett strode enthusiastically away, buoyed once again by the recent success of his project.

"He's having way too much fun with this."

Dr. Weir jumped, startled, then turned and glared at Major Sheppard. "I could say the same for you."

"Naah. I'm just poking my nose where it doesn't belong. He's actually accomplishing stuff."

"How much did you over hear?"

Shrugging nonchalantly, Sheppard watched as the Stargate activated. "Not much. Just the last bit about him being worried." He glanced at Elizabeth. "I do respect privacy, you know." He glanced around, "But hallways aren't very private."

Amused, Dr. Weir walked back to her office. "No, I suppose they aren't."

Major Sheppard followed. "So… What was it about?" He lounged back in his recently vacated chair.

"He was concerned because we didn't consult him before catching a second wraith. He was afraid we might push him to move too quickly on the Hoff project."

"And are we going to push him?" Sheppard asked.

"No." Elizabeth shook her head. "He has enough pressure coming from the Hoffans. I don't want to add to that." Wrapping an arm over her waist, she rested her chin on her knuckles and watched as the parade of personnel and equipment began disappearing into the wormhole. "He threatened to stop the project."

"He what?!" Sheppard looked askance. "Why?!"

"Because catching a sentient being for the sole purpose of experimenting on it is morally reprehensible." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Even if it is a life sucking alien."

"I assume you told him the circumstances?"

"I did."

"And he still didn't like it?" Sheppard frowned.

"No, but he was willing to go along with it."

"Geez, and here I'd thought he'd be happy to have a new wraith."

Elizabeth looked at her military commander curiously. "How so?"

Shrugging, he threw up his hands. "It's a masked grunt! Big and dumb. Doesn't even talk. Given the choice between it and Steve, it's… It's…" He fell silent, searching for the right words. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "It's like experimenting on a mouse or rat instead of an endangered, obviously intelligent primate."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that."

"Why?" Sheppard leaned forward. "It's true."

"It's not the same, John."

"Not exactly the same, no. But it might as well be."

"There's a huge difference here!" Elizabeth stared at her military commander in disbelief, bordering on horror. "Please tell me that you see it!"

"I do see it, Elizabeth! But it doesn't matter, now!"

Silence engulfed the office.

Sheppard returned Elizabeth's stare intently, willing her to understand. "The Hoffans are going to push for live trials, sooner rather than later. You know that. I know that. It's only a matter of time. When that time comes, what's the better choice? Betraying the trust of an intelligent being that we're trying to build a rapport with? Or using the idiot who'll never realize he was experimented on?"

"We don't know that about the masked wraith," Elizabeth snapped.

"Perhaps not," he conceded. "But Steve will realize something's up the instant we take the glove off. He'll refuse to cooperate. I can guarantee that."

Silence again. The Stargate shut down as Beckett and his new personnel finished carrying the equipment through to Hoff. Peter Grodin's voice came over the headsets, announcing the successful departure. When he was done, Sheppard broke the awkwardly returning quiet, speaking softly. "The masked wraith is a better experimental subject. All the way 'round, and everyway you look at it. You know what I'm saying's true."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, reluctantly admitting defeat. "With the glove in Atlantis's possession, I can't allow starvation to be used as a motivator."

"No, WE can't. The treatment of prisoners is my concern too."

"This is questionable on so many levels, John…"

"Which is why discussions like this are important." Sheppard got up and moved to stand beside her. "Are we in agreement?"

Elizabeth sighed. Opening her eyes, she nodded. "Yes. If I authorize live trials, it will be for the masked wraith only."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "You mean when."

"No. I mean IF." She looked at him expectantly. "I still haven't agreed to sign off on that. It'll depend on the Hoffans, and Carson, and the situation."

"Hopefully I'll have some input."

"I think I already know where you stand, Major."

Sheppard smiled and backed off. "Only 'cause of the masked wraith. If it were still Steve, I wouldn't. You know that."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

"You are forgetting one important thing, though."

Elizabeth looked at him curiously. "Really?"

"Yeah. The most important part. Carson, the Hoffans, the situation… They're all well and good, but when it comes down to it?" Shaking his head, Sheppard pointed at Dr. Weir with a serious and steady finger. "Your judgment is what'll decide this. That's the most important thing. Fair, honest, diplomatic, and morally sound judgment."

"You're wrong, John," Dr. Weir stared at his pointed finger, "I didn't forget. It's on my mind constantly. I'm well aware of the responsibility. And my judgment—"

"Is what got you appointed leader of this expedition." Sheppard's expression became serious. "And I'll support it whole heartedly. 'Cause I trust it."

"Thank you, John."

"After the decision's made, you won't hear a peep of protest."

Elizabeth smiled, touched. "I'd expect nothing less."

"AFTER it's made," Sheppard repeated.

"Of course."

"No peeps without good reason."

Not bothering to hide her amusement, Dr. Weir moved to her desk and sat. "Perhaps we should revisit the masked wraith's interests. Besides the Ancient tower, did Steve notice any other landmarks with potential?"

"Yeah, sure," Sheppard pulled his chair over to the desk. "Plenty. Couple dozen ancient structures. Bunch of wraith labs. Grounded hive ships. Few unidentifiables—"

"I'm thinking ZPMs here."

