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

23. Chapter 20: Tactical Error: Part 3

Chapter Twenty: Tactical Error – Part Three

3 years, 47 and ½ weeks earlier

"The Otherssssss…" a soft, earnestly exhaled hiss whispered insistently through Atlantis's infirmary, followed by a sharp, "I shared no information!"

Meeting the piercing olive stare that was skewering her from the rolling cot impassively, Dr. Weir clasped her hands loosely behind her back and kept her voice militantly, and uninformatively, neutral. "So you say."

Steve's alien eyes narrowed, "This is not deception."

"So you've said."

Steve hissed softly and cocked his head, peering up at the expedition leader through the corridor of bodies formed by his security escort. "The female, Teyla—"

"Teyla is not your concern."

The oval-pupiled eyes widened slightly, "But the information she possesses—"

Weir lifted her chin, her tone brokering no argument, "Pretend that information doesn't exist."

Steve's eyes widened in earnest, and he leaned forward, studying Dr. Weir with unconcealed interest. After a moment, a subtle jerking motion rippled through his torso, and he sat back again, apparently deciding against making an attempt to stand. (He'd tried rising when she first entered the infirmary, but that had failed. Spectacularly.)

Silence stretched as his unnerving scrutiny of Weir continued.

Finally Steve angled his face away, sweeping her unyielding posture with his gaze from face to toe before narrowing his eyes once more. "I don't understand."

As the multi-tonal admission reverberated questioningly around her, Dr. Weir nodded in satisfaction. "You don't have to." A skeptically exhaled chuff met her words, and she held Steve's stare seriously. "Here's how this works. You are being debriefed. Just like Major Sheppard, and the other personnel on this mission." The ivory-framed face turned towards her, its pale features mildly etched with surprise. "You will recount the relevant details of your experience. Nothing more, nothing less."

An insistent hiss interrupted her as Steve leaned towards her, "And how am I to evaluate the relevance?"

Raising an eyebrow, Dr. Weir let the ghost of a sardonic smile touch her lips. "By using your own judgment and discretion. As a Wraith."

The olive eyes widened disbelievingly.

"And as a collaborator," she added. "If I ask for elaboration or speculation, you will provide it. Otherwise, you will be brief and concise."

A soft snort cut her off as Steve tilted his face sharply and blinked, "I cannot guarantee that my definition of relevance and yours will coincide."

Weir let her other brow lift, "That, in its own right, is just as valuable to me."

Amber glimmered on Steve's wrist as he considered her appraisingly for a moment. Slowly he inclined his head, the deliberate motion setting his long hair swinging across his lap. "I understand," Steve bared his translucent teeth in a disturbingly shark-like, but reassuringly intended smile, "And in the interest of establishing a mutual trust under these current…" a low hiss, "…unfortunate circumstances," he straightened his spine while blinking submissively, "I will comply."

"That's good to hear," acknowledged Dr. Weir.

Another hiss whispered through the infirmary as Steve clasped his hands delicately in his lap and began toying with the collection of puzzle pieces lying there. Glinting like jade through his ivory lashes, the wraith's passively narrowed eyes fixed unwaveringly on Weir as he spoke. "Shortly after agreeing to extract the surviving console for the purpose of harvesting its neural filament seed, I departed from Atlantis with Major Sheppard and his subordinates in a Lantean ship…"

"It's gotta be a Queen thing."

"But how could it be?" Lieutenant Ford shook his head at the video feed being routed from the infirmary to their monitor. "He's Wraith. She's human."

"Yeah, but she's female," Sheppard pressed. "Wraith don't have many of those." At least, not that Sheppard had seen. They'd encountered, what? One, so far?

"He doesn't act like that for Teyla."

Unconcerned, Major Sheppard shrugged, "Yeah, well, Teyla isn't my boss."

Standing beside him in the small bio lab that Rodney had spontaneously converted into an impromptu spying room, Teyla gave the Major an unamused look.

Catching her glance, he shrugged, "No offense, Teyla, but you aren't. Elizabeth, though." He inclined his head towards the screen, where Steve was still speaking intently to Weir. "She's got the power of life or death over him, and Steve knows that." Sheppard had made it crystal clear early on, when they first showed the wraith the organic tools, that Dr. Weir was the ultimate authority on Atlantis. Ever since then, he'd started to feel like dropping her name was akin to bringing out the big guns.

"It's probably a combination of the two," interjected McKay. Engrossed in his datapad, he wiggled his fingers absently and stole the room's only chair, "Female, plus authority figure must override the whole, 'human equals food,' thing."

The rest of the team turned, staring at McKay in unison.

Noticing the sudden silence, Dr. McKay finally looked up. "What?"

When the blatant surprise on everyone's face didn't change, he squeaked exasperatedly, "It's the sort of thing Carson would say! Why can't I say it?"

"I thought ya didn't practice Voodoo, Rodney," Sheppard smirked.

Huffing, McKay rolled his eyes, "Look. Just because it's voodoo, that doesn't mean I can't predict it, now and then. My Genius doesn't end with math and physics."

"Coulda fooled me," muttered Ford.

Whatever snarky remark McKay intended to respond with was swept aside as, on the screen, the half-assembled Athosian puzzle burst apart in Steve's hands and scattered across the cot. Two marines quickly chased the twigs that'd hit the floor, and, without missing a beat or breaking eye contact, the wraith accepted the returned pieces, retrieved the others, and began reassembling them, all while continuing his report.

"After disembarking from the Lantean ship, we traveled through a deciduous forest that exhibited signs of large predator habitation. Despite Major Sheppard's leisurely pace—"

"Leisurely pace, my—" Cutting off in annoyance, Major Sheppard watched the impressive display of multi-tasking with bemusement. He'd been expecting a snarl of frustration there. That was at least the third time the puzzle had broken.

"—I found my core temperature rising. This was both unexpected and uncomfortable. Soon afterwards, I came to the realization that I was thirsty—"

"That was NOT soon!" Sheppard snapped. He pointed his finger at the unresponsive monitor accusingly.

"—and Major Sheppard allowed me the use of his… canteen?"

"You let him drink from your water bottle?!" exclaimed McKay. "Eww!"

Sheppard rolled his eyes, "It's not like I used it AFTER him Rodney."

"No, but you might have!" McKay groused, "Bug germs! Think about it! Giant, alien bug germs!"

"Giant SPACE alien bug germs, you mean."

"You should SO be more disgusted by this."

"Yeah, well…" Sheppard shrugged. He'd encountered so many gross things lately, he must be getting desensitized. It was a scary thought…

"Canteen is the correct term," Dr. Weir supplied, hiding her amusement at the wraith's questioning tone. "The phrase 'water bottle' also works."

Locking a pair of carved twigs together, Steve snorted disapprovingly, "An inaccurate title, given the object's potentially variable contents."

Not dignifying that with a response, Weir crossed her arms and stood straighter, "Elaborate on your decision to take a drink. How is it relevant?"

On the cot, Steve mirrored her posture with a subtle thrust of his glittering epaulets. Ivory hair swayed across his chest as he cocked his head. "It is relevant," he hissed, "to the study of this artifact." His olive eyes flicked pointedly to his feeding hand, which was busy clicking three more pieces into place. "My thirst is indicative of faulty calibration. Or perhapssss… deliberate neglect due to unforeseen difficulties in predicting differences among individuals." Blinking slowly, he lifted his gaze submissively back to Weir. "Consultation with your Carson on this matter is recommended. And I believe my own… involvement… would be beneficial."

Weir's expression was unreadable, "Your recommendation is noted."

A soft, passively approving hiss.

"As for the benefit of your involvement, I'm reserving judgment until the satisfactory resolution of the matter at hand."

The ghost of a dismayed frown smothered the hiss.

"Now," continued Dr. Weir, deliberately ignoring the reaction, "explain your delay by the stream."

Looking for a moment as if he might object, Steve paused and exhaled a sharp chuff, his olive eyes blinking confusion. "Of what delay do you speak?"

"You delayed the entire mission by stopping in a stream."

A dismissive snort, "The time period was negligible."

Negligible? The expedition leader raised a warning eyebrow, "You wasted several valuable minutes. Minutes that, had they NOT been wasted, would've resulted in complete avoidance of an incident that endangered the lives of my people."

The wraith's eyes widened in abrupt alarm. "You cannot believe—That was not—Why…?!" With a tinkling clatter, the puzzle burst apart, and Steve jerked in surprise, staring at his numbly twitching fingers in consternation. As Private Sheere returned the pieces to his lap, he stared unseeingly at them. "The incident of which you speak was unexpected! I bear NO responsibility! How could I…?!"

Intrigued and mollified by the apparently honest response, Dr. Weir kept her expression hard and unyielding. "You tell me."

"Since coming here, I have had NO opportunity to contact others of my kind."

"Why should I believe that?" she challenged. "On two occasions, you've been allowed to manipulate dying equipment in that base."

"HIIIIISSSSSSSS!"

Stunners lifted and safety's clicked as Steve's face snapped up, meeting her confrontational expression with defiance. A quickly aborted snarl curled his pale lips, and he inhaled deeply, visibly struggling to remain calm. When he finally exhaled, the beads wringing his feeding wrist glimmered. "Even had the base retained the power necessary for that kind of output," he stated with a deliberate nod, "the infrastructure required to send such a signal was not present. I did only as requested."

"Then explain your delay by the stream," Weir pressed.

With a sharp exhalation of frustration, Steve averted his face. A silence settled within the infirmary. Then his pale brow delicately furrowed.

"I… was distracted."

In the wake of the admission, Steve slipped Weir a sidelong glance, which she met with careful neutrality. He glanced away again. "I was considering the ramifications of my discomfort and possible link to this artifact," Steve's olive eyes dropped to his feeding hand as he turned it palm up, slowly curling the black-gloved fingers. "As I was doing so, I experienced a sudden, unexpected, and inexplicably strong desire to stop. The impulse disrupted my speculations, and I acted upon it without consciously intending…" a low hiss breathed through the infirmary as Steve's feeding hand slowly squeezed into a fist, "And found myself in the stream."

Dr. Weir shot the room's live-feed a glance as Steve hissed again, accompanying the sound with a shiver that set his faceted epaulets glittering.

"A…" he released a short, growling, multi-tonal bark, briefly revealing his translucent teeth. A sharp chuff set the ivory framing his face rippling, "Feeling is inadequate. Emotion is inaccurate. Your language cannot convey thissss." An eerie rattling permeated the infirmary. It cut off abruptly as Steve bobbed his head, "Sensation." His pale lips curled around the word distastefully, "I will continue using… sensation."

"I assume we'll now be losing something in the translation." Weir shot the camera another glance.

Introspective olive eyes darted to her, "Yes. However…" Steve's gaze slid back to his gloved fingers, and the beads ringing his wrist flickered. "As you instructed me to exercise my judgement as Wraith, I do not believe the loss will be relevant. Merely…" a low hiss. Then a pause… Ivory whisped against leather as Steve tilted his head slightly, finishing with a softly murmured, "…inconvenient."

"Please continue."

The ivory head obediently dipped, "As you wish. As I viewed the water, a… sensation swept through my body. It was unfamiliar. Pervasive. And distinctly unpleasant." An unsettled chuff. "It grew rapidly in strength and intensity, likely following an exponential curve, and I found myself immersed in a battle to suppress it. I succeeded," another chuff, tinged with disbelief, "But while doing so, the bizarre notion that I should taste the flavors of the stream began repeatedly occurring to me. Such an idea should have been instantly abhorrent, but it was not. I remembered that Major Sheppard had offered me a drink earlier, which I had earlier refused. I wondered… if perhaps his assessment of my condition might be right."

Dr. Weir watched the mild incredulousness that'd crept into Steve's expression with concealed interest. "Shouldn't you have known?"

At her echo of Major Sheppard's reaction, the wraith froze. The mild incredulousness vanished, replaced by clinical neutrality.

"My kind do not experience Thirst as you do. The sensation was novel. All encompassing. As I was caught unawares, it was able to, temporarily," the olive eyes caught and held Weir's briefly, before slipping away again, "consume my reality." Ivory rippled as Steve shook his head, "I… am not actually aware of how long it took to analyze and subdue the sensation. When my surroundings returned, the weapons of my guards were pointed at me, and Major Sheppard was exhibiting signs of agitation." Releasing a short, darkly amused chuff, Steve's pale lips drew back in a mirthless grin, "That I had missed several key elements of conversation… became rapidly apparent."

Shaking his head, Major Sheppard directed a glower of disbelief at the screen, "'Key elements of conversation,' huh? I'll show him key elements."

Beside him, Teyla sighed, giving a small, noncommittal shrug, "Farfetched as the prisoner's description seems, the external result of his… experience… so far matches with my personal observations."

Sheppard grimaced, "Yeah. With mine, too."

"One! Haah…! Singular Sensation! Every little step she takes. Do do do doot, doot dooo!"

"Knock it off, Rodney."

McKay stopped rhythmically tapping his data pad and shot Sheppard an innocently amused blink, "You have to admit, Elizabeth pulled off a good rhyme."

The blink was met with confusion, "What?"

Rodney waved the Major off, refocusing on his datapad, "Just rewatch the tape later. You'll hear it."

"Alright, I will."

A sharp chuff drew attention back to Steve's form on the monitor.

"Perceptions. I wish to amend my statement. Consume my perceptions." The wraith's fingers were once more busily attempting to reassemble the Athosian puzzle. "Though less dramatic, the word is likely more scientifically accurate."

"The amendment is noted."

A soft hiss. "A misunderstanding ensued—"

Sheppard rolled his eyes.

"—I was unable to conceal my lapse in attention—"

"Ya think?"

"—After the matter was resolved, I tasted the stream. The water…" On the screen, Steve's ivory head tilted consideringly, "was unexpectedly pleasant. The sensation abated. To expedite the extraction, Major Sheppard offered me his canteen, and we resumed traveling. Its contents were not as flavorful as the stream, but the effects were similar. After a few mouthfuls… the sensation dissipated."

"Not as flavorful?" Sheppard glanced curiously at Ford.

"I'd have thought it was the opposite, Sir." The canteens tasted a bit tinny…

"A few mouthfuls?" Carson had slipped into the improvised observation room and was watching from beside Ford. He caught Sheppard's eye, "Is tha' all 'e drank?"

Considering the returned bottle's distinct lack of heft, Sheppard shrugged, "Sure. If you call half a canteen a few mouthfuls."

"Ah see."

"Shouldn't you be tending the console?"

Dr. Beckett deflected McKay's accusing tone with a white lab-coated shrug, "Ah've done wha' ah can. There's nothin' to do 'til Steve's manual dexerity comes back." He moved forward, peering critically at the wraith's hands on the screen, "Which, by the way, is wha' ah came 'ere to check."

The puzzle was only partially assembled.

"Well, it hasn't burst yet. Ah suppose 'at's—"

One of the tiny twigs skittered across the floor. Steve's guards picked it up.

"—not as much progress as ah'd been hopin' for."

"Yeah, well… Steve's been a bit distracted," muttered Sheppard.

The medical cot squeaked as Steve leaned out to accept the lost piece while looking up at Weir, "Have I explained this… delay to your satisfaction?"

Dr. Weir nodded. What Steve had described, and the way he'd described it, had set her mind running in several different directions.

"For now. You may continue where you left off."

With a softly relieved hiss, the intricate wooden pieces began clicking and twisting again. "We arrived at the abandoned facility where I'd previously salvaged a hard drive. Major Sheppard and his subordinates made sure it was safe, then escorted me in. The facility's interior appeared to be in the same state as before, and the console's decline had progressed in accordance with my predictions. I performed a tactile diagnostic. No damage that might've inhibited transport was detected, so I readied the console for extraction. Fluid isolation and recirculation went smoothly. I approved it for transfer, and Major Sheppard's subordinates moved the damaged console outside—"

An abrupt, exasperated exhalation broke the narrative as Steve let go of the puzzle, looking down with open irritation at his ungloved hand, which had started tremoring. "To be stunned during a delicate operation like this," he released a sharp, rattling hiss, "is incredibly inconvenient timing."

