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Chapter Text

              Colonel Marshall Sumner did not pride himself on his patience, but nor did he consider its lack a flaw. However, as he listened to Dr. Zelenka rattle on (for the fourth time) how Stargate DHDs didn’t store information like a computer (making it impossible to determine any sort of chronological order), he wished he had just a bit more of it. He did manage to rein in his temper and not snap at the little Czech (which wouldn’t have accomplished anything except fluster the mousy fellow and slow him down further).

              As soon as Zelenka had the addresses, he sent him to the monastery with Ford to continue their work finding Dagan’s ZPM. Then he took Teyla with him back to Atlantis and went straight to Elizabeth’s office. Without speaking, Teyla held out her hand for the tablet, anticipating Marshall’s wishes. He handed it over and sat opposite the expedition leader. She looked calm on the surface, but he could detect the worry in her blue-green eyes.

              “We got the last few dozen addresses dialed from their ‘gate,” he said without preamble. “I sent Zelenka and Ford back to help find the ZPM. Maybe we can get something from this disaster.”

              Elizabeth’s lips quirked the slightest bit. “We don’t know yet if it’s a disaster. Let’s call it . . . a debacle.”

              He almost snorted. “Very well. Debacle.”  He shifted to look at Teyla as the beautiful Athosian scrolled through the information. “Anything?”

              “As Dr. Zelenka said,” she began after a moment, “there’s no way to know in what order these addresses were dialed. I do see the address for the Genii homeworld.”  She turned the tablet to display the familiar symbols. “So far, I see nothing . . .” she trailed off and frowned.

              Elizabeth immediately leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk surface and clasping her hands. “What? Another address you recognize?”

              Teyla handed her the tablet. “This one. I’ve never been to this world, but I recognize the symbols. I remember one of the elders of my people telling me about it, a long time ago.”

              Marshall took the tablet when Elizabeth offered it and gave the address a once-over. “What did she tell you?”

              “Very little,” Teyla admitted, looking slightly chagrined. “It was one of three worlds she said we must never go.”

              “That’s all?” Marshall pressed.

              Teyla nodded. “I am sorry, Colonel.”

              Elizabeth shifted. “Is she . . . still with us? Would she be able to tell us more?”

              Marshall met her eyes. “You think this could be where Kolya took Sheppard and McKay?”

              “I don’t know,” Elizabeth replied, “but you yourself said you didn’t think the Genii took them to their world.”

              He held up a hand. “I said I had a gut feeling, is all,” he corrected. “Exploring every world dialed in the last couple weeks could prove to be just a waste of time.”

              It was Teyla’s turn to shift. “I agreed with your instincts, Colonel. I believe more is going on than meets the eye. Every single world on this list is a normal place for the Daganian people to go. Except for this one. It seems highly coincidental.”

              Marshall studied the young woman’s dark eyes. He could see his own conviction mirrored in hers. Sheppard sure chose well with this one. “To be clear, the Genii homeworld is on this list. Kolya could have taken our people there.”

              Elizabeth looked at both of them in turn. “Neither of you think that’s what happened.”  Not quite a question.

              There was a chance his instincts were wrong. There was always a chance. Teyla gave him a single nod, and Marshall took a slow breath. “No,” he confirmed. “I don’t think that’s what happened.”

              “Charin, the elder I spoke of,” Teyla said, “is in the mainland settlement.”

              Though he knew exactly what he wanted to do, Marshall waited for Elizabeth to make the final decision.

              The expedition leader mulled it over for only one or two seconds before giving a brief nod. “Go.”

              Marshall immediately rose, not wanting to waste any time. “We’ll be back as soon as we can. I told Ford to check in after four hours, whether they’ve found anything or not.”

              She nodded. “Good luck.”

              Beckoning Teyla to follow, Marshall tapped his earbud. “Sumner to Miller.”

              A second later, “Miller here, Sir.”

              “Back to the Jumper bay, Lieutenant. We’re heading to the mainland.”

              “On my way,” the Lieutenant replied.

              As he headed toward the stairs to the bay, Marshall glanced down at Teyla. “I appreciate your input,” he told her.

              She didn’t smile, but there was a certain warmth in her eyes. “I only hope I am not wasting our time.”

              He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Can’t explain it, but something tells me we’re on the right track.”

              “I feel the same,” she agreed. “I am only surprised to hear you say it.”

              He couldn’t help a slight chuckle. “Do I come across as rigid?”

              Now she did smile. “That is not necessarily a bad thing.”

              The good humor lasted until they reached the bay. Miller was already waiting for them, and he gave a quick salute. “To the settlement, Sir?”

              “Yes,” Marshall confirmed. They boarded, and he turned to Teyla once more as Miller raised the little ship through the bay ceiling. “So, what can I expect from this Charin?”

              Teyla’s expressive face gentled with fondness. “She is like a grandmother to me. She is wise and very kind. She took me in after my father was taken by Wraith.”

              They didn’t speak again during the rest of the short flight, and Marshall couldn’t help but notice (not for the first time) that Miller wasn’t quite the pilot of Sheppard’s caliber. Many Athosians bustled about through the canvas and animal-hide tents and pavilions. Marshall only recognized a few of them, having spent nowhere near as much time among them as Sheppard. Teyla didn’t pause to make any introductions, heading straight to a large tent in the middle. She pushed the flap aside and held it open for Marshall.

              The interior was surprisingly comfortable and tidy, and Marshall’s eyes went immediately to the aged woman reclining on a bed covered with blankets and furs. Her bright eyes shone out from her lined face, keen and alert, and she smiled at her visitors. Teyla went right to her, giving the typical greeting of touching their foreheads together.