He nodded. "Some of the Ancient stuff definitely sounded like it had power."

Elizabeth rested her elbows on her desk. "That's good. Why don't we—"

"No Gate addresses, though. Not a single one."

She mock frowned. "It's never easy, is it?"

Major Sheppard grinned. "If it were easy, where would the fun be?"

"Somewhere else, obviously." Elizabeth frowned for real. "So we've got no Gate addresses…" Tapping her fingers thoughtfully for a moment, she flashed Sheppard a grin. "In that case, let's start with the unidentifiables. I feel like a mystery."

-------------------------------------------------

An hour or so, and a brief dinner break later, Major Sheppard abruptly dropped his fork into his half-eaten bowl of blue gelatin, (which was sitting on his tray on Dr. Weir's desk), and straightened. "I have another mystery," he declared.

Savoring her last bite of vanilla ice cream, Elizabeth raised a questioning eyebrow. "Oh?" She picked up her napkin and dabbed her lips.

"Why would Steve be upset by the presence of a second wraith on Atlantis?"

Balling the square of white fabric, Dr. Weir set it down. "I don't know. Why?"

"Like I said. It's a mystery." Sheppard retrieved his fork. The blue gelatin wiggled and jiggled as he poked it. "It's not from his hive, so he doesn't know it. It can't talk, so he's not in danger of losing his place as an information source. He seemed concerned about it going hungry, but expressed no interest in its welfare beyond that. And I definitely detected notes of disgust and resentment in his attitude."

"Maybe he's simply worried we'll take the glove away," Elizabeth offered.

Sheppard shrugged. "I suppose that's possible. He didn't seem too thrilled about the idea of sharing. But it's not like we wouldn't give it back. He knows that."

"Does he really?"

"Yup. Steve's smart. He knows EXACTLY how important his cooperation is to Atlantis." Twirling his fork, Sheppard launched a cube of gelatin into his mouth. "At least, I think he does." He tapped the fork's handle against his temple. "It's hard to tell what's going on up there sometimes. The whole, alien psychology thing…"

Elizabeth pushed her tray away, saying, "Well, John. Maybe that's the answer."

Sheppard frowned and swallowed. "Beg your pardon?"

"Maybe it's a wraith thing."

"A wraith thing?" Sheppard pursed his lips thoughtfully. It was possible…

"And if that's the case," Elizabeth continued, "the only way we'll ever know is by asking."

Shaking his head, Sheppard speared another cube. "Steve's not so hot on personal questions."

Elizabeth eyed his tray. "Have you actually asked him any?"

"Course! I ask him his name all the time." She raised an eyebrow, and Sheppard smirked playfully. He swallowed the jiggly bite whole. "Okay, seriously," his expression sobered, "I tried broaching the subject, and he clammed up. Turned the conversation a complete 180. Actually gave me straight answers."

"On a different subject, you mean."

Sheppard nodded.

Elizabeth sighed disappointedly and stole his last gelatin cube. "Then, sadly, I suppose it'll have to remain a mystery."

"Hey! You stole my Jello!" Sheppard accused.

"Yes, I did." Elizabeth popped it into her mouth and demurely dabbed her lips with her napkin after swallowing. "It wiggled at me."

"'Cause you poked it firs—"

"So court martial me."

"I can't! You're a civilian."

A pair of dark, green streaked hands thumped onto the desk by Sheppard's tray. "Now, children. Didn't your moms ever tell you not to play with food?"

Dr. Weir and Major Sheppard simultaneously turned to stare at the unexpected visitor with surprise. Looking inordinately pleased with himself, Lieutenant Aiden Ford grinned cheekily at them. "Snuck up on you, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did, Lieutenant," Elizabeth murmured.

"Sorry, Ma'am," Ford had the decency to look sheepish, "I couldn't resist. Your door was open."

"I've neglected to close it a lot today…" Her eyes trailed over Ford's face and across his uniform, taking in the young marine's appearance with blatant curiosity. "I should probably remedy that." Elizabeth's gaze settled on the green smears streaking Ford's hand. Glancing up, she quirked an eyebrow, "Are those grass stains, Lieutenant?"

"No, Ma'am," Ford was grinning again. "There's no grass on Atlantis."

"Then forgive me for not being so polite," Sheppard snapped, recovering from his surprise. "But what the Hell happened to you?"

"You don't like my new look?"

Sheppard and Weir both shook their heads. Aiden's uniform was dotted by so many green smears, it almost could've passed for camouflage gear. His palms and fingers were incredibly dark, practically dyed olive, and his cheeks and forehead looked like they'd been streaked with thick, jade grease paint. Even his hair was speckled with lumpy green stuff. Glancing at Elizabeth, Sheppard spoke for them both. "You look," he quipped, dropping his fork on his tray, "like you've been attacked by a mulch monster."

"It's algae," Ford smiled, pleased, "I've been squeezing it."

"I thought I left you watching Steve," Sheppard accused.

"You did," eyeing the desk, Lieutenant Ford grabbed the empty dinner trays and moved them to an empty chair. "But Rodney snagged me when I went off shift."

"He snagged you?" Elizabeth frowned. "You could've said no."