Ignoring the complaint, Elizabeth watched unreadably as the wraith glared at the offending appendage and methodically flexed twitching fingers. It was the first verbal display of frustration aimed at this particular aspect of the situation that he'd exhibited. There was an odd, apparently blame-free egolessness in his tone, which she found curiously refreshing. Catching the infirmary's bright lights, the metal tools fused to Steve's skin gleamed dully with each erratic movement.

Resisting a smile, Dr. Weir shifted her weight, "Please continue."

Attention successfully recaptured, Steve snapped his face up. The olive eyes quickly narrowed as he dipped his chin. "Yes. My apologies." In Steve's lap, the gloved feeding hand carefully cradled the small cluster of partially assembled pieces. The puzzle had survived. "The Lantean ship returned, and Major Sheppard relieved its pilot while his subordinates made preparations for loading. I offered to assist. My strength would have expedited the console's passage through the dense foliage considerably, but Major Sheppard refused, citing security considerations. They were irrelevant—"

"Irrelevant?"

At Weir's warning frown, Steve dipped his chin again with a soft hiss, carefully maintaining eye contact. "But understandable, given my… position and his responsibilities. I made due with monitoring the primitive hauling device from within the ship, offering physical assistance only when imminent danger to the console became apparent." Steve's olive eyes slipped to the puzzle, abruptly engrossed in manipulating it. "While I was doing this, the female subordinate, Teyla, yelled suddenly to attract my attention. The tone was unwarrantedly hostile, given the brevity and content of our few previous exchanges, but when I turned to learn why…"

A low hiss, followed by eerie rattling filled the enclosed space, and Steve's alien gaze lifted slowly, and unreadably, to meet Weir's. Ivory whispered across faceted epaulets as he cocked his head.

"…I sensed the presence of Others."

The words hissed slowly as the wraith's oval pupils swept Weir's face, taking in the minutest aspects of expression. The expedition leader held her ground, maintaining a picture of attentive neutrality and relaxed posture.

After a few moments, the rattling noise faded.

…The intense scrutiny didn't.

"Before I'd fully accepted that it was not my imagination, the female Teyla grabbed a stunner from the subordinate closest to me, that one," Steve's olive eyes snapped briefly to Private Sheere, "and shot me once in the chest. I lost footing." Exhaling a low hiss, Steve's lips drew back, revealing glimpses of translucent teeth, "I had done nothing to justify the attack. My actions had consistently been either beneficial or benign. The only reason to immobilize me at that particular time, under those particular circumstances… was the Others' presence." Confusion flooded Steve's pale features as disbelief painted his voice, "That meant, the female Teyla had sensed them before I did. Her shout had not been directed at me. It was meant to warn Major Sheppard. Before I could determine if this was true, the female shot me a second time. I do not know what happened after that. I only know… that I woke up here."

"Tell me about the Others."

In the improvised observation room, Dr. Beckett and the members of SGA-1 clustered more closely around the monitor. McKay looked up from his datapad.

"There is not much to tell. They were unfamiliar, and my mind was closed."

"Unfamiliar?"

Steve hissed softly, "Not from my hive. I didn't recognize the impression."

"How many were there?"

Another hiss, "I… do not know. Not many. One, maybe two scouting ships. If they carried dematerialized personnel, I'd have no way of knowing."

On the screen, Dr. Weir began pacing slowly before the cot. "And your mind was… closed?"

The pale face turned, obediantly tracking her progress. Steve's upper body swayed, subtly mirroring her movement. "I am not in the habit of telepathically broadcasting my presence on unfamiliar planets, Dr. Weir. Such habits…" a darkly amused chuckle emanated from the monitor, "are not conducive to survival."

"I see…"

Major Sheppard frowned, not liking the implications of the statement. "Teyla? Have you ever, ya know, sensed something… other than Wraith?"

Shooting him a worried glance, Teyla shook her head, "Not to my knowledge, Major. Why do you ask?"

"Just checking."

Inverting the Athosian puzzle, Steve's ungloved fingers selected a piece by feel and threaded it into place as he watched Weir, patiently waiting for her next question.

A soft click marred the pensive silence.

Having reached the end of the cot, the expedition leader turned, "Dr. Beckett tells me that closing your mind requires a certain amount of effort."

The pale lips curled slightly, and Steve dipped his face with a soft snort, "True. But the skill is basic. Barring extenuating circumstances, it requires minimal effort. In telepathically inert environments, such as this…" Steve's olive gaze swept meaningfully around the infirmary's Ancient architecture before resettling on Elizabeth, "One begins… hardly to notice."

"So your mind was closed as a safety precaution."

"That is correct."

Another click. The puzzle twisted.

Making a show of thoughtfully studying the floor, Dr. Weir paced back so she stood directly in front of the prisoner again before catching his eye and deliberately turning to face him. "Did you open it?"

Steve's black-coated form went eerily still. He held her gaze for a pair of long, unreadable seconds. Then…

"…No." The word whispered with quiet earnestness.

"Why should I believe you?"

Instead of a repeat of the frustrated outburst he'd displayed earlier, Steve's olive eyes studied Weir's for a few more seconds before slowly drifting away.

"I have no way of proving that I kept my mind closed during the encounter, Dr. Weir." A hollow tone of resignation flattened the multi-tonal voice as he looked back to her, "From your perspective, I have every reason to lie."

Intrigued by the passive admission of defeat, Elizabeth tilted her head, "Then it seems we are at an impasse."

Ivory brushed the black leather covering Steve's lap as he mirrored the motion, accompanying it with a submissive dip of his chin. "Yes…"

"Hmmm…" Knowing the members of SGA-1 were all watching, Dr. Weir gave the live feed a considering glance, then made a decision.

"Why did you ask for Teyla?"

Steve went eerily still again. Then looked up with a soft chuff. He took a breath to speak, but closed his mouth without saying anything.

Dr. Weir waited patiently.

Confusion and pensiveness warred briefly across the pale features, then Steve leaned forward, catching Weir's eye with intent earnestness. His words were laced with a tone of carefully chosen deliberation. "If your subordinate Teyla has telepathic ability—If she did truly sense them before me, and was not acting on one of Major Sheppard's silent signals… That means she has the ability to confirm my silence." He paused, letting the implications sink in. When Weir didn't react, he continued, "If she's skilled enough to detect Others with such speed, she must by nature be skilled enough to also detect the presence or lack thereof of communication." He paused again. When Weir still didn't react, he leaned back. The olive eyes studied her intently. Then slowly… Carefully… (darting quick glances to make sure she was watching…) Steve bowed his head and fixed his gaze on the floor. "I initiated no contact and shared no information. I respectfully request that you ask your subordinate, Teyla, to confirm the assertion."

In the observation room, McKay craned his neck, "Is he… bowing while still sitting down? Can you do that?"

Everyone else was looking at Teyla.

The Athosian leader took in their quizzical expressions with surprise and spread her hands, at an apologetic loss. "I… have no idea. I've never even attempted to ascertain such a thing."

Feeling magnanimously generous, Major Sheppard offered her a sardonic gesture of forgiveness. "It's ok. I imagine it's the sort of thing that… takes a bit of practice."

Teyla's growing tension dissipated with a soft laugh, and as she shook her head, the members of SGA-1 looked back to the screen.

Ignoring the implied joke, Carson shrugged, "Actually, ah imagine it is."

Still standing beside the cot, Dr. Weir studied the bowed form before her with intrigued, (and respectfully concealed), amusement.

"You're suddenly very forthcoming about the nature of telepathy."

The ivory head remained eerily still, save for strands of dangling hair that whispered with Steve's breath as he spoke.

"I do not wish to die, Dr. Weir."

At his words, Weir's respectfully concealed amusement vanished.

"If our positions were reversed. Given the potentially lethal consequences of such a betrayal as I just had ample opportunity to commit, Death would be a very reasonable expectation on your part." The wraith peered slowly up at her from beneath a curtain of submissively lowered lashes, "I am taking this… Very… Seriously…"

On the last two words, the last two puzzle pieces clicked into place.

"Did ah hear tha'? 'E thinks she'll kill 'em?" Dr. Beckett was staring at his fellow observers with a mix of dismay and hurt, "'Cause 'e might 'ave—might 'ave, mind ye, not defina'ely did, but might 'ave—said sommat? To some," at a loss, Carson finished by sputtering disbelievingly, "Persons unknown?"

A silence followed.

Then Lieutenant Ford quietly muttered, "Unknown wraith persons."

Carson stared at the members of SGA-1 with disbelief, "Ah don' believe this."

Following the kind-hearted doctor's remarks, a distasteful, sinking feeling pervaded the room's atmosphere, and Major Sheppard grimaced. Experiencing their prisoner's stated reversal of positions was now at the bottom of his, 'Things to Do in the Pegasus Galaxy' list. It'd already been low, mind you. But it'd been higher than 'do something stupid that gets you bitten by an Iratus bug again'. Now it wasn't.

"Um, Carson?"

"Wha' is it, Rodney?"

"I think the puzzle's done."

"Wha'? Oh." Dr. Beckett leaned in, peering critically at the tiny sphere cradled in the wraith's lap. "So it is. Ah'll try ta go commandeer 'im." Straightening his lab coat, Carson took a deep breath to calm his dismay and put on a toned down version of his bright bedside manner. "Ah can do this." That said, he exited briskly through a curtain, heading for the opposite end of the infirmary.

Lieutenant Ford watched him go, "Uh, Major? Is Dr. Weir actually finished?"

Still feeling the grimace, Sheppard shrugged, "Probably not."

"Is it alright if ah interrupt?"

Masking her surprise as the Scotsman hesitantly pushed past the curtain that'd been used to isolate the wraith's cot, Dr. Weir met the white-coated intrusion with a meaning-laden stare and sternly raised eyebrow.

"We're kind of in the middle of something, Doctor."

At her warningly mild tone, Dr. Beckett winced, "Ah know. It's just—"

Her second eyebrow joined the first.

Taking a deep breath, Carson plowed on, "—With complete respect in acknowledgin' yer authority, an' complete awareness o' the delicate nature o' the current situation," he shot the wraith's motionless posture a quick glance, "Ah've got a patient in need o' a transplant, an' ah need Steve's help to ensure tha' patient survives."

The expedition leader frowned quizzically, "Are you referring to the neural filament seed as a patient?"

He winced again, "Ah'm afraid so."

"Carson—"

"An' seein' as how Steve came 'ere stunned, an' ah haven't given 'im the all clear, 'e's still also technically a patient. If 'e's willin' to transfer the seed, ah'd prefer to do so immediately."

Not sure where her medical expert was taking the conversation, but sensing there was definitely an impending point, Elizabeth turned her gaze stony and called his bluff.

"Are you exercising your medical prerogative?"

Meeting her stare long enough to convey his seriousness, Carson deflated with a sigh and apologetic shake of his head, "No. Ah'm jus' sayin' there's a time an' place for these sorts o' conversations, an' in the future, ah'd greatly appreciate if tha' place wasn't 'ere." He looked pointedly to Steve, who'd angled his face just enough to regard the exchange through unreadable, (and still submissively narrowed), eyes. "Ah'd also appreciate if ye'd refrain from agitatin' mi patients wi' talk o' their potential execution."

Understanding dawned. Weir's expression softened slightly, and she looked briefly down at the wraith before directing her attention back to Carson.

"We don't execute people on Atlantis, Doctor."

Carson nodded, "Ah know. An' now Steve does, too." He gave a small, apologetic smile, "Ah'm sorry. Ah jus' couldn' watch anymore." Beckett reached for the curtain, intending to withdraw, "When ye're done talkin', ye can find me tendin' the console." The translucent fabric swished open.

"It survived transport?"

At the multi-tonal question, Dr. Beckett stilled. Steve's bowed head had lifted a hair, and though his passively narrowed eyes fixed on Weir, he'd angled his face ever so slightly towards Carson. Beckett nodded, "Aye."

The olive eyes searched the expedition leader's face as he spoke, "The modifications I made…?"

Carson glanced at Weir for permission before answering. She nodded. "Ah had ta patch a few leaks, but they 'eld."

A soft hiss whispered through the infirmary.

"It will survive a guard shift or two before entering toxic shock."

Weir nodded again.

"Tha's… good ta know. Thank ye for tellin' me."

Another hiss.

Sensing dismissal in Weir's glance, Beckett moved to leave again, "Ah'll really be goin' now."

Elizabeth studied the wraith as the curtain swished closed behind him. Face angled towards her once more, Steve was watching from beneath lowered lashes. Though still mostly bowed, the ivory head lifted slightly as he spoke.

"You… have no intention of killing me."

The subdued statement somehow managed to also sound like a question. Dr. Weir crossed her arms. "No. Let's say, for me to give an order like that, you'd have to do… something drastic. I'll leave the possibilities contained in that word up to you."

With a soft hiss, Steve's eyes snapped to the floor, "I understand."

"Good." She kept her expression neutral as he slowly straightened, coming out of the partial bow with eloquently submissive precision. As he adjusted his hair and shoulders, she added, "Your request is being taken into consideration."

A soft chuff followed by a short pause…

"Your consideration… is appreciated."

Cocking his head while slowly widening his eyes, Steve regarded Weir unreadably before lifting his hands. The Athosian puzzle clicked and spun, intricate twigs ticking in and out of place as his ungloved translucent claws and metal-tipped fingers danced deftly over its joints. The display of delicate dexterity… was impressive.

"If you so wish, I am now ready to assist Dr. Beckett."

"What the hell was that?"

At McKay's squeak, Sheppard winced, "That was Dr. Beckett being Dr. Beckett."

A disbelievingly thumb jerked towards the monitor, "He undermined her authority!"

"Actually, I'm pretty sure he didn't."

"But—"

Major Sheppard pointedly turned, "Shouldn't you be in the Gateroom?"

Dr. McKay instantly clammed up, "What? No, I—"

"I'm pretty sure Elizabeth asked for you to stay there."

Caught redhanded, McKay's grip tightened on his datapad, "That was before the wraith tantrum—"

"Yeah, well, the wraith tantrum's over." When they followed Weir down, Sheppard had let McKay's presence slide in the interest of keeping them all on the same page. Now, though…

"I—"

Teyla smoothly interrupted, "I think it would be best if we all," her calm eyes lingered meaningfully on McKay before acknowledging Ford and settling on Major Sheppard, "returned to the Gateroom and let Dr. Beckett work on the harddrive in peace."

Sheppard smiled charmingly at her, "I agree."

"But—"

He headed for the exit. Ford followed, pulling the curtain back for Teyla, who gave McKay an amused glance as she stepped through.

Dr. McKay gestured to the screen, scrambling for an excuse, "I could just watch from in here. I can be usef—"

"McKay…!"

"Fine!" Huffing annoyance, McKay shot Weir's tiny figure a glare, (she was now talking to Private Sheere), and got up from his chair. "I'm coming. Coming, coming."

They were out of fish tanks.

Setting the Athosian puzzle up on it's shelf, Carson selected an Ancient vase, "Is this big eno—"

"It will be adequate."

Since being dismissed from Weir's presence, the wraith had become a portrait of efficiency, barking instructions, hissing lists, guiding a rapid transformation of the space into the set-up required for the console's surgery. He'd removed a portion of the pedestal's outer shell, and was busily testing a series of scalpels on the oozing chitin's fleshy underside.

"I cannot use these."

The last scalpel clicked delicately onto its tray, rejoining a dozen or so others.

"Why not?" Carson quickly retrieved them. It'd taken fast negotiating to get them past the security escort. "They're the best Ah've got."