              “Charin,” she said in a low, loving voice, “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

              “Never, Teyla,” Charin replied, voice a bit reedy but strong. “You know you are always welcome here.”

              Teyla straightened. “Colonel, this is Charin. Charin, this is Colonel Marshall Sumner, leader of the Atlantis military contingent.”

              Charin seemed to appraise him for a moment before her smile returned. “Ah, yes. Young Sheppard’s commanding officer. He spoke highly of you. I see his praise was not misplaced.”

              The words surprised Marshall (as did the revelation that she’d already met Sheppard), but he didn’t address them. “Sorry to barge in like this. Teyla and I were hoping you could provide us with a little information.”

              “I don’t know what I could possibly know that you don’t,” Charin said, “but I will help if I can.”

              Teyla held out her hand for the tablet, and she showed the ‘gate address to her elder. “I remember you showing me these symbols,” she said, “many years ago. You said it was a world we must never go. I was hoping you could tell me why.”

              Charin didn’t even glance at the tablet. Her eyes narrowed as she peered up at Teyla. “Why are you asking about it?”

              Marshall cleared his throat. “We believe two of our people were sent there.”

              Charin’s dark eyes flicked to his, piercing and shrewd. For a moment, she said nothing. Then she nodded as though reaching some conclusion. “You mean John and his Tectumque.”

              “Yes,” Teyla confirmed before Marshall could speak. “At least, we believe so.”

              Charin sighed. “If this is true, you may already be too late. Those who go to this world never return. But more than that, my child, no Aspectum would ever be safe there. This is the homeworld of the Kastites.”

              Marshall felt a clench somewhere in his gut. “Kastites,” he repeated when Teyla’s eyes met his. “They’re that tribe you told us about a few weeks ago, right? The violent Wraith worshipers who hunt Sentinels.”

              There was no mistaking the fear in her dark eyes. “Yes,” she all but whispered. “But . . . why? Why would Kolya have sent them there? That is a death sentence.”

              For a moment, Marshall didn’t reply. His thoughts raced, trying to think like a hardened soldier who was also a Guide. A Guide who’d met a Sentinel he badly wanted. A memory rose to the surface of his thoughts, of Sheppard telling him about his brief conversation with a Wraith queen down on the geothermal drilling platform. She didn’t seem bothered by the fact that Sheppard was already bonded. Icy dread gripped him.

              “Maybe,” he said quietly, “he knows something. Maybe the Wraith have a way of tampering with the bond between Sentinel and Guide.”

              “It is true that Wraith have never cared if an Aspectum was already bonded,” Charin said. “I have never met an Aspectum who escaped the clutches of the Wraith, so I can do no more than speculate.”

              Teyla looked at her elder again. “Are you saying . . .?”

              Charin shook her head. “I am saying nothing, child.”  Now to Marshall. “No one returns from that world because there is no returning. For any except those who command the power of the Ancestors.”

              He blinked. “You mean, there’s something wrong with the DHD?”

              She nodded.

              “Right,” Marshall said, giving her a respectful nod. “This has been very helpful. Thank you.”

              Charin reached out to him, and she squeezed his hand when he took hers. “Grace of the Ancestors go with you, Colonel. I pray you find them both.”

              “Thank you,” he said again, strangely moved. With a glance at Teyla, he exited the tent.

              She joined him a few moments later. “I am ready to leave at once, Colonel,” she said.

              Marshall led the way back to the Jumper. “We’ll leave as soon as look up the address in the Ancient database and brief Elizabeth,” he said, “and before you ask, absolutely yes. You’re with me.”

              He thought she looked relieved as she nodded. “Thank you.”  Then, “I know I’ve already told you of the Kastites, but my warnings bear repeating. They are dangerous, Colonel. They behave like animals, not people. Should we encounter them, you must not hesitate to use lethal force to subdue them. They will not hesitate to show us the same.”

              “If we take one prisoner,” he asked, “is it worth it to try interrogation?”

              She appeared to consider. “Possibly. I have never encountered them, only heard stories.”

              When they reached Atlantis, Marshall quickly radioed Elizabeth. “I’m sending Teyla to you,” he said, gesturing to the Athosian. “She’ll fill you in. I’m going to pay a visit to the queen down in the holding cells.”  He switched to the military channel. “Sumner to Bates.”

              “Bates here, Sir.”

              “Meet me in the holding cells, Sergeant,” Marshall ordered.

              “On my way.”

              The holding cells were among the few places he actually rarely visited; Bates gave him regular updates about its inhabitant, and Marshall never saw the need to personally check in. This was the Sergeant’s purview, and it wasn’t the Colonel’s way to micromanage his Marines. Bates threw a sharp salute when he saw his CO.

              “Here to interrogate the prisoner, Sir?”

              Marshall nodded. “Or try, at least.”

              Bates’ upper lip curled just the slightest bit in a scowl. “She hasn’t exactly been forthcoming.”

              Having read the reports about her incarceration, Marshall didn’t expect to get much. Still, he had to at least try. He strode into the chamber, approaching the cell with purpose. The queen sat on the bench, as regal as though it were a throne of gold. She looked up without a trace of fear, wariness, or weariness. In fact, she managed to make it seem like she was the one looking down at him.

              “She tries anything, Sergeant,” he said to Bates, “shoot her.”

              “Yes, Sir,” Bates said, looking like he’d love nothing more than to end the creature’s existence.

              The queen ignored everyone but Marshall, and her lips peeled away from her disgusting teeth in what he supposed was meant to imitate a smile. “Sumner,” she said, voice a sibilant hiss. “How rare of you to come visit me. Whatever it is you want, you know I will not capitulate. Not until you give me what I want.”

