Chapter Twenty-One: Tactical Error – Part Four

3 years, 47 and ½ weeks earlier

"You gave it BACK to him?!" Dr. Weir rounded on Sheppard in disbelief, "What the Hell were you thinking!?"

"I don't know!" Sheppard threw his hands up, still baffled by the decision himself, "It was a—a spur of the moment thing!" Yeah! That! "I told him he couldn't have it back if he didn't talk, and he talked!" He'd practically kicked himself all the way to her office afterwards, but—

"So if Wraith simply explained why they ate people, you'd let them?"

"That's entirely different."

She stared.

Sheppard recognized defeat when it glared at him, "What can I say. Steve apparently…" he dropped his hands, frustratedly finishing, "likes his jacket." It sounded lame even as he said it.

"He likes his jacket."

Sheppard grimaced.

Predictably, Elizabeth Weir wasn't impressed. "Our prisoner's outfit contains nutrient fluid and self-repair functions. At the bare minimum, at the very least, Major, I want Rodney and Carson both to examine it. And then—ONLY then—will I reconsider MAYBE—and I mean maybe, Major—a very SLIM maybe at that—letting him keep it."

"That's perfectly fair."

"Get it out of the cell."

Sheppard nodded consent.

"NOW, Major."

"Okay, I'm on it."

As he jogged out her office door, Dr. Weir leaned over her desk, shaking her head.

A short while later, the garment of contention was laid out on a metal table in the science lab with a pair of Ancient life sign detectors and an array of scanners sweeping over it.

"This is astonishing," Zelenka's understated excitement belied his enthusiasm. "The entire coat, every part, is a life sign."

"One big tiny life sign," Rodney wasn't as impressed.

"Mmm, yes, that is true." The coat's reading was so faint, they'd had to recalibrate sensors to detect it.

"It's practically negligible." McKay was shaking his head, "I don't see how it's useful. What can he possibly do with it?"

The Czech shot him a quizzical glance, "You think it's harmless?"

Dr. McKay adjusted his LSD settings, "There's no metal. No strange energy. Nothing resembling circuitry—"

"We don't know much about wraith organic technology yet."

"True." Swapping the LSD for a handheld EMF reader, McKay waved it over the coat a few times, "This thing makes me feel like a Ghostbuster… Very faint EMF field, in keeping with the size of the LSD readings." He made a note on his tablet while shoving the EMF reader absently towards Zelenka. "Let's run the data through a few simulators and pass the coat off to Carson. See if he can work some organic surgery Voodoo on it. Maybe get a few X-rays."

"I'm still surprised that the buckles aren't metal."

"Yeah," McKay shrugged, scooping the jacket up, "Maybe Carson can shed some light on that, too." He grinned suddenly, making a 180-subject turn of mischievous twinkling, "But more importantly… Who do you think should return to Earth?"

"Uhh…" Zelenka quickly reoriented his side of the conversation, "I'm not qualified to decide that. But given the choice, I'd prefer to stay here."

McKay blinked, "Really?"

The Czech gave a short nod. "If something went wrong, and I couldn't come back, I'd spend the rest of my life kicking myself for stupidity."

"Oh. I guess I… hadn't considered that yet. Huh…"

"It's definitely alive. There's a thin layer of undifferentiated cells sandwiched throughout the material." Dr. Beckett pushed the jacket's chest open, exposing the lightly padded swirls to the Ancient scanner. With the flick of a finger, he zoomed in, magnifying a cross-section of the textured cushioning. He dragged the magnified area around, noting changes, "The cell's are closer to the inner surfaces 'ere, an' there's a 'higher fluid density." The magnifier swept over the jacket's inner spine, which was also padded, "Given the placement, ah'd guess any nutrient circulation is passive."

On the glowing crystal display, a blue light flashed.

Beckett paused, then swept the magnifier back to the padding he'd just checked, "This bit 'ere's readin' a more porous surface," He checked the matching symmetrical pattern on the chest's other side, "Same 'ere…"

"We've got the spectroscopy from the buckles, Doctor," a med tech offered Carson a datapad, "Your initial impression was right. It's a type of shell matrix."

"Wonderful," he gave the breakdown of wavelength absorptions a once over, then handed the pad back, "'Ave tha' sent down to Chemistry fer an in-depth analysis."

"On it."

"Thank ye." Dr. Beckett dragged his magnifier further along the coat, "Bit o' extra fluid density in the waist… Ah imagine the straps aren't solely aesthethic. Might be a sort o' pressure function." He followed the padded seams down the flaring panels, watching the cross-section shift as extra patches of material thinned and vanished. "Not as much transfer potential 'ere. Might be relyin' on gravity… The fluid 'ere's mostly concentrated in edge seams." He adjusted the settings, "Life signs also fainter. Cell's are showin' symptoms o' partial desiccation…"

Carson leaned back, letting go of the magnifier, "If ah 'ad to guess, ah'd say it's just wha' it seems. Regenerative gear worn by a bein' who lives a very long life." He glanced at Dr. Morgan, who was carefully drawing a sample of clear fluid from a long edge seam. "When ye finish tha', see if ye can get a few cells. Not too many, though. Ah don't want to damage it." The cell layer was very thin.

Not taking his eyes from his task, Dr. Morgan nodded, "I think I can get a few from the padding." He paused, slowly sliding the needle out, then added, "Not to change the subject, but did you hear what SGA-1 found while this jacket's owner was sleeping?"

Carson gave a short laugh, "Aye, an' before ye go askin' if Ah'll go back, it's a no. A straight, simple, an' forward 'No.'" He shook his head, "It was 'ard enough leavin' mi mum the first time. Ah cannae take tha' sort o' blubberin' again so soon," he nodded determinedly, "Ah'd rather give it another month or two."

Dr. Morgan laughed, "I understand."

"Dr. Beckett!"

They both turned as Dr. Kaile jogged in, slightly out of breath, waving a data pad with an excited grin, "I have the results from the prisoner's blood sample."

"Those tools are a nightmare. An' quite possibly, literally."

In the conference room, Dr. Weir crossed her arms, trying to process what she'd just heard. "You're saying the tools lure a wraith in. They trick the wraith into feeding them. And then, since the wraith doesn't have the right telepathic signature, they put him to sleep and proceed to dose him with mind altering drugs."

"Aye," Carson nodded, "Tha's exactly wha' ah'm sayin'."

Weir looked around, seeing her disbelief mirrored in the faces of everyone else present, "Doesn't that strike you as a little overkill?"

"Oh, aye. Definitely overkill. An given our prisoner's reaction, ah suspect he agrees." The look on Steve's face when he dumped the finger guard onto the cot would likely be engraved in Carson's memory for eternity.

"I don't know about anyone else," interjected Sheppard, copying Weir's pose, "but I'm starting to get awfully curious about what's in those tools."

"As am I," Teyla added.

"You and me three," McKay muttered, "I'm especially interested in the fact that there's 'accessible code' involving a telepathic interface, but for some reason that's apparently not the discussion we're having."

"Well, perhaps if you harnessed the power of your mind so we had an actual chance of exploring it…" Sheppard let the reminder of Atlantis' inability to even verify that the code existed, much less analysis and manipulate it, hang in the air like a blinking idiot sign for a second. "If you manage to do that, I'm sure we could bump it up the priority list."

"Cute," Rodney wasn't amused.

"I'm just saying."

Dr. Weir shot her military commander and chief scientist a chastising look before steering back to Dr. Beckett. "What exactly do these drugs do?"

"Ah don't know exactly," Carson gave an apologetic half-smile, "Wha' I do know, is tha' each tool makes a separate compound, and when they combine in the bloodstream, they hook together an' start triggerin' the production o' a cocktail o' neurotransmitters an' inhibitors. We don' know enough about Wraith biochemistry, much less neurochemistry, to say wha' those neurotransmitters an' inhibitors do, but the early symptoms are euphoria, respiratory changes, and mild physical disorientation."

Dr. Weir was intrigued, "Only physical, not mental?"

"Aye," Carson nodded, "It was 'hard to tell, an' ah might be wrong, but Steve didn't seem to lose any faculties or awareness o' wha' was goin' on around 'im."

"No," Sheppard quipped, "He was just debilitated by uncontrollable laughter."

Beckett ignored the flip tone, "Actually, from wha' ah could see, 'e did a pretty good job o' controllin' it. Once 'e'd figured out sommat was wrong."

Teyla Emmagen was frowning, "What would be the purpose of putting the prisoner to sleep before altering his mind?"

"Maybe to stop him from noticing?" Lieutenant Ford shifted uncertainly, "I mean, if he was managing to control it…"

"Controllin' mighta been a strong term," Beckett corrected, "It was more like, 'e was able to 'andle it long enough ta find a solution."

"And that solution was feeding."

The Athosian's observation settled in the conference room uneasily.

Carson held Teyla's quietly pointed stare for a moment before shifting uncomfortably and looking around the table, "Aye. Ah've never felt so much like a Tootsie Pop."

Major Sheppard grimaced, "He was messing with you."

"Definitely," Carson agreed.

Dr. McKay looked like he'd eaten a sour grape, "One, two, three—I saw the tape. It was… macabre."

Lieutenant Ford swallowed.

"What would have happened if our prisoner hadn't been awake to feed?" Teyla pressed.

Beckett considered her question a moment. "The compounds would o' built up in 'is system, an' done wha'ever they were designed to do. 'E was beginnin' to show signs o' motor disruption—"

"Wait," McKay griped, "Put him to sleep and THEN incapacitate him? How does that—It's blatantly redundant?"

"—Ah know, Rodney. Like ah said, we don' know how Wraith work." Carson turned to Dr. Weir, "The respiratory changes may o' been part o' a larger metabolic shift, which might possibly explain it, but ah've no way o' verifyin' tha' wi'out exposin' our prisoner again."

"I'd rather not do that," Weir said. A repeat of the Hoffan disaster was not on Atlantis's agenda.

"Ah agree."

Sheppard also agreed. (Silently.) If he was gonna kill wraith, he preferred to do so on purpose. Not by accident.

"So we're back to square one, then," McKay huffed, "We can't figure out what the drug does without testing it, and we can't figure out what it's for without knowing what it does."

"Exactly."

"Beautiful," Dr. McKay subsided with annoyance.

"Okay," Major Sheppard leaned forward, "Steve got a little buzzed, fixed it with a snack, and now one of the tools is fully charged, but the other's got a low battery. Should we worry about fixing that?"

Dr. Weir's eyes narrowed disapprovingly as Lieutenant Ford tried not laugh.

Sheppard blinked innocently, "What?"

Dr. Beckett frowned, "Are ye suggestin' we ask Steve to finish feeding the second one?"

"Well, if it needs both compounds to work, there's no harm, right?"

"In theory, aye," Carson tapped his report, "but we only took one blood sample. There's a chance tha' both compounds were made by the second tool." The Scotsman looked seriously around the table, "It's unlikely, mind ye, an' ah'm personally bettin' against it. But it is, technically, possible."

"Alright, then," Weir clasped her hands in front of her on the polished surface, "From previous exchanges with the prisoner, we know the tools will last a long time with low power. The fact that they're still functional already proves that. I think it's then safe to say, we don't have to decide about feeding the second one right this instant." She looked around the table, inviting disagreement. When none was offered, Dr. Weir continued, "What's more pressing, is our prisoner's jacket. What does it do, how dangerous is it, and should we risk giving it back to him?"

"Oo, I can answer that," Dr. McKay grinned, "I don't know, probably not much, and sure, what the heck."

Dr. Weir raised an eyebrow, "That's not very enlightening, Rodney."

"Yes, well, neither was my investigation," he turned serious with a huff, "The jacket's alive. It's completely organic. The leather's not leather, and the buckles aren't metal. It's loaded with nutrient fluid that can probably be used for computer repairs, and aside from that, it contains nothing resembling conventional circuity. Without knowing the basic DNA building blocks of Wraith technology, I can't draw any definite conclusions as to whether it's hiding something tech related."

"Whoa," Major Sheppard's hands lifted in a slow down motion, "How does DNA come into this?"

By way of an answer McKay gave a deadpan tilt of his head while gesturing to Beckett again, "Take it away, Carson. It's all you."

"Right…" Carson switched his reports, "Wraith technology is alive, so it's made o' cells. Those cells start off undifferentiated, then become certain types o' cells dependin' on which signals they receive. A cell from one part o' a Wraith device will 'ave the DNA needed to create the device's other organs—"

"I can't believe we're calling computer parts organs," McKay looked pained.