Steve's ivory hair pattered like rain across his ebony coat as he dropped to a crouch by the pedestal

At Beckett's nod, the tray was whisked away by Private Laris, "Ah'm not just sayin' 'at. Ah literally 'ave nothin' else." When the wraith asked for variety, he'd even raided his personal kit.

Steve passed the orifices on his cheeks over an undamaged portion of shell with a low hiss. "Their quality is impeccable. But their shape is unfamiliar." He scored a shallow line in the shell, a quick deft caress by one of the metal claws tipping his ungloved fingers. His cheeks dipped in for another pass, "It would take too much time for me to practice to my satisfaction." Another line, another caress… "There will be cuts I cannot afford to miss." The scoring marks multiplied under Steve's hand, sometimes following, other times ignoring the dips and swells of the dark chitin.

Fascinated by the preparation technique, Carson placed the crystal vase on a nearby cart and began measuring out nutrient solution.

"How will ye make the cuts 'en?"

"Carefully, Doctor," a low hiss… "Very carefully." Drawing back a few inches, Steve brushed his palm over the lacework of lines, surveying the network with a critical eye. Tiny beads of clear fluid were forming.

Dr. Beckett frowned as Steve tapped one of the drops with a metal claw and held it up to his cheek. "An wha' does tha' mean?"

No response. Leaning in again, Steve's ungloved hand began tapping and caressing the chitin, methodically deepening several score lines.

"Are ye sayin' ye intend ta do this one-'anded?"

Not looking up from his task, Steve pulled his lips back with a chuff, "Seeing as this artifact," amber glimmered against black leather as the neutralized feeding hand settled pointedly over his waist, "saw fit to dissolve and absorb the tool I was wearing when it was first activated, instead of creating a hole that would have sensibly allowed it to push through…" A low hiss followed… "I see no other options."

Before Carson had fully absorbed that unexpected tidbit, the wraith froze mid-caress, skewering him with an eerily abrupt head tilt and intense stare. "Unless you wish to start your experiments on my deceased brethren's tools by allowing them to come into unmonitored contact with an object that has proven capable of consuming their kindred?"

Dr. Beckett stared.

The wraith Sheppard had named Steve stared.

Beckett suddenly grinned, "No. Ah do nae think tha' would be a sound experimental design fer their first contact."

A musical, multi-tonal chuckle, (lighter than Carson would've expected), bounced among the Ancient walls of the infirmary before cutting off as abruptly as it'd begun. The unsettling smile that had accompanied the chuckle vanished with an equally unsettling abruptness.

"I agree."

Turning back to the pedestal, Steve hissed softly and resumed deepening the now-glistening score marks. "Do not worry, Dr. Beckett. I am more than capable of performing the extraction one-handed. It will simply…" another hiss, "require a bit of patience."

2 hours later…

"I think we should keep Teyla away from him." Dr. Weir paused the recording, shooting the Athosian a glance, "No offense, Teyla."

Teyla shook her caramel colored head, "None taken."

They were replaying the footage of Steve's debriefing in one of the conference rooms.

"With all due respect, Ma'am, I think that's the least we should do."

Weir's attention shifted to the security chief. Feeling opportunistic, Sheppard reached out over the table and snagged the datapad.

"Care to elaborate, Sergeant?"

"We need to keep him on base." Bates looked sternly at Major Sheppard, "No more off-world fieldtrips."

"Yeah, well…" Sheppard poked the controls, idly adjusting the timestamp, "On this one, I happen to agree with you."

"That's good to hear, Sir. I wish it happened more frequently."

Ignoring the habitual spat, Teyla looked questioningly among her teammates, "Do you think… he is able to sense me? In the way that I've been able to sense him?"

Weir frowned at the possibility, "I don't know."

"Naa. I doubt it." Major Sheppard set the pad down, "If he'd been sensing you constantly, he wouldn't have been so surprised."

"We're still not sure, Sir, that's it's not an elaborate deception."

Heading off a rehashing of Bate's concern, (they'd already gone over it four times), Dr. Weir leaned in and clasped her hands pensively on the conference table, "No, but everyone I talked to has come away with the same impression. There's an outside chance it's a ruse, but I'm starting to think it's unlikely."

Teyla's caramel hair brushed her shoulders with her slow nod, "He did seem," her eyes dropped to the wraith's frozen image on the datapad, "very startled."

"That's one way of putting it," muttered McKay.

Dr. Weir reclaimed her datapad, "The way he asked for you to verify his claim also makes it less likely—"

Sergeant Bates had a rehashed refute for that, too. "Unless he was simply revealing the ruse in an attempt to avoid death."

"—Sergeant, please. I'm done going there."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Thank you." Weir studied her companions. "The prisoner gave no sign that he was aware of Teyla's presence in the infirmary when he was asking for her."

"True," Sheppard nodded.

"And he gave no signs of being aware of her at other times during his captivity."

"Also true."

The expedition leader frowned, "Do you think it's possible he's actually incapable of sensing her?"

Lieutenant Ford looked at Weir in surprise, "What, you mean physically?"

She nodded, "Teyla's human, he's Wraith."

Glancing up from his own datapad, Rodney gave a quick snort, "As incredibly convenient as that would be, given that Teyla's ability crosses the species barrier, I suspect it's also incredibly unlikely."

Major Sheppard jerked his head towards McKay, "What he said."

Alright," Weir considered the datapad for a moment, then looked up, "Carson tells me that there's a strong visual component to Wraith telepathy. Perhaps he simply… didn't know where to look?"

Silence.

Then…

"It's possible," Sheppard conceded.

Weir raised an eyebrow at the hesitancy in his voice, "But…?"

Crossing his arms, Major Sheppard leaned back in his chair, "He didn't seem to notice the space guppies at first either."

Teyla's brow furrowed in confusion, "Space guppies?"

"I told you we're not calling them that," McKay groused, "They're Zelenka's cleaner fish."

"Cleaner fish?" Ford shifted uncomfortably, "But they've got lungs."

Teyla's expressive eyes widened questioningly, "The… creatures rescued from the rotting lab? The ones that wail?"

"Yes," Sheppard gave her a fingersnap, "those things."

Ford grinned at Teyla approvingly, "Ones that Wail. I like that."

"Oh, for the lov—We're not discussing their names!"

"Focus, people." Dr. Weir calmed the threatening chaos with a quiet stare, "I know it's difficult brainstorming with so many uncertainties. But we're trying to narrow those uncertainties down. Major Sheppard, where were the space guppies taking us?"

"Thank you," Sheppard wrangled his thoughts in, "Steve didn't notice the first guppy until after it bumped Private Sheere. He did a lot of peering into the water to find it. He only noticed the second one, because the first one didn't wanna leave it. It—" he didn't wanna use the word because it set a bad precedent, but… "It… started wailing."

"I see…" Dr. Weir's expression was pensive.

Teyla caught Sheppard's eye, "You're saying the prisoner only noticed the guppies because he knew to look for them. Even though they were close by?"

"Yes." It might be alarming, but—"He found the second one pretty quickly."

"And you think that means, he'll now find me quickly, too."

Major Sheppard waffled, "Maybe not immediately quickly quickly, but… soon quickly. …quickly." …What the Hell was he even sayin—

With a deadpan stare, Sergeant Bates turned to him in disgust, "What does that even mean, Major?"

Major Sheppard glared at the ceiling in exasperation, "I don't know! It's telepathy, Bates. We haven't… figured it out yet."

Mirroring his frustration, Bates turned to Weir, "We shouldn't be having this conversation without Carson."

Elizabeth gave a one shouldered shrug, "yeah, well, Carson's busy."

"I think I get what you're getting at."

"Ya do?"

"You do?"

That was good, 'cause Sheppard was pretty sure his point was lost in the ceiling. Or maybe the wall. 'Cause that's what Rodney was staring at.

Dr. McKay's gaze was unfocused, "Teyla probably feels different. Even if he knows where to look, he might not know how to recognize her. I'd have spent the first days I was here screaming into the void, probing anything I could sense. If you think of telepathy as a sort of communication signal, though, sensing someone's presence would be acting like a receiver. Sending a signal out to be received would be entirely different."

Weir shared a glance with Teyla, "You're saying Steve hasn't sensed Teyla before because she hasn't been broadcasting."

"Exactly. Plus, he was probably looking for Wraith. But now that he knows she's there, he can use his own signal to ping her—"

Sheppard frowned, "You mean like pinging a computer?"

Rodney wasn't listening. "If he pings her, he could then listen for how his ping changes and figure out what she sounds like—"

"Kinda like echolocation," Sheppard clarified. Weir raised an eyebrow.

"—Once he figures that out… well… Then he can actively look for her. Assuming, of course, pinging her doesn't actually change the ping, in which case that method wouldn't work—But either case, we know he can visually target objects for pinging, so keeping her out of his field of vision becomes incredibly important—Assuming, of course, that we DO want to keep Teyla secret, which at this point might be impossible, in which case keeping her hidden doesn't actually matter—"

"How would keeping his mind closed fit in this sort of analogy?"

Rodney bounced off Weir's smooth interjection without pause, "It would be like actively deflecting a ping—returning no information, like an inanimate object—I'm assuming for all this that Teyla's mind's always wide open. She's never had any training—Right? You've never had any training?"

"No, I have not."

"—If her mind's naturally closed, he'd need a visual connection to focus the ping and kinda hack his way into it—"

Major Sheppard winced. The whole telepathy thing was starting to sound violent.

"—In which case keeping her out of sight becomes important again."

"Sounds like keeping Teyla out of the prisoner's sight is the best option," Sergeant Bates was frowning, "regardless of how her ability works."

"—All of this, of course, is entirely theoretical. Wraith telepathy and Teyla's ability could be totally unrelated, meaning I could be totally wrong about… well…" Rodney grimaced, "pretty much all of it.—"

With an amused smile, Dr. Weir quietly intervened, "You seem to be giving this a lot of thought, Rodney."

Noticing the quintet of attentive stares, Dr. McKay slid his datapad onto the conference table with disgust, "Yeah, well, Steve's barely twitched in the last hour. I've had nothing to focus on."

Sheppard stared at the frozen image on the pad's screen with mild shock, then snatched the device before Rodney could react, "Wait, that isn't a still frame?" Steve was sitting by the pedestal, one black pantleg crooked, the other stretched out. His white hair and cheek were pressed to black chiten, and his ungloved arm… was inserted (unmovingly) into a hole that'd been carved in the dark shell. The only sign of life was an occasional glitter of nutrient fluid dripping from the wraith's elbow. …And the timestamp in the corner dutifully ticking away.

"Yes, Major," McKay's voice dripped sarcasm, "There's a fascinating alien surgery going on in the infirmary, but I've been ignoring it to stare at a photo for two hours. Give that back."

"Sorry." He handed the live feed of Atlantis' infirmary back to McKay.

Returning attention to the matter at hand, Teyla quietly summarized, "If I understand what I'm hearing correctly," her eyes slid calmly to Dr. Weir, "Now that the prisoner knows about my ability, he'll be able to look for it. Once he finds it, he'll learn what I feel like…" her gaze slid back past Ford and Bates, lingering briefly on Sheppard before finally settling on Rodney, "and be able to notice me easily."

McKay fidgeted uncomfortably under Teyla's gently expectant scrutiny, "Assuming the basic underpinings of my idle Voodoo speculation are correct… Yes."

Sergeant Bates turned to Weir with a decisive nod, "In light of Dr. McKay's working theory, I recommend we keep Teyla Emmagen out of the prisoner's proximity and away from his line of sight for as long as possible."

Not liking the finality of the pronouncement, but agreeing temporarily in principle, (and also knowing that new information from Carson could likely be acquired to contest it), Major Sheppard caught Teyla's eye. "It's your ability, Teyla. I'm leaving this one ta you."

The Athosian leader dipped her face in acknowledgement of the respectful abstention, then turned her gaze quietly to Dr. Weir.

"I have no objection."

4 hours later…

"Bored, Rodney?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." McKay glanced up from the pad he'd been poking. "However, unlike some people, I'm able to be productive despite boredom."

Dr. Weir shot the collection of laptops and datapads scattered across the conference table beside Dr. McKay a knowing glance, "And that's why you're… switching projects every couple seconds."

"It's called multi-tasking."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

Major Sheppard swiveled his chair, "Sounds more like you're trying to distract yourself from the fact that you're distracted."

McKay rolled his eyes, "Har har, very funny."

The infirmary's livestream was propped up like a TV. The image was unchanged. Steve with his arm in the console's pedestal. Dr. Beckett and members of the security escort occasionally walking in and out of view. Each time they did, Rodney noticed the movement and glanced up, only to switch datapads with an annoyed sigh.

"Our prisoner seems very good at focusing on one task," Dr. Weir observed.

"Yes," Sheppard stretched a bit, "He's very good at… holding still."

Elizabeth chuckled, watching the screen. She turned serious. "What do you think he might've said?"

"Huh?" The Major had missed the segue.

"If he's lying, and he did contact the other Wraith?"

Nope, there hadn't been one. He stretched again, suppressing a yawn, "Oh, I imagine it wasn't too much."

"I'm not so sure." She leaned her elbows on the Ancient table, contemplating the feed. "First he claimed there was no time. Later he said he'd had ample opportunity."

Ah. After rewatching the debriefing a few times, Sheppard had actually worked out a theory around this, "Ample opportunity for a nonspecific SOS, maybe—"

"But not for anything detailed or specific," Weir finished.

Sheppard nodded, "Exactly."

"What about a fully comprehensive, sensory snap shot?"

Major Sheppard blinked.

"You said the masked wraith shared a combination of visual and other sensory memories with the prisoner," she pressed.

A few feet away, McKay swapped datapads. "You mean like an impression of his cell. Or the rotting lab?"

Elizabeth nodded, "Or the infirmary. Or the damaged base…"

As she trailed off meaningfully, Sheppard got the hint, "Or the Gateroom." He did a rapid mental review of the wraith's fieldtrips. "Steve was in the Jumper both times we returned to Atlantis. We made sure he never saw the address." They'd been very careful about that. Obsessively careful, even.

"So he could've shared that he was in an Ancient city—"

"But not where the city's located." Sheppard shook his head, "That's probably not it, though. From what we've seen, comprehensive messages take a long time."

"As illustrated by our magnificent sample size of one," muttered McKay, "And we don't actually know the size of the message involved."

"Alright," Weir glanced at her fingers, "What would your versions of a nonspecific telepathic SOS be?"

McKay looked up with a bemused grin, "I was thinking of an epic, silent scream into the void."

Major Sheppard was nodding, "Yeah. Kinda like the mental equivalent of shooting up a flare and waving your arms."

Rodney tucked the datapad under one arm and waved his hands, "Helloooo, I'm a Wraiiith, and I'm over heeeeereee, please come save meeeeee!"

Dr. Weir gave a short laugh, shaking her head, "I'm being serious."

"So am I," McKay swapped datapads again, "Look. I thought we agreed theorizing about telepathy without Carson present was bad?"

Major Sheppard shrugged, "Yeah, well…" Suppressing another yawn, he put the matter to rest with a clap and stood up, "I'm gonna go take a nap." Lieutenant Ford, Teyla, and Bates had already bowed out, so—

"A nap?" Rodney's squeak sounded jealous.

"I've been up for a while." He pointed at the surgery live feed, "And we don't know how long this'll take. I still have to search him after."

The jealousy vanished, "Oh, right. I forgot about that."

"If I could have your permission, Elizabeth?"

"Of course," Dr. Weir nodded, "I never intended on keeping you this long. Have a good rest, John."

"Will do," he exited the conference room, shooting a brisk, "Don't stay up too late," over his shoulder.

As he left, Weir turned her atttention to McKay.

"You're allowed to leave too, Rodney. No one's keeping you here."

"No, I'm fine. I'm fine," he looked up from shuffling datapads, "I might go get a snack, though…" he pointed hopefully at the feed, "can I take it with me?"

The expedition leader stared.