              “Right,” Marshall drawled, folding his arms. “Sheppard.”

              The queen made an odd, purring sound in her chest. “You should not keep my Aspectum away from me.”

              Marshall pretended to think. “In what way is he yours?”

              “In every way,” she replied, leaning forward.

              He raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t care he’s already bonded?”

              That awful not-smile returned to her snake-mouth. “A triviality.”

              That’s exactly what she said to Sheppard. “I guess you mean it’s a triviality to kill his Guide,” he hazarded. “Pretty sure that would kill the Sentinel. I mean, I’m no expert, but I remember reading that, somewhere.”

              The queen made an awful sound in her throat, and Marshall realized she was laughing. “Ah, foolish humans. How narrow and linear your way of thinking.”

              Icy fingers clawed at Marshall’s insides. Does she know of a way to—? He cleared his throat. “Care to share what that means?”

              “Bring my Aspectum to me,” she purred, “and I will show you.”

              It seemed unlikely the queen would give him a direct answer, and Marshall considered what to say next. There didn’t seem to be any interpretation other than his suspicion; still, it would be nice to have an actual confirmation.

              The queen’s eyes abruptly narrowed. “You are hiding something from me. He is not here, is he?”

              Marshall hesitated for a split second. Well, maybe she can help in an indirect way. “No,” he said. “In fact, we think he might have been taken to a world with Kastites.”

              For a moment, the queen looked startled. Then she started laughing. Low. Rasping. “If that is the case, Sumner, you should be afraid. Very afraid.”

Chapter Text

              “We designated the planet M7K-527,” Dr. Grodin said, “and it’s in the Ancient database. The Stargate is on a dry, arid continent with a climate similar to southern Arizona. The database has no information about who may be living there now, but there is one thing of note. The Ancients built a weather station there. Apparently, the planet has interesting ion storms every few years. The station was built to record and monitor the phenomenon.”

              Teyla didn’t find this particularly interesting, but she saw both Elizabeth and Colonel Sumner light up a bit at the news.

              “A weather station?” Elizabeth repeated. “Is there any chance of us finding a ZPM?”

              Dr. Grodin clicked a little remote, and the holoscreen showed a 3D rendering of a surprisingly large complex. “Unknown, but the station was used for many years. It was expanded underground to document various geological phenomena. In fact, the structure on the surface, which made up less than one-third the station’s size, was eventually abandoned for the underground section.”

              “It might be worth checking out,” Sumner said, “if we’re able to clear the location as safe.”

              Elizabeth nodded, and Teyla thought she looked a bit disappointed. To Grodin, “Go on.”

              “The entire day cycle is twenty-six hours,” Grodin reported, “just like Lantea. The daytime temperatures in the summer months average at thirty-three degrees Celsius. According to the last records in the database, the area around the Stargate is completely clear of trees, making it safe for a Puddle Jumper. The Ancient weather station is due northeast of the ‘gate, at a distance of approximately fifteen kilometers.”

              “All right,” Elizabeth said, “we’ll send a MALP. Colonel, I want you to take two Jumpers, get the lay of the land and see if you can find any trace of our Major and CSO.”

              Sumner nodded before turning to Teyla. “You know more about the Kastites than anyone present. What should we expect?”

              Teyla took a moment to consider before she folded her hands on top of the conference table. “They are Wraith-worshipers and zealots, and they have no respect for human life. They are violent and brutal, and I told you before their groups always have a Tectumque so they can identify Aspectum. If they do not sense the presence of one in their victims, they will attack without warning or mercy. There is no reasoning with them.”

              She could tell Sumner didn’t like the idea of conflict any more than she did, but he nodded and looked at Grodin. “What time of day is it on M7K-527?”

              Grodin consulted his tablet a moment. “It should be dawn in an hour.”

              Sumner sighed, his eyes expressing the same aversion to waiting she herself felt. “Then we wait an hour.” He looked at Teyla again. “What kind of weapons do Kastites carry?”

              “Mainly spears and axes,” she replied. “Nothing your P90s and .9mils can’t handle.”

              He drummed his fingers on the table top. “And their fighting skills?”

              She hesitated. “I have never encountered them,” she said after a moment, “and neither has anyone I’ve ever known. I’ve only heard tell of their savagery, and I’m afraid none of those stories ever recounted their battlefield prowess. Or lack of it.”

              To her surprise, Sumner abruptly smiled. Almost a smirk. “Well, I suppose if their battlefield prowess was truly first-rate, there would be no survivors to tell stories.”

              The words startled a short huff of laughter from her. “Yes, I suppose that is true.”

              A smiling Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Colonel Sumner, take your people out in one hour’s time.”

              “Right,” Sumner said, rising. “I’ll organize the AR teams. Teyla, I suggest you take the opportunity to get a little rest.”

              That, she thought, would be a waste of time. There was no way she would be able to rest, and she suspected he knew that. Still, she nodded as she rose from her chair and exited the conference room. Food would do her some good; she hadn't eaten since the morning. She made her way to the commissary and gathered a meal to keep her strength up.

              Twenty minutes later, Aedin strode into the hall. He looked tired and frustrated as he joined her. She greeted him with a smile. “Aedin. I’m surprised to see you here. Were you able to find the ZPM?”

              “Oh, we found it all right,” he said, sounding quite cross. “Only thing is, Allina and her people ambushed us on the way to the ‘gate. Wouldn’t let us keep it. Said we weren’t the Ancestors, so they took it for ‘safekeeping until the Ancestors return’.”  He rolled his eyes.