"—Our prisoner's jacket contain's a thin layer o' undifferentiated cells. Ah would 'ave to sequence DNA taken from multiple cells located in different parts o' the coat an' compare tha' DNA to sequences taken from differentiated cells, an' then cross-reference the lot wi' a database o' Wraith computer genes to know if the coat contains DNA tha' could be useful in a technical situation—"

"Meaning, if Steve could grow a computer part in his cell, which he can't since he doesn't have incubators—"

"—But o' course, the glarin'est problem we 'ave—"

"Wait, that's not a word. 'Glaringest?'" It was Sheppard this time.

"—Is tha' Atlantis 'asn't created a database of the Wraith Tech Genome yet. Ah'd like permission to start makin' one."

A silence settled over the conference room.

Then…

"You mean… like the Human Genome Project?" Lieutenant Ford hesitantly asked, glancing about.

Carson smiled, "Aye. Except ours'll be Wraith."

Ford's voice was heavy with skepticism, "But isn't that, like… a massive undertaking?"

"Oh, aye." Beckett twinkled brightly, instantly warming to the topic, "Earth's been workin' on our own DNA for decades. But we…" he pointed up and down, indicating the city proudly, "'ave the 'elp o' Atlantis' Ancient technology. It's acceleratin' our progress." He turned to Weir, "Ah've already begun sequencing the DNA from the 'arddrive, an' Dr. Morgan's preparin' the first o' the coat's samples as we speak."

Dr. Weir leaned forward thoughtfully, "When you say accelerating…?"

"Ah mean months an' years instead o' years an' decades."

"So we're still speaking about a long process," she mused.

"Aye—"

"Yes," McKay interjected, "But it's the sort of thing you can have running in the background while tossing in new scraps to eat now and then. Look," he fixed Weir and Sheppard with intent seriousness, "It is vitally important that from now on we collect samples from every piece of Wraith tech we find. Computers, walls, broken bits of ceiling—everything. I mean everything—So we can flesh this database out."

"Broken bits of ceiling?" Sheppard wasn't terribly thrilled.

"Yes. Everything with cells. Carson just finished saying that."

"You think," there was uncertainty on Teyla Emmagen's face, "This database will help us to understand Wraith technology on a deeper level?"

"Yes," McKay nodded.

"To what purpose? Beyond what we're already pursuing?" The Athosian glanced around the table, confused, "I thought we were already doing this?"

"I don't know about you, but I haven't collected any ceilings yet."

Dr. Weir gave Major Sheppard a warning glance.

McKay ignored the interruption, "And to some extent we are," he huffed, "But until now we've been concentrating on Wraith internal systems. Not the surrounding infrastructure. This would organize and expand everything. If we can manage to catalogue all these Wraith DNA blueprints—"

"Wha' Rodney's gettin' at—No offense, Rodney—"

"—None taken. Please, take it away with the bio-speak—"

"—is tha' wi' the rotten lab bein' desalinated, an' the potential o' Atlantis regrowin' all o' its incubators from scratch," Carson shrugged, "If we 'ave this database ready ta go when tha' lab comes online, 'owever long tha' might take, we might be able to design an' grow our own organic systems. Wi'out relying on scavengin' fresh 'arddrives fer DNA maps. This is very far into the future, mind ye."

"I'm for it," Dr. Weir didn't hesitate, "seeing as we already collect samples, and providing it doesn't divert resources from Atlantis' current priorities."

"Like Rodney said," Carson agreed, "It's basically runnin' tests in the background."

"Then do it," The expedition leader looked around the conference room with disbelieving amusement, "Now, unless I'm mistaken, we were talking about a jacket?"

"Coulda fooled me," muttered Ford.

"I agree," Sheppard shot his Lieutenant a commiserating glance, "So, Steve's jacket's alive?"

"Aye, minimally," Carson slid a data pad onto the table, and the members of SGA-1 scooted closer together to look. Its screen showed some highlighted cross-sections and a map of the coat's life-sign intensities. "Wit' the exception o' the areas surroundin' where the bullet 'oles used to be, the cells are basically dormant."

Teyla pulled it closer, for a better view, "It only activates to repair itself."

"From wha' we can tell, yes. But wi'out analyzing the DNA, there's no way to know for sure."

Getting up, Dr. Weir came around the table and joined them, "What's powering it?"

"Near as ah can tell?" Carson shrugged, "It's internal nutrient supply, an' Steve's body. It hugs 'is ribs, diaphragm, and chest, so the nutrients circulate when 'e moves an' breathes." Dr. Beckett hesitated, then added, "It may also be passively feedin' off 'im, but ah'd 'ave to take a look at 'is other clothes to be sure."

"Wait, what?" Major Sheppard studied the image with disbelief.

"Every livin' creature secretes things, Major. Oils, hormones, dead skin cells. There's no reason ta think Wraith aren't the same. Some o' the jacket's interior pieces 'ave the potential for absorbin' shed macro-molecules."

"It would make sense," Dr. McKay added, "the rotting lab was fueled by a huge composting tank. It would be in keeping with that recycling design."

Sheppard was impressed, "These guys really do make the most of everything…"

Dr. Weir was frowning, "So it's alive, it may or may not have additional functions, and it may or may not be able to survive on its own."

"Aye," Carson met her gaze worriedly, "There's the possibility tha' 'angin' it on a hanger an' stickin' it in storage may eventually cause it to go septic."

Dr. McKay grimaced, "First septic computers, now septic clothing."

"Kinda puts a damper on the idea of confiscating it…" Sheppard muttered.

Lieutenant Ford could't help himself, "We could all take turns wearing it."

Teyla chuckled, "I… don't think our allies would appreciate that."

"Oh! I wasn't suggesting we wear it off-world—"

"Diplomatic disasters aside," Sheppard mused, looking appraisingly at Ford, "I don't think it would fit."

"Yeah, Steve's kinda skinny," McKay quipped, "Can we get back on track?"

"Sure. Where's the track?"

McKay rolled his eyes.

Dr. Weir looked at Carson, "I've heard Rodney's opinion, and Major Sheppard's already given the prisoner's jacket back to him once.—"

(Sheppard pointedly ignored the reminder.)

"—What's your opinion, Doctor?"

"My opinion?" He took a long thoughtful breath. "Ah think we should give it back. But not fer the reasons we've mentioned."

"What other reasons are there?"

Dr. Beckett hesitated, and his expression said he expected to meet resistance, "'Ear me out. The prisoner's sensitive to environmental life signs. E's practically a walkin' LSD. From wha' we know o' Wraith, they spend their lives in livin' ships, surrounded by livin' technology, they live by suckin' the life out o' things, an' apparently they also wear livin' clothes. Ah'm guessin', they like the feelin' o' life force."

Dr. McKay laughed, "Wait. You're saying, we should give Steve's jacket back 'cause it's comfy?"

Major Sheppard glanced at Teyla. The Athosian's eyes were skeptical, but her shoulders lifted in a diplomatically neutral shrug.

"No," Dr. Beckett gestured to the angled panels and minimalist decor of the Ancient conference room. "With all due respect to our wonderful city… Ah'm sayin' Atlantis is a sterile environment, devoid o' natural features, riddled with unnatural energy fields. From the prisoner's perspective, it may be actively uncomfortable."

In the contemplative silence that followed, Major Sheppard and Dr. Weir shared a meaningful glance…

"Are you," Sheppard slowly asked, "thinking what I'm thinking?"

"That depends. What are you thinking, Major."

"I'm thinking," he spoke slowly, still figuring pieces out, "that Steve's little vase of flowers… suddenly makes perfect sense." A cascade of images was fluttering about in his head. Steve, testing vegetation. Steve, complaining about touching Death. Steve, walking about with space guppies draped over his arm like it was totally natural. Steve protecting the tiny Xex tube despite being pissed. And most recently… Steve, shoving his face towards the yellow flowers after the humiliation of being stripped.

Weir's expression was stern, "I thought we agreed it was a conglomeration of smuggled objects, Major."

"Yeah, but—"

McKay's jaw dropped, "Oh, my god, you're right! You said he used it to test us. We let him keep it, so in addition to learning whatever it was he was trying to learn, he managed to make his cell more comfortable without us realizing it!"

Ford was shaking his head, "Nah, we're thinking too far into this."

"I agree with Lieutenant Ford," Teyla was openly frowning, "The prisoner's mind cannot be easily understood. It would be foolish to draw conclusions about his preferences." Her expression softened, "No offense intended, Dr. Beckett."

"None taken luv. Ah'm well aware it's a jump. Ah've got no way o' provin' it."

Sheppard cleared his throat, trying to smooth ruffled feathers. The wraith was getting to be a touchy subject. (Well, touchier than he'd already been.) "Hey Carson? In the jacket… Where are those macro-molecule pieces?"

As Beckett adjusted the coat's image on his data pad, pointing the requested areas out, Dr. Weir gave her military commander a curious frown, "This time, I think our thoughts have diverged, Major."

Major Sheppard shrugged nonchalantly, "Well, McKay and Carson think it's safe to give it back. I personally see no reason to withhold it, if it's not an immediate threat. And while I've no interest in alienating our guest unnecessarily…" he gave Weir a smug smirk, "I'm not above holding it for ransom either."

She raised an eyebrow, "Ransom?"

The Major's smirk turned innocent, "Just a little bit."

"I am your Death…"

The words whispered with matter-of-fact softness through the shadows surrounding the holding cell as Major Sheppard stepped from the alcove. The wraith was standing in the center of his cell, exactly as Sheppard had left him. Tall, slim, entirely in black, long fingers clasped loosely before his waist. Without the jacket's collar to fan it out, the long hair fell straight down, two white, impeccably neat columns that lightly brushed their owner's steepled thumbs where they rested against the oddly layered undershirts. The inky fabric was thin, and glistened occasionally, lending an intellectually elegant sportiness to the pose. Kinda like…

…a European dance instructor?

Maybe. The shoes killed the vibe, though.

…

All in all, standing exposed under the white light, what struck Sheppard the most was that, without the jacket, Steve looked…

…informal.

…

…and small.

…

Of course, he'd lost about an inch of circumference, (several inches if you included the shoulder epaulets), so that was really only to be expected.

It was jarring to see, though, after getting used to the jacket-look. And it really brought to the foreground the physical differences between masked and unmasked wraith… Steve was tall, yes, but comparatively speaking, he was also a twig…

Pushing the observation aside, Sheppard approached the horizontal bars with relaxed unhurriedness, coming to a slow stop in front of the ghostly figure.

The wraith met his eyes with haughtily silent watchfulness.

…and was that a tiny hint of accusation?

Sheppard didn't know yet. Only one way to find out. "Ya never get tired of that, do ya?" He quipped.

The olive eyes drifted disinterestedly away.

Huh.

Turning on his heel, Major Sheppard paced nonchalantly around the cage, inviting the customary stalking. Steve didn't move. His eyes tracked Sheppard, and he turned his head, watching until the Major exited his field of vision. Then he turned his face the other way, waited for Sheppard to reenter his sight, and resumed tracking.

Finishing the circuit, Sheppard pointedly stopped and turned to face him again. No, the wraith was not a happy space alien.

Sheppard waited…

After a few seconds of enigmatic staring, the pale face tilted slightly. "Will I be receiving my garment back?"

Straight to the point. No beating around the bush. Good.

"That depends. Lift your arms."

Unclasping his fingers, Steve let his hands drop, then spread his arms a bit, turning his palms to face Sheppard.

"Higher."

With a minute eye-roll, the black-sleeved arms slowly lifted as if inviting applause. The impression was reinforced when Sheppard gestured for Steve to spin, and the wraith turned slowly in place, displaying the black shirts' clinging sides and narrow back.

Not seeing what he'd been expecting, Major Sheppard made a show of considering how to proceed.

With an unimpressed huff, Steve turned, displaying a side profile, and lifted the arm facing Sheppard a bit higher. Then he popped his elbow up. The layers of dark material shifted as his rib cage stretched, exposing a thin patch of shadow-lined lichen skin. He paused, letting his captor look for a moment, then turned back to display his opposite side and repeated the motion, revealing a matching sliver of paleness.

The wraith held the pose for another deliberate second, before dropping his arms and facing Sheppard with a knowing, "I assume that's what your Carson was looking for."