"And miss the chance to squeeze the last algae bloom?" Ford laughed and shook his head. "No way! Too much fun!"

"I think you need a new hobby," Sheppard muttered.

"You're just jealous." Reaching behind him, Lieutenant Ford produced a large, shallow platter and set it in the middle of the desk between Sheppard and Weir.

Elizabeth leaned forward and fingered the silvery metal. It smelled slightly fishy… "And what's this for, Lieutenant?"

"That would be for these." Looking, if possible, even more smug and self-satisfied than usual, Rodney McKay strode into the office. Clasped in his hands was a tan box, the size of a walkie talkie. Skipping to a stop by Weir's desk, he proudly upended it over the tray. A waterfall of sparkling, orange beads poured into the platter, rolling and bouncing across the silver rectangle like marbles. Caught in the glittering stream, two larger, grayish-blue objects dropped out with a shiny, metallic clunk.

"Ta da!" McKay slapped the now-empty box onto the desk beside the platter and gestured proudly to the tiny, clinking orbs. "One glove's worth of mysterious, non-glowy spheres of indeterminate purpose and origin. Am I good, or what?"

"Or what," Sheppard quipped. Ignoring the platter, he made an exaggeratedly-disgusted face and wrinkled his nose. "Or more exactly, what is that smell?"

Lieutenant Ford looked at Rodney pointedly. "Told you they'd notice."

"Of course I noticed," Sheppard grimaced, "It's overpowering."

Elizabeth Weir sniffed and frowned. The smell was, indeed, overpowering. A dense odor of salty, tide-pool-in-the-sun, fish rot was rapidly becoming the dominant odor in her normally airy office. And it wasn't coming from the platter, like she'd originally thought… She raised an eyebrow at Rodney. "Yes, what IS that smell?"

Dr. McKay smiled innocently. "What smell?"

"It's coming from you, isn't it?" Sheppard accused.

"I don't know what you're talking about," McKay laughed nervously.

"I'm talking about the stomach-turning stench of rancid mussels." Sheppard leaned towards Rodney and sniffed his shirt. "It IS coming from you!"

Rodney squeaked indignantly, "Did you just sniff my shirt?"

"Yes, he did," Ford chuckled.

Dropping the innocent act, McKay rounded on Sheppard in frustration. "Well, excuse me for being odiferous!" he snapped. "I've been up to my arm pits in sludge made from gooey fish guts, seaweed, and decaying shellfish for two days! What did you expect? That I'd come out smelling like freshly cut roses?"

Sheppard merely raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you ever heard of a shower?"

"As a matter of fact," Rodney protested, "I did shower."

Dr. Weir dipped a finger in the platter and swirled the beads around. "Did you?"

"Yes, I di—"

"Cause it doesn't smell like it," Sheppard added.

Dr. McKay huffed. "It's not my fault the unscented soap doesn't work well!"

"You should've used the scented, then."

"I can't!" Rodney complained, "I have very sensitive skin! It gives me a ra—" Noticing Major Sheppard and Dr. Weir exchange poorly concealed, but obviously amused, glances, the scientist snapped his mouth shut, adopted a long-suffering expression and gestured sharply at the tray. "Look. Are we going to discuss my amazingly successful archaeological endeavor, or not?"

Elizabeth straightened. "Yes, Rodney, we are." Selecting a bead, she picked it up and held it to the light. It glimmered dimly, like a sphere of highly polished amber. She looked down at the platter. "You said this is an entire glove's worth?"

"Yes," Rodney announced. "Twenty-three. The same number as on the prisoner's glove. Not a penny more, not a penny less."

The bead clinked as Dr. Weir dropped it back with the others. "I must confess, I wasn't expecting you to recover them all. Much less so quickly…"

"I know," Rodney smiled smugly, "the odds against it were astronomical."

Sheppard peered at the platter skeptically, "Were they all together, or something?"

"Not all of them, no."

"But a lot were," Lieutenant Ford grinned. "Apparently the octi-crab thought they looked tasty. Dr. Zelenka and Dr. Sheckle pulled a huge pile out of its nest." He made a face. "They were buried in crab poo. But don't worry. I rinsed them thoroughly."

"Unlike yourself," Sheppard muttered.

Suddenly frowning, Aiden pat his vest pocket. "I almost forgot!" Tugging the Velcro flap open, he pulled a bead out. "I found the last one. It was in an algae bloom." He reached out, intending to drop it in the tray, with the others.

Rodney's eyes widened in horror. "No, wait!"

The bead bounced and clinked against its compatriots.

"Awwww…. You just had to do that, didn't you?"

"What?" Aiden looked confused.

Elizabeth glanced at her chief scientist, concerned, "What's the matter, Rodney?"

"That one," Rodney pointed, "hadn't been rinsed yet." He glared at Ford. "Congratulations, Algae Master. Now they ALL need to be washed again."

Aiden sighed and rolled his eyes, "Cause it takes so long to dump a bunch of beads in a sieve and lower them into a bucket."

"It's a waste of distilled water!"

"Focus, children." Elizabeth quirked an eyebrow. "A little algae never hurt anyone. Lieutenant Ford here's a prime example." She stared meaningfully at the Lieutenant. "You WILL rinse them after we're done, I trust?"