              Teyla sighed, trying to control her disappointment. “I suppose it was a long shot, trying to convince them we were the descendants of the Ancestors.”  And it hadn't set well with her, lying to them in the first place. She kept that to herself.

              Ford heaved a noisy sigh. “If the Major were here, he coulda convinced them.”  He rubbed a hand over his face. “Colonel Sumner’s letting me come to M7K-527. God, I hope they’re okay and we find them.”

              Reaching across the table, she gripped his hand and squeezed for a moment before releasing him. “We will. Have you eaten? If not, you should. We do not leave for another forty minutes.”  She glanced at the wall clock. “Thirty-nine minutes.”

              Aedin did as she suggested, returning shortly with a sandwich. “Colonel Sumner says the planet we’re checking out is a stronghold of Kastites.”

              Teyla took a sip of water. “Yes. It seems to be their homeworld. Though, I still cannot fathom a reason Kolya would have sent the Major and Rodney there.”

              Aedin’s youthful face darkened in a scowl. “Probably some ridiculous scheme to kill McKay off so he can have Major Sheppard to himself.”

              Nodding absently, Teyla privately doubted it. That seemed both too simple and overly complicated, neither of which struck her as a plan Kolya would concoct. If he wanted Rodney dead, he would simply kill him. There must be something else he wants. She finished her last bite of food. If, of course, he sent them to this planet at all and we’re not running in circles.

              The remaining time until departure dragged on and on, every second feeling like minutes and every minute like hours. Teyla tried to make conversation with Aedin, but no words would come no matter how many times she opened her mouth. For his part, Aedin picked at his food and seemed equally bereft of words. He often looked up at her, and she could see how much he hated waiting. Fear lurked behind the surfaces of his dark eyes, and she had a feeling it was mirrored in hers.

              At five minutes ‘til, Aedin leaped up out of his chair as though jabbed with a stick. “C’mon. They’ll be sending the MALP soon.”

              Needing no second bidding, Teyla pushed her chair back and quickly cleared the table. She walked alongside Aedin to the control room, and the young man fair vibrated with tension. They arrived to find Elizabeth and Colonel Sumner already present, and Teyla looked down at the ‘gate room floor to see two Marines guiding the vehicle they called MALPs. When they stopped, Elizabeth nodded to the ‘gate tech.

              “Dial M7K-527.”

              Foolishly, Teyla held her breath as the chevrons lit up, hoping it wouldn’t connect. That she was wrong, that the planet Charin feared was not reachable. The ‘gate was buried or destroyed. Anything. None of these secret hopes actualized; the ‘gate established a connection. Elizabeth, whose eyes held the same hints of dread as Aedin’s, nodded at Sumner. He strode to the balcony and called down to his Marines,

              “Send it through.”

              Teyla turned to the screen that would show the MALP’s information.

              “Receiving telemetry,” the ‘gate tech said as the first image appeared.

              The area surrounding the ‘gate, as promised in the database, was open and free of tree or foliage. The earth looked dry and dusty, and the wan light of early morning lent the whole place a lonely and desolate feel. There were no obvious signs of recent passage.

              “There’s a DHD,” Aedin said. “I thought no one could leave the planet?”

              “Disabled would be my guess,” Sumner said. “Pan the camera. Let’s get a full three-sixty sweep.”

              The camera picked up nothing in the vicinity except the ‘gate itself. Elizabeth ordered the tech to disengage the ‘gate, then she turned to Sumner. “You have a go, Colonel. Check back in two hours.”

              He nodded, and though his face didn’t change, Teyla could detect a hint of affectionate warmth in his gaze. “We’ll call with good news.”  He tapped his radio. “AR-2 and 3, Jumper bay. We’re moving out.”

              Teyla fell in behind the Colonel, Aedin right on her heels. A scant few minutes later, the two Jumpers flew through the ‘gate to M7K-527.

*~*

              The DHD was disabled, as Colonel Sumner guessed. The Jumpers’ short-range scanners picked up the Ancient weather station, indicating at least nominal amounts of power. The sensors also picked up a human settlement, information appearing on the HUD. Not very big, a couple hundred people.

              “Check it out, Sir?” Lieutenant Miller asked from the pilot seat.

              “Negative,” Sumner replied. “If the weather station’s a bust, maybe then.”

              They flew the cloaked Jumpers to the Ancient station, and Sumner ordered a quick fly-around and scan of the surrounding area. The Jumper scanners picked up no human activity, and they landed next to the crumbling structures.

              “Miller, you’re with me and AR-3,” Sumner ordered, rising from the copilot seat. “Ford, you and Teyla take Morris and scout the surrounding area. See if you see any signs of our wayward Major and astrophysicist.”

              The teams split up, and Aedin raised an eyebrow as soon as he trotted down the ramp. “That looks like a sign, Sir,” he said, pointing at the two bodies lying near the remains of a building.

              Sumner nodded. “Check it out. Let’s find the entrance to the underground section.”

              Aedin beckoned to Teyla and hurried over to the corpses. The smell confirmed their status as dead before he could even check for a pulse, and his eyes watered as he pulled his jacket sleeve down over his hand and covered his nose and mouth. He got close enough for a visual but far enough away to avoid any leaking fluids.

              “They are Kastites,” Teyla murmured, pointing at their glassy-eyed faces. “Those are the tattoos they all bear.”

              Aedin’s eyes traveled to the knives protruding from their chests. Despite the situation, his grinned. Right in the chest. Perfect aim, Sir. He gestured. “These are both Earth weapons. Standard military-issue KABAR and a hunting knife.”  He stood up and quickly retreated from the nauseating stench of decay. “I don’t suppose only two woulda come after Major Sheppard?”