"Right," Glancing around, he grabbed one of the other pads instead, "I'll just… get it quickly."

Dr. Weir stared at her clasped hands as he jogged out. This had turned…

…into a very long day.

6 hours later…

"Hoooo," Carson exhaled, a long, drawn out sigh of admiration and respect. "Tha's… bloody amazin'." In the Ancient vase, the neural filament seed pulsed and swayed, long tendrils loosely curling as they settled against the smooth curves of transparent crystal. The yellowy tissue was so thin, it'd turned translucent, almost invisible in the pale, rose-tinted tempering solution. How the wraith had removed it undamaged was a mystery. The longest tendril was nearly half a meter long…

"I salvaged the root filaments to facilitate grafting."

"Is tha' wha' they're called?" The question murmured rhetorically as Carson lowered the vase carefully to the cart.

"It seemed the best option, given your restricted nutrient supply."

Tearing his eyes from the seed, the Scotsman turned to survey their 'guest'. After slowly sliding the neural filament seed and its long tendrils into the vase with exquisite care, the wraith had drifted to a nearby cleaning station with an equal slowness. He was now rinsing with methodical care, long fingers dipping slowly into the basin to draw water up over his palms and the backs of his hands, following the drops down with smooth slowness. As Carson watched, the glove's black fingertips delved slowly between the other hand's ungloved fingers, banishing shadows of nutrient fluid…

Carson watched the slow process uneasily, "An' 'ow are ye doin'?"

No response. The wraith's fingers continued their meticulous procedure, now pulling the water farther up, slowly rinsing his wrists…

"Steve? Are ye okay?" Carson was debating whether he should interrupt with more force. The wraith had been working a long time, and the eerie slowness was a stark contrast to his usual display of alert attentiveness. Beckett had gotten used to Steve's oddly abrupt head tilts and quick attention shifts. This new behavior… was a bit alarming. "Ah only ask because, well… yer movin' a bit slow."

Exhibiting a perfect example of what Beckett was referring to, Steve's pale face turned slowly his way, ghosting into an eerie, yet familiar, quarter-speed face tilt. The oval pupils studied the Scotsman with equal eeriness, making Carson feel like Steve was looking both piercingly through and completely past him at the same time.

It was… intense.

A subdued exhalation whispered into the space separating them before the wraith finally spoke, "I placed myself in a trance to direct my senses and movements with precise focus. It has not… quite worn off…"

"A trance?" Beckett did a double take, "Ah see…"

"It will pass." A low hiss whispered through the infirmary as Steve's face and attention shifted slowly back to the basin, "Do not worry, Dr. Beckett. Your concern for my well being… is unneccessary."

"Well, if yer sure yer alright, 'en…"

No response. The wraith resumed washing his hands…

…slowly.

That was bloody unsettling. Rolling the cart with the vase over to the tank holding the serenely floating hard drive, Dr. Beckett wiped his face and moved to the counter where he'd been taking notes and watching the surgery. Spotting a mug he'd emptied earlier, he snagged it and sidestepped to the nearby percolator, silently thanking the tech would'd brought it in from his office. He tapped his ear piece.

"Peter, this is Beckett. Could ya put mi through to Elizabeth?"

"Of course. One moment."

"Thank ye."

Up in the increasingly cluttered conference room, Dr. Weir set down the Ancient translation she was working on as the speaker sputtered to life.

"Dr. Weir, I have Dr. Beckett."

"Put him through."

A few chairs away, Dr. McKay shot the speaker a glance before looking back to the live feed.

Beckett's voice issued from the speaker, "Dr. Weir?"

"Good evening, Carson." Weir gave the livefeed's datapad a bemused smile as Carson stepped half into the frame before disappearing again, "We've been watching with baited breath."

"Please tell mi tha's not true."

She chuckled, "May I presume you have good news?"

"Aye. The neural filament seed was successfully removed. Ah don' know how well it picks up on video, but Steve salvaged some extra neural tissue."

"That sounds promising."

"Aye. 'E seems to think it'll save nutrients."

"Makes sense," Rodney muttered. He leaned towards the speaker, "What's the next step? Unless I missed something, the seed's not in the hardrive yet."

In the infirmary, Dr. Beckett frowned as he topped off his freshly steaming mug, "Is tha' Rodney? Rodney, fer 'eaven's sake, go ta bed. There's been nothin' to see."

McKay grimaced, pointedly avoiding Weir's 'I told you so' stare. "I'm well aware of that, Carson, thank you."

"Alright, suit yerself." Beckett returned the pot to the percolator, leaned in for a sip, then winced at the temperature and thought better of it. "The next step is ta wait."

"What?" McKay's jaw dropped in offended dismay, "We've already been waiting!"

Carson shrugged, "Well, ye'll 'ave ta wait longer."

"I don't believe this."

"We're treatin' the seed in a preparation bath. It's a variation on nutrient fluid, but wi' extra compounds—"

"What extra compounds?"

"Do ye really want mi ta give ye the chemical description?"

Rodney almost said yes. "No." He snapped his mouth shut.

"Good. 'Cause it's a bloody tongue twister."

Dr. Weir intervened, "What do the compounds do, Doctor?"

"They prepare the seed to start growin'. Lettin' it know it'll be entering a new environment, so ta speak."

"And how long will that take?"

"Roughly an' hour, hour an' a half?" Carson leaned in for a sip again, and again leaned back. "Assumin' ah've remembered the guardshifts correctly."

At his words, Dr. McKay instantly deflated. Weir gave him a sympathetic glance. "And after that?"

"After tha'?" Dr. Beckett shrugged, glancing down at his notes. "After tha', Steve puts the seed into it's new 'ost. We wait to make sure it doesn't get spit out. 'An if it stays, we wait again to find out if it takes root."

Dr. Weir avoided McKay's eyes, "I'm hearing the word 'wait' a lot."

"It's livin' tissue, Dr. Weir. It's not like movin' a few screws."

"I understand."

Overcoming his dismay, Dr. McKay crossed his arms, "How long will the last part take? The taking root part?"

"A couple days—"

"A couple days?!" sputtered McKay.

Tinny with distance, Steve's multi-tonal voice issued suddenly from the speaker, "What is that?"

Carson appeared on the live feed, watching something offscreen, "It's called Coffee."

"It smells repugnant."

Beckett's lab coated form shrugged and moved out of sight again, "Aye. But it's keeping me awake, so ah don' complain."

Dr. Weir noted with exchange with bemusement, "You don't like the smell of coffee, Carson?"

"There's coffee, Dr. Weir, an' there's coffee. Ah like the smell o' a good espresso, right enough. But Atlantis's stores aren' exactly 'igh quality."

"I'm afraid we can't do anything about that."

"Ah know. Tha's why ah don' complain."

"I'm with Carson on this one," McKay quipped.

Weir smiled, "Why am I not surprised?"

The wraith's voice interrupted the conversation again, "It is some sort of a stimulant…"

"Would ye like some?" Beckett reappeared in the frame.

A short pause. Then…

"…No."

"Suit yerself."

Clasping her hands, Weir leaned out over the table, "How's our wraith, Doctor?"

"How's Steve?" Beckett moved further into view, glancing into the camera, "'E's okay." The Scotman looked offscreen, considering his subject, "A bit slow from workin' on the seed—So 'e says," he indicated the unseen wraith with his mug, "But 'e's speedin' up now."

Weir and McKay shared a confused glance, "Care to elaborate?"

"Honestly?" Carson moved closer to the camera, and the fatigue on his good natured features became apparent, "We've been down 'ere a while, an' we're not done. If it's all right wi' ye, Dr. Weir, ah'd prefer to stay focused on the seed."

Which was diplomatic Carson speak for, 'I've something interesting to recount, but I'd rather relay it without the wraith hearing.'

Elizabeth nodded, "I understand, Doctor. We'll let you get back to work. Thank you for the status report."

"Yer very welcome. Doctor Beckett out." The speaker fizzed into silence, and Carson smiled into the camera one last time before wandering out of sight again.

Dr. McKay studied the livefeed with annoyance, "Yes. We'll let you get back to waiting interminably." He swiveled to face Weir, "I should go to bed, shouldn't I?"

She shrugged, "I said that an hour ago, Rodney."

"Yes, well…" he didn't move.

"If you don't go soon, I might have to enact curfew."

"You wouldn't."

She raised an eyebrow."

Standing, Rodney gathered up his datapads before turning to face her again, "You know, you should get some sleep, too, Elizabeth."

"I will," She paused, then gave him a slight smile "…But not until after I know you're getting some."

Wagging a finger, Dr. McKay closed his mouth with a nod and slipped out the door. He reappeared long enough to give her a mock warning point while jerking his thumb over his shoulder, then left again.

Satisfied that he was actually retiring, Dr. Weir gathered up her translation, collected the livestream for transfer to the night shift, and dimmed the lights.

8.5 hours later…

Feeling refreshed after his nap, Atlantis's military commander set a brisk pace down the stairs on their way back to the wraith's holding cell.

"Do you regret it?" He tossed the comment over his shoulder.

The security escort's footsteps echoed during a long pause. He wasn't expecting a response, really, but it was worth a—

"Regret what, Major Sheppard?"

Interesting. Sheppard resisted the urge to look back. "Not asking your friends to come to your rescue."

"Ahhh, not contacting friends," a low, condescending hiss. "That's how you see it." There was blatant emphasis on 'you'.

Was that an opening? Sheppard glanced back this time, responding to the overture with an obligatorily flippant, "Well then, how do you see it, Steve?"

Another pause, then another hiss…

The escort rounded a corner, descending deeper into the stairwell as the wraith's voice echoed in the confined space. "I? I see it as… keeping breakthrough technology for my hive, Major Sheppard. Instead of turning it over to rivals by accident."

Sheppard's mind started racing, "Really?"

"We are Wraith, Major Sheppard. We are One." The multi-tonal voice was subdued, "And… we are separate."

He burned the comment into memory. Steve didn't often offer unsolicited insights. "That sounds very… existential."

Silence. They rounded another corner, reaching the final flight.

"Care to elaborate?"

No response.

Again, worth a shot. "Didn't think so."

With an echoing clatter, the security escort reached the alcove leading to the cell. They spread out, creating a space around the wraith.

Watching the marines' progress with impassive, sidelong glances, Steve drifted forward a bit before stopping to stand ramrod straight in the loose semi-circle.

A low hiss whispered through the dimly lit holding area.

Placing himself between the black-coated figure and the cell, Sheppard waited for Lieutenant Ford to take up a position beside him before meeting the increasingly enigmatic olive stare with an expectant, "So, are you ready?"

A corner of Steve's lips twitched. "To have my privacy violated?" The words bit disgustedly as he froze, white hair ghosting into motionlessness.

Sheppard schooled his flippancy to a polite minimum, "To receive the consequences of your actions."

The wraith's gaze snapped from him to Ford, and then back. A tense silence followed. An inaudible chuff revealed a brief glimpse of translucent teeth… Then the stillness broke as Steve cocked his head, "No." Aggressively widening his eyes with a sharp hiss, Steve straightened his face with an abrupt twist and fixed his gaze on an amorphous point somewhere above and to the right of Major Sheppard's left shoulder. A hair-raising rattling suffused the holding cell for half an instant before cutting off.

"But I will… endure."

Something in the depths of the olive eyes seemed to unfocus.

Carefully watching for signs of resistance, Major Sheppard gave it a few moments before signaling the search to begin. Lieutenant Ford hesitated, then stepped forward, looking like he wished he were somewhere else. Eyeing the glittering strap crossing the wraith's chest, and the matching trio cinching the coat's waist beneath it, he reached for the top buckle, then stopped. Ford glanced up, lowering his hands.

"Look. Uh… I uh, know you probably won't believe me, but I'm actually sorry about this. It's uh… nothing personal."

No response. The wraith didn't even twitch.

"Lieutenant," Sheppard warned.

"Right." Switching to professional mode, Lieutenant Ford reached out and began gingerly unbuckling the leather straps. The slim black torso jerked slightly when he pulled the material tight to release metal fasteners, but the motion was entirely passive. Steve held stock still, not attempting to assist in any way.

Which was exactly what'd he'd been ordered to do.

Successfully opening the coat, Ford gestured for assistance, and a pre-chosen pair of marines held the heavy material up while he carefully worked it off the wraith's arms. They handed it off to be searched, then continued to hold items in place as Lieutenant Ford moved on to Steve's lighter garments. Inch by painstaking inch, like removing a beetle's shell, the pale body was methodically revealed. The lichen skin shivered whenever Aiden's fingers inadvertently brushed it, but the barely perceptible tremors were the only sign Steve gave that he was aware he was being touched.

As the marines finished searching the pants and shoes, Ford gently lifted the ivory hair, making sure not to pull too hard as he checked the wraith's neck, back, and shoulders. The shallow orifices on Steve's cheeks narrowed as Ford's hands passed close to his face, carefully checking and repositioning the long, thin, framing braids. The pair that'd been tied back behind Steve's head were checked, too.

Lieutenant Ford stepped back. He caught Sheppard's eye, shaking his head.

The other marines returned similar negatives, and one stepped forward, offering Ford the wraith's shoes. Steve's black web-patterned pants rested neatly on top, meticulously folded, and the other light garments, (also folded), had been placed on top of the pants, piled meticulously in the order opposite their removal.

Giving the pile a once over to make sure everything was there, Lieutenant Ford stepped around to face Steve and politely held out the clothes.

The pale, intimately exposed figure didn't move.

Ford shot Sheppard a worried glance.

Major Sheppard sighed. "You can get dressed, Steve."

The wraith's eyes darted to him. Lingered a beat. Then darted to the clothes. Selecting the item on top, Steve proceeded to replace the garments with the same methodically meticulous care with which they'd been removed, vanishing his lithe limbs and understated musculature with a frosty elegance that set the cell's silent ambiance screaming with icy fury. He didn't say a word. Didn't hiss. Didn't make a single chuff.

Lieutenant Ford offered him his coat, holding it up.

Steve stared.

Then he spun on his heel and backed into it, deftly slipping his arms into the sleeves and shrugging it onto his shoulders.

Not really thinking about it, Ford side-stepped under his arm and helped adjust it, calmly threading a strap though its buckle and pulling it to meet the hole it'd been in earlier.

The wraith's eyes skewered him. Ford froze.

Then the eerie unfocused look returned to Steve's gaze, and his eyes narrowed and drifted away. The faceted straps transmitted shivers to Ford's hands as he quickly refastened them with a subdued, "…sorry. Just… trying to be helpful."

Meeting Sheppard's 'why the Hell did you do that' look with an apologetic grimace, Lieutenant Ford hastily withdrew to the outer semi-circle.

The cell's force field flickered to life as the door slid open.

"We're done, Steve."

The olive eyes swept slowly to Sheppard with a frosty glitter. Steve's lips were pressed in a tight line.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Apparently it was. Steve redirected the frosty glitter into his cell with a disdainful snap of his chin before slowly stalking into the open aperture. He froze as soon as he entered, stopping barely an inch into the enclosure.

The Ancient bars set his ghostly hair swaying as they swooshed by…

Repressing a surge of unwarranted guilt, Major Sheppard watched as Steve studied the familiar surroundings, conspicuously ignoring his captors' presence. The wraith's eyes fixed on the tiny Xex tube, noting its position, (a corner of cell floor opposite where the wraith had left it). With enigmatic silence, Steve smoothly retrieved it. He swayed the orifices on his cheeks past its yellow flowers. Once… Twice… Then slowly stalked to the laptop, which unlike the tube, was where he'd left it.

Steve's pale face tilted, taking in the small pitcher of water and empty glass, (both clear plastic), that were resting by the computer, where the Xex tube had previously been.

"Curtesy of Dr. Weir," Sheppard offered.

Steve ignored him. He lifted the pitcher, passing his cheeks over it…

Then he set the water, (and the cup), carefully aside, near the cage wall, well out of spill range for the electric laptop.