It was. The spots matched with the macro-molecule pieces Dr. Beckett had mapped. Sheppard kept his tone flip, "Thank you Steve. That was… very accommodating."

A low, unimpressed hiss. "What do you want to know?"

Still keeping things direct. Interesting. Maybe Atlantis should steal the jacket more often. "What does your outfit do?"

A breathy sigh, ghostly enough to set hairs on end, but not heavy enough to qualify as a hiss whispered around Sheppard as Steve cocked his head. The olive gaze was calculating and guarded, and the echoing replies were sharp and clipped. "It repairs itself. It maintains itself. It performs minor hygiene functions. It is compatible with hibernation technology. Something I doubt your kind would have use for." Pale face tilting the other way, Steve pushed strands of ivory aside and fingered his clavicle, letting his long fingers play over the bullet holes Teyla had made in his shirt. "It will, eventually… assist in repairing these. But that will take a long time."

"Even longer, I'm guessing, if we don't give it back."

No response.

"Does it contain computer blueprints?"

A darkly amused snort, "Perhaps. Perhaps not." Steve finger-combed the hair back into place, concealing the holes once more. "I have no interest in either confirming or denying the presence of such…" a half-smile played on his lips, "items.

Cute. Apparently the information faucet was being turned off.

Sheppard frowned with feigned disappointment, "Well, that's not very helpful, Steve."

The wraith's tone hinted towards smug, "It wasn't intended to be."

Deciding to push his luck, (why the Hell not, right?), the Major turned his tone flip again, "Do your pants do anything?"

A short, explosive laugh made the wraith's guards tense. A dark chuckle followed as Steve eyed Major Sheppard with disbelief, "They are simply pants, Major Sheppard." The 'p' on 'pants' popped with an explosive hiss, "Given the proper nutrient bath they will eventually regenerate, but in a worn state, their fibers are basically inert." The wraith's tone by the end had become openly condescending.

"Yeah, well, you're the Wraith wardrobe expert. Not me."

Steve made a disgusted noise, glancing briefly away, "Have I satisfied your curiosity yet?"

Sheppard shook his head, "No."

"I see…" Steve snapped his face away, shifting his captor's view to a haughty side profile, "My footwear is similarly uninteresting."

"Oh, really?"

The wraith turned his back in a move that, had he been wearing the coat, would've set its long panels flaring behind him. Since he wasn't, his ivory hair instead swished lackadaisically, lacking its customary leather pitter-pattering, "It would be foolish to store sensitive cell matrices in objects likely to sustain Impact. Damage."

On 'Impact Damage', Steve glanced over his shoulder while taking two steps to the laptop, then dropped into a cross-legged sitting position. A translucent claw woke the computer, and he directed his attention to it, pointedly ignoring his interrogator.

…It was a deliberate reenactment of the scene Sheppard had encountered when he confiscated the coat. The wraith had been 'absorbed' in the computer then, too. The jacket in question had already been neatly folded and conveniently placed by the cell door. The wraith had predicted Sheppard would return to remove it, and had obviously wanted Sheppard to know that he'd been predicted. He hadn't looked up when the cell door swooshed, hadn't acknowledged the garment's removal, and hadn't so much as twitched when Major Sheppard whisked it away…

Apparently the conversation was ending.

Ok, Steve… You do you… Sheppard turned to leave.

There was a soft swishing behind him. The wraith was looking back over his shoulder. "Do you wish me to finish feeding the second tool?"

Was THAT what the wraith thought he'd come down for…?! Sheppard turned back, "No!" It came out a bit more emphatically than he'd intended, "That thing coulda killed ya."

The olive eyes blinked. "But it did not. If the problem recurs despite isolation, I can fix it—"

"Steve—"

"—using the same remedy as before." The wraith sounded genuinely confused, "We're not easy to kill, Major Sheppard."

Or maybe the crazy alien wanted to try it?! Sheppard laid his hands on the horizontal bars, "Yeah, well, we're not fond of unnecessary risks!"

"There's no risk to Atlantis in this offer." Steve looked back at the laptop. It hadn't been loaded with new data yet, but that didn't seem to deter interest.

"No," Sheppard studied the motionless back, "I suppose there isn't." The risk was all to the wraith. He let the implication that that was also unacceptable hang unspoken in the cell. Silence stretched…

The pale head eventually turned again, accompanied by a low, breathy sigh, "Your Dr. Weir is going to need to make a decision at some point."

Oh, she was, was she? Sheppard kept his tone neutral, "Oh, really?"

Steve raised his feeding hand. "Where this artifact is concerned…" Amber glimmered, illuminating his fingers as they slowly turned this way and that. The multi-tonal voice lowered… "Am I a prisoner? Or a collaborator?"

Unimpressed with the subtly ambiguous threat, Sheppard injected a note of warning into his voice, "Something tells me that point's pretty far off."

"I suppose you're probably right." The black glove dropped to Steve's knee, and he looked back at the laptop. He didn't speak again.

Turning on his heel, Major Sheppard left.

"Steve's pissed."

"Yeah, well, I'd be pissed too, if you took my living blankie away." McKay was engrossed in his data pad.

Sheppard rolled his eyes, "It's not a living blankie, it's a damn jacket."

"Did you know the buckles are made of a crystalline shell matrix? They only look metallic because there's a sprinkling of silver atoms suspended in it."

"What?"

McKay tapped his screen, "Carson requested a chemistry report."

"And you have it, why?"

"Because metal that isn't metal is cool, Major. This might as well be transparent aluminum."

Turning from her office's view of the Stargate, Elizabeth Weir laughed softly, "I'm still waiting for you to return from an off-world mission with a sample of that."

"You and me both," muttered McKay.

"I mean, it's just a jacket," Sheppard griped. He couldn't let this go yet, "and Steve's practically pouting."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"If he were Human, you'd think I'd stolen a poodle, or something."

"Wait, what?" McKay finally looked up, "Major, that jacket's probably hundreds of years old. He's worn it longer than any of us have been alive."

"This jacket thing's really bothering you, isn't it?" Weir asked. It was that tone. The one that said Weir knew what the problem was and was about to ask a finely tuned, precision-focused question that would hold a mirror up to the person receiving it and make them take a good long look at themself.

Major Sheppard both loved and hated those questions. He tried to deflect, "What? Nah. Steve just seems, really upset." In a silent, reproachful sort of way…

Undeterred, Dr. Weir watched him knowingly. "Is he actually upset?" she asked, "Or is this the first time you're actually feeling bad for upsetting him?"

Sheppard started to reply, then closed his mouth. He'd deliberately needled and pissed the wraith off on multiple occasions. But it'd been part of the whole prisoner/interrogation thing. This was different, somehow. Maybe it was the stupid strip searches. Maybe it was the pettiness of hanging onto the coat longer than actually necessary. Maybe it was the way the wraith was bizarrely and dedicatedly useful when he agreed to do an exchange. Maybe it was the hint of accusation in the predatory green eyes…

Damn… Sheppard was feeling guilty because some part of him felt like keeping the wraith's jacket was unfair. He winced, and glanced at Elizabeth. "I admit. He's growing on me. But I'm not letting my guard down."

"I didn't say you were."

It was something to worry about, though. The more the wraith cooperated, the more likely Atlantis personnel were to sympathize. The glove made it easier to subconsciously overlook the whole 'Human equals food' thing…

He made a decision, "I'll take it back when we deliver Carson's new data."

"Sounds like a plan," Weir shifted her focus to McKay, "and speaking of plans…?"

He waved her off with a finger wiggle, "Design's already finished. Zelenka's assembling the crystal extension box."

"Delegating," she observed, "I like it."

"No worries, I'll be running the final tests myself."

The expedition leader propped her hip on her desk, "If this works, and we do reestablish contact with Earth… How are we going to explain Steve to the IOA?"

Sheppard grimaced, "Yeah, about that…"

As he trailed off, McKay piped up with a worried, "I know this probably won't fly but… Can't we just… keep him secret? For a little bit?" He glanced hopefully between Sheppard and Weir, "'Cause I really want to be there when he tries hacking the tools' telepathic interfaces."

Sheppard and Weir shared a pensive look. The International Oversight Advisory was notoriously intrusive. The wraith's presence… was controversial at best.

Dr. Weir hmmmed thoughtfully… "It's a non-specific project with specific potential results involving specific personnel, but in a non-specific timeframe that may or may not ever produce meaningful progress." She gave Sheppard a shrug, "I don't know about you, Major, but that doesn't sound like a bullet point highlight to me."

"Me neither," Major Sheppard smiled.

Dr. McKay grinned, "I'll bury it in the middle of the data burst. Kinda like a foot note, or fine print."

Weir smiled, "Make it so."

One day later…

"You missed one Hell of a party, Steve."

The wraith's gloved fingers slid appraisingly over the black bracer he was examining, studiously checking the heavy material for damage. He ignored Sheppard.

Undeterred, Major Sheppard rested his hands nonchalantly on the metal bars, just as studiously ignoring the ignoring.

"Pool floaties, beer, bikini's…"

The coat's long panels swayed, lifting a bit as the wraith hooked an ungloved knuckle under its collar seam and began checking the interior lining, running his palm over the swirls and lines of symmetrical padding.

"Dead people,"

A narrow-eyed, sidelong glance swept his way. It was the first sign of awareness that anything outside his cell existed that the wraith had shown since receiving his jacket back. Mildly miffed about being ignored, Sheppard's response had been to start spouting random details of the fabricated reality hallucination he'd experienced when Atlantis tried dialing Earth on the mist planet. (Yeah, that plan hadn't worked so well…)

"Fruity drinks…"

Major Sheppard would never forget the chill that ran down his hallucinatory spin when he looked out the bachelor pad window. Beautiful, sunny day, splashing beach babes in a million dollar pool. Flamingo floaties, lounge chairs—

—And a dark shadow stepping out from the balcony's shade to stand by the pool's edge. Steve, coatless, dripping diamond-studded bling over an outfit of skintight ebony runway fashionista, holding a sunset colada in his gloved hand, complete with ruby maraschino cherry and tiny beach umbrella. The way he'd crooked an ungloved finger, indicating the drink, while meeting Sheppard's startled stare through the window, peering up over the tops of his glittering, iridescent Gucci sunglasses with disgust—

—The wraith's multi-tonal voice echoing in his head saying, "You're suffering from a delusion, if you think I'd be drinking this."

…Yeah, the dead people had been a dead give away. But there'd been other things, too. That…

…That would be staying with him for a long… time…

"Why are you still here, Major Sheppard?"

Why, indeed.

"Oh, ya know, just makin' sure ya have… everything you need."

Steve's translucent claws vanished into a sleeve as he slipped half an arm into the coat. He adjusted the other side before dipping his feeding hand into the empty sleeve, then reached up, tugging the collar forward as a series of small shrugs tossed the epaulets up into place. With the heavy material loosely hanging from his shoulders, he turned attention to his wrists, making minute adjustments to the bracers' positioning.

Not begrudging the wraith his understated fashion reunion, Major Sheppard watched the drawn out process with amusement, "You told Carson the tools have telepathic interfaces."

Steve's ungloved hand slipped behind his neck, drawing white hair out from beneath the coat. With a flick of his palm, it waterfalled over his shoulder, "That is correct." He began adjusting his collar.

"Dr. McKay wants to know—"

"He is incapable of accessing them."

Sheppard ignored the hint of smugness in the quick reply, "Yeah, we got that. It's… kinda obvious. He wants to know how you—"

"I am also incapable of accessing them," Steve looked at Sheppard with a smugly amused chin tilt, "With my current resources." He tugged the coat's straps, threading and tightening them in a series of methodical, even-pressured increments, "The interface's construction is impregnable. It will need to be by-passed with external assistance."

Yeah, Carson had reported that, too. "What sort of external assist—"

"You have a choice," moving onto the shoulder strap, Steve indicated the laptop resting on the floor, "you can provide me with additional equipment of this kind, or possibly a combination of this and items from this city that are not locked against Wraith DNA—"

Major Sheppard kept his opinion on what he was hearing carefully hidden.

"—Or," Steve continued, "you can provide me with access to my own technology." The olive eyes slipped to Sheppard with open amusement, "Something we both know Atlantis does not currently possess in, shall we say…" he made a show of glancing thoughtfully away, "useable form." A low hiss underscored the statement.