              “No,” Teyla confirmed. “Kastites always travel in groups of twenty or more. You are certain those weapons belonged to John?”

              “Positive,” Aedin said. “No other US military are missing from the expedition.”

              He saw her take a slow breath. “Good. That is good.”

              He raised his eyebrows. “How is this good?”

              “Because, Aedin,” she said, turning and beginning a circuit around the ruins, “now we know for certain they were here. Before, we were merely guessing.”

              Nodding to himself, he followed her. “I guess you’re right. Still, what’s the chances of them still being here?”

              “Slim,” she said, and the admission clearly troubled her. “Kastites are nomadic. I have no idea where they would take a captured Aspectum.”

              Her words made him stop, and he frowned. “Okay, there’s a point. They’re Wraith worshipers, right?”

              “Yes,” she said, halting and facing him.

              “And they hunt Sentinels for the Wraith,” Aedin went on.

              She nodded, then she blinked. “Ah, you believe the Wraith must have given them a means to contact them?”

              He shrugged. “Makes sense, right? Otherwise, what’s the plan? Just hang onto their captives in hopes a Wraith happens along?”

              A hint of a smile curved the corner of her mouth. “That does seem rather impractical.”

              “Right?” Aedin said. “So, that’s a whole other slew of questions. Like, is there some kind of permanent Wraith presence on this planet?”

              Judging by Teyla’s expression, that hadn't occurred to her—and she didn’t like it. She tapped her radio earbud. “Colonel Sumner, this is Teyla. We’ve examined the corpses—they are Kastites. It’s difficult to tell how long they’ve been dead; the heat would’ve increased rate of decay.”  Even at this early hour, it still felt too warm.

              Aedin tapped his own earbud. “They were killed by Major Sheppard, Sir,” he added. “I’m sure of it.”

              “Good work,” Sumner’s voice replied, tinny over the small speaker. “Any signs of where the Kastites came from?”

              Aedin cast about, scouring the ground for any tracks. “Sorry, Sir. The ground’s too dry and baked too hard for footprints.”

              “Right; I want you and Markham to take the Jumper back up into orbit. Run scans over the entire planet, make note of anything unusual. Report back as soon as you’re done.”

              “Yes, Sir,” Aedin said, tapping off his radio and glancing at Teyla. “Wanna come with or go join the Colonel?”

              “I’ll come with you,” she said, “just in case we see something out of the ordinary.”

              “Come on, then,” he said. Somehow, it comforted him to have at least one member of his team with him.

Chapter Text

              He lost time. He was not aware of losing time until he opened his eyes and found himself somewhere else, somewhere other than where he thought he was. His mind felt sluggish, churning and torpid, and for a while he could remember neither where he’d been nor why this place seemed vaguely familiar.

              Then, like a lightning strike shattering a tree, it all came back. The Genii. The strange planet. The Kastites. Rodney sat bolt upright, heart racing, breaths coming in rapid gasps. John, beautifully reckless and bold, taking on an unknown foe. And the grenade that made him zone. His eyes darted around the entire space, recognizing a Wraith holding cell when he saw one (he would never forget what they looked like) and hoping against hope his Sentinel was with him.

              He was not. Frantically, Rodney reached for their bond. Two things crowded up. First, whatever drug Kolya had given him was clearly out of his system (and he tried not to worry about how long he’d been out); he could reach his Sentinel, again. Second, John was in a deep, deep zone.

              Were anyone to ask, Rodney would be unable to describe what it felt like to him. He was aware of John, aware of his presence. But when his Sentinel zoned, their bond seemed to go haywire. The color changed, the glow diminishing to something dark and murky. It was as if every part of John switched with some other part, as if Rodney was looking at a jigsaw puzzle with all the pieces scrambled. Or he was on some kind of psychedelic drug trip from the sixties. It was disconcerting, mainly because he knew how dangerous it was for his Sentinel to experience a prolonged zone.

              And he could tell John had been zoning for a long time. Hours, at least.

              Scrambling to his feet, Rodney lunged to the cell door. “Hey!” he called. “Hello! Is anyone there? Hello!”  Ineffectually, he kicked at the door. “Answer me, damn it!”  He reached across their bond, able to tell John was at least on this hive ship. He tried to work on his Sentinel’s tangled senses, but this was the one thing that distance (and lack of touch) diminished effectiveness.

              Footsteps alerted him to incoming Wraith, and he took a step away from the sinewy door just as a black-clad Wraith rounded the corner. All thoughts of his own safety fled, and he glared murder at the Wraith. “Where is my Sentinel? I swear to God, if you’ve hurt him—”

              The Wraith opened the door, and its two flanking drones aimed their stun rifles at Rodney. “Come with me,” the commander ordered brusquely before turning on his heel and stalking back the way he’d come.

              Willing to follow the monster into an active volcano if it led him to John, Rodney jogged to catch up. Hold on, flyboy. I’m coming. Just hold on. As they walked, he confirmed his earlier suspicion this was a hive and not a cruiser. It was far too big, and it took some time to cross. Rodney didn’t try to escape or cause any trouble, because each step brought him closer to John.

              The Wraith led him into a chamber with a slab-like bed (table?), upon which lay his Sentinel. Rodney’s heart performed a sickening lurch when he saw the other occupant. A Wraith queen leaned over John, and he could feel her clumsily probing at him. Perhaps trying to bring him out of his zone. Rodney had never moved faster in his life. Darting around the commander, he sprinted into the room and reached with his mind.

              He slammed against her with the entire force of his will, and he felt a bolt of tremendous satisfaction when she let out a little shriek of pain. Her clawed hands clapped to the sides of her head, and she staggered a few steps back. Rodney reached the bed (table?) and snatched one of John’s hands while facing the queen with a snarl on his face.