The Xex tube clicked softly into its original place.

Flashing shadows over his chest, the beads dotting the Ancient glove glimmered with amber light as Steve dexterously undid all the straps Ford had just tightened. He laid down, flaring his coat panels out, then shoved his face towards the Xex tube, curled up onto his side, (back to Sheppard), and stopped moving.

"Guess it's bed time."

Silence.

Major Sheppard signaled Ford to follow, and they left the frostily silent cell and its sulking inhabitant to the night guard. As soon as the alcove door swished shut behind them, Sheppard grimaced. The whole thing, from Steve's eerily unfocused eyes to the ensuing unsettling and expressively abrupt muteness…

…had left a sour taste in his mouth.

"It's like he wasn't even there."

Despite the disrupted sleep schedule, when morning came, SGA-1 had all converged on the cafeteria in hopes of waylaying Carson to learn the fate of the neural filament seed. Upon learning from McKay that they had to wait a couple more days for anything definitive, the topic had meandered to the controversial strip-search.

"He just kept… staring over my shoulder," Major Sheppard stirred some yellow berries into his cereal and took a bite.

"Yeah," Ford glanced up from his eggs, watching him chew, "Except for that one time, he didn't acknowledge that I was touching him." He gestured to the Major's bowl with his fork, "How are those, by the way?"

"No," McKay corrected suspiciously, "What are those?"

"Berries from the mainland," Sheppard smiled appreciatively at Teyla, "They're good." He took another bite, "Really good."

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

Ford put his fork down and picked a berry out of the Athosian basket that was on the table between them. He rolled it between his fingers, studying it. Then, under Rodney's wary stare, gave it a sniff before eating it.

McKay waited for his reaction.

The Lieutenant's eyes widened with pleasure, "These are amazing!"

Seeing his grin, McKay gingerly selected one, analyzing it critically before popping it into his mouth. The scientist did a double take, "Oh my God, you're right!" McKay swiped another one.

"Don't eat 'em all, Rodney," Sheppard warned.

A third berry vanished.

"There's plenty more where those came from." Pleased by the berries' reception, Teyla surveyed her teammates with amused pride, "I'm glad our efforts to find local crops have born fruit," she smiled.

"Mm, literally."

She chuckled.

"I see our new stores are getting a resounding seal of approval." Pausing by the table, Dr. Weir propped the edge of her tray against her waist and raised a curious eyebrow, noting the table's occupants. "Is this an unplanned meeting?"

Teyla chuckled again, stirring her tea, "No, Dr. Weir. It's just a strange, yet fortunate, early morning coincidence."

"I see."

Pointedly eating a berry, Sheppard leaned back, looking up at her, "Not entirely coincidence. We were planning on ambushing Carson, but McKay assured us that wouldn't be fruitful," he paused to display the pun. "So we switched to a racier agenda."

Amused, Weir took the bait, "Oh? And what agenda would that be?"

He shrugged, "Stripping aliens."

Understanding dawned on the expedition leader's face, "Ah…" Her perusal of their breakfast assembly turned serious, "How did that go last night?"

Waffling between playful and distasteful, Sheppard hedged his bet, "Not good."

Across from him, Ford toyed with his eggs, nodding agreement, "I've never felt so bad about searching a prisoner."

Concerned, Dr. Weir frowned, "Did something happen?"

Sheppard shook his head with a decided, "Nope."

"Absolutely nothing," Ford confirmed.

She glanced between them, confused, "Then what's the issue?"

The Major grimaced, "Steve kinda… disappeared into his head."

Weir looked to him curiously, and Lieutenant Ford nodded agreement, "Just checked out. Didn't complain, didn't twitch. Didn't… anything."

"And… that's a problem?"

"Mmmm, no," Sheppard waffled again, "And… yes."

Adjusting her tray, Dr. Weir took in the contradicting answer for a moment.

Glancing at his companions, Lieutenant Ford took her brief silence as an opportunity to add, "I mean, I empathize. Right?" Aiden shrugged, "He'd had a… tough night. Getting stunned, brush with death—"

"Getting thirsty," Sheppard quipped.

Weir's eye's narrowed, "Are you defending him, Major?"

"Nah,—"

"Don't forget, eight hours of computer surgery." McKay interjected.

"—He knew it was coming." Sheppard stirred his cereal, "I just prefer testy needling and aggressive obtuseness to, ya know, blatant avoidance." He shook his head and took a bite, "It's a personal preference."

"Stop talking with your mouth full," Rodney griped.

"So, what's the problem, then," Weir was no longer amused.

Teyla smoothly interrupted, "The problem, I believe," her calm eyes swept the table, making sure no one objected, "Is that punishing the prisoner by searching him is not much of a punishment if he's somehow able to avoid experiencing it."

McKay pointed sideways at her, "Bingo."

"I see."

"'E probably dissociated."

It was Beckett's voice. Quickly swallowing, Sheppard leaned back and poked his head out from behind Weir, looking past her, "Hello Carson."

Teyla inclined her head, "Good morning, Doctor."

"Mornin' Major, Teyla." Stopping at Weir's shoulder, Beckett surveyed the gathering with brisk attentiveness, "'Is mental control is exceptional. Steve put 'imself in a trance to hyper-process sensory data an' fine-tune muscle control."

"A trance?" Sheppard hadn't been privy to that yet.

"Aye," Beckett continued, "Ah imagine removin' 'imself from an unpleasant experience would be child's play in comparison."

McKay was equally baffled, "Wait. He put himself in a trance?"

"Apparently," Dr. Weir shrugged ruefully, "And while I'd love to stay a bit and chat, we're about to have a discussion with Heightmeyer."

At the psychologist's name, Dr. McKay sniffed, "Really? What about?"

"Oh, nothin' much," Carson's voice beamed with a repressed grin, "Wraith instincts, Evolutionary Biology," he shared a glance with Elizabeth, "Instinctual drives. An' the possible effects o' melding Iratus telepathic ability with human brain structure."

"And… trances," Dr. Weir finished.

Rodney sniffed disapprovingly, "Sounds fascinating."

"Actually, it does," Sheppard pushed his bowl aside and grabbed his communicator. "I'll have last night's footage sent to Heightmeyer." He'd been planning on doing that after breakfast, but if they were having a meeting now, well…

"Much appreciated, Major," Dr. Weir smiled, "Now, if you'll excuse us."

As she and Beckett turned to go, Rodney straightened, "Wait, how'd the insertion go? I know it's too soon to tell if it'll take properly, but…?"

As McKay trailed off hopefully, Dr. Beckett half-turned, looking back, "Oh, it was brilliant. Steve threaded one o' the root filaments into the drive's intake valve. It wiggled 'round a bit, slowly reelin' the seed in, we waited… Then all o' a sudden—Schluup!" He grinned, making a slurping noise, "Sucked it up like a bit o' fish food."

"Fish food," Rodney grimaced, "Lovely."

"We waited a bit more, but when it didn't escape the outtake, called it a night."

"Ok, thanks Carson."

"Yer welcome, Rodney," Beckett continued following Weir.

"Grodin? Yeah, this is Sheppard. Could you please have the prisoner's cell footage from last night sent to Heightmeyer's office? We think it'll be relevant to her meeting with Weir. Thanks." Sheppard waited for the Gate Tech's confirmation, then reclaimed his cereal.

McKay was already reaching for the berry bowl, muttering, "That man's way too chipper in the morning."

Ford paused, forkful of eggs finally making it off his plate, "Who? Carson or Peter?"

The physicist grunted, "Both."

"Wraith political intrigue?"

In Weir's office, Sheppard shrugged, "Sounds crazy, I know. But in the future, inter-hive rivalry might be a source of leverage."

"Not tha' crazy actually."

Sheppard had asked to be briefed on Heightmeyer's insights, and in the process he'd brought up Steve's 'One and separate' statement. Dr. Beckett was considering the vague, yet dramatic, quote with intrigued seriousness.

"If Wraith were simply intelligent hive insects," continued Beckett, "ah would feel safe sayin' their instinctual motivators would be altruistic. Entirely focused on hive survival at the expense o' individuals. But they 'ave human DNA, and though we as a species do 'ave a strong community instinct, we're also 'ighly competitive."

"We are one, and we are separate," Weir mused. "He has mentioned a Wraith Alliance before…"

"One as a hive, separate within species?" Sheppard offered. The alternative, 'one as a species, separate within hives' was a bit scarier.

Carson shook his head, "It's probably far more complicated than tha'."

"Probably," Dr. Weir pursed her lips, "You know, Major, he could just be making up reasons for us to believe him."

"Yeah, I've considered that, too," he conceded, "I mean, he invited the question, though I didn't really expect him to answer. Steve's not in the habit of sharing information for free—"

"Then out of the blue he's telling us Wraith rivalry exists," Weir was nodding.

"—Exactly. It's suspicious."

"Very suspicious."

Sheppard fully agreed with her agreement, "I'm just saying Steve's decision not to say 'Hi' might, or might not, have additional motivations. It's," he hesitated… "interesting to think about."

"…But not to base concrete decisions on," she added.

"Exactly." Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever.

"Well, ah'm definitely thinkin' about it," Carson scribbled something unintelligible on his clipboard. "Along wi' a great many other things… Did ye say 'e still appears ta be sleepin'?"

Sheppard nodded, "Security has orders to call when he wakes up." It was the longest the wraith had slept since being inadvertently sleep-deprived by the organic tools.

"Fascinatin'," another scribble joined the first, "Ah'm thinkin' maintainin' an altered state o' consciousness during surgery may 'ave taxed 'im mentally."

"Mental exertion?" The Major hadn't considered that.

"Ah'll ask 'im when we feed the tools. See if 'e answers."

"Please do that," Weir caught Sheppard's eye, "Dr. Heightmeyer thinks our Wraith is attempting to establish a personal connection with Dr. Beckett."

"Does she?" That gave Sheppard an uneasy feeling for some reason.

"Yes. She thinks Steve might be more likely to answer potentially sensitive questions for him."

"And she thinks this… why?" He glanced at Carson. The good doctor was looking suspiciously smug.

Carson attempted to draw the suspense out, but failed, "'E made a joke in the infirmary yesterday," he grinned, reliving the memory, "The delivery was a bit 'eavy, mind ye, an' the content was dark, but it was definitely an attempt at humor grounded in shared personal experience." He chuckled at the memory, "It was actually quite funny."

Sheppard was having trouble believing it, "He made an 'In' joke?"

"Aye. We 'ave it on film, if ye don' believe me."

Dr. Weir was nodding, "Yes. And Heightmeyer also reminded us that early on, Steve used Beckett when he chose to reveal the glove was feeding him."

That… was true, wasn't it. At the time, Sheppard had thought of that as the wraith choosing a neutral party to kickstart negotiations…

"And…" Weir shot Carson a weighted glance. "He made overtures to Carson when Carson came to his defense yesterday."

The Scotsman shifted uneasily.

Yeah, Sheppard didn't mind missing that conversation. The expedition leader could be… stern when needed. Beckett's well-meaning reminder of his independence had definitely pushed it. "Congratulations, Doc," he uneasily quipped, "You've succeeded in making the infirmary a… safe space for everyone."

"Ye might not be intendin' it tha' way, Major," Carson gave a little shrug, "but ah take tha' as the 'ighest o' compliments."

"Heightmeyer also pointed out," Weir continued, "that he's very careful not to intimidate medical personnel. Far more careful than when he's around your marines."

"I admit," Sheppard nodded, "Steve does exhibit his best behavior when he's… being experimented on." Which was weird. But the wraith treated Atlantis's other scientists the same way, though. (With the exception of Rodney, of course…)

"An' there may be a biological reason for tha'," Carson added, "It's only a theory, mind ye, but 'e may be 'ardwired to enjoy the act o' scientific discovery."

Say, what now? Sheppard didn't bother hiding his confusion, "How's that work?"

"The data's very preliminary," Beckett cautioned, holding a finger up, "Which is why ah 'aven't shared it in an official meetin' yet. But we've found several instances of the pleasure centers in 'is brain lightin' up when 'e was in the process o' learnin'. Specifically, when we were explainin' 'ow our equipment worked."

Seriously? Sheppard leaned back in his chair, "Pleasure centers…?"

"Aye. Assumin' the placement's the same as ours, o' course."

"That's a big assumption, Doc."

"Ah know. But we've found a large number o' other unexpected similarities, so it's not tha' farfetched." Carson tapped his clipboard, "Ah also observed pupil dilation durin' those instances, which supports the hypothesis."

Pupil dilation? "So you're saying… what exactly?"

Obviously proud of his coming revelation, Carson grinned, "If ah'm right? 'E's literally addicted ta science." Before Sheppard could respond to that mind-bending description, he added, "Except it's not an' actual addiction. Addictions are an acquired disease. This is 'ardwired in naturally. 'Is brain's designed to work wi' it."

Dr. Weir was nodding, "Kate says, Steve has no idea what life without this… addiction would be like."

Sheppard crossed his arms, still trying to bend his thoughts around it, "So, she thinks he likes Beckett 'cause he's after his next fix?"

"Mmmm," Weir tilted her head, "not exactly."

Beckett slipped into the driver's seat again, "From wha' we've observed, Wraith are 'highly differentiated. It's common among hive insects. Ants, bees. Members 'o the colony 'ave specific purposes, an' they physically develop to suit those purposes. Tha' masked wraith? When ah dissected 'is brain, the mass an' proportions o' various structures were completely different from Steve. It's almost like 'e was a different species."

"A different species?" Sheppard was starting to feel lost, "So Steve's purpose in the hive is what? To learn?"

"Aye, an' solve puzzles."

Okay… "He's a problem solver…"

"In the grand scheme of evolution, yes," Weir gave her military commander a winning smile, "You're a soldier ant, Major."

"Ahhhh," now they were getting somewhere, "So this addiction," he watched their expectant expressions, trying to gauge if he was on the right track, "helps wraith kinda… stick to their day jobs."

Weir smiled slightly, "Yes. Not so much a fix, but more of a 'this is what I'm supposed to be doing with my life' sort of feeling."

That… was kind of amusing on certain levels. Bizarre, but amusing. Almost cute, even. Sheppard eyed Beckett consideringly, "Dr. Heightmeyer thinks Carson reminds Steve of his puzzle buddies."

"Only on a subconscious level," Carson quickly corrected, "If we're right, 'e'll naturally gravitate to any sort o' learnin' environment, an' 'e's more likely to seek connection wi' individuals who 'appen to assist in the learnin' process."

The idea made sense. It explained the wraith's behavior towards scientists, as well as medical personnel…

"Which, in a roundabout way," Weir interjected, "Brings us to instinctual drivers."

"Yeah," this was so roundabout it was making Sheppard's head spin, "On that note," he observed, "I did happen to notice, Elizabeth, that Steve seems a little forthcoming with you." He put a suggestive tone on the word 'little'.

The expedition leader chuckled, "Yes, I noticed that, too." She leaned towards Sheppard with amusement, "Dr. Heightmeyer thinks it's a Queen thing."

Sheppard slapped his knee, feigning enlightenment, "Ya know what? While we were watching the debrief, Rodney said exactly the same thing."

"Did he now?"

"Yes, he did."

Dr. Beckett chuckled, "Alrigh', equatin' Weir with a Queen, while an obvious analogy, is regrettably far beyond the scope o' our current experiments."

Drat. "So what IS in our scope?"

"Iratus instinctual drivers."

At the mention of the life-sucking bug that had paralyzed him from the neck down a few months ago, Major Sheppard grimaced. "What about them."

Carson and Dr. Weir shared a look. The Scotsman nodded.

As she met Sheppard's questioning gaze, Weir's demeanor turned serious, "We think they're strong, Major. Really strong."

Sheppard suddenly had a sinking feeling, "How strong?"