Suspecting he knew where this was going, Sheppard turned his tone flip, "And how would you suggest we do that?"

With a soft snort, Steve threaded the diagonal chest strap, "Despite what you obviously suspect, Major Sheppard, for that Atlantis would also have choices. You could acquire some on your own, which would entail considerable risk." He flashed his teeth in a condescending smirk, "You could allow me to acquire some. Which would entail greater risk—"

"Yeah, I'm not liking those, Steve—"

"Or…" the smirk faded as the wraith's expression turned serious, "…you could wait. Wait for your Carson and McKay to desalinate the lab. Wait for nutrient distribution to regenerate. Wait for the incubators to regrow… Wait until Atlantis has the ability to produce what I need."

"And how long would that take?"

Finishing the last buckle, Steve turned fully to face him, "Too long, Major Sheppard." The enigmatic eyes studied him quietly, "Too long." The wraith clasped his hands behind him and turned, jacket flaring with a satisfying swish. Then he glanced over his shoulder and began slowly pacing the interior perimeter of the cell.

Not one to turn down an open invitation when the prisoner was being unexpectedly chatty, Sheppard followed, keeping pace with matching seriousness. "Too long, huh?"

"Yes…" Steve threw him a sidelong glance, "There's no guarantee those things would happen before my kind come for you. And we will." He trailed his feeding hand along the bars. The amber beads glittered, "It would be a shame if this was lost in the waves."

"Again, you mean." There'd be no lockbox protecting it, though, if Atlantis sank with Steve wearing it. Sheppard frowned.

A soft snort, "I am not enamored of that prospect." Sidestepping the laptop, Steve glanced about the cell, "While I can occupy myself down here for some time—I have considerable patience," he paused, and an uneasy hiss whispered though the shadowy room as he caught Sheppard's eye, "…there's no guarantee I will survive your destruction. I like to think we would preserve the city for scientific purposes, as you are doing. However, if your level of resistance is too high, we will simply push you to the ocean floor… And retrieve whatever interests us later."

There was a cold, matter-of-factness to the disclosure.

"You're anticipating being a casualty," Sheppard kept his tone equally unsympathetic, "That must be a bit of a downer." The wraith didn't react. They walked silently for half a circuit before Sheppard decided to take the bait, "So, what? You think we should infiltrate a hive with a description from you and hopefully steal the right stuff?"

The oval-pupiled eyes swept him with a calculatingly amused glance, "You think you could properly identify it?"

Unlikely. They'd only found the right terminal on the last ship because they'd been working from the Genii's stolen schematics. "I give it fifty-fifty," Sheppard quipped. (And he gave Weir a 100% chance of rejecting the idea.) "And there's no guarantee we wouldn't accidentally kill it while bringing it back."

Steve dipped his head, "I see… I would not risk your Carson on such an endeavor. And I would not count upon my assistance, either."

Field trip to a hive ship? Not on the wraith's life.

"Damn straight," muttered Sheppard. The wraith blinked quizzically, but he didn't feel the need to elaborate. "Or were you thinking we should let you visit your own hive and bring a goodie bag back?"

An amused chuff revealed a glimpse of translucent teeth. "No. I'm not suggesting that. It would only ensure your quick death." Steve dragged his gloved fingers across the bars, then slowed to a stop, turning to face his captor. Major Sheppard mirrored the motion. Steve leaned in, all signs of amusement vanishing. He held Sheppard's gaze with intent seriousness, "A new feeding ground will take priority over a project such as this." A meaning-laden glance hit the glove. "If I attempted to stay true to whatever agreement we made, everything I know about Atlantis would be ripped from my mind and used against you in the coming assault."

Say what, now?! Sheppard hid his shock with distaste, "Sounds pleasant."

"The exact opposite." With a low hiss, Steve looked away, "It's a simple matter of instant gratification, Major Sheppard. And political expedience." Straightening, he cocked his head, partially turning back to catch Sheppard's eye, "Why worry about feeding a lucky few when you could quickly feed millions?"

Frowning, Major Sheppard followed as Steve started pacing the cell's perimeter again. Another hiss, accompanied by a hint of eerie rattling rose in the white-washed square cell. It abruptly cut off as Steve flexed his feeding hand. "This artifact will not be useful in creating a long term alliance if it cannot be easily mass-produced. If you wish to see any sort of meaningful impact during your lifetime, or possibly stop future cullings, you will need to make rapid progress."

Ah, there it was. The wraith was angling for something, and they were finally approaching the punchline. "And let me guess. You know just how to do that?"

Instead of the expected display of toothy smugness, Steve's pale face drifted away. "No…" He walked in silence for a few steps before meeting Sheppard's eye with a hint of darkly amused self-deprecation, "We are patient, Major…"

Of course. The immortal life-sucking bugs with all the time in the galaxy didn't bother to move quickly. Why wasn't that a surprise. "Patient, huh? Not rapid." Lazy was more like it. Well, that was great. What the Hell was Steve angling for?

Steve clasped his hands behind his back again with a snort, "I only know what to do with what has been placed before me. And what has been placed before me are tools that I cannot manipulate. I must find ways to manipulate them—"

"Sounds very logical," interjected Sheppard.

"If you allow me to access your own equipment—"

Ah, back full circle to the beginning. The one option Steve hadn't painted as distastefully deadly.

"—it will also take time. I will need to familiarize myself with your systems." He regarded Sheppard seriously over a glittering epaulet, "My experience with Lantean technology is limited." A meaningful chin dip, "…To theory.

"'Cause of the whole DNA thing."

The ivory hair swung with an acquiescent nod, "Yessss…" The smugness returned, weaving its way into the wraith's voice to accompany his rhythmic footsteps and swishing coat panels, "While this would also take time, I learn quickly, Major. Far more quickly than regrowing an incubator." He smiled pleasantly, watching Sheppard's face, "Once I bypass the interface, I can add my telepathic signature to its authorization files. I'd then have unlimited access to the tools' contents, and we could extract and analyze everything in their memories." He gestured casually, gracefully extending his ungloved hand towards the laptop. The tools embedded in his skin gleamed under the harsh lights. "We could even place it on machines like this… if you like."

Cute. Major Sheppard stared, considering his response. "Well, it seems like you've given this a lot of thought…"

When he didn't say anything else, Steve let the smile fade and folded his hands over his waist, feeding hand on the bottom. His slender fingers played over the glove's beads. "Time to think is something I have in abundance…"

"Yeah, I get that," Sheppard nodded and pursed his lips, making a show of thinking it over. He drew it out, deliberately waiting until a small furrow appeared on the Wraith's brow. As the furrow spread into growing uncertainty, he turned on his heel to face the cage and clapped his hands. At the abrupt move, the wraith froze.

"Whelp. Guess I'll go check with Dr. Weir. See what she says."

He turned on his heel again, walking briskly for the beckoning shadows of the stairwell. A glance over his shoulder showed the wraith staring after him. Touching the bars, glancing around… Confused? Off balance? Baffled? No way of knowing if he was being taken seriously. Gotta keep Atlantis unpredictable, right?

It was really hard not to laugh.

As soon as the alcove door swooshed shut behind him, a wide grin burst across Major Sheppard's face. He jogged up the stairs, tapping his ear piece, "Sheppard to McKay."

"McKay here."

"Hey, Rodney—"

"Sheppard! Did you—"

"Yes, I did," Sheppard cut in, "And you'll be happy to know, Steve agreed to your plan."

"Yes! Wonderful! That's—"

Sheppard's grin widened, "Just, when ya start putting the pieces together, don't thank him for agreeing, or anything—"

"Wait, what?" The confusion in McKay's voice was obvious, "I thought you wanted me to play nice this time?"

"Yeah, well, play nice without mentioning that it's your plan."

A sputter of disbelief, "Why?"

"He currently thinks it's his own plan."

"Oh. …That's…"

Sheppard's grin widened again, "Great minds think alike—"

"You so did not say th—"

"—Sheppard out." Yes. Yes, he did. And it was hilarious. Major Sheppard grinned all the way back to the Gateroom.

"So, how does this work?" In the nondescript room that Dr. McKay was outfitting to be the prisoner's work station, Dr. Weir surveyed the collection of equipment laid out neatly on the Ancient table with curiosity.

McKay was only too happy to explain. (Since the mist-world flopped, he'd thrown himself into the telepathic hacking project with gusto.) "Got the basics here, pair of isolated laptops, couple external hard drives, in case we need extra memory." He shrugged, "I doubt it though, those finger guards are so tiny."

"You never know," Weir offered, "Good things come in small packages. Our guest seems to thinks they're sophisticated."

"Yes, well," he smiled proudly, "we've got a dozen terabytes here, so I still doubt it's a problem."

She gestured to the next objects, "What about these…?"

The physicist's eyes sparkled, "These are far more interesting. This is the good stuff." He pointed to an LSD with a crystal rod attachment, "Got a Wraith-talker, with a crystal interface. This—" a long, snaking wire with clusters of Ancient crystal fibers at each end, "We modeled this off the device the Genii used to access the Wraith data-drive. Should work for transferring everything into the laptop. And these," Rodney's fingers waved over a row of crystals lined up in order of diminishing thinness, "we salvaged from various Ancient devices that aren't currently being used. If the Wraith-talker's too big, we've got what's basically a watchmaker's toolkit to choose from instead." He hugged his data pad to his chest with pride, "And, of course, there's the usual kit of routing clips and crystal filament bypass fibers."

Elizabeth nodded approvingly, "Sounds like you've got all the bases covered."

"Yup. In theory, this is everything we'd need. Except the tools." McKay blinked, enthusiasm faltering, "…And Steve."

Catching his hesitation, Dr. Weir shifted her attention from the crystal components to the physicist. "You're sure you'll be okay, working in the same room like this?"

"Um… Yes? Maybe?" McKay started babbling, suddenly sounding like he was trying to convince himself, "If he tries to kill me, Geerman will stun him, and—I mean, we're giving him what he wants, so he'd be foolish to pull something. He's Human illiterate, but he's definitely not stupid. And he's…" still hugging his data-pad, McKay pointed to his right hand while wiggling his right fingers, "well fed, so…"

"You're sure? Because you don't have t—"

"Yeah. Yes, um…" McKay tapped his thumbs together, then looked at Dr. Weir seriously and pointedly forced himself to stop fidgeting. "I decided I'm doing this."

"We are near the infirmary."

Surrounded by his alert circle of marine guards, the wraith peered down a connecting hallway as they passed an intersection. Ahead of the escort, Major Sheppard noted their 'guest's recognition of the location.

"Yup." In the interest of limiting Steve's familiarity with Atlantis' layout, they'd settled on an empty room near Beckett's domain. "Figured you could check the hard drive easily."

The wraith threw an unreadable glance his way, "Efficient."

"That's us, Steve. Always practical."

"I assume the filament seed has taken root, since you have not asked for additional assistance…"

No, they hadn't, had they? "Beckett says it's waving 'hi' at him." A small filament tendril had apparently emerged from the intake valve. Sheppard hadn't stopped by to see it yet, but Carson had sounded pleased during his report.

The wraith didn't respond.

Sheppard could practically hear the gears in the prisoner's head turning as he calculated how to take advantage of whatever next step the organic hard drive would need. "Want me to pass a message to Beckett?"

The reply was a quiet murmur, "…No. It needs to grow undisturbed…"

More waiting, then. Why wasn't he surprised.

The escort rounded a corner, and Major Sheppard stopped, "Here we are." He waved a hand over the door's crystal controls, making the orange and gray paneling swish open. Dr. McKay was in the middle of the room, adding the organic finger guards to the assortment of computer paraphernalia. "Ready for visitors?"

"Yes!—No—Maybe? …Um," jerking a thumb nervously behind him, McKay quickly relocated to the opposite side o the table, so it would be between him and the wraith when Steve entered. "Just adding the finishing touches. Please. Come in."

Major Sheppard eyed the physicist for a moment, but when McKay made a show of taking a deep breath and staring calmly at him, he put his skepticism away, nodded approvingly, and stepped inside. The security escort followed, spilling into the room like a heavily armed strike team. Three marines, followed by the tall, black-coated wraith, who took in the room with calm serenity before stepping forward to allow the other three to pour in. The well-oiled machine, coupled with their charge's attitude, almost seemed like an honor guard. As the circle reformed, Steve stopped, looking over Private Laris's shoulder at the table. He studied the crystals and computers, noting the presence of the finger guards, then glanced up and fixed his gaze on Dr. McKay.

