A/N: Yo. I went dark with this one. But...you gotta make your baddies bad, ya know? Anyway, I think I should add a warning for minor sexual assault for this chapter for some unwanted, inappropriate touching. I think I'm still safe with my T rating, but if any of you think I should bump it to M, let me know.

Thanks for all your support and your reading and reviews. I appreciate you all so much. :) Hope you...enjoy? Don't know if that's the right word, but you get what I mean. Thank you again!

Pins and needles. It was an all-too familiar sensation. That, combined with the cold solidity of the floor on which he lay, the humidity of the air he breathed, and the faint stench of rotting flesh, made him immediately recognize where he was. With a dull pounding in his head, he sat up slowly and in the instant before he opened his eyes, desperately hoped he was mistaken.

But there was no mistaking the low light, hovering mist, and organ-like sinew that imprisoned him. He was in a holding cell aboard a Wraith ship.

First, he felt for his weapon, only to discover it had been taken from him, along with several of his knives. Next, he scanned his surroundings for the others, all still unconscious, lying on the floor like rag dolls cast aside with no regard for their comfort or humanity. Sheppard lay on his side and looked rather like he was sleeping. Meanwhile, McKay was curled into the fetal position, a grimace sketched upon his face; unlike himself, the physicist must have gotten a good look at whichever ugly son of a bitch had stunned him. The two women, Rogers and Teyla, were lying one across the other like branches in a stack of kindling. Their position conjured an image, one of the fallout after the first Wraith siege on Sateda, of corpses piled high on top of each other while they awaited mass cremation. He shook his head and tried to rid himself of the memory.

Eva. Where was Eva?

He leapt to his feet and forced his head through the bars of their cell (if that's what the web-like maze of tissue could even be called) and studied the long and shadowy corridor. It looked like they were on a Cruiser; their hallways were narrower than those of a Hive, the prison cells smaller, the passageways less guarded.

But where had they taken Eva? The Wraith had kept the rest of the group together – an egregious oversight on their part, Ronon thought – why take only her?

Stirring noises from the interior of the cell made him turn around. It was Teyla, and she was trying, as delicately as possible, to push the mass that was Dr. Rogers off her torso. He rushed to Teyla's aid, rolling the limp weight of the unconscious linguist off the Athosian's small frame and against his own chest. Just as he began debating whether he should prop her against a wall, or maybe even against himself until she woke, her eyes sprung open. With a gasp, she writhed and wriggled in his grasp, wrenching herself away from him.

"Easy," he said into her ear, trying to keep his voice as low and calming as possible. "Easy. It's just me."

She stopped struggling and peered over her shoulder and into his face. In her eyes was that same fear, that same panic he had seen when he had awakened her on the planet below.

"Where are we?" she whispered.

There was a groan from the front of the cell. Ronon blinked defensively at the strands of Rogers's long hair that whipped him across the face and neck as she snapped her gaze toward the source. Sheppard was coming to.

"We're in a prison cell on a Wraith Cruiser," Ronon informed her.

She craned her neck to look at him again, and her eyes widened with alarm. "What?"

"We've been captured," he bluntly stated.

Rogers started groping at her own chest, forcing him to release his grip on her. She then raised herself to her knees and shoved both her hands into her pants pockets. What the hell was she doing?

"I need my inhaler," she rasped, her voice hardly even a whisper.

Ronon didn't know how to tell her that the Wraith had taken everything – guns, knives, TAC vests – and that included her medication.

From the edge of the cell, Sheppard stood up and extended a hand to McKay. "Try to stay calm, Rogers." He must not have heard the reason for her erratic behavior. "We'll get outta here. We always do."

No longer able to speak, the scathing glare that Rogers proceeded to give Sheppard made Ronon very grateful it wasn't intended for him. Sensing the young woman's distress, Teyla took Ronon's spot behind Rogers and helped her to sit up straight while he, for the second time, poked his head through the sinewy septum.

A drone, presumably on patrol, was passing by. "Hey!" he shouted as loudly as he possibly could. "You!"