"Strong enough fer Mother Nature to decide hijackin' our species' addiction response was the best way ta regulate 'em."

He looked away, trying not to think about it, "That sounds strong."

"Steve said the sensation of being thirsty 'consumed' his reality," Weir continued, "He was completely distracted, even in a potentially dangerous situation."

Just like McKay. Great. "To be fair," Sheppard interrupted, "stunners stop feeling threatening after you've been hit with them, ya know, several dozen times."

Dr. Weir ignored the deflection, "He also mentioned an exponential curve, like it was a common, only-to-be-expected occurrence."

He really wasn't going to like this, was he? "Alright, what are we getting at?"

She caught his eye, holding his reluctant gaze seriously, "What if… Steve's ability to control his mind isn't just an extension of telepathy?" Weir waited for the understanding to dawn. "What if Wraith need that control to suppress their Iratus instincts?"

Dr. Beckett watched him absorb the idea for a moment before adding, "If we're right, wha'ever instincts Wraith 'ave tha' drive 'em to form an' maintain hives are incredibly, an' ah mean, incredibly, powerful. Ah'm talkin' the most basic instincts 'ere. Hunger, Thirst, Safety…" Beckett glanced at Weir again. She nodded.

"An' possibly, just possibly, mind ye… the need to be part o' a community."

…

Nah… Beckett wasn't—he didn't…

…

But the Scotsman and Weir were both staring meaningfully at him. Patiently.

…

Aw, crap. "You're not thinking we can somehow… hijack Steve's Hive instinct and transfer it to Atlantis…?!" blurted Sheppard.

Beckett shrugged, "Maybe not immediately, no—"

"Good!" 'Cause Sheppard didn't even want to contemplate trying that!

"—but Dr. 'Eightmeyer thinks tha' in the absence o' other members o' his species, on a subconscious level tha' Hive drive, or wha'ever it is, will eventually try latchin' onto somethin' else."

Elizabeth leaned forward earnestly, "If that happens, John, we need to be ready to take advantage of it."

On his chair's armrest, Sheppard tightened a hand into a fist, trying to squeeze some form of logical protest from it. He failed. "Mh! I can't argue with that."

Dr. Weir chuckled.

Oh. Swell. "You think this is funny." It was the most outlandish conversation Sheppard had been a part of since the last most outlandish conversation he'd had. And he'd had some pretty outlandish ones recently.

…in retrospect, he shouldn't be so surprised…

"No, and yes," the expedition leader had sobered. "It's incredible that we're contemplating this. But Pegasus? Well… it's been pretty incredible here."

Sheppard couldn't argue with that either.

"I'm not bringing this up just to theorize, Major."

"Oh, really?" That wasn't a reassuring statement.

Dr. Weir's expression turned kind, "Carson isn't the only person that Dr. Heightmeyer identified as a recipient of our guest's attention—"

Sheppard barely knew the resident psychologist, but he was really starting to dislike hearing her name dropped.

"—She thinks he's attempting to establish a personal connection with you, too, John."

"Yeah, well, I'm the one Steve has the most contact with."

"Exactly."

…Again, crap.

"In the long run," Weir continued, "if Steve does somehow manage to attach Wraithy emotions to Atlantis' personnel, you and Beckett are currently the two most likely candidates."

This felt so unfair. "Why aren't you on the list?"

"I'm number three." She gave him a wry smile, "And yes, it's 'The Queen' thing."

Seeing the Major's queasy put-uponness, Dr. Beckett gave a small chuckle, "Ah wouldn't worry too much, Major. If the instinct's as powerful as we suspect, it'll take a considerable amount o' time, or some other equally powerful drive to subvert it into latching' onto a different species."

That… sounded more hopeful. "So not the near future, then."

"Incredibly unlikely."

"Good."

"Ah'll know more after ah hook 'im up to the machines again."

Wait, what? "We're still doing the tool experiment?" In the chaos of the neural filament fiasco and Teyla's ability being discovered, Sheppard had practically forgotten about the bait they'd offered Steve to get him to extract the damn seed in the first place.

Dr. Weir leaned back, clasping her hands, "He upheld his part of the bargain." She shrugged, "We have no way to prove if he's lying or not, so in the interest of someday producing more of those gloves, I believe it's in Atlantis' best interest to trust him. For now." The 'For now' hung tellingly in her office for a moment.

"I agree, actually," Sheppard quipped, "I'd just… forgotten about it."

"Hmm," she raised and eyebrow, "Well, now you're reminded.

"Thanks."

"There's one last thing—"

There was always one last thing. Still unsettled, Sheppard put on his best obediently attentive expression.

"—I would appreciate if you could figure out a way to convince our wraith not to disassociate. In the interest of diplomacy, I'd rather not have to get creative with punishments. Also, as a Human, I found watching the footage… a little painful."

Major Sheppard was already nodding, "I'll try to think of something."

"In our species," Carson offered, "dissociation's typically a trauma response, so it's not surprising that watchin' it's a wee bit distressin'."

"Yeah," he admitted, "you should try being there."

"But Steve isn't 'uman," Beckett continued, "so we don' know wha' it means fer 'im." Setting his pen on his clipboard, he gave Sheppard a reassuring smile, "It's a lot ta take in, ah know." The doctor's tone suggested he had his own 'one last thing' to discuss, "But yesterday's accident may 'ave been more o' a blessin' than a mistake."

Oh, really? Ford dangling from a puddle jumper while they hid from the wraith was a blessing. "How so?"

Carson glanced at Weir, "It gave Steve a negative data point fer 'is study o' us. Somethin' dangerous 'e couldnae control tha' 'e coulda been blamed fer."

The expedition leader nodded, "He got to see how Atlantis reacts."

Sheppard nodded, "High stakes, I get that."

"Aye. An' seein' as 'ow within a few hours o' it 'appenin' 'e placed 'himself in a trance and had a go at voluntarily dissociatin'—"

"Both states," Weir caught Sheppard's eye meaningfully, "that place him in a physically vulnerable position without being knocked unconscious—" she placed deliberate emphasis on 'without'—

"Well," Carson shrugged slightly and shot Major Sheppard a subdued grin, "Heightmeyer thinks 'e may be startin' to relax."

…There was that name again.

"Ah heard ya 'ad a bit o' a long nap?"

In Atlantis's infirmary, the wraith's security detail was once more deployed along the walls between various pieces of neurology equipment. Dr. Kaile and Dr. Morgan were putting the finishing touches on the wires connecting Steve's electrodes to the eeg and the conglomeration of other devices feeding into the Ancient scanner. The crystal panels at the foot and head of the wraith's cot gleamed dully in the morning sunlight filtering in from a partially obscured window.

The wraith himself was on his best behavior again, sitting quietly, a study of obediently nonthreatening patience. Black leather creaked as he carefully shifted to watch Beckett. The headband of electrodes had been adjusted after the last session so that wires would be more easily kept away from the subject's face, but the snaking rig was still cumbersome. As the wraith turned, Dr. Morgan watched to make sure there was enough slack. He murmured something to Kaile, then made a few adjustments.

In the wake of Dr. Beckett's attempt at small talk, Steve's olive eyes studied the Scotsman unreadably. A moment later, they drifted away with a soft snort. The wraith's wire-laden head carefully faced forward again.

Ah, well, "It was only a question." Carson surveyed his checklist, reminding himself of the procedure they'd outlined. Today wasn't as cut and dried as last time.

"I'd prefer if you kept your inquiries related to the experiment."

Cheeky bugger. "Yer preference 'as been noted."

"Dr. Beckett," by the Ancient machine, Kaile was straightening, "We're ready."

"Right then," tucking the notepad into his labcoat, Carson took his place by the monitors. "Let's fire 'er up an' begin the baselines. Steve, are ye ready?"

The black-coated shoulders stiffened as Steve exhaled a long breath before clasping his hands in his lap. The glove's amber beads glittered briefly.

"I am ready."

Carson watched surreptitiously. The lichen skin at the corners of Steve's eyes crinkled with a quickly hidden wince when Kaile and Morgan booted the machines up. As their subject's seated form coalesced, Carson pretended he'd been watching the monitor. "An' 'ow was the electricity? Better 'an last time?"

"It was adequate."

"We grouped the wirin' to minimize the range o' the electrical fields as much as possible, but there's only so much we could—"

"I said, it was adequate."

"Ah know, but—"

A low hiss cut him off. "If you are attempting to elicit an emotional response for your control group, I'm afraid you will likely experience disappointment. That I now know what to expect makes su—" the wraith's eyes widened, then snapped to Beckett with what might've been shock, "…makes such things unlikely."

Dr. Beckett was smiling, "Frustration's also an emotion, Steve. Ah suspect if we rewind an' zoom in, we'll find we captured a bit."

Dr. Kaile was already checking the readings, "We've got a small hotspot."

Steve glanced to her, but stayed focused on Beckett, studying him unreadably. Perhaps appraisingly. Perhaps warily? There was a hint of hesitant uneasiness in the wraith's multi-tonal voice, "It… might be more properly categorized as annoyance."

"We prepped the compiler an' preloaded the calibration settin's before ye came in. Ah apologize for the deception."

With another long exhalation, Steve looked away. The beads glimmered again.

"Don' worry. Ah'll eventually run out o' tricks."

"Tricks," the wraith released a soft chuff, then shook his head slightly. The wires slipped and slid over his white hair, but stayed safely in place. His olive eyes slipped back to Dr. Beckett, sweeping him from head to foot a few times before settling on the floor and then abruptly snapping up. "It is only natural to seek a period of recuperation after engaging in activities requiring extended focus and exertion."

That… was an olive branch Carson hadn't been expecting. "Thank ye for tha'. Ah'm glad ye slept well."

An uneasy surveillance of Beckett's face followed. Then the wraith looked away.

Carson signaled Dr. Kaile, "Let's get back to the controls."

Glowing brain images magnified, taking over the widescreen, and Steve's attention riveted on the display with rapt fascination.

"If ye'd kindly calm yer mind, like ye did last time."

The generalized activity showing on various structures cooled. At the same time, the expected orange hotspot bloomed in the hypothalamus as Steve's pupils blew wide, drinking the shifting color patterns in…

"Thank ye very much." Carson ran through the sensory baselines, changing them up slightly and shuffling their order to prevent Steve from subconsciously preparing for them. A touch, sounds, odors—

"That is a cleansing agent. And this comment is speech."

Okay, so they didn't have complete control over the order.

"What is that?"

Dr. Morgan had brought in what looked like a ring box with a short, ball-tipped metal needle sticking up from it. Tiny sparks were dancing around its silver tip.

"Ah asked the physicists for a portable electrical field generator." Instead of a simple wire and battery circuit, Dr. Zelenka had given them a miniature Tesla coil.

Steve was eyeing is critically, "It is not too noisy?"

It was crackling and zapping more loudly than Carson would've liked, but he'd felt bad rejecting it. "We can do the wire afterwards, too. Just to be safe."

"Acceptable."

Steve's eyes narrowed, and the orifices on his cheeks constricted as the Tesla coil moved past them. When Carson followed the coil with a briefly unhooked wire, the wraith winced, jerking slightly back. Which was a far milder reaction than the last experiment.

Carson looked to Dr. Kaile, "Not as much reflex this time?"

She shook her head, "No."

"I was expecting it, Dr. Beckett," the wraith was eyeing Beckett critically now, "Is that a problem?"

"No." But the ability to easily suppress a reflex had interesting implications. "Please make a note tha' we should look for inhibitive indicators."

Dr Morgan made a note, "Done."

The next object was identical in appearance to the Tesla coil, but at the same time, conspicuously silent. Steve leaned forward, eyeing it. "Do you wish me to probe this?"

"No." Bringing the mystery item over to the cot, Carson positioned it about a foot from the wraith's face, keeping it in line with the edge of one black-glittering shoulder. The wraith's eyes studied it curiously before looking past the silver sphere to meet his gaze. "Ah apologize in advance. This might be disorientin'."

"I feel nothing."

"Aye, well… It isn't on yet." Reaching out, Beckett gave the tiny magnetic field generator a light tap.

Steve instantly reeled back

"Try not to move, please." Carson glanced over his shoulder, noting the yellow and orange splotches on the lower temporal lobes. He moved the generator in a slow, equidistant semi-circle, stopping in line with the wraith's other shoulder before slowly starting to move back. "Potential processin' o' magnetic sensory information appears to be located in lower temporal lobes as previously predicted."

On the cot, Steve had screwed his eyes shut with a grimace and was leaning back as far as the headband of electrodes' would allow, twisting his face away to keep his cheeks shielded from the generator as much as possible. The thin orifices hadn't constricted this time, but their edges were visibly quivering.

A low hiss, followed by an irritated growl, "Dr. Beckett…"

"We're getting reflex again," Kaile quietly called.

A dark shadow flitted at the corner of Beckett's vision, and he turned. Nothing. He turned back with a frown. Another shadow… Then wisps of darkness were suddenly sliding over the cot. "Steve, Ah didn' ask fer those yet."

"Turn it off!" Steve barked.

Around the infirmary, the security escort tensed as shadows curled up from the floor, filling the air with rapidly thickening black currents. Lieutenant Geerman's stunner lifted.

Beckett quickly tapped the magnetic generator off.

The wraith relaxed with an explosive gasp and opened his eyes, fixing Beckett with an accusing glare. "Do not do that!"

Ignoring the protest, Dr. Beckett noted Steve's heaving shoulders with interest. He was out of breath? "Were ye tryin' not to react?" The accusing glare turned incredulous. Steve bared his teeth slightly, but didn't say anything. As the wraith continued catching his breath, Beckett glanced to Dr. Kaile and Dr. Morgan, "Appears to 'ave been a telepathic defense response. Fascinatin'."

"It is not fascinating! It is uncomfortable!"

"Calm yer mind, Steve."

With a protesting, oddly out of breath hiss, Steve took a pair of long deep breaths and reclasped his hands in his lap. The gloves amber beads glittered briefly. Then the extraneous activity that'd begun muddying his brain images cooled.

Dr. Beckett waited for the baseline to stabilize, then signaled Dr. Morgan to bring in their new inert telepathic controls.

"Probe these items."

Steve obediently turned his gaze to the tray, "I cannot make contact."

"The spoons," Carson grinned, "Are no' there." Dr. Morgan took the tray with its pair of cafeteria spoons away. "As it should be."

"I don't understand your amusement."

"Tha's okay. It's irrelevant to the experiment."

The olive eyes slid past Beckett with disgust, fastening on the images again, "Was that the last of the controls?"

"Aye."

With a quiet shifting of leather, Steve moved his hands to his knees.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Dr. Beckett glanced down. The wraith was tapping his ungloved fingers on his left knee in a series of sharp, isolated movements. Pinky, ring, index, pointer, thumb. Quick delicate claw taps. "May ah ask wha' yer doin'?"

Eyes riveted to the screen, Steve muttered, "Running my own experiment. Unlike last time, I now have an understanding of what I'm looking at. This will help me fine tune it."

As he began repeating the pattern, Dr. Kaile caught Beckett's eye, indicating the monitor where the 3D images of the different structures were slowly orbiting each other.

The orange spot in the hypothalamus had intensified into red.

Deciding not to interrupt, (it was, after all, an unexpected set of free motor processing data), Dr. Beckett waited. Steve repeated the tapping pattern ten times, then reversed it. Another ten. Then he switched to tapping the gloved fingers of his feeding hand. Ten sets in one order. Ten the next. Then he ran ten sets with both hands simultaneously, mirroring each other. First pinky to thumb, then thumb to pinky. He stopped, then leaned back, reclasping his hands with an air of smug satisfaction.

"I am done."

"Ah'm guessing ye enjoyed tha'?" The wraith had narrowed his eyes, but the dark dilation of his pupils was readily visible beneath the pale lashes.

Steve's gaze slipped from the screen to Beckett with smug laziness, "Perhapssss… Perhaps not."

Right. Well, seeing as the wraith was running his own experiments and would likely ask about the hypothalamus in detail at some point, Beckett flicked his laser pointer to it. "Ah know ye enjoy bein' vague, Steve, but this dot 'ere says ye did."

The hypothalamus' pleasure center, which had been cooling back into orange, warmed briefly again as the wraith's attention snapped to it. Wires slid, catching on Steve's stiff black collar as he tilted his head. "That…?"

"It's the 'appy place," Carson shrugged, "Says a whole lot while also tellin' us very little. If ye were human, though, I'd say yer experiencin' a warm fuzzy feelin' right about now."

Beneath the headband, Steve's pale brow wrinkled with confusion, "Warm… fuzzy…?"

"Don' worry. Ah won' tell Major Sheppard."

The confusion vanished with a deadpan stare and unamused, lip-twitching chuff, "Continue with the experiment."

On the display, colors shifted. Dr. Kaile began flipping through images. "He just closed his mind."

"That is correct."

Beckett turned away, hiding a grin, "Dr. Morgan? We're ready."

Steve straightened eagerly as Dr. Morgan and a young physicist brought the tray in. The mattress squeaked as he leaned forward, studying both the tools and the unfamiliar face, "Who is this?"

Dr. Beckett glanced at the tech, who was pointedly engrossed with a scanner. Wary of the research subject, the young man had asked not to be identified. "Don't mind 'im. 'E's just 'ere to make sure they don' start broadcastin' a distress signal."

"A wise precaution…" Dismissing the tech as abruptly as he'd expressed interest, Steve snapped his attention to the gleaming finger guards resting on the silver tray. "How shall we begin? Should I probe them?"

"No," pulling a chair over so he'd have a good view of the wraith's delicately knit fingers, Carson sat and accepted the tray, "We're goin' to do this as safely as possible. Minimal telepathic contact wi' the signals."

"Good." There was approval in the intent eyes, "I was not looking forward to that exposure."

Yet the wraith had offered to receive it. Carson was once again impressed by the assumed commitment to scientific procedure.

"When ah give the signal, ye'll open yer mind. We'll wait thirty seconds. If they detect ye an' start broadcastin', ah'll place one o' 'em in yer hand. If they don' start broadcasting' on their own, ye'll probe 'em to trigger the signal, an' then ah'll place one in yer hand. We'll go from there, depending' on wha' we discover."

"First one, then the other?"

"Aye. We'll start wi' the big one."

"Very well."

"Dr. Beckett, could we renew the baseline? We've got extra variables."

Carson glanced at the screen briefly, then back to Steve. The intelligent eyes were riveted on the larger finger guard, flicking rapidly over its segmented sections and partial etching, "Ah know this is excitin', but—"

"Yes, yesss," a low hiss, the ivory hair swung with an acknowledging chin dip, "I will calm my mind." Steve closed his eyes, taking and exhaling a deep breath.

A few seconds passed…

"We're good to go, Carson."

"Thank ye, Doctor." Carson watched as the wraith's eyes slowly reopened, once more fastening on the silvery tools. There was a sedate watchfulness in the bright orbs that had been pointedly missing before. "Alright…" carefully lifting the larger tool by its middle segment, Dr. Beckett passed the tray back to Dr. Morgan, who squirreled it away, out of sight, and more importantly, out of the telepathic range they'd determined previously. "If ye'd now open yer mind, please."

The wraith didn't move, but Dr. Kaile called, "It's open."

Carson glanced at his watch.

They waited…

"Tha's thirty. Do ya 'ear anythin'?"

"No."

"Alright. Ye can probe it."

"I have done so." Steve stared at the gleaming metal, holding eerily still as Carson slowly lifted it.

"Palm up, please."

The slim fingers obediently turned, exposing the lichen spiderweb of lines crossing the wraith's palm. It looked just a human palm. Only… not. The translucent claws twitched as the metal artifact touched skin.

"There is a telepathic interface."

Carson blinked. That was quick. Almost instantaneous.

"May I adjust its position?"

Carson hesitated, "Is it necessary?"

"To access the interface, no. To begin feeding, yes."

"Aye. Do it."

The pale fingers closed over the smooth silver, aligning the segmented joints with Steve's wrist while avoiding the sharply curved talon. "I will assist with my other hand,"The wraith moved to make good on the statement, positioning his feeding hand over the artifact. The black-gloved fingers descended, then hesitated, "This adjustment may activate the feeding protocol. Shall I finish?"

"Aye."

The deadly feeding hand began descending again, then abruptly froze, thumb and index finger poised barely an inch from retrieving the waiting metal. Steve darted an uncertain glance at Beckett, "It occurs to me that these tools might react to touching the other artifact." His pale lips twitched with amusement, "I… had not thought of this…"

Crap. Carson crossed his arms, muttering, "Ah should 'ave thought o' this."

Steve withdrew his feeding hand, resettling the gloved fingers on his knee. "We will use your hand, Dr. Beckett. It does not react to you."

"My hand?" Beckett gave a little surprised, 'O'. "Alright. Improvisation. Wha'…uhh—"

"I was going to place the inside of this tool flush against the underside of this finger," Steve's index finger lifted slightly.

Carson took a deep breath, "Very well. 'Ere… we… go…" gingerly gripping the slowly warming metal, he pulled it up Steve's palm, settling it into place so that the razor-edged blade curled down over Steve's natural talon, making an odd circle. He glanced at the wraith's face. Steve had inhaled sharply when it made contact, apparently bracing himself… "Is it doin' anythin'?"

Steve's expression turned relieved, "It is requesting permission to feed." A calming hiss set his ivory hair swaying.

Not entirely involuntary then. (Telepathic siren signals that made a 'no' unlikely not withstanding.) "When yer ready, ye can give the wee beasties an 'aye'."

"Very well." Releasing another slow exhalation, Steve blinked, "Authorizing feeding." Steve instantly winced, and his black-clad torso jerked, then his breathing deepened and shortened, making his head sway. Aside from the suddenly erratic breathing pattern, he remained motionless.

"Possible pain center activation," Dr. Kaile offered. She was flipping images, still glued to the real-time activation fields on her monitors' neural maps.

"Could ye confirm tha' it hurts, Steve? It's a useful point for our sensory map."

The olive eyes skewered Carson disbelievingly, "It has created an incision in my skin in order to begin feeding, Dr. Beckett. Yes. It hurts."

"There's no need to be unpleasant. A simple 'Aye' will suffice."

Steve released a chuff of disgust, letting Beckett see teeth, "The feeling is unpleasant. I will allow the feeling to affect my voice if I so wish."

Carson held the challenging stare until the wraith looked away.

…

An uneasy silence filled the infirmary as the forced breathing continued.

Beckett glanced at his watch again.

After a minute and a half, the tension ebbed from the wraith's body, and Steve released a low, shaky hiss, "The pain is subsiding. I suspect it has begun producing a localized anesthetic…" His distressed inhalations began slowly evening out.

Sharing a look with Kaile, who confirmed the statement, Beckett quietly asked, "Is that common?"

The wraith turned hesitantly to face him, mouth open in a slow pant, "For tools such as this, yes…" he indicated his pair of metal claws with a flicking glance, "For what I'm actually wearing, no." Steve closed his eyes, averting his face again, "If it had been fully energized, it would likely have begun the process with anesthetization. That's how I… would've programmed it…" The crown of electrodes swayed. Then dipped. Then began falling forward as Steve's chin began slowly sliding down to his chest.

"Oh, crap!" Carson surged from his chair, catching the rough material covering the wraith's upper arms to keep him from toppling.

Steve startled at the touch, jerking up, staring unseeingly a moment before drifting forward again. He began listing sideways.

Carson braced himself as the wraith's weight fell into the list. Though slim and visually petit, his species' muscle density was several times more than a human's, meaning he was awkwardly heavy.

Startling at the increased contact, the wraith shook his head, sending white hair pattering across black leather and Beckett's sleeves. His eyes flicked open. Their oval pupils darted dazedly about, unfocused, confused. They cleared a bit, then fastened on Beckett with blinking startlement, "It is trying to lull me to sleep…!"

"Wi' anesthetic?" Carson tried pushing Steve up, but the wraith wasn't taking his weight back. "Ah need a blood kit!" he called.

"No—" Steve was shaking his head, sharp abbreviated movements accompanied by rapid blinking, like he was trying to clear dizziness, "It is telepathic." The unseeing look clouded back into his eyes, "It wishes to take its fill without letting me regulate it. Or perhaps… letting me know how much it takes. It is… unexpectedly voracious."

"Is it, now?!" Bloody Hell!

"If I were not recently rested, it would likely have succeeded. I'm now… attempting to block it…"

"Block it?" Carson grunted, adjusting his grip.

The answer whispered across the white cotton shoulder of Beckett's lab coat, where the wraith's chin was in danger of ending up. "Yes… a selective closing."

Selective mental closing? "Targeted ignoring as opposed to general?" Was the conversation seriously continuing like this? Despite the situation?! "Steve, Ah think we should stop—"

The weight pressing against Carson's hands abruptly vanished as Steve's body tensed. The wraith froze in place, retaining the awkward position.

"You're very close to my face, Dr. Beckett."

"Wha'?"

A bit of focus was returning to the incredibly near oval-pupiled eyes, "I suspect my guards are… not appreciative."

Drawing back, Dr. Beckett turned.

Half a dozen stunners were pointed at the wraith's cot.

"Oh, fer Christ's sake." Carson dropped back into his chair, exasperated. "'E was fallin' asleep. E's not goin' to bite mi face off."

Lieutenant Geerman wasn't impressed, "It could've been a trick, Doctor."

Bloody Hell… "Stan' down."

"With all do respect, Doctor, we can't do that."

A soft hiss, then, "I… believe I have blocked the signal."

Under the escort's intent scrutiny. slowly, ever so slowly, the wraith's lithe body drew back into a rigidly statuesque sitting position. The eloquent retreat then continued a few extra degrees, not stopping until it was clear that Steve was actively leaning away from Carson. The electrode-laden head turned deliberately aside, making it clear that Beckett was also no-longer in visual range either.

Which, given the visual component of telepathy, was both fascinatin' and oddly comical. Something about the pose reminded Carson of a cat trying to pretend it hadn't just been seen falling off a counter.

The wraith's gaze darted cautiously about, from walls to equipment, to lights, to the ceiling. Anything inanimate, nothing alive, skipping over and around the guards' and medical personnels' faces. He waited. Only when every stunner was lowered, and every marine had retreated to stand warily in their spot, did Steve sway out of his exaggerated leaning, and it was a few seconds longer on top of that before his averted face turned cautiously to survey the monitor and its slowly spinning images.

Dr. Beckett had a sneaky suspicion the wraith wasn't actually taking the images in, though, and his suspicion was confirmed when cautious glances began darting his way instead. The glances lengthened. Then the tension in the wraith's frame bled away as Steve fully faced him again. There was an enigmatic silence…

Then the slim shoulders shook with a lopsided chuckle.

Wonderful. Beckett retrieved his dignity. "Ye find this funny, do ye?"

Another chuckle. Steve's bemused gaze dropped to his hand, where the unassuming artifact was still silently feeding. "I'm finding my stay in Atlantis to be… ultimately hilarious." More chuckling. Then the mirth vanished as abruptly as it'd come. "What do you want me to do when it's finished? Shall I access the telepathic interface?"

"Aye." Beckett frowned, "'Ow long should a feedin' like this take?"

The segmented tool gleamed as Steve moved his finger a bit, "Not too much longer, I suspect. Most would already be done…"

They waited.

And waited…

It was almost fifteen minutes before the wraith finally looked up, "It is satiated."

Dr. Morgan noted the time.

"That… was significantly longer than I was expecting," Steve admitted. "I will now access the interface."

Everyone in the infirmary waited with baited breath.

A second later, the wraith sighed, "It is rejecting my mental signature." The pronouncement dripped with unconcealed disappointment, "It is unlikely that I'll be able to force access without additional equipment." Steve's pale brow furrowed with concentration as he stared unblinkingly at the artifact before finally hissing annoyance, "There are no exploitable gaps in the accessible coding."

Dr. Beckett studied the wraith with surprise, "Ye can see code like this?"

Steve gave him a sharp nod, "Yes. And manipulate it." There was dark amusement in his eyes as he added, "However, it is, admittedly, difficult."

Carson glanced at Dr. Kaile, then past her to the young physicist. Though glued to his scanner, the man was listening with obvious interest. There was no doubt in Dr. Beckett's mind that all of Atlantis would soon know Wraith could code telepathically.

A soft chuff drew his attention back to the living artifact.

"It is requesting permission to begin grafting protocols." Steve was frowning, "That is highly unusual given that it has otherwise denied access."

"Wha' are graftin' protocols?"

Holding the tool in place with his thumb, Steve flipped his hand over, revealing the silvery guards backing his middle and index fingers, "It wishes to merge with my biosystem, as these have done." His hand flipped palm up again, "It is…" the olive eyes widened, sparkling with amusement, "It is suggesting that I reconsider placement. Emotional impression is contained in the suggestion."

"Emotional impression?"

"Yesss…" Steve glanced excitedly at him, revealing freshly dilated pupils, "Though the content is impolite, this is highly sophisticated."

"Ye don' say?" Beckett was pretty sure he was now observing the wraith equivalent of 'geeking out'.

Steve chuckled dismissively, "I am denying permission." Glancing to his hand, he rocked the segmented metal back and forth, dislodging it from his finger and deftly rolling it into his palm. He made a soft rattling sound… "It has deactivated."

"Right 'en," Dr. Beckett carefully retrieved it. The metal had warmed. Whether from feeding or handling, he couldn't tell.

"Are we still doing the other?"

"Aye."

Dr. Morgan was already bringing the tray in. Beckett swapped the fed guard for the shorter, two-segmented tool, carefully avoiding the razor-sharp crescent blade.

"I will calm my mind." Steve leaned back, performing the increasingly-familiar long, slow exhalation. "…I am now closing it."

As Dr. Morgan vanished the tray again, Kaile studied her monitors. "He's ready.

"Thank ye." Dr. Beckett paused, fingering the tool, "For this one, Steve, ah'm makin' a small adjustment. If it does'nae broadcast, ah'll place it in yer hand wi'out ye probin' it first."

The wraith's expression turned speculative, "You wish to determine whether it has DNA activated touch sensors."

"Aye. If it does, it's safe to say the first one probably has 'em, too."

"That is likely correct." Steve's eyes fastened on the new tool.

Taking that as a cue, Dr. Becket glanced at his watch. "Alright. 'Ere we go. Please open yer mind."

And the experiment began again. Like before, the tool didn't notice the wraith at first, but when Carson placed it on Steve's palm, it immediately activated.

"DNA touch sensor confirmed."

Dr. Morgan noted the addition on his clipboard.

The same pattern played out. Beckett aligned the tool along the bottom of Steve's middle finger. The tool requested permission to feed. Steve fed it with a heavily breathing wince, and a minute and a half later, it'd acquired enough power to neutralize the pain, letting the wraith gratefully relax again. The telepathic sleep signal then appeared. Carson was ready to catch Steve this time, but the wraith was also expecting the trick and blocked it with a shake of his head and some light swaying.

"Easier to deal wi' when ye know wha' yer lookin' for?"

"That is correct—"

There was a flash of light. They both looked down at Steve's palm. Then as one they both watched with stupefied amazement as the crescent blade twitched, split in two, and swung in a pair of precise semi-circles, retracting into the metal etchings on the guard's back. Dr. Beckett and Steve stared…

The crescent blade, (or apparently blades), didn't re-emerge.

Ivory hair pattered against leather as Steve cocked his head, "This… may or may not have the capability of creating and dissolving blades. It may contain many patterns… A wide variety of functions… Possibly, whatever the wearer desires."

The restrained excitement in Steve's multi-tonal voice was infectious.

Carson was impressed, "Wha'? Ya mean, like a Swiss Army knife?"

"I am unfamili—"

Right, Pegasus Galaxy. "Nevermind. Ah apologi—"

"Imagine having your surgical kit at the tips of your fingers, Doctor, never having to stop what you're doing to switch tools or repair blades."

That… sounded fantastic, actually. Rodney was gonna flip!

The wraith gave a short laugh, followed by a low chuckle.

Surprised at hearing the wraith express vocal amusement twice within such a short period, (a very different sort of amusement, too, than the dark joke preceding the surgery), Carson grinned. His grin faltered, though, when the low chuckle repeated. There was an odd note in the musical sound. And Steve… hadn't untilted his head.

Beckett had a sinking feeling suddenly.

The odd chuckle came again, this time accompanied by the soft rattling sound Beckett remembered from earlier. The wraith froze, staring at the artifact. A shiver swept through his frame, starting in his torso. The chuckle came again, this time edged with hysteria.

"Dr. Beckett…" Steve listed slightly as he spoke, and his breathing shifted like a thrown switch, turning shallow and rapid, "I am feeling… inexplicably giddy…" The olive eyes swept over and past Carson, unable to stay with him for more than an instant or two before slipping away again, "…more than this discovery warrants."

Carson leaned in, firmly ordering, "Close yer mind!"

The olive eyes screwed shut as another chuckle escaped. "Already done… It's not having an effect." The observation dissolved into a spasm of quickly aborted laughter, and Steve braced himself with his feeding hand, shivering with poorly contained mirth. The strange rattling was filling the infirmary again.

"Now ah do need the blood kit!"

"It's here, Carson!" Dr. Kaile bolted for the unused cart that'd been brought in when Beckett originally called for it.

"It… is possible—"

Carson grabbed the syringe off the plastic tray Kaile offered, already reaching for the wraith's wrist, "The two anesthetics mixed to create somethin' new?!" The patterns etched into the tools' backs' indicated they were definitely meant to be worn together.

"—Yes…"

He uncapped the needle with his teeth while palpating veins with his thumb, then filled the syringe with Steve's dark blood. The syringe clicked back onto its tray. "Get tha' analyzed stat!"

The wraith had leaned far away when Beckett grabbed his wrist, and was now braced on his elbow. As the blood sample vanished into the next room, he looked back over his shoulder, watching the Doctor exaggeratedly from over his glittering epaulet. "I'm attempting to be non-threatening. Is it working?" He spasmed with laughter.

Carson sighed, ignoring the cluster of stunners that were once again pointed at them, "Aye. Ah'm not frightened o' ye."

"You should be." More laughter.

"He's right, Doctor." Lieutenant Geerman was not amused.

Looking at Beckett was apparently incredibly funny, because Steve was suddenly unable to do it without screwing his eyes shut and bursting into laughter. The wraith solved this problem the same way he'd solved the stunner problem earlier. Looking at the opposite wall and not making eye contact with anything.

"I think we should unhook him," Kaile was watching the crown of electrodes worriedly."

Beckett started to nod, "Ah think ah—"

"No!" The sharp bark would've been impressive if it hadn't been followed by mutli-tonal giggling, "I will try something." Lieutenant Geerman stepped closer, lifting his stunner higher as Steve straightened with exaggerated care, visibly struggling to control his breath. "You wish to learn about this artifact, do you not?"

There was a reckless challenge in the wraith's voice as he lifted his feeding hand, deliberately displaying the Ancient glove.

Geerman paused, glancing at Beckett.

Seeing evidence of hysteria and discombobulated amusement in the wraith's face, but nothing resembling actual aggression, Carson quietly stated, "Please move back, Lieutenant."

Giving Dr. Beckett a pointed stare that clearly said, 'alright for now, but I'll intervene if I see fit', Lieutenant Geerman backed off a few paces.

Steve watched his retreat with unconcealed pleasure. Then swayed, refocusing his reckless challenge on Beckett. "You also wish to learn about wraith feeding," wracked by a spasmodic chuckle, Steve screwed his eyes shut, "As you pointed out last time, the two are inextricably linked," the rattling noise rose and fell, "I…"

Beckett waited patiently as he trailed off. The rattling faded…

Successfully vanquishing that particular mirth attack, the wraith forced his eyes open, pointedly staring at Carson. "I will give you three data points related to feeding, Dr. Beckett," Steve's translucent teeth bared in a daring grin, "I will, however, leave the interpretation of those points," his slim torso shook with repressed laughter and sudden panting, "up to you." He dissolved into chuckling. Then snapped his face up, shaking his head. "Are you ready?"

"Aye." The data was going to be muddy as Hell, but…

"One." Steve's eyes slid over the glove, watching with rapt fascination as the amber beads set in the black material flickered briefly.

A period of eerie stillness…

The wraith caught Carson's eye. "Two." The beads pulsed softly with sustained light, casting amber shadows on the inky fabric. The warm glow slowly faded.

More eerie stillness.

The Ancient glove shifted, moving slowly until it was between Carson and the wraith. Steve sighted along it, lining it up with the Scotsman's chest while accompanying the exaggerated show with a disturbing tilt of his head. His wide nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, and the orifice's on his cheeks quivered. He met Carson's quietly impassive gaze with another daring grin.

"Three." Baring translucent teeth, Steve pressed his palm out while drawing his gloved fingers back. Light blazed from Ancient beads, white hot flares that were hard to look at. Steve's chin dropped to his chest as he snapped his eyes shut, taking a series of deep, tight-lipped inhalations that set his torso heaving.

On the large wide screen, Steve's brain lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree.

Dr. Kaile and Dr. Morgan looked up at the images of the mass activation event with dismay. It would take weeks to unravel it!

As quickly as they'd snapped on, the beads' light vanished. Black fingers twitched as Steve's feeding hand slowly relaxed. It drifted down, blending into dark leather as it settled palm up on the wraith's lap. On the monitor, the multitude of hotspots began cooling…

"Are you afraid of me now, Dr. Beckett?" The question hissed, smug with satisfaction, yet at the same time shaky with something unreadable.

"No, Steve, Ah'm not afraid of ye."

The quiet response dropped like a pebble into the silent shock of Atlantis' infirmary.

The olive eyes opened, flicking to the Scotsman's calm, unassuming face. Carson held their gaze, waiting for the wraith's breathing to slow. Waiting for his chest to stop heaving. Waiting… for the barely perceptible shivers that he'd noticed slowly worsening in the wraith's limbs (while he was still laughing), to stop…

"Are ye alright now?"

Steve's eyes slipped down as he evaluated the question with matching seriousness. After a few long moments and tentatively slow, even breaths, he dipped his face in an enigmatic nod.

"May ah assume ye exploited one o' the regenerative properties o' the feedin' process? To clear the drug out?"

Another slow dip set Steve's hair swinging. The white strands brushed his ungloved fingers, which opened, revealing the segmented silver trap. His glance slipped back to Beckett, "I… am beginning to dislike the maker of these artifacts."

With a deliberate upending of Steve's palm, the now-bladeless tool hit the mattress with disgust.

"You're just good at getting into trouble, aren't cha?"

"To what trouble are you referring, Major?"

Footsteps were echoing in Atlantis' stairwell again. The security escort was delivering the wraith to his holding cell.

"Oh, ya know," Sheppard kept his voice nonchalant, "Gettin' caught, gettin' stunned. Gettin' put in a cage, triggering telepathic traps. Gettin' covered in fish guts. Gettin' drugged—"

"Is there a point to this?" The wraith's tone was unreadable.

Well, Sheppard was actually hoping for another existentialism, but… Meh. "Not particularly." He'd been given a brief recount of the aborted experiment, but he hadn't decided how to handle it yet, so…

"The second tool wasn't allowed to fully energize."

Major Sheppard shot a glance over his shoulder.

Staring at Geerman's back, Steve didn't acknowledge him. "It will last for a while, but the power variance should be noted for future consideration."

Still worried about the artifacts, even after everything that'd just happened. "Steve, you do realize, those things coulda killed ya. Right?"

No response.

"Just… figured I should point that out."

A low hiss. "You're observation is noted."

Cute. The escort spilled out from the stairwell's alcove into the holding area, reforming the semi-circle they'd created for the previous search. The wraith took his place in the center with an air of resigned distaste, standing stock still after resolutely straightening his shoulders. Major Sheppard turned, reclaiming his position directly in front of him, and the wraith's eyes tracked to him unreadably, flicking briefly to Geerman as the Lieutenant took what had earlier been Lieutenant Ford's spot.

"I assume we are doing this again?"

"Every time."

The wraith's lips twitched. Then he looked up over Major Sheppard's shoulder.

Before the mental teleporter could take Steve on his private beach vacation, Sheppard purposely stepped into the wraith's personal space.

The unfocused glaze forming in Steve's eyes dissipated.

Major Sheppard made a show of studying the form-fitting coat's straps, pretending not to notice the growing barrage of wary glances raining down on him. If he'd done this right, the wraith was very confused.

Confused… And curious.

"What are you doing?"

Perfect.

Sheppard reached for a strap, "Well, ya didn't seem to like being touched by my subordinates…" he tested a buckle, "so I figured I'd try something different."

A disbelieving chuff.

"How did Ford—Wait," briefly stymied by the weird, buttony-ish round thing, Sheppard managed to release the odd fastener, "Got it." He unthreaded the thick leather, moving onto the next, "These are kinda cool, aren't they?"

"It is all the same temperature."

Sheppard released the second buttony-thing, "That's not what I meant."

The black leather slipped from its channel, accompanied by a snort. "I am your Death, Major Sheppard."

Sheppard nodded, deliberately giving the third fastener a slightly-firmer than necessary, but only slightly-firmer, tug, "Yeah. A Death I'm… currently undressing."

A protesting, "Hissssssssssss…!"

"Hey!" Sheppard growled, giving Steve's affronted glare a chastising stare.

Steve's face snapped quickly back to its original position. The barrage of sideways glances resumed.

Sheppard tackled the shoulder strap, "I still prefer Steve, though."

No response.

Pushing some white hair aside, (it was unexpectedly soft, but then hair often was, so… meh), Major Sheppard tugged the diagonal piece out and loosened the jacket's edges. He made a show of examining the lining as he folded a side open. There were a few lightly padded areas… A quick glance told him some of those areas might be aligned with seams on Steve's thinner undergarments… Another quick glance told him—

—That the wraith was giving him a sidelong death glare.

He hadn't dissociated, though. They were still good.

"Why are you doing this?"

And that… was a tone of unconcealed bafflement that McKay hadn't managed to patent yet. Sheppard shrugged, "Well, Ford was busy."

Steve snorted in disgust.

Signaling the marines on jacket duty, Sheppard loosened the sleeves, "I don't see why you're so annoyed, Steve." He carefully guided the wraith's arms out as the two helpers peeled the heavy material away. "I mean, ya had to know we would do something."

The ivory hair rippled with tiny, disbelieving vibrations, "I am not a Tactician, Major Sheppard. I believe I have already told you that."

Sheppard nodded, touching his next target with a curious finger, "Yeah, I remember." The wraith's shirt thingy—no thingies… were interesting. "Bit of layering going on here. Cool." Keeping with the whole segmented bug theme…

Steve had ignored his last comment.

"How was I to predict that what you would come up with would be so…" he trailed off, a disbelieving, multi-tonal loss that made Sheppard suppress a grin.

"Annoying?" He offered. Then he tugged one of the strangely shaped layers free, proud that he'd managed to figure out how it'd been held in place.

The predatory eyes skewered him.

"Petty." The word slapped with an affronted splat.

Petty, huh? He worked another layer off.

"And invasive."

Hmmm. Invasively petty. Sheppard kinda liked that.

"What purpose can this possibly serve?"

And they were off. (The top clothes, that is.)

A little dance involving the wraith's bottom half ensued, performed to the tune of a rhythmic stream of complaining insults; Steve shifting his weight, passively assisting with the removal of everything else, steadfastly protesting the senselessness of the experience, and Major Sheppard marveling at the perfect timing of each tiny movement while deliberately overlooking the fact that Steve had been specifically ordered not to assist. (Because, aside from being bizarrely amusing when paired with the commentary, it was actually making the awkward procedure a lot easier.)

By the time the wraith was fully stripped, Major Sheppard was forced to admit that he was actually enjoying the idiocy of it. The insults, the Death glares, the way Steve tried smugly staring him down when he moved onto the hair search—

"You'll be the first that I feed upon."

Hadn't heard that in a while. Sheppard side-stepped the wraith's bare shoulders, "Sorry, Steve. It's just not that intimidating right now. If you know what I—"

Then the fun ended.

Holding handfuls of slippery white strands up, Sheppard froze as his stomach dropped. "What are these?"

Steve's body didn't move, but his face snapped sideways, "Do not touch them!"

There were… little dots of black, iridescent-sheened shell on Steve's back. Tiny caps covering the tips of his vertebrae, tracing a connect-the-dots pattern along his spine. The largest was no bigger than a quarter, and the smallest were almost invisible. Sheppard hadn't seen them last time because he'd been facing the wraith's front.

"I wasn't going to." Something in Sheppard was morbidly tempted, but, "They just… reminded me of something." A two-foot long, black-shelled, suck his life out through a pair of pincers embedded in his neck kinda something.

"They are vestigial remnants of a primitive ancestor."

Vestigial remnants… "…cool." Sheppard tried to keep the vestigial remnants of queasy nausea out of his voice.

The way Steve went eerily still told Sheppard he hadn't succeeded.

"What do they remind you of?"

"Nothing." He went back to searching the wraith's hair, "Just an… unpleasant experience."

"Like the one I am having?"

"Not in the slightest."

Not finding anything in Steve's braids, Sheppard signaled Geerman to return the pointy shoes and neatly folded pile of contraband-free clothes. As the wraith re-dressed, he used the opportunity to closely examine the heavy coat. It was flexible and worn soft, but meticulously maintained… The light padding in the lining he'd noted earlier continued in symmetrical patterns around the chest and waist sections, and would also end up resting against Steve's sides and back. Sheppard assumed the arrangement was comfortable, but maybe not for human anatomy. …Huh. Weird.

He fingered the lining's edge. It gave no tactile sign of containing nutrient fluid.

…Also weird.

"May I have my coat, Major Sheppard?"

Sheppard slipped his hands over the faceted epaulets and hefted it up, preparing to help Steve slip into it. Then he stopped. There was a warning bell going off in his head. He gave the jacket a quick re-examination, trying to figure out what his subconscious was screaming about…

In the process, he quite literally put his finger on it.

"Uh, Steve…?" Sheppard let a hint of warning color his voice as he fingered the unblemished leather of the coats upper chest panels, "Shouldn't this, ya know, have a few, I don't know… bullet holes in it?"

Enigmatic olive eyes blinked at him.

"I only ask 'cause, well… I'm pretty sure we shot you a couple times when we brought you in." Sheppard was also pretty sure that, (up until recently at least), those bullet holes had still been there.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talkin—"

"Cut the crap."

A double blink. Steve tried staring him down.

Decidedly unamused, Sheppard stared down the stare down. "If you don't start talking, Steve, you're not getting your coat back."

Steve bared his teeth with a frosty hiss. Then, somehow managing to look stately and statuesque despite his lack of the requisite 'Scourge-of-the-Pegasus-Galaxy' uniform, he indicated the holding cell with an elegant sweep of his chin. "That vessel contained traces of an elemental compound that assists in activating repair functions. As my nutrient resources are considerably limited—far more limited than your own—Upon learning it was to be discarded, I saw no reason to waste it."

Sheppard stared at the cell, taking quick inventory.

"Let me get this straight. You stole Carson's Xex tube so you could fix your jacket."

The elegant chin sweep resumed, carrying the arrogant, oval-pupiled stare back to Sheppard. "Yesss…."

…

God Dammit! What the Hell, Steve!