              “Don’t touch him!” he hissed.

              The queen held out a hand, stopping her commander as she straightened. To Rodney’s surprise, there was no anger on her snakelike face. “Impressive,” she said, and she actually sounded impressed. “I suppose a remarkable Aspectum would attract a remarkable Tectumque. I have fed on many, many Tectumque. Not a single one of them has ever had a fraction of your strength.”

              Entire body practically vibrating with tension, Rodney continued to glare at her. “You gonna feed on me?”

              She made an odd little huffing noise. Perhaps a snort of amusement? “No. I have already examined the strength of your bond. If I kill you, I kill him.”  Now an odd, purring sound in her throat. “And I do not want to kill him. Not when I have searched millennia for him.”  She whirled, causing her silvery hair to flare off her shoulder, and strode to the door.

              “What, that’s it?” Rodney demanded.

              “For now,” she said, not stopping. When she reached the door, she paused and threw him one last glance. “Heal him. I will send sustenance.”  Then the Wraith were gone, the door hissing shut behind them.

              The immediate danger past, Rodney put everything unnecessary out of his mind. Whipping around, he slid his arms under John’s, wrapping around his chest. Awkwardly, he managed to pull his Sentinel off the table (bed?) and half carry, half drag him into the corner. He seated himself with his back to the wall, pulling John against his chest. Then he wrapped his arms and legs and entire body around his raven and reached.

              It was as bad as he expected, but while John was deep, it wasn’t as bad as that day back in Antarctica a decade ago (was it really only weeks ago?). It also wasn’t as bad as when the damn Iratus bug latched onto his Sentinel. But there were new challenges. In both those cases, it was sense of touch that caused John to zone. Every single one of John’s augmented senses had been triggered, this time, creating a far more twisted web to unravel. Worse, John had been zoning for hours.

              Gently, tenderly, Rodney wrapped his whole being around John’s mind. He caressed through tangled senses, sending little whispers. This way, flyboy. Come back to me. This way. They scattered, little droplets of sparkling water, across his Sentinel’s mind. Their bond shimmered, reacting at once to his insistence. Aching for that rightness only his Guide could bring.

              It took time. A long time. Rodney was aware of a Wraith coming with the promised sustenance, and he thought he heard himself snarl like an animal at the intruder. He ignored the food, absolutely nothing entering his thoughts except, Help my Sentinel. Slowly, so slowly, John began responding to his coaxing and nudging and caressing. Like unraveling a tapestry and weaving it back together in the right way, Rodney smoothed away the wrongness.

              John’s entire body thrashed in Rodney’s hold, and he quickly readjusted his hold to cover John’s eyes with one hand and his ear the other, pressing John’s other ear against his chest. “Shh, flyboy,” he breathed, a mere whisper of sound, stroking across John’s mind and gently smothering all of his physical senses.

              For another long, long time, John didn’t move or make a sound or react with any real cognition. His body trembled, his skin was ice-cold, and his breathing was too shallow and fast. Rodney didn’t speak, not wanting to force his Sentinel to focus on anything while he gradually recovered from what had to be a truly awful sensation. Eventually, finally, he relaxed and melted in his Guide’s arms.

              He didn’t move. “Rodney,” he croaked, voice faint and dry.

              Rodney lowered the hand covering John’s ear to his Sentinel’s shoulder, caressing up and down his arm. “I’m here, John,” he murmured.

              Speaking even one word seemed to require a lot of effort, and long moments passed before John let out a weak cough. “I feel like shit.”

              Despite their circumstances, Rodney let out a soft breath of laughter. “I bet. Took me a long time to bring you out of it, this time.”

              Another long pause. Then, “I’ve never zoned so long, before. Can’t say I care to do it again.”

              Rodney pressed a kiss to soft, raven locks. “Don’t talk. You need to rest.”

              John nudged closer to his mental hold, and Rodney gently (lovingly) stroked across their bond. Its glow had resumed, bright and vast and gold. Rodney continued his caressing, a massage with mental fingers, able to feel how pleasurable it felt to his Sentinel. He gathered John tightly beneath his shields, trying to take some comfort in their reassertion. For a time, neither moved.

              Then, “How did we wind up on a Wraith hive?” John asked quietly.

              Not surprised in the least his Sentinel had figured that out even though he’d yet to open his eyes, Rodney sighed softly. “I don’t know, exactly,” he admitted. “That grenade the Kastites threw must have been like a flash-bang.”  He made a rude sound. “A flash-bang on steroids. When I came to, we were already here.”

              John seemed to mull that over. “I’m glad the drug’s out of your system.”

              “Me, too,” Rodney whispered. He glanced over at the items brought by the Wraith some time ago. “Think you could eat?”

              “Yeah.”  John reached up and lightly grasped Rodney’s wrist, tugging the hand away from his eyes. The light in the room, though relatively dim, still made him wince.

              Rodney quickly blanketed his Sentinel’s sight even further. “Still sensitive?” he murmured.

              John nodded. “Just my eyes.”  He sat up, rubbing his temples. “Never zoned like that before. That damn grenade, whatever it was, did a number on me. Obviously meant for Sentinels.”

              Rising to his feet and stretching his protesting back, Rodney left John’s side just long enough to pick up the tray of food and return to his previous position. He took a cautions sip from a goblet and found only cool, fresh water. He handed one to John. Before he could object, John dialed up his sense of smell and scanned the food.

              Even just that little bit nearly made him zone again. Rodney quickly stabilized him, making a tsking sound. “How about you take it easy a little, huh? Weren’t the last six hours enough for you?”

              John flicked him a tiny little smile. “Had to make sure it wasn’t poison or citrus.”

              Though he would rather go into anaphylactic shock than watch John suffer like that again, Rodney didn’t protest further. “It’s safe, I take it.”

              John nodded. “Just a grain bun, roasted meat, and fruit.”

              Rodney settled back into the corner, pulling John close and setting the food within easy reach. John folded against him as if it simply took too much effort to remain upright, any longer. More than willing (and plenty happy) to indulge his Sentinel, Rodney tore little pieces off the meat and bun and slowly handed them to his flyboy one by one. He kept John’s sense of taste dulled to almost nothing. It would make the food taste pretty much flavorless, but it would prevent his Sentinel from zoning again.

              When they’d eaten and drunk their fill, Rodney rearranged their position once more (comfort was impossible for him, but he wanted it for John) before gently nudging at his Sentinel. Asking if he wanted his Guide to ease him into sleep. For a moment, he thought John would refuse. Then he opened himself, and Rodney gently stroked his thought-pattern into sleep.

              Rodney’s own thoughts spun for a time. He found himself wondering how the Kastites had contacted the Wraith. Was it Kolya’s intention to send us into their hands? If so, why? Since I couldn’t shield John, they knew he was a Sentinel right away. Was Kolya hoping they’d kill me? But if the Kastites kill Guides on sight, why am I not dead? He knew the Kastites were Wraith worshipers. Perhaps their masters had ordered them to turn over any bonded pair alive.

              And what about that damn queen? She said she can’t kill me without killing John. So, what’s her game plan? Keep me alive while she studies John? That didn’t make sense, either. No Guide could insert themselves into a bond between another Guide and his Sentinel. The best she could ever do would be try to obtain some sort of superficial link with John, like Teyla was able to.

              But she couldn’t do that without my help, Rodney dismissed the notion. Even if I was unconscious, she wouldn’t be able to establish a link with John without my consent and assistance. And John is such a strong Sentinel he could easily rebuff any attempts, even without my help. It just doesn’t make any sense. What is her endgame, here? These troubling thoughts chased him into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter Text

              John woke slowly, and his entire body felt heavy and strangely numb, creating a sensation of detachment. He didn’t see an immediate need to move, so he didn’t. Whatever that damn grenade was, it really did a number on me. He still felt like he would zone if he used his senses too much. He shifted just to feel sensation, and no synesthesia accompanied it. Progress. Beneath him, Rodney stirred. His hand immediately came up to card through John’s hair, the touch soft and pleasant.

              “Sorry,” John whispered, closing his eyes. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

              “S’okay,” Rodney mumbled, reaching across their bond and caressing through John’s senses, his shields softly falling into place. “G’back t’sleep, flyboy.”

              It was tempting, especially with how good his Guide’s ministrations felt. But he hadn't forgotten their precarious situation, so he reluctantly disentangled himself from Rodney’s arms. Rodney didn’t try to stop him, just helped him sit up. They were still alone.

              “Any idea how long we were out?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his face and wishing for a shower.

              Rodney stood slowly, wincing the entire way as he stretched his back. “Probably several hours. My back’s killing me.”

              John idly thought he should apologize, since he was partially (mostly) responsible for that. But he didn’t feel particularly sorry, so he didn’t. Instead, he finally looked around. The room was a little bigger than a typical Wraith cell, though not much. It had a proper door instead of the sinewy bars, and only one furnishing: a table. It rose up from the floor to about waist-height, and there were obvious manacles (possibly the same sinewy material as the cell doors?) for the wrists and ankles of a prone figure. He swallowed against a sudden and inordinate dread.

              “What happened yesterday?”  He wasn’t sure they’d been captured a full day, but it felt appropriate. “How did we wind up on a hive ship?”

              Rodney came up alongside him, reaching out and running his hand from John’s shoulder to wrist and lightly gripping. “I’m not sure,” he replied. “That grenade stunned me, too. When I woke up, we were already here. I don’t know how much time passed, but it was hours, at least. Shortly after I woke, a Wraith commander came and took me to the queen. In here. You were on the table. She was probing at you; I think she might’ve been trying to bring you out of your zone. I pushed her back, and she told me to help you. Then she left.”

              John looked down at his Guide, and he felt a stirring of anger. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

              Rodney shook his head. “No. She didn’t even retaliate when I shoved her. Mentally, I mean. I didn’t actually . . . you know. Touch her.”  Disgust rolled off him in waves at the mere notion.

              John smiled faintly before looking around, again. Besides the table, the only other thing in the room was the tray with the food they’d finished. “Well, now what?”

              His Guide gave him an incredibly worried look, which John didn’t acknowledge. Aware he usually made the decisions, came up with the plan. But his mind and thoughts felt abnormally lethargic, as though they were wrapped in thick, wet fog. Instead of answering, Rodney lightly tugged on John’s wrist and pulled him to the table, indicating he hop up and sit. When John obeyed, Rodney pushed his hips between his Sentinel’s knees. Reaching up, he cupped John’s face in his warm hands, consequently covering his ears.

              “Close your eyes,” the gentle command whispered across John’s mind.

              He obeyed that, too. Then let out a soft sound when Rodney pressed firmly into all his senses, stroking through them in the exact same way as when trying to bring his Sentinel out of a zone. Since he wasn’t zoning, it just felt good. An extremely pleasurable massage inside him, through his very core, and he felt his whole body respond. The heavy fog evaporated, and when Rodney slowly and gently withdrew, the raven felt far more alert.

              Rodney brushed his thumb over the arch of John’s cheek. “Better?” he murmured.

              Opening his eyes, John found himself drowning in summer blue. For a moment, all he could think was, I want to kiss you. Then he blinked. “Much.”  He still felt tired, but he felt like himself. He nodded toward the door. “See if we can find a control panel?”

              With obvious reluctance—and relief—Rodney stepped back and turned to the door. Feeling stronger, now, John dialed up his sense of hearing to determine the nearness of their enemy. Then Rodney startled him by swarming across their bond and just . . . stopping him. It was so sudden and unexpected it almost felt like a sucker punch to the gut. Rodney met his eyes, his hold firm and not quite forceful.

              “Don’t,” his Guide said quietly. “You need to give yourself more time to recover, John.”

              No Guide could force their Sentinel to do (or not do) anything, and John knew he could push past Rodney’s resistance. Part of him wanted to. Remind his Guide of a certain promise to never control his Sentinel. A voice in the back of his mind warned him to listen. It wasn’t a good idea, right now. Only his implicit trust in his Guide allowed him to yield.

              “Okay.”  The single word sounded tight.

              He could tell Rodney recognized the line he was skirting. “Sorry,” he said softly, and there was genuine contrition in his eyes, but he didn’t relent his hold.

              “If I can’t,” John said, pleased his voice didn’t sound antagonistic, “you need to.”

              Rodney blinked. “I’m not as good as you at extending my senses.”  His intonation made that an observation rather than a protest, and John felt him open up his telepathic senses. Like his Sentinel, he’d grown stronger. After a moment, he grimaced. “Shit. I can sense the damn queen. She’s right outside.” Grabbing John’s wrist, he pulled him down off the table and pushed his Sentinel behind him as though planning to bodily protect him.

              The Sentinel in John reacted before the soldier in him, almost permitting it without thought. Just as he started to protest, Rodney broadcast intention without real words, and John responded immediately. He held himself open, offering all he could give. His Guide didn’t waste time with questions or give the queen a chance to act. The instant the door opened and she entered their line of sight, he attacked.

              Bolstered by his Sentinel, Rodney’s mental attack slammed into her like an avalanche. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting it; she stumbled and fell to her knees, clutching the sides of her head. John felt a ripple of discomfort—not quite pain; his body warning him this activity wasn’t any better than using his senses. He ignored it, pushing firmly at his Guide.

              “Again,” he ordered.

              Rodney didn’t hesitate. He lashed out at her again, pulling on his Sentinel’s strength. The queen let out an animal shriek, and Rodney struck yet again. She bowed forward, eyes squeezed shut and body shaking wildly. All this took less than two seconds.

              “Stun him!” she gasped out.

              Her commander raised his stun pistol.

              No sooner had John begun to formulate the thought, change target to him, than his Guide attacked the male Wraith. The commander dropped his stun pistol and staggered sideways against the bulkhead. Rodney’s second attack hit him just as hard, and the three drones behind him all whipped up their stun rifles. Even as Rodney shifted his focus to his third target, John knew they wouldn’t be fast enough.

              The blast hit his Guide in the center of the chest.

              Tangled up as they were in each other’s minds, John very nearly blacked out right along with his Guide. It felt like an arm being ripped off as their connection severed, their bond going dark and Rodney’s shields dissolving. Panting through the waves of disorienting dizziness and nausea, John didn’t realize he’d slumped to the ground until he looked up to find the Wraith queen standing over him.

              It wasn’t anger on her snakelike face. If anything, he thought her pseudo-smile looked impressed. “Truly,” she said, sibilant and low, “he is an extraordinary Tectumque. I have torn many bonds apart. He is the first who’s ever provided me any challenge. It is almost a pity he is not Wraith.”

              Blinking furiously to try and clear the cobwebs, John glared up at her and tried to calculate the odds. There were five Wraith, and even though the commander still looked rattled, he was standing again. While John could attack physically, he couldn’t lash out with his mind. Not without Rodney. He had no weapons, not even a knife. Long, long odds.

              “But you,” the queen purred, kneeling in front of John, “are worth all the millennia I have searched and waited. I knew you were strong, even while in the throes of a zone. Now that your Tectumque is no longer shielding you, I can see you.”  Her left hand cupped his chin, squeezing hard enough to make him wince. “You don’t shine. You burn, blazing like a star.”

              John knocked her hand away. “Whatever you want, I can’t give it to you.”

              She chuckled. A hissing, unsettling rasp. “Yes, you can. You are one of the Lanteans, the ones who came from another galaxy? Who know nothing of Wraith?”

              John didn’t reply, weighing the risks of jumping one of them for their gun. Wraith could move pretty fast, and they were monstrously strong. This room wasn’t very big, and Rodney couldn’t help him. Trying to fight while protecting an incapacitated companion was risky at best, suicidal at worst. And he still didn’t know if the queen would want to kill—

              “Wait,” he said, heart suddenly beginning to race, “what do you mean, you’ve torn apart bonds?”

              That awful, terrible parody of a smile stretched her lips away from shark teeth. “Exactly that, my Aspectum. Has no one told you? I will unravel this one’s bond to you, thread by thread, until it breaks. And when it is broken, you will be mine.”

              John’s heart pounded so heart it felt like it would choke him. Teyla’s words, a conversation from weeks ago, flooded up from his memory. They have learned ways to force an unbonded Sentinel into a bond. A chill broke out over the entire surface of his skin, but the shiver wasn’t due to any cold. He swallowed harshly, throat suddenly and murderously dry.

              “Why don’t you just kill him?” he demanded, an audible tremor in his voice.

              She clucked her tongue, sounding for all the world like a mother scolding a child. “Because that would kill you, my