The drone, sufficiently intrigued by its prisoner's outburst, stalked slowly toward their cell.

"You took her medication," Ronon immediately said as he pointed back at Rogers, not wasting any time, "and she needs it now. So be a good dog, find your master, and bring us her TAC vest. It's the one with, with," he tried to remember what all she kept in her pockets, "with the camera, the notepad, and voice recorder in it."

The drone made no noise, said nothing, but tilted its head to the side.

"If you do not bring it to us, she may die," Teyla supplied.

As if on cue, Rogers's breath whistled in her lungs.

"One less for you to feed on," Ronon jeered.

The drone stared blankly at him, clearly weighing the options.

"Go," he snarled. "Now!"

The drone turned his back to the cell and disappeared. All they had to do now was wait. Wait and hope that it would come back, and that Rogers could make it that long.

He was sure that very little time had actually gone by. Probably only a matter of a few minutes. But with Rogers wheezing, struggling for air at the back of the cell, and Teyla comforting her as best as she could, those excruciating minutes felt like hours.

Never in his life, until this moment, had he been relieved to hear the approaching sound of Wraith footsteps. He stopped pacing, practically throwing himself at the cell barrier, as a Wraith commander and two drones arrived.

Ronon held out his hand. "The medication?" he growled.

There was a tense moment of silence punctuated only by Rogers's gasps for oxygen where he was unsure if they had even brought it at all. But, eventually, the commander nodded to one of his inferiors who then produced the requested TAC vest from behind his back and lifted it in the air. Were they not going to give it to them? Would they just dangle it there in front of them, a cruel reminder of how powerless they all were?

Ronon glanced back at Rogers, who was pointing, rather insistently, to her heart. He looked from her chest to her face until he understood, and returned his attention to the Wraith. "Top left pocket," he ordered.

The drone opened the pocket and the inhaler was roughly placed in Ronon's hand. He hurried over to Rogers, who took it immediately from him. She shook it vigorously, popped the cap off, and with a soft puffing sound, took a long breath of it. She closed her eyes, and let her head fall back against the wall behind her.

Ronon felt the breath in his own lungs flow a bit easier as he watched her get her relief. Some medical condition. He was surprised she was even cleared to go on off-world missions, suffering from a disease like that. Suddenly, he felt ashamed how he had treated her the day before, making light of her illness.

"I trust that will keep you quiet," the commander spoke, "for the time being."

"Until when, huh?" McKay snapped. "Until you decide to feed on us?"

The Wraith sneered. "Precisely."

Commander and drones alike turned to leave, until – much to Ronon's surprise – Rogers yelled after them.

"Where is she?" Her voice wavered, still hoarse from the assault on her lungs. Ronon looked to see, with some assistance from Teyla, she was now standing, the pallor of her face belying her sudden and fierce determination.

The commander spun on its heel and raised an eyebrow. "I save your life and this is what I get in return?" It waved a hand over the control panel and the cell barrier momentarily fell away. It stepped past the threshold and the web instantly resealed, locking the Wraith in the small space with them…or was it the other way around?

"Insolence?" The Wraith's telltale hiss echoed against the walls of the cell as it took a few strides closer to Rogers. "I've come to expect that from some of the humans I deal with, but you… I do not believe I have even had the pleasure of meeting you."

The Wraith made moves to close the gap between itself and Rogers, but Sheppard and Ronon immediately closed ranks, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of her, forming a solid wall between her and the creature.

The Wraith's lip curled in amusement. It hardly looked inconvenienced, much less intimidated. "Now you…" it said, eye-level with Ronon, "you, I remember." Its bemused expression quickly faded. "Stand aside."

"Like hell," Ronon growled.

"Shoot them," it ordered.

Two short energy blasts materialized from each of the drones' weapons. Sheppard collapsed at once while Ronon dropped to his knees. The Wraith pushed him over as it strode past.

Rogers took a step backward as the commander closed in on her. Her chest was rising and falling as rapidly as a hummingbird's, but she kept her head held high and her jaw clenched tight.