The physicist swallowed. "Uh, welcome."

Steve inclined his chin, ever so slightly.

…

The silence lengthened uncomfortably.

When McKay said nothing else, the wraith looked at his guards. "May I approach the equipment I'll be using?"

"Oh!" McKay startled, "Yes! Let him through."

At a nod from Sheppard, the security escort opened up and spread out, stationing themselves by the door and against the walls. Steve waited for them to stop moving, then stepped closer to the improvised work station running his fingers lightly over the surfaces of the laptop's keyboard and crystals. The metal claw of a finger guard tapped the Wraith-talker LSD, which was wired into the laptop. "You intend to use this as an intermediary?"

Dr. McKay nodded, "It's already set to output a compatible format." They'd tested it on the Genii's wraith device earlier.

Steve eyed it with a slight frown, "You will need to make any adjustments needed. It won't respond f—"

"Got it. DNA. Already anticipated," brushing the concern aside, McKay reached over the table and tapped a few keys on the laptop, opening a window with foggy, digitally distorted characters floating through it. "This is what it outputs. Is it workable?" It was a sample of wraith code, again taken from the Genii device.

Narrowing his eyes, Steve scrolled through it, tapping keys experimentally, "It is unwieldy and slow… but serviceable."

"Yes, well," McKay brushed the criticism off, "I imagine anything's slow if you're used to coding at the speed of thought." He pointed at the long twist of crystal wiring, "This is where we'll be getting creative. I didn't know what size we'd need, or where to attach it to—"

"These should suffice," squares of light refracted prisms onto the Ancient glove's black fingertips as Steve selected the thinnest of the crystal rods.

"Alright…" As the wraith clipped the interface crystal to his end of the adaptor cable, Rodney picked a bypass filament of his own and clipped the other end to the Wraith-Talker LSD's interface rod. "That should do it over here…"

Steve took the second thinnest crystal, fastening it to a fiber near the first. "We will start with two."

"Really? You think we'll need both?"

"We might need three."

"Oh," McKay blinked, "Why wou—"

"What is your machine doing?"

The second laptop was hooked up to the first, facing McKay's side of the table, "I'm watching your machine and troubleshooting any transfer and system incompatibilities we run across—"

"Efficient. I will prepare to intercept the authorization query."

McKay frowned as the wraith erased the Genii code sample and began typing. "You're not big on letting people finish their sentences, are you?"

"I see no reason to continue speaking after relevant information has been shared."

Waking his own laptop, Dr. McKay brought up Steve's screen, watching the wraith computer code take shape, "Yes, but how do you know everything relevant has been shared if you don't let the person fi—"

"The interception will create an access point that will allow us to see the authorization files. We will proceed depending on how they are structured."

"Alright, then," Major Sheppard popped up onto his toes briefly, watching McKay and the wraith stare at their respective laptops, "We've got… stuff. Going on…"

"Yes, Major," McKay muttered, "We've got stuff. While I appreciate the company—I really do, actually," the glance he threw Sheppard was nervously genuine, "I'd love to keep you here, please tell me you're not busy—I imagine this will take a while—"

"Your Dr. McKay is correct," interjected Steve. The wraith's fingers didn't stop typing, "Your subordinates are capable of watching me without assistance."

There was something oddly amusing, yet bizarrely in character, about being dismissed by Steve, "Oh, well, if you're sure you don't need me—"

"Need is a strong term—" offered McKay.

"I actually do have some work to take care of." There'd been several requests for jumper transport, and Atlantis was low on ATA gene pilots, so… "Just call if you need me."

"Again with the word 'need.'"

"Have fun."

Followed by a worried, resigned look from McKay, Major Sheppard left. The wraith didn't even look up. For a long while, the soft clacking of keys was the only sound in the room. Every once in a while a tech stopped in to bring McKay a fresh coffee. The first time they came, Steve sniffed distastefully, but he ignored all subsequent visits. Finally he stopped.

"I have prepared an interception program. It will cycle through several disruption options. If they do not work, I can write more, but the next series will be more complicated and take considerably longer."

"Let's hope they work, then," McKay had relaxed as the wraith typed, slowly getting used to the motionless presence, but as Steve shifted his weight, reaching for the organic tools, he tensed again. "What are—"

"Attempting to make a tactile connection with the interface."

"By picking it—"

"No." Steve set the tools next to his laptop and turned the three-segmented one upside-down with a delicate twist of a translucent claw. Using his feeding hand, he picked up the two crystal rods that he'd prepared and began slowly sliding them along the interior surfaces.

"You're just doing it on purpose now. Interrupting me."

"I offered to extract information. I did not offer to engage in sensory redundancy."

McKay started to sputter a response, then stopped, "Wait, what?"

The wraith hissed, lifting one of the thin crystals. "It will only require two." Transferring the rod that was still touching the silvery metal to his ungloved hand, he used it to hold the tool in place and resumed probing.

"How can you tell?"

"The interference I created feels like a dual resonance disruption."

"Feels. Wonderful," McKay's tone said exactly what he thought of that particular verb. "Telepathic disruption, then, I assume?"

"Correct." With another low hiss, Steve tilted his face and transferred the first crystal back to his feeding hand. The thin, transparent interfaces crossed each other, separated and immobilized by a single black fingertip. He rotated his wrist slightly, holding the three segments in place with the crystals like a piece of sushi. Then he rested his ungloved thumb on the silver metal and stretched his fingers onto the laptop's mousepad. "This is the hardest part," he glanced at McKay, "I must time my request for authorization with the interception program's activation. …It may take a while."

"Well, the sooner you start, the sooner you finish. Nothing ventured, nothing gained." Skeptical, given how smoothly everything seemed to be going, Dr. McKay ignored Steve's annoyed glare and sipped his coffee. Then he watched his screen, waiting for the inevitable declaration of success against impossible odds. Twenty minutes later, however, his coffee was being refilled yet again and the wraith's upper lip was twitching in frustration every time he tapped the keyboard.

Finally, McKay's patience snapped, "You're just clicking a mousepad. Why is this taking so long?"

"Thisssss…!" Stunners clattered to readiness as Steve snapped his bare hand up with a growling hiss. He flicked a finger at McKay, glaring, "There is a fraction of a delay between when I tell my finger to do this and when it actually does it. I am attempting to compensate for this delay."

"What?!" McKay squeaked, "That's insane!"

The wraith blinked, finally noticing the stunners pointing at him. His hand dropped back to the keyboard.

McKay stared at Steve in disbelief, "How would you normally do that?"

Exhaling an irritated sigh, Steve straightened his shoulders and looked back down at the laptop, "I would normally be using a second telepathic interface, and I would activate them both simultaneously."

"Oh."

"It is designed to be difficult." He began tapping the mousepad again.

Grimacing at the hopelessness of the endeavor, Dr. McKay waved at the marines to lower their stunners. "Chill people. I'd be frustrated, too."

The tapping continued, punctuated by an occasional annoyed hiss.

"Is there—"

"No."

"Fine…" McKay busied himself with analyzing the code Steve had written. He didn't make any progress, (without the Wraith-Talker Atlantis couldn't visually read Wraith), but it was interesting, trying to spot patterns in the way it was structured… It looked… just like any other undecipherable alien code…

"This is a waste of time."

A startled chuff came from the other side of the table.

McKay ignored it, "Glad you agree. Is there a better way—"

"Done," the multi-tonal voice was wary, tinged with hesitant triumph. Steve's pale lips twitched in a quickly concealed half-grin, and he lifted his hand with exaggerated care, as if worried about hitting a wrong key.

"Wait, seriously?" Dr. McKay switched back to the window mirroring Steve's laptop. It was running, blinking for additional input. "I can't believe you actually pulled that off. Now what?"

"Now we proceed carefully." The wraith actually looked nervous about the idea of touching the keys, "And hope I don't have to do it again."

"Why?"

"It was an accident."

Well, at least the wraith was honest. And he took his own advice to heart, tapping one key at a time, double and triple checking every input with critical glances before pressing enter. "Thisss… is oddly structured."

Dr. McKay frowned, "Odd good? Or odd bad?"

"Both. Neither…"

Oh my God. McKay stared. The wraith didn't look up. "What are you? A fortune cookie?"

No response. Then…

"There is an unalterable signature array. But there is also a parallel array with identical permissions. Empty."

McKay's eyes slid to the dully gleaming tools, "Like the programmer wanted to allow the possibility of a new user without risking older accounts."

"Yesss…"

McKay frowned thoughtfully, "They never intended to go down with the ship, but if something happened, they didn't want it to be lost."

Steve looked up briefly, white hair softly swaying, "It fits with other details of the excavation." His eyes slid to the glove, "This is not something my kind would want lost." He returned his attention to the laptop. "I am adding my signature to the empty array."

"Wait, are you sure it—"

A single, damning click.

…

Nothing happened. Then wraith code began streaming down the laptops' mirrored screens like a hyper speed waterfall.

"We are in." A low hiss whispered through the room as Steve relaxed with a smug sigh. "I will begin the data transfer—"

An error window popped up.

McKay blinked and leaned towards his screen, quickly typing. The window vanished, then immediately reappeared.

Steve leaned over the table, oval-pupils slivering, tracing cords with puzzled glances from the laptop to the external drives. "We don't have enough storage."

The error window vanished and reappeared again.

"What? Are you serious?" McKay flicked between windows in disbelief, "It's twelve terra—How can that possibly—"

An annoyed chuff, "How are you planning to remedy this?"

The deadly nature of his lab partner momentarily forgotten, McKay looked up, meeting Steve's stare with chagrin, "How much more do we need?"

The wraith's eyes unfocused, taking on a faraway eeriness, "At least an order of magnitude—"

"That's—That's ridiculous!" McKay's dismayed squeak made the wraith flinch, "They're too small for this!"

Steve bared his teeth with a short chuff, "That is not my fault."

"Right," They'd somehow ended up in an aggressive staring match over the tops of the laptops. Dr. McKay swallowed and leaned back, fidgeting, "Sorry."

Olive eyes darted away as Steve averted his face with a sharp hiss, "I am surprised as well."

"I'll just, uh… go get plan Z, then." Not looking at the wraith, McKay edged around the table and left.

Plan Z was an Ancient computer console.

A pair of techs rolled it in on a dolly, shooting nervous glances at the prisoner as they set it on the floor near the laptop. There was a brief spat of spatial awkwardness as Steve edged away, tethered to the table by his grip on the twin crystal probes, which were still tightly pressed to the finger guard. Then the techs withdrew the dolly and left. Leather brushed Ancient metal as Steve swayed his cheeks uncertainly past the upper corner of the crystal screen. He depressed one of the large, flat crystal keys.

Nothing happened. Dr. McKay winced.

"I cannot use this," the statement was unreadable.

"I know, I—that's why I didn't bring it in before," with an apologetic glance, McKay tapped the same crystal pad. The entire machine instantly lit up. "Look, we'll just use this for storage. We can divide the data up, process it in small chunks on the laptops." Pulling a coil of crystal fibers from the console's back, he laid it on the table and began attaching it to the Wraith-Talker LSD with bypass filaments. He paused, "Can you redirect the data transfer to a second output? Or do I need a second detector?"

As McKay tapped the LSD, Steve cocked his head, "Now that I have access, I can redirect the transfer… It will be considerably faster than using the electric device as an intermediary…" The wraith's brow furrowed, "You will need to create a receptacle to receive the data. I will not be able to direct it to its final destination."

"On it," fastening the last clip, McKay grabbed his abandoned data pad and moved to the console's front. As he had with the techs, Steve edged away to make room. But his eyes fastened on the Ancient screen with interest as the physicist began inputing programs from his pad using another large interface rod.

The wraith leaned forward, craning his neck to get a view of both screens.

Feeling the looming presence, McKay froze uneasily and glanced—

—at a too near, quizzically staring alien face.

"Excuse me?"

Steve leaned back glancing away. As McKay resumed working, he craned his upper body a bit instead, trying to get the same angle from farther away.

"Alright, ready when you are." With a final tap, Dr. McKay hastily returned to his side of the table. The wraith immediately filled the space he'd vacated. Flickering shapes began flowing down the Ancient screen, too fast to be identified.

"The data transfer is in progress."

As the light show continued, Steve watched for several long moments before turning his attention to the second tool. He hooked it delicately with a claw, dragging it next to the first, "I may be able to gain access—" his olive eyes widened. "Doctor McKay, these tools are linked."

"What?"

"The signature array automatically populated when this activated."

McKay peered at the bladeless guard from behind his laptop, "That's convenient."

"Yessss…" Steve's pale brow furrowed, "The transferable files contain exactly the same amount of data as the first…"

"What? Tha—" McKay cut himself off, mirroring Steve's confusion, "The odds against that are astronomical. Unless it's a back-up?"

The faraway look entered the wraith's eyes again, "I… do not believe that is correct. A one to one comparison of parallel entries does not match." His lips twitched, baring his sharp, translucent teeth in a disconcerted frown, "I… confess I do not understand some of these contents."

McKay's expression turned smug, "Well, we can't all know everything—"

"It is illegible."

The air of superiority that McKay had put on at Steve's admission of confusion vanished, "What do you mean illegible?"

"The coding is incoherent. Or incomplete. Possibly both."

"Ok, ok, let's just… uh… wait for the transfer to finish. Then we can take a closer look."

"As you wish."

They waited. Silence stretched for several long minutes as flickering shapes streamed on the crystal viewer. The guards stationed around the room shifted occasionally.

Finally it stopped. McKay came around the console.

They both stared for a moment. Then…

"What the Hell is that?"

Steve snorted with disgust.

"It's not Ancient. It's not—Well, maybe? That character looks—No, that—What the Hell is this?!"

"You already asked that." Steve's ivory hair ghosted over the laptop as he turned back to the tools. He removed the crystals from the three-segmented guard and began probing the shorter's silvery interior. "Is your receptacle still active?"

"Wha—Yes. Yes it is."

"I will begin transferring the second part once I locate the interface."

McKay turned back to the screen, quietly fuming. "Why can't one thing be easy? Just one thing? One? That's all I'm asking—"

"Initiating transfer."

The Ancient screen flickered. Then, instead of streaming like it had before, it split in two and began streaming in parallel.

"Whoa! Whoa, whoa! What's—Oh, no." McKay let loose with an emphatic expletive. The codes on either side of the screen were braiding together as they streamed, transforming and expanding into… something equally unrecognizable and incomprehensible. "What the # $& is it doing!?"

Hearing McKay swear, Steve looked up from the crystal probes and checked the screen. As the parallel data streams merged and transformed, his olive eyes widened with curious disbelief. "I do not know the exact translation of that term. But I suspect I echo the sentiment." He gave a low hiss… "It appears to contain a reactive compression algorithm. The data was split and is now being rewoven. It's a common technique inspired by the double helix. One that would normally occur in a psychic interface. It becomes uncompressed as it reforms… I do not recognize the encoding format. It…" His multi-tonal voice trailed off into confused silence.

They watched in quiet appreciation for a few moments.

"Rewoven," McKay finally said, "Meaning each tool contains exactly half."

"Yes… And both are likely needed to successfully reconstitute."

"If either one were lost—"

"—Everything might've been lost."

"Might've been?" McKay pressed.

"Given the right encryption key, it is sometimes possible to recover the helix's lost half. Just like rebuilding a strand of DNA."

"That's brilliant."

Steve's multi-tonal voice turned smug, "Yesss…"

Dr. McKay looked down, shaking his head disbelievingly at the bladeless tool. "And crazy. The short one has the same memory capacity as th—" He stopped. There was a shadow—No. A smear—several smears!—of dark liquid glistening on the thin crystal interface tips where they pressed against the dull sheen of the finger guard's concave interior. Horrified, the physicist's eyes lifted slowly, tracing their way up the Ancient glove, up the black jacket sleeve, across the glittering epaulets and white hair to finally land, disbelievingly on Steve's pale, enigmatic face.

"Is that… blood?"

The wraith blinked innocently. Then glanced away, tucking his ungloved hand against his waist, surreptitiously wiping a finger on his black coat.

McKay deflated with disappointment, "You didn't…"

Around the room, stunners lifted.

"Steve fed the tools."

In the conference room, Dr. Weir wasn't pleased, "I thought we agreed feeding the second tool was a risk we weren't taking yet."

"Yes, I know," Dr. McKay had the grace to look sheepish, "He somehow managed to start the process without anyone noticing—"

"And you," Major Sheppard interrupted, "let him finish."

"He'd already fed it for several minutes without showing any ill effects. I figured the damage was already done, so…"

Dr. Weir raised a sardonic eyebrow, "Oh, well, if he was already feeding it…"

McKay sighed, "Steve claims he checked first to make sure the anesthetic wouldn't be a problem."

"And are we able to verify this?" she pressed.

Fidgeting uncomfortably under the scrutiny, McKay hesitated then added, "…Steve also claims the coding related to physical properties of the tools is non-transferable."

"Meaning, no."

"We'd have to be able to read Wraith fluently while accessing the tools' systems through a combination of crystal and telepathic interf—"

"So, no," Sheppard double clarified.

"I don't like how we're relying on the prisoner's word for this," Teyla Emmagen had pointedly chosen to sit next to Sergeant Bates for this meeting. "He could tell us anything, and we'd have no way to verify any of it."

"He could be tampering with the artifacts, too," Sergeant Bates added, "Changing things without anyone knowing."

Dr. Weir frowned, "You're worried about sabotage."

"Not sabotage, per say," Bates corrected, "I'm worried about the fact that he claims to have accessed and analyzed data through the interface while giving no outward sign that such a manipulation was occurring."

"Yeah," Sheppard conceded, "I've been worried about that, too."

McKay frowned, "To be fair, he could've done it while analyzing other stuff. I mean, he did give a few signs. Not that disguising multiple inquiries while only telling me about one isn't deceitful, but—" he grimaced, "Ok, that sounds bad. Look, Steve has no reason to sabotage this. He wants to know how the glove works—"

"But if there's information on Wraith physiology he doesn't want Atlantis to possess," Sergeant Bates countered, "he could delete it."

"We'd never even know it was gone," Weir mused.

"Exactly."

"Ah don' think Steve's expertise runs in tha' area," Carson offered.

"Then some other information," Bates pressed, "It doesn't have to be physiology. And it could go the other way. He can program. He could plant viruses."

"Yes, we're taking precautions against that," McKay sniffed, "Everything he touches is both firewalled and physically isolated. Even that console."

Dr. Weir steepled her fingers before her on the table, "Those tools are the only thing we can't be one hundred percent sure about…"

"Anything involving telepathy's a risk," added Bates.

"One day," Sheppard pointed at Bates, trying to lighten the mood, "Atlantis is going to make a turkey sandwich appear in the command center. When that happens, I'm going make sure you eat those words. Pun intended."

"Never going to happen, Sir,"

Dr. McKay huffed in exasperated frustration, "It's all well and good to say telepathy's a risk, but we can't do anything about that. We extracted the data from the tools. That means they're out of the picture. Whatever Steve did has been done, and we won't be able to tell if he messed anything up for the foreseeable future, so why worry?"

"Dr. McKay 'as a point," Carson shrugged ruefully, "The tools 'ave been fed. If our prisoner's to be believed, they can go into storage for a couple centuries before needin' to be nourished. We just need to keep 'em out o' the ocean."

"Again with believing the prisoner," Teyla was openly frowning. "I do not like how frequently we seem to be taking his words at face value."

"I acknowledge your concern, Teyla," Dr. Weir turned to their ally with compassionate earnestness, "We're not suggesting we take them at face value. I think we're merely acknowledging that where telepathy is concerned, we have no way of verifying his words, and no way of moving this project forward without relying on them."

Seeing the Athosian didn't look reassured, Major Sheppard tried a different approach, "You have to admit, Teyla, aside from a few sleight of hand tricks, he hasn't hurt anything—or anyone—yet."

"Yet." Teyla lowered her voice, "He is Wraith. We are food to him, Major!"

"Yeah," Sheppard agreed, "And so's the glove."

There was disbelief in her voice, "You're not seriously arguing that this glove will change how he thinks of us?"

"No. I'm saying," Sheppard kept his tone apologetic, "as long as he's well fed, he has more to gain by cooperating with us than by being obstinate." Seeing Teyla still didn't seem mollified, he turned his gaze to Elizabeth, "A while back, Steve said that Atlantis is going to need to make a choice, about whether he's a prisoner or a collaborator. I pushed it aside, 'cause he was being pissy. And, also, it's frankly your decision to make, not mine. I am, however, starting to think this telepathy stuff might be part of what he was getting at. So far, when Steve steps out of line, it's been to do something that he thinks will benefit the glove research…" he hesitated, adding, "Pilfering random objects, not withstanding."

Leaning back from the table, Atlantis's expedition leader sighed and stood up, shaking her head. "He's testing our boundaries flagrantly now…" Dr. Weir clasped her hands behind her back, slowly pacing, "This is my fault. I opened a can of worms by openly taking execution off the table." Her chestnut curls swayed ruefully as she shook her head again, glancing at each of them in turn, "And I'm well aware of how messed up it sounds, saying that. Taking an execution off the table…" Her dark eyes fastened seriously on her Security Chief, "He's going to push and test us from now on, figuring out what he can personally get away with. With each of us."

"Yes, Ma'am," Bates nodded, "He was working at us collectively before. Now he's doing it individually."

Weir continued, "Playing Tootsie Pop with Carson—"

Dr. Beckett grimaced.

"—feeding the tools in front of McKay."

Dr. McKay glanced guiltily away.

Dr. Weir stopped and turned, looking seriously at her military commander, "I'm actually curious to see what he tries with you, Major."

What? Sheppard straightened uncomfortably, "Well, I'm not."

She resumed her pacing as if he hadn't spoken, "I have a hypothesis."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. I don't think your strip searches are going to last much longer." Dr. Weir glanced at him wryly, "The prisoner is intelligent and observant, and they're the only thing he seems to actively dislike. Call it a hunch."

Major Sheppard grimaced. He'd normally protest a prediction like that, but… Well… After McKay's dismissal, Steve had stared strangely at him during the following search. He hadn't dissociated. He hadn't complained. He'd just… stared. And there'd been something darkly calculating in the enigmatic, passively narrowed eyes. Afterwards, Major Sheppard had found himself preemptively dreading strip search number four, but he hadn't managed to put a finger on why, yet…

"Do you know something I don't, 'cause—"

"No. I just know strip searches are dehumanizing—"

"He's not human—"

"—And from the footage I've seen, he really doesn't like them." Dr. Weir drew the word 'really' out with a long, low, deliberate emphasis. "You also boxed him in when you enacted them, so he'll be looking to regain territory."

McKay rolled his eyes, "Oh, my God. It's a strip search, not a Stratego match."

"Yes. But now that we know what the tools contained, he's going to be pushing us harder because he knows he has additional leverage."

"What do the tools contain?" Teyla looked up at Dr. Weir, glad for a distraction from questioning the prisoner's trustworthiness. "How did he gain leverage?"

At a nod from Weir, Dr. McKay brought up a screenshot of code on his datapad and pushed it towards the middle of the table. Sheppard leaned forward snagging it, raised an eyebrow at what he saw, and offered it to Ford, who frowned and offered it to Bates. It proceeded to pass from hand to hand, making a complete circuit of baffled scrutiny before landing in front of Mckay again. The physicist crossed his arms pensively as it returned. "The data Steve extracted is a hybrid of Wraith and Ancient coding. They literally created a new computer language to define this project."

Intrigued, Teyla pulled the data-pad back towards her, "Some of this is Ancient?"

"And some is Wraith," Dr. Weir nodded, reclaiming her seat.

"From a very brief—and I mean brief—character analysis," McKay pointed at the pad, "it's pretty close to 50-50. Give or take a couple symbols…"

"I confess, I cannot tell the difference," Teyla frowned, still examining the screenshot, "Why would they do this?"

"Many reasons," McKay shrugged, "Added security for one. But the glove probably contains some organic components, which Wraith would be better suited for, along with Ancient technology that Ancient code would be better suited for—"

"Trying to take the best from both worlds, then," Major Sheppard offered.

"Exactly," Dr. McKay shrugged his annoyance, "Unfortunately, it also means anyone like us who stumbles across it is likely to only have half the skillset required to figure it out."

"Maybe that's also the point," Dr. Weir offered. "Ancients collaborating with a single Wraith. Maybe the Wraith wanted to make sure he wasn't disposable. It's his tools that held this code, which suggests he had a large degree of control over it. And your report also says it was compressed using a Wraith method. Do you think it's possible he might've had the only copy?"

"I've got Dr. Zelenka running a scan of the Ancient database for files in this format," Dr. McKay offered, "No hits so far, but this stuff stands out. If it's there, we'll see it. It'll take a few days, though. And, umm…" he fidgeted self-consciously, "I should also point out… seeing as we haven't cracked the ultraviolet security yet—We can't actually search the most likely hiding spots."

Major Sheppard shook his head. "I'd been wondering why we hadn't received a victory announcement."

"Yeah, well…" McKay shrugged, "I've had other priorities lately."

"If we return to Weir's point," Teyla suggested, "it could've run the opposite way. I imagine the Ancestors would've worried the Wraith would take their technology after the project ended. If they were assured this Wraith would only gain feeding technology, and wouldn't take what he learned back to the others, for use in the war…"

As she trailed off, Lieutenant Ford frowned, "The Ancients were losing, though. During a siege. Why bother if they knew their defeat was coming?"

"They lost due to overwhelming numbers," reminded Sergeant Bates, "The Ancients kept their technological advantage up until they abandoned the city. If they'd lost that advantage, they might not've escaped."

"Well, this Wraith didn't escape," Major Sheppard observed.

"No," McKay grimaced, "He apparently worked though the seige, went into stasis when the Ancients left, and was then was killed by a short when he was supposed to be revived and released. He had a freaking dart in his lab."

"Maybe it was part of their agreement," Dr. Weir mused, "If the Ancients lost, he had to wait until they were sure they weren't coming back. Only then would he be allowed to do as he pleased?"

"Maybe," McKay shrugged, "It makes as much sense as any other theory." He mock waved, "Hey! Here's some technology that makes the war obsolete. Oh, wait. You're not allowed to have it until AFTER the war's over. Oops. Sucks to be you—"

"Rodney—" Carson was wincing.

"—Oh look, now he's dead. Wait, why did we do this?"

Not impressed by the performance, Major Sheppard sighed, "Look, we can't know what the Wraith intended. We don't know what the Ancients—Ancestors—were doing. All we CAN know, is that because of what THEY did, we need both humans AND a Wraith to figure this out. Something tells me, that's not a coincidence."

Dr. Weir smiled slightly, then leaned forward, raising an eyebrow, "You're thinking they designed it this way so that in a worst case scenario humans and Wraith would be forced to collaborate to reconstruct it?"

Major Sheppard nodded, "I'm saying that seems like a pretty good way to stop a war." He did his own performance, softly and kindly, without McKay's sarcasm, "Hi Wraith. Here's an alternate food source. By the way, you need your current food source's help to access it. Please stop eating them and be friends."

McKay rolled his eyes, "Oh, please."

"Don't forget, that glove didn't work 'til I touched it."

Opening his mouth to snark a response, McKay quickly closed it again.

Pleased with the retreat, Sheppard spread his hands, "See? Why make it that way? That little detail is definitely not an accident."

Sergeant Bates deadpanned, "Maybe they just didn't want him absconding with the prototype. The glove thinks you're an Ancient, Major. Not human."

Spoilsport. "You just had to poke holes in it," Sheppard groused.

"That's my job, Sir."

"Alright," Weir interrupted, "Alright. We have lots of theories and no answers. But I like where we're going with this. Right now, whether by Ancient intention or accident, our prisoner has a bit of unexpected leverage due to the design of the glove's programming. He didn't know he would have that leverage until after the data uncompressed, so I'm going to operate under the assumption that he was acting on good faith when he initiated the transfer onto Dr. McKay's Ancient console—"

"Where the Hell did you get that, by the way?" Sheppard whispered.

"One of the not-so-high security research labs. I'll tell you later."

Weir shot them a warning look, "And despite feeding the tool, I'm going to continue assuming good faith where the glove is concerned. Having said that, however, I want everyone to stay vigilant. The prisoner knows he has value, and he's shown an unfortunate tendency to disregard instructions when he thinks he knows best. This hasn't created any dangerous situations yet, but that doesn't mean in the future it won't." She looked seriously around the table, "He has a very high opinion of his kind, and a low opinion of ours. While that gives us an advantage, it's also a recipe for trouble. I want us to use caution dealing with him. However benign and familiar he acts, that act could drop in an instant for reasons we can't even begin to predict."

A respectful silence filled the conference room as Elizabeth paused. "I'm not saying this to single anyone out, or instill fear in us. I'm saying this because we from Earth do not have generations of predation reinforcing our self-preservation instincts." Weir's eyes lingered on Teyla, and something unspoken passed between them. The Athosian nodded, and Elizabeth continued, "Anyone who gets inside the prisoner's security perimeter needs to remember that they are in physical danger. As we work more closely with him, we're going to need to work harder at remembering that. Because in all likelihood, the prisoner is going to be doing his best to convince us to forget."

Atlantis's leader glanced at everyone in turn once more before softening her expression, "I'm getting down off my soapbox. Please don't make me pull it out again." She smiled, "Now, unless there are more concerns, you're dismissed." Weir caught her Security Chief's eye, "With the exception of Sergeant Bates, if you have a moment."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Sheppard eyed him quizzically as he got up, "What did you do?"

"Nothing, Sir," Bates chuckled, "SGA-3 found some ruins. We're just figuring out who to send. It'll probably be Dr. Corde."

Halfway out the door, Dr. McKay froze, "Ruins? What sort of ruins?"

Lieutenant Ford grinned as Major Sheppard herded the physicist out, saying, "You have Wraith code, Rodney. We can find our own ruins. Let other teams have some fun."

"Wraith code, right," McKay turned on his heel, then darted back into the room, snatching up his forgotten data-pad, "Sorry, sorry. Have fun, Bates." He left again.

Dr. Beckett and Teyla were leaving the room more slowly.

"Ah'm sorry if we worry ye, lass."

"It's the prisoner who worries me, Doctor, not you." There was a pensive unease in Teyla's expression that Dr. Weir's speech hadn't alleviated.

"Ah know. It's just," Dr. Beckett hesitated, choosing his words carefully, "most o' us from Earth, we'd never seen aliens before comin' 'ere. An' ah know, to us yer an alien, too, but yer people are human, an' it's like talkin' to someone from another country. Steve," he shrugged, "The prisoner… 'E's the first alien we've seen tha' actually looks alien—"

The Athosian shook her head, frowning, "You don't have to explain this."

"Ah know," Carson's face fell. There was a tension growing where Teyla and the prisoner were concerned. One that hadn't been there before the stunner incident. Or perhaps it'd been there, but he hadn't noticed because of her professional demeanor. "Ah feel like ah do, though. Most o' us 'aven't fought Wraith off-world yet. We've only 'heard o' the cullin's second hand, from you an' the Major's reports. For many o' us, the danger's still theoretical, an' then Steve's right 'ere, letting' us study 'im." Dr. Beckett glanced at the Stargate as they passed through the Gateroom. "We're curious. An' the fact tha' e' looks human enough to relate to is very temptin'. An' very dangerous."

Teyla sighed, "While I am glad that you recognize the danger, I admit, it is hard to understand how the prospect of being eaten can feel theoretical."

Carson smiled ruefully, "Ah know. It's very peculiar."

As the teleporter swished open, Teyla turned to Carson with a conciliatory shrug, "I have raised my concerns about Atlantis personnel interacting with the prisoner with Dr. Weir. In private. I have also spoken to Major Sheppard and Sergeant Bates."

Dr. Beckett was startled, "Oh. Then, ye 'ave my apologies."

"It's alright, Carson," Teyla's caramel hair brushed her shoulders as she shook her head, "This is an area where Atlantis and I agree to disagree. I have made peace with that. There is no guarantee others in this galaxy will be willing to do the same, though." She studied him meaningfully, "That is something everyone needs to consider."

"Oh, aye," Carson didn't need to be reminded of that, "Mum's the word. We don't talk about 'im."

"Good," The Athosian's smile turned genuine as she pointed to the transporter screen, "I am going here. Are you…?"

He shook his head, "No, ah'm headin' to the infirmary. Ah'll take the next one."

"Alright. I'll see you later, Doctor."

"Bye, Teyla."

The transporter door swished closed. Dr. Beckett sighed.

"Actually," Lieutenant Ford was fidgeting, "you don't claim territory in Stratego. You lay your plans and wait to see if they work—"

"Yes, I'm aware, Lieutenant," McKay was contemplating the Wraith/Ancient code on the scavenged console, "It was the first game that popped out of my mouth. I meant to say Risk—"

"That would've made more sense—"

"Yeah, well, I don't play that either, so it doesn't matter."

Major Sheppard shrugged, "I guess I won't offer to play, then."

Ford grinned, "You play Risk?"

"Not really." Sheppard chuckled as the lieutenant's face fell, "But it's fun whipping civilian butt."

The grin returned, "That it is, Sir."

McKay tapped one of the flat crystal keys, "You should play Steve."

Ford's grin vanished immediately, "No, I don—"

"Steve's not a tactician, Rodney," Sheppard came around to McKay's shoulder, watching the screen, "Steve's very particular on that—"

"No, he's Wraith," McKay tapped another key, altering the display, "Given the progression of the Ancient hologram showing how the Wraith took over the Pegasus Galaxy, he'd probably give you a good match up—" he turned on Sheppard, exasperatedly, "Look, why'd you two follow me here?"

Seriously? Sheppard stared disbelievingly, "You told me you'd tell me where you got the console!"

McKay blinked, "Oh. So I did." Then he frowned, "Wait, you actually believed me?—"

"Of course I believed you!"

"—I thought that was just banter." He seemed genuinely baffled, "It's really not that important."

Ford was deadpanning, "You thought it was just banter?"

"Yeah," McKay shrugged, "'cause the conversation was heavy."

Sheppard smirked, "It was only heavy 'cause you felt like you were getting scolded."

Rodney fidgeted, "Yeah, well, I think we were all getting scolded."

Ford put his hands up, "Not me. I wasn't getting scolded. I take Steve very seriously."

"Oh, sure," Sheppard quipped, "Mister, 'I'm really sorry to be doing this. Let me just tighten your jacket.'"

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

He grinned, "Probably not."

Ford shifted embarrassedly, "I was just trying to be helpful."

"Well, Steve seems to be very particular about how he puts his jacket on," Sheppard gave a one-shouldered shrug, "I think you messed up his method."

"Oh," the lieutenant frowned thoughtfully.

"Steve's very particular about lots of things, isn't he?" McKay observed.

Major Sheppard sidled closer to the console, "When you've been around for several hundred years, you probably figure out what you like."

"Not to mention, the environments we've seen on those hive ships are very nearly identical." Dr. McKay crossed his arms, staring at the code, "Wraith tech in general seems pretty uniform…"

"To be fair," Sheppard reminded, "We haven't seen many examples."

"No, we haven't. That's true."

"So, where did you get this?" Ford moved a bit closer.

McKay's baffled expression returned, "I told Sheppard I'd tell him. Why are you here, too?"

Ford shrugged, "I was going off shift, so I thought I'd tag along. Does it require higher security clearance?"

"What? No. I just wasn't expecting any company."

"Where'd you get it, Rodney," Sheppard pressed.

"A viral research lab," McKay held a finger up, "Not a physical virus. A computer virus lab." Seeing Sheppard's dismay he quickly added, "And before you ask, Yes, we made sure it was completely wiped before taking it. There were several consoles, and from what we could tell, they'd been used specifically for isolating and analyzing self-propagating code. Seemed like a pretty good option for housing a potentially dangerous wraith download."

"Just as long as it doesn't unexpectedly eat the download."

McKay rolled his eyes, "Like I said, we made sure it was wiped."

"Yeah, well. Famous last words, and all that…"

Major Sheppard and Lieutenant Ford regarded the console uneasily…

…

Totally distracted by their silent, critically staring presence, Dr. McKay finally snapped, "Look. If you're seriously this bored, why don't you two go down and play with the space guppies. There's literally nothing you can do here."

"Play with the space guppies?" Lieutenant Ford perked up, "We can do that?"

"Yes. Dr. Moore's last report suggests they have a cat's level of intelligence, and they apparently throw tantrums whenever everyone's off bead duty."

"The sick one's getting better, then," Sheppard mused.

McKay looked back at the console, "Apparently its soft spots are slowly hardening. Go see for yourself."

"All right, I will."

"Good."

"Good."

"Go!"

"Going!" Sheppard glanced at Aiden, "Ford?"

Ford grinned, "Coming, Sir!"

As they jogged out, McKay sighed with relief, shaking his head, "Military."

A few minutes later, they exited a teleporter and jogged down the stairs, entering the upper levels of the flooded lab.

"It smells a lot better than last time," Sheppard noted.

"You can say that again."

The broken windows were all uncovered, letting a brisk sea breeze flow through the unprotected corridors. Several more tons of sand and detritus had been sifted and removed since their last visit, and though there was plenty of excavation still to be done, catalogued rooms, like the outer labs Sheppard and Ford were passing, now officially outnumbered the inner lab's seaweed-choked sand drifts…

A low, moaning wail echoed along the metal walls.

"OoooooooaaaaaaaaaaooooooooooOOOOOOOOaaaaaaooooo!"

As they entered the ultraviolet security archway, Major Sheppard tapped its oversized control box. Five security crystals, instead of the usual three. Sharing a glance with Ford, he slowed, following the sound. Feeling sneaky, they poked their heads surreptitiously into doorways and corridors. No guppies, no guppies…

…Guppies?

"They put the space guppies in there?" Lieutenant Ford was horrified.

Following his gaze, Sheppard winced, "Not my first choice, but… Meh." They shared a bemused glance, then edged quietly into the room that held the fried wraith's charred stasis pod. In a way it made sense. The security arch bottlenecked traffic, meaning everyone who entered had to pass nearby. If the goal was to make sure the space guppies were properly monitored, the location was actually pretty ideal. Lots of visitors…

Two large tanks, each roughly the size of a bathtub, rested on the floor beside the damaged alcove. A female scientist with red hair was crouched between them. One of her sleeves was rolled up, and her forearm was submerged, up to her elbow. Soft splashing noises were coming from the rippling water.

The wailing was coming from the tank behind her.

"Dr. Sheckle, I presume," Major Sheppard guessed. (The red hair was familiar.)

She startled, looking over her shoulder with a splash, "Major Sheppard! What brings you here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." He could've sworn she was usually listed on bead duty. "We thought we'd check on our fish friends."

"Ah," Sheckle laughed, "Dr. Moore was hoping to recruit enrichment for them. It seems word has spread."

Lieutenant Ford approached the tank curiously, "Enrichment?"

"Social enrichment." She looked down, into the water, "They get bored easily."

"Sounds like someone else that we know," muttered Sheppard.

""What?"

"Nothing." He went to the other tank. The space guppy was drifting in circles, wailing as it went. As his shadow fell across the water's surface, it turned belly up and began corkscrewing, showing alternating flashes of gills and smooth shell, along with glimpses of its wide, toothless mouth. The wailing grew louder. Slightly weirded out, Major Sheppard threw Dr. Sheckle a puzzled glance, "What's wrong with this one?"

Lieutenant Ford nodded, "Yeah, why's it wailing like that?"

With a long suffering sigh, the interdisciplinary scientist shook her head, making her curls bounce, "It's jealous."

"Jealous?" Sheppard parroted. How unexpected.

"Yes. This one's getting all the attention at the moment. So it's complaining. If I switch, this one will start acting out instead."

"They're like little kids," Ford grinned, "Which one's the sick one?"

"This one," Sheckle moved her arm, letting her hand rise the surface. The guppy rose with her, maintaining contact with her palm. There were dark, sickly spots on its shelled back, "The wraith said we should touch it as much as possible. We've been taking turns when we're off duty. It's actually sort of sweet, once you get past the whole alien sucker fish vibe." She stroked its back. "I was petting both for a while, but my fingers were getting pruny, so I switched to one, then the other. That's why the other's complaining. It knows I'm still here, and it thinks I'm ignoring it."

"Sweet, huh?" Sheppard crouched, leaning against the tank's metal frame, "You're the one who almost knocked me over." He waved his hand over the water. The guppy splooshed, corkscrewing a tight turn and sent a wake splishing into the tank's center. It thrashed up, pushing its armored head out of the water, then thrust powerfully with its tail, trying to reach his hand.

Major Sheppard grinned, "Oh. Ya wanna play, do ya?" He lowered his palm, brushing its snout. In response, the guppy's tail thrust again, popping its body further out. Its long whiskers swayed over the water's surface as it fell sideways with a sploosh! grabbing his thumb on the way down. Its bony gums squeezed. Hard.

"Ow!" Sheppard caught himself on the tank's edge. The impact jarred his thumb loose, and the guppy swished into a tight turn and poked its head up again.

"Careful," Dr. Sheckled watched him worriedly, "They don't have teeth, but they can pinch. This one's learned not to do that, but that one was stronger when you brought it out. We weren't able to hand-feed it easily, so it's learning more slowly.

"Ah. Sounds like you need a firm grip." Sheppard smacked it lightly on its snout as it tried gumming him again. "No. Bad fish." It thrashed about, spitting water, then nudged his palm more gently. He scratched it lightly with his fingertips, carefully avoiding the mouth. "There, that's better. Now remember that for next time, ya hear?"

"This is so cool." Lieutenant Ford had crouched at the other tank across from Dr. Sheckle, and was gingerly resting his palm on its segmented dorsal ridge. His dark skin blended with the dappled patches on its softened shell. His eyes widened, full of wonder, "It's warm! It—it's not cold, like a fish."

"No," Sheckle agreed, "It's warm blooded, like a dolphin."

He laughed, glancing up at Sheppard, "It's like touching a warm lobster."

Eyeing his guppy carefully, the Major spread his fingers, sliding his palm over its snout and across the shell plates protecting its head. It was a smooth, micro-pebbled textured, like a crab or lobster shell. And it was oddly warm. "That is cool…"

"They run slightly warmer than we do," Dr. Sheckle offered. "Moore thinks they might have something resembling brown fat layers beneath their shells, but we can't really verify it. We don't want to interfere while they're desalinating."

"How's that going, by the way?" Sheppard asked.

"Very nicely," she gestured to a machine that'd been placed by a broken window, "We've got a solar powered desalinator in here. Changing the water a few times a day. This one," she glanced into her tank, "keeps coming back salty, so we're changing it twice as frequently. That one, though," she jerked her chin towards Sheppard's tank, "has started lowering its salt secretions already. Only had to change it once today."

"Salt secretions?" Ford asked.

She nodded, "Yeah. This one sometimes floats on the surface. When its shell dries, you can brush your hand over it and come back with a white dusting on your fingers. We're not sure if the shell has microscopic pores, or whether the stuffs flowing out from between its joints. Either way, it's doing its best to get rid of it."

"Poor thing," murmured Ford, "You're a floating salt lick."

As if sensing his sympathy, the space guppy moaned, "aaaaaooooooooooo…"

Dr. Sheckle laughed. Then her radio activated. Her eyes widened, "Again? I'm starting to think they can sense this?" She stared at Ford, then at Sheppard in shock. "I swear, they can sense the radios activating." She tapped her ear piece. "Sheckle here. Ok. Yes, I am. Sure, I can do that. I'll be right up."

Giving the sick guppy a final affectionate pet, Dr. Sheckle stood up and dried her hand on her pants. "Dr. Corde wants me to help make an off-world team. Are you two good?"

Sheppard nodded, "Yeah, sure. Go ahead."

She tugged her sleeve down, bobbing her head towards a corner where a white bucket with leaves and sticks sat, "There's a bucket of kitchen scraps and vegetation from the mainland. Feel free to give them a snack. They eat literally anything."

"Alright. We like snacks."

Ford looked at his guppy, giving it a mushy look, "Looks like I get to feed you."

Chuckling, Dr. Sheckle headed for the door, shaking her head, then abruptly stopped. She turned back, "Oh, one last thing. If you decide to play tug o' war, Major, be careful. They don't have teeth, but there is something sharp further down in their gullet. If they partially ingest something, like a stick, it will come out shredded."

Sheppard looked at his guppy with renewed respect. That was good information to know. "Right. So only use toys you don't mind losing."

"Yes. And please make sure they're edible."

Ford nodded, "No plastic. Got it."

"Have fun!" With a bright finger wiggle, Dr. Sheckle disappeared through the door frame. They heard her footsteps echo away into the distance.

"Hmmm," Sheppard tickled the strange textured shell as the guppy circled under his hand, "Looks like it's just you and me." He shared a pleased smile with Ford, who grinned and made googly eyes at his guppy again. "And them," Sheppard added, looking back into the tank. He glanced over at the bucket, then got up to get a few sticks.

"Oooooaaoaaaaaaoooooooooooooooaaaaa!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming! Jeez, you're an impatient space fish."

"Dr. Weir?"

Turning from her view of the Gateroom, Elizabeth set her data pad down and crossed to her partially open office door. Teyla Emmagen was waiting outside.

"Do you have a moment?"

"Of course, Teyla, please come in." She stepped back, making room and gesturing to one of the chairs by her desk, "Would you like to sit?"

"No, this won't take long," Teyla glanced at the 'Penny Jar' as she entered. It was full to the brim with glistening orange beads. An overflow bowl had been added to a corner of Weir's desk, and the data-pad's strange, hybrid language reflected in the transparent spheres, giving the new decor an eerie, glittering laboratory look. Teyla noted the new addition with a raised eyebrow before meeting Weir's gaze with quiet seriousness, "We might have a problem."

"Is this about the meeting earlier?" When the Athosian gave a short, negative shake of her head, Weir nodded, "Please continue."

"I can't be sure. If anything, it's currently just a rumor of a rumor.

Dr. Weir frowned, "What sort of rumor?"

Teyla hesitated, then looked towards the Stargate. "Jinto met with some friends while Halling was visiting one of our trading partners." She gave a rueful shrug, returning her eyes pensively to Weir, "I'm not sure what was said, but he seems to think his friends are wary of Atlantis. I only mention this, because this was not the case before. And…" Teyla hesitated again, as if unsure whether she should continue. When Weir didn't interrupt, she added, "he is not the only child whose friends have upset them."

Weir's frown deepened, "I assume this is a recent development."

"Very recent. Only the last couple days."

"Does Jinto know why they're wary?"

Teyla hesitated again. "He said… his friends want him to stay away from Atlantis because we're willing to help everyone. Even the Wraith."

Concerned, Weir crossed her arms, "That's a pretty strange accusation."

"I agree. But it is also very dangerous. To be associated with helping Wraith is a great insult on many worlds."

Weir glanced thoughtfully aside, "Do you think this is related to our prisoner?"

"I do not know." Teyla shook her head, "Some of my people know that we have a prisoner. There was frequent travel back and forth to the mainland when he was captured. They know we've managed to get information from him. They do not know what that information is, or the extent to which he's cooperating. And they do not know about the artifact, or Atlantis' research." She sighed, "They also do not know that he's been taken off-world. Perhaps someone saw him in the infirmary. Maybe they thought he was sick." She shook her head again, looking at Weir earnestly, "But even if they had, we are allies, Dr. Weir. The Athosians would never spread rumors hurting Atlantis."

Seeing Teyla's distress, Weir hastened to reassure her, "Well, we're not sure someone did. As you say, it's currently a rumor of a rumor."

"I know," Teyla nodded, glancing away, "And I am hoping it is not a serious problem. That it will blow over, as stories often do, and that I am jumping at shadows…" she looked back at Dr. Weir, pensive and unconvinced, "But if it is not merely a coincidence—If it continues to grow, it could cause difficulties. For both our peoples."

"I understand. And I appreciate that you're bringing it my attention." Dr. Weir frowned again, considering the potential fallout, "Please let me know if you hear anything else. I'll tell my teams to keep an ear out."

"I will. And thank you for listening. Not everyone would be so…" Teyla paused, ruefully adding, "openminded regarding a child's worries."

"Anytime, Teyla. Anytime," Weir smiled, "Atlantis values your judgement."

Teyla gestured to the hybrid code glowing on Weir's desk, "I will let you return to your work."

The expedition leader nodded as Teyla took her leave, but didn't retrieve her tablet. Instead Dr. Weir moved to her office window, overlooking the Stargate. A PR campaign was not something she looked forward to adding to her 'To Do' list.

"Let's hope in this case that Teyla's mistaken…"