"Yes, Ma'am. It'll be my pleasure."

Rodney grumbled but seemed appeased.

"Okay. Back to business." Pushing beads aside, Dr. Weir daintily grasped the larger of the two shiny, bluish-grey objects and pulled it out of the tray. "So," she said, holding it up to examine it, "What's this delightful item? It's a bit sharp…"

"Careful with that," warned Rodney. "It's tricky."

Light glinted evilly off the razor-edged hook tipping the jointed metal. As Elizabeth turned it over, it hinged in two places and collapsed. Before it could flop completely down and impale her palm, she twisted her wrist, letting it dangle below her hand. Dr. Weir smiled curiously. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Depends on what you think it is," Sheppard muttered. He reached out and grabbed the smaller one. "These do look disturbing familiar…"

"What you are looking at now," Rodney began, straightening his shirt and adopting his favorite lecturing tone, "is a pair of perfectly preserved, wr—"

"They're can openers!" Lieutenant Ford interrupted.

"Can openers?" Elizabeth frowned. "I'm afraid I don't see the resemblance." The Lieutenant looked crest-fallen. "Bottle-openers maybe—"

"Can opener," murmured Sheppard, glancing at Ford approvingly. "I like that."

Aiden immediately brightened. "I knew you'd agree with me, Sir."

"Oh, for the love of—" spluttering, Dr. McKay turned to Elizabeth. "They're wraith finger guards. Used to belong to our stasis pod corpse."

She looked at the dangling blade in surprise. "So this is 10,000 years old."

"And still razor sharp," Rodney added, "Even after a century of saltwater exposure."

"Impressive," Sheppard said. He flipped his over. "But why's mine so short?" The one he held was only two-thirds the length of Dr. Weir's. It had one hinge, not two, and instead of being bladed at one end, it had a crescent-shaped scalpel on its back.

Dr. McKay shrugged, "How should I know?"

Sheppard started to poke it.

"Don't do that," McKay snapped, "It's ridiculously sharp."

Sheppard frowned. "Doesn't seem very practical," he complained, withdrawing his finger. "I'd be slashing my clothes all the time with this."

"Yeah, well… Who knows what wraith think."

"Steve does," Sheppard quipped.

Rodney snorted. "Like he'd actually tell us if we asked."

"Let me see that," Dr. Weir interrupted.

Major Sheppard passed the partial finger guard to her, saying, "You never know, Rodney. He's really keen to swap notes with you. If you asked nicely—"

"No!" Atlantis's head scientist looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm not working with the giant, life-sucking bug."

"Why not? He's in a cage. Talking to him won't—"

"I'm not interested in discussing that now."

"But—"

"I just said, I'm not talking to him," Rodney glared at Sheppard, "Ever!"

"Actually, Rodney," Elizabeth murmured, "I might want to have him take a look at these… He's making an effort to cooperate, and… Well…" Laying the two finger guards by the platter, she turned them 180 degrees, lined them up, and pushed them across the desk. Tapping the long finger guard, she eyed Major Sheppard and Dr. McKay meaningfully. "Take a look…"

Sheppard and McKay looked in silence for a few moments. Then…

"Oh, I see," Sheppard said. "Interesting."

"What? What do you see?" Rodney snapped, "I don't see anything."

"There," the Major pointed, "at the base of that claw thingy."

McKay lifted the guards carefully and looked closer.

Coming around, Lieutenant Ford peered over his shoulder. "Looks like a demented pineapple," he commented, "Weird."

"Demented pineapple?" Rodney huffed, exasperated. "Where? What part of this nightmarish excuse for cutlery looks like a pineapple?"

Lieutenant Ford pointed at the longer finger guard, just above its top joint.

Rodney followed his finger. "Well, I'll be…" The hook's dorsal ridge was dully serrated, like a cog, and a few millimeters below where the ridge smoothed into the shiny surface, a line was etched in the metal. The line zigzagged angularly across the guard, turning slowly, then continued it's erratic path onto the shorter one. After scrawling a crazy half circle around the hilt of the crescent blade, it returned to the longer guard, spiked once, and curved to a stop. "It almost makes a full circle…"

Ford pointed at the longer guard's middle section. "And look there. A smaller version of the pattern."

"Huh. So it is," Rodney squinted disdainfully at the dime-sized symbol. "Doesn't look much like a pineapple, though…"

"Not a whole pineapple," Aiden hastily amended. "Just the top part. You know. The leaves. Spiky circle, spiky leaves. See?"

"Looks more like a star caught in a whirlpool, if you ask me," Sheppard interjected. Ford and McKay stared. "You know," he wiggled his fingers in a circle, "arms swirling in the current as it's sucked down to the bottom of the ocean."

Rodney frowned thoughtfully a moment. Then… "It's a bit dark."

"Yeah," Ford agreed, "Dark."

"Aw, you guys are no fun."

Dr. Weir pursed her lips. "I think I prefer the pineapple too, John. Sorry."

"Oh well," Sheppard shrugged and conceded. "So…" he glanced at Elizabeth, "I take it you want to ask Steve what this pineapple shape means?"

Dr. Weir nodded.

"Woah, woah, woah." Dr. McKay laughed skeptically. "What makes you think it actually means anything? It could be a decoration."

"True," Elizabeth admitted. Taking the subjects of discussion from McKay's fidgeting hands, she set them carefully on the tray. "However, when Dr. Beckett examined the forearm Major Sheppard brought back from our first wraith encounter, he showed me the dissection in detail. There were no symbols on the finger guard he removed. And," she continued, seeing Rodney open his mouth to protest, "none of the other finger guards that I've seen pictures of have symbols either."

Major Sheppard frowned thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it. Steve's don't have anything like that. They're just swirly and bumpy…"

"Sheppard's right, Ma'am," Ford added. "Swirly and bumpy. Almost braided."

"We don't exactly have a large sample size to work with," McKay pointed out.

"No, we don't," Elizabeth agreed, "And that's exactly why understanding the significance, or lack there of, of this symbol is so important." Her brown eyes speared Dr. McKay's reluctant ones seriously. "And lets not forget the circumstances of these particular finger guards' discovery. If it does mean something—"

"It's probably important, out-of-the-ordinary, and groundbreakingly enlightening," Rodney finished. He sighed unhappily. "Fine. Ask Steve about the symbol. Just do me a favor and leave me out of it."

Dr. Weir cocked her head, puzzled. "Why are you so averse to talking to the prisoner all of a sudden? I thought you were miffed that he was ignoring you?"

"Yeah. I thought you were gonna stalk him," Sheppard interjected.

"He did stalk him," Lieutenant Ford said.

"You did?"

"I did," McKay snapped. "On my off shift."

"Why wasn't I informed of this?" Dr. Weir asked.

"Because it wasn't necessary," Rodney huffed.

"If you don't mind, I would prefer to be the judge of that."

"No, really, Ma'am," Ford snickered. "It wasn't necessary. Barely lasted two minutes."

"Now you've peaked my curiosity," Elizabeth stared at McKay expectantly.

"I wanna hear too," Sheppard said. When the scientist didn't say anything, he raised an eyebrow, warningly. "Remember, Rodney. If you don't spill, I can always pull the security tapes. We've got round-the-clock surveillance down there."

"It's really not that big a deal," Rodney protested.

"He's right, Sir." Ford winked at Sheppard over McKay's shoulder.

Major Sheppard took the hint with a mischievous grin. "Report, soldier!"

Lieutenant Ford saluted. "Yes, Sir! Three days ago while I was on my shift, guarding the wraith prisoner, Dr. McKay visited the holding cell. When I asked if the visit was authorized, he claimed to have your permission."

"You did not!" Sheppard stared at McKay accusingly.

"What?! You said I should stalk him? How is that not giving me permission?"

"I expected you to warn me first."

"You should've said that, then, shouldn't you?"

"What happened next, Lieutenant?" Dr. Weir asked.

"Dr. McKay circled the cell, Ma'am," Lieutenant Ford continued, "He stalked the prisoner, just like Major Sheppard suggested."

"And how did the prisoner respond?"

"Steve stalked him back, Ma'am." Ford stopped.

"And?" Sheppard pressed. "What'd they talk about?"

"Steve proceeded to thank Dr. McKay for providing the restraint, Sir. Once he'd finished expressing his gratitude, Dr. McKay left in a huff, declaring that he was never speaking to the prisoner again." Lieutenant Ford grinned and fell silent.

Elizabeth frowned and eyed McKay curiously. "That's it?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Sheppard fixed McKay with a perplexed stare. "He thanks you for giving him the glove and you walk? We're trying to establish a rapport here!"

Rodney pointed at Lieutenant Ford accusingly. "He didn't tell the whole story!"

"He's lying, Sir."

"I am not!" Rodney's irate finger swung towards the floor, as if he could skewer the wraith through the tower. "That was not a thank you!"

Sheppard looked at Ford.

"Oops," the Lieutenant scratched his head, "I did forget one thing, Sir."

"See? I told you—"

"It was also an apology for snapping at him."

"I don't believe this," Rodney huffed. Ignoring Sheppard, who was openly chuckling, he turned to Dr. Weir. "I've never been so offended by an expression of gratitude in my life! Every other word was an insult." McKay began ticking points off on his fingers. "He insulted my intelligence. My clothing. My hair. My body odor. I didn't smell like fish then," he hastily added. "My data pad. My fashion sense. My intelligence. My expertise. My competence. My—" He threw his hands up. "Pull the tapes and listen! I guarantee you'll agree, my reaction was perfectly justified. I barely spoke to that wraith a minute! Steve did nothing but insult me."

"'Cause that's all he CAN do, Rodney," Sheppard laughed. "He's locked in a cell. Verbal jabs are the only weapons he has left."

"It sounds to me," Elizabeth added, "Like he was trying to dominate you."

"Yeah, well he succeeded," McKay snapped.

"I can see tha—"

The radios squawked. "Unscheduled off-word activation," Peter Grodin announced. "Dr. Beckett's IDC… Receiving audio transmission."

Straightening, Dr. Weir tapped her radio. "Patch it through to my office."

"Understood. Patching now…" Grodin's voice was silent a moment. Then… "Patch complete. The channel is open, Ma'am."

"Thank you, Peter." Dr. Weir turned to the speaker sitting on the corner of her desk. "Carson, this is Dr. Weir. Is there a problem?"

"Aye, ye could say tha'!" The Scotsman's voice was high and fast. He sounded flustered. "Ah just spoke with the Chancellor. Perna briefed him 'ours ago. Ah was intending to present my next schedule but, it's not acceptable to 'em. Ah'm not a diplomat. Ah'm not sure how to handle this. It's too quick. Ah'm not ready. Ah—"

"Slow down, Carson," Elizabeth ordered. "Take a deep breath." She waited a few seconds, taking one of her own. "Okay. Now, tell me what's happened."

"It's the Hoffans, Elizabeth. They've authorized live human trials. Perna's screening terminally ill patients for volunteers as we speak."

Silence, suffocating, heavy and thick, filled the office, killing the humorous mood instantly. Major Sheppard's and Dr. Weir's eyes met, locking seriously.

Rodney jerked his thumb towards the door, "I'll just go take another shower now." He stood there awkwardly for a moment, then spun on his heel and strode out.

Glancing at his unresponsive superiors, Ford snagged the empty dinner trays off the chair and followed, "I'll take these back to the mess hall."

The silence returned. Thickened…

"Are ye there, Elizabeth?"

Dr. Weir's gaze slid slowly to the speaker once more. "Yes, I am, Carson. We need to talk. Come through the Gate and meet me in my office."

-------------------------------------------------

Two hours later

"Where is Major Sheppard?"

"You don't need to know that." Emerging from the shadows, like she'd seen Sheppard do on the security tapes, Elizabeth stepped slowly towards the holding cell. The wraith within studied her approach curiously. "My name is Dr. Weir," she announced. "You'll deal with me tonight."

Steve cocked his head. "He is not on Atlantis."

"Like I said," Dr. Weir stopped a few feet from the cage and listened with satisfaction as Sergeant Bates positioned himself two paces behind her. "His whereabouts aren't your concern."

A soft hiss filled the holding cell, and the wraith's green eyes flickered suspiciously over Atlantis's security chief. "The other of my kind that you caught…" The oval pupils refocused on Dr. Weir. "He is no longer on Atlantis."

Clasping her hands behind her back, Elizabeth straightened her spine and raised an eyebrow. "No," she firmly stated, "He is not."

"He is with Major Sheppard," Steve's eyes narrowed, "What are you—"

"Like I said," Elizabeth interrupted, "That's not your concern."

The wraith's pale lips twitched, emitting a low, frustrated hiss. He stepped closer to the bars. "I have heard your name spoken by my guards."

Dr. Weir watched impassively as Steve scented the air, still moving. When he reached the cell's edge, he lunged forward, pressing his forehead against the horizontal barrier. Elizabeth held her ground as he took a long, deep breath. White hair whispered across glittering black shoulders as Steve cocked his head the other way and exhaled, gaze flicking briefly to Sergeant Bates. "You are Major Sheppard's queen."

"My people don't have queens," Elizabeth said.

Steve's mouth curled in a toothy, half-grin. "His superior, then."

Dr. Weir met the challenging stare meaningfully. "I am Atlantis's superior."

Grin vanishing, the wraith stilled. The green eyes searched Elizabeth's face. Analyzing… Evaluating… Snorting softly, he leaned away from the bars. His coat flapped quietly as he withdrew a step. "Atlantis's superior…" Eyelashes lowering, the wraith hissed and turned a bit, so he was no longer facing her directly.

Dr. Weir smiled enigmatically. "Yes. Ultimately, the decision whether to allow you access to the flooded lab and Dr. McKay's notes rests with me."

Steve exhaled a sharp chuff of air and glanced down, studying the cell floor intently. "I understand." He looked up and nodded once, an abbreviated swooping motion that sent his ivory hair swinging. "I am prepared to cooperate."

Elizabeth allowed a note of approval to enter her voice. "Good."

The wraith hissed softly, passively protesting her implied authority.

Hiding her amusement, Dr. Weir angled her body away from the prisoner and moved a few feet along the cell's edge. "Come," she suggested.

Steve's green eyes darted to Sergeant Bates and the six marines flanking the alcove door. One of his black, highly polished boots lifted slightly, nudging aside heavy coat panels as he moved to follow her…

A marine coughed.

The prisoner froze. He looked at the man quizzically. After a moment, he resumed his former position, lichen brow furrowing uncertainly.

Realizing the wraith was unsure of the polite way to deal with her, Dr. Weir caught his eye and inclined her head towards the cage's next corner.

"Walk with me." She gestured invitingly.

Steve paced forward, hesitated, then approached the bars and fell into step beside her, hissing dismissively at Sergeant Bates and the watchful marines. Avoiding Weir's eyes, he swept along slightly behind her, skillfully matching her speed.

Elizabeth walked her first circuits around the cage in silence, deliberately allowing the wraith to accustom himself to her presence and movements. For several minutes, footsteps and quiet breathing were the only sounds in the holding cell. After a while, she began to feel the prisoner's eyes on her. Elizabeth hooked a lock of wavy hair behind one ear and watched him surreptitiously. Steve was studying her with brief, but lengthening, glances, gradually turning his face to observe her more openly. Eventually he lifted his gloved feeding hand and mirrored her earlier movement, pushing his own hair back. Dr. Weir smiled internally, pleased by the wraith's obvious attempt to remind her of his presence. He was relaxing, yet at the same time growing impatient with curiosity… Which was exactly what she'd intended the walk to accomplish.

At the start of a new circuit, Dr. Weir finally met Steve's gaze. "As you may have guessed," she began, "I am visiting you for a specific reason."

The wraith nodded, carefully maintaining eye contact. His multi-tonal voice hissed softly, almost purring. "You have something to discuss with me, I assume…"

"That is correct," Elizabeth confirmed.

"Something to do with my race?" he pressed, "Or with this glove, perhaps?" Amber beads glimmered as Steve trailed his feeding hand along one of the bars.

Smiling slightly, Dr. Weir raised an eyebrow. "Both, actually." When Steve cocked his head curiously, she laid a hand on the bar, across from the glove, and in a single, graceful movement, slowed to a stop while turning to face him.

The wraith mirrored the action perfectly.

"I have something to show you," Dr. Weir clarified.

Green eyes blinked expectantly.

"Once you have seen it," she continued, "I will ask you questions." Elizabeth stared at Steve pointedly. "You will do your best to answer them."

Steve's lips pulled back in a translucent smile. "Of course…" he hissed.

At a gesture from Dr. Weir, one of the marines that'd escorted her to the cell marched over and offered her the tan box McKay had left in her office. The wraith watched intently as she removed the two finger guards from it. (The twenty-three beads were still sitting in the platter on her desk.) As the soldier resumed his post, Dr. Weir placed the guards on a horizontal bar, roughly at the wraith's chest level. Her side of the shelf-like bar wasn't wide enough to accommodate them lengthwise, so she laid them parallel to the force field. Carefully she nudged them towards the energy barrier.

"Where did you get these?" Steve's pale face bobbed as he craned his neck, attempting to find the best vantage point for viewing the artifacts.

Elizabeth clasped her hands behind her. "They were found in the flooded laboratory, near the corpse of the wraith who collaborated with the Ancients."

Steve expelled a soft chuff of air and cocked his head, pushing himself partially into the space between the bars. The orifices on his cheeks widened minutely. After a second, he snorted and pulled back, eyeing her in surprise. "They are not corroded."

"No," Dr. Weir agreed. "They are remarkably well preserved."

He leaned forward, oval pupils sliding to the finger guards once more.

Elizabeth observed the wraith's visual examination of the artifacts without speaking for several moments. Then… "What are they, exactly?"

"Tools," Steve hissed. His ungloved hand slipped onto the bar and slid towards the force field, providing Dr. Weir with an unobstructed view of the metal guards covering the backs of his pointer and index fingers.

"I see," Elizabeth murmured. She bent down for a closer looker. The razor-edged claws tipping the wraith's fingers gleamed cruelly in the cell's harsh light. "Tools for getting at your dinner?" she finally asked.

Steve snorted derisively. "A primitive use for sophisticated instruments such as these, but adequate for such purposes, yes."

Dr. Weir raised an eyebrow. "What ARE they designed for, then?"

"Manipulating organic technology," he hissed.

"Elaborate."

The wraith's fingers scratched absently along the bar as he scrutinized the obviously fascinating objects. "Cutting open panels. Effecting repairs. Guiding and fusing energy lines and nutrient vessels… Purposes are numerous."

"And the purposes of these, specifically?" Dr. Weir pressed.

Green eyes flicked briefly to her face, then refastened on the artifacts. "Unknown. Only the highest quality tools can survive an extended immersion in saltwater. Such items tend to have unique and hidden purposes. They are generally designed, constructed, and employed by a single, specific individual."

Satisfied with the detailed response, Dr. Weir nodded. "Can they be found out?"

Steve's lips twitched, and his mouth opened. Chuffing softly, he seemed to hesitate. Finally he glanced at her. "Not without touching them." His oval pupils refocused on the finger guards, as if drawn to magnets. "Self-preservation abilities indicate the presence of complex, symbiotic organic circuitry. Such circuitry can only be activated and controlled by DNA sensitive, touch-based, telepathic interfaces."

"Interesting…" Dr. Weir murmured.

"Very." The wraith peered intently at the tantalizingly out of reach artifacts. "Compared to these tools, my own are clumsy butchers' knives…"

"Are they really?" Elizabeth stared at the 'can-openers' skeptically.

"Yes…" With a sudden hiss, Steve was at Dr. Weir's eye level. Light flared as his ivory hair whirled trails of bluish-white energy across the force field. "Do you wish me to touch them? I would be more than happy to oblige."

Startled, but refusing to show it, Dr. Weir considered the openly hopeful wraith with a frown. "Perhaps another day." He seemed a little too eager…

Steve's face fell in obvious disappointment, "Then I can tell you nothing more…"

"That's not necessarily true." Dr. Weir pulled the shorter tool away from the force field, where it'd been lying end-to-end with the longer one. "I have one more question," she added, sliding it a few inches, so it lay alongside its companion. She slowly lined them up. "What does this symbol mean?"

The glittering shoulders dipped obligingly as Steve pushed his way into the opening between the bars and peered at the mysterious pineapple. He reeled back almost immediately, punctuating the hasty retreat with an explosive, multi-toned huff.

Elizabeth hid a smile. "You recognize it."

Steve stared at her, wide-eyed with shock. "Yes."

"Then explain it, please."

The wraith blinked. "As you may have noticed, many of my kind wear identifying markings. Facial tattoos and such."

"Actually I haven't," Dr. Weir said. "My people's experience with your kind has been relatively limited." They'd only been in Pegasus a few months…

Snorting, Steve nodded and elaborated. "Such markings indicate an individual's association with a particular hive. More complex designs may convey specific relationships within it, such as the wearer's rank and position."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And this is one of those tattoos?"

"Yes. It is the mark of an ancient, very powerful hive. It once carried great influence in this galaxy." The wraith's eyes strayed to the tools.

Dr. Weir noted his use of the past tense with interest. "But it doesn't anymore?"

"No," with a soft hiss, Steve refocused on her. Ivory hair brushed across glittering black as he cocked his head. "It lost its queen during the Great War. The survivors scattered, joining other hives throughout the alliance." Steve curled his lips, flashing Dr. Weir a pleased, sharply-toothed grin. "They were instrumental in constructing the siege conditions that led to the Ancients' withdrawal."

"Were they?…" Elizabeth murmured frostily.

"Yes…" The wraith's green eyes narrowed. "Sadly, very few of that hive's member's remain alive, but the ones that do wield great influence."

Mulling the implications over, Dr. Weir looked pointedly at the tools. "So, the wraith that wore these was one of those survivors…"

Steve followed her gaze. His smug grin faded. "The presence of these tools, in this state," he added quietly, "indicates a great loss for my kind."

"You have my condolences," Dr. Weir replied, amused. The prisoner acknowledged her insincere comment with a derisive snort. Elizabeth sobered. "The individual these belonged to," she pressed. "Can you tell me about him, specifically?"

The wraith gave a quick, negative hiss. "I was not alive during the Great War. I know the hive's symbol, and the survivors' fates, by reputation only."

Dr. Weir scrutinized Steve intently. "You've never met any of them?"

A short, disinterested, "No." Oval pupils locked on the glistening tools, Steve pushed his face into the gap once more, "But I will consider the question."

"You'll consider it?…" Elizabeth frowned.

"Yes… My kind live a long time, Dr. Weir. Memories are fleeting, innumerable things." The black-gloved fingers stroked the bar, close to the force field. "Details like the ones you seek, having no immediate, personal relevance, may take time to recover."

"I see…" Dr. Weir placed her hands on either side of the artifacts. "If you remember something, tell the guards. They will inform me."

"As you wish…" The wraith hissed. The leather coat rustled as he shifted position, withdrawing and reinserting his face, trying to get a better vantage point. "Perhaps then," he murmured suggestively, "you'll wish me to access them?"

Dr. Weir eyed Atlantis's captive suspiciously. He was fixated totally on the artifacts. His pupils darted over them repeatedly, shadow-dilated and unblinking. And if it weren't for his responses to her last few questions, she'd have thought him unaware of her presence entirely… "Perhaps," Elizabeth finally answered. Her deliberately noncommittal tone elicited a convulsive clenching of the horizontal bar. The beads ringing Steve's wrist flickered, and he expelled a breathy, frustrated huff.

Unexpectedly, Dr. Weir felt a pang of remorse. That the wraith wanted extremely badly to touch the finger guards was painfully obvious…

Wondering at her sanity, Elizabeth made a split-second decision. "I will, however, leave them here." She could practically feel Sergeant Bates frowning at her. "Seeing them might help jog your memory."

Leaving the artifacts where they lay, gleaming metallically on the horizontal bar, Dr. Weir left the cage and headed for the alcove, signaling for her escort.

"Dr. Weir!" An insistent hiss filled the holding cell.

Elizabeth stopped in the doorway, escort clattering to a halt. She frowned disapprovingly. "What?"

"May I have these?" Steve barked.

Amazed by the wraith's audacity, Dr. Weir spun to face the cell. Steve had followed her as much as possible and was weaving back and forth behind the nearest bars, black coat panels flapping and fingers flitting across the barrier. The flurry of motion was clearly designed to attract her attention.

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth snapped.

The intense green stare, so recently devoted to the pineapple-etched 'can openers,' fixed on her as the wraith froze, suddenly becoming eerily still. His ivory hair swayed silently. "May I have these?"

Dr. Weir stared in disbelief. "You are in a cell," she stated.

"You don't need them," Steve smiled at her cajolingly.

Elizabeth laughed, incredulous. "You are in a cell."

"You can't use them," he wheedled.

Shaking her head in wonder, Dr. Weir turned to leave again.

Steve's hiss filled the room once more. The persistent sound was tinged with a hint of desperation. "They may have been used in this glove's creation!"

Pausing, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. She pointedly didn't look back. "In that case," she icily announced, "consider their use added to your list of other outrageous requests." Not waiting for a response, she strode into the alcove and left.

The wraith's parting chuff echoed in the stairwell, drifting up the steps in the Atlantis leader's wake.

"That is acceptable…"

-------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.

Special thanks go to SGA-Seven, MandarinBlues, and Spacefan, for their input and encouragement.