"I can only assume you're referring to my little runner," it said in response to her earlier question.

"Where have you taken her? What have you done to her?" she asked.

What Ronon had said to her the night before still held true, she was certainly brave. How much of that bravery could be attributed to ignorance stemming from inexperience, he didn't know.

"Why do you care so much for the girl?" the Wraith inquired. "You're almost a girl, yourself."

In an effort to conceal the truth, Rogers pressed her lips together, but her eyes, which darted over to where Ronon lay, betrayed her.

The Wraith followed her line of sight. "Ah," it breathed as it took sight of him. "Of course. The sire…" he looked back at Rogers, "and the dam." It took a step backward, cocked its head and ran an appraising eye over her body, top to bottom. Its gaze met Ronon's again. "She is a fine specimen of her sex, is she not?"

Anger broiled in his chest. Before he could muster any semblance of control over it, he pushed himself to his feet and lunged.

But the Wraith was too fast. It eliminated the space between itself and Rogers once more, and brought its feeding hand to her chest. "Take one step closer and I will feast upon her," it threatened.

Ronon froze, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

The Wraith moved its head from side to side like a cobra's as it examined her features. "Clear skin," it commented. "Usually a strong signal of high levels of estrogen." It flexed the fingers of its left hand and took a lock of her dark red hair between them. "A lustrous shine – indicates good nourishment and overall health." It let out a quiet breath of air in what might have been an attempt at laughter. "I would check her teeth, but I suspect she bites."

Ronon tensed his hand, still sore from when she had done exactly that. He always felt like the Wraith could read minds and this situation was proving no exception.

The Wraith's fingers slid down the side of Rogers's neck and he saw her shudder. She closed her eyes, as though blocking out the image would block out reality. Ronon hated this; he wished he could do the same, but something, some sense of duty that he suspected was not exclusively rooted in his Satedan sense of honor made him keep watch over her.

The beast's hand slipped farther down her body, stopping to cup one of her breasts. It pressed and prodded, not with lust, but almost with clinical observation.

Rogers opened her eyes and stared the Wraith straight in the eyes. "Let go of me," she growled.

It raised its brow at her boldness, but did not remove either of its hands from her body. "Slightly smaller than average," it assessed, "but I expect that would change with gravidity." It continued to touch her, tracing the concavity of her narrow waist before stopping at the swell of her hips.

Ronon's muscles quivered with fury. He gritted his teeth, reminding himself that her life depended on him staying still and not acting.

"Wide hips," it appraised. "She obviously has the capacity to bear the young of a sire as large as yourself." He glanced back at Ronon. "Or even two offspring of an average-sized male." Finally, it leaned close to her, like a lover, and breathed in the scent of her neck.

Rogers squeezed her eyes shut and flinched, angling her face away from the Wraith's. Ronon had a knife in his gauntlet. If he could just reach for it…

"She's in heat," it announced as it drew back. "And will be for a few more days." It looked over its shoulder at Ronon and Sheppard, who still lay on the floor. "No wonder you two are falling over yourselves for her."

"Where's Eva?" Rogers whispered.

"Ah, yes. My little runner. I have a special plan for her." It looked Rogers up and down one last time. "It is truly a pity that you carry that horrid illness. Otherwise, I would have a special plan for you, too."

Responding to a flourish of the commander's feeding hand, one of the drones on the other side activated the control panel, allowing the Wraith to exit their cell. Without another word, it left.

Ronon turned to Rogers and, all at once, was filled with the need to take her in his arms and hold her against his chest, to erase the Wraith's filthy, prying touch and replace it with his own. But something made him hesitate and soon it was Teyla who did this instead. Rogers released a sigh of relief and, eyes closed, rested her forehead on the other woman's shoulder. Ronon gave them their space, realizing that at this moment, Teyla's feminine touch would be infinitely more restorative than his own.

He turned his thoughts to Eva and worried about what the Wraith's "special plan" for her might entail.

A/N: Thank you again! Let me know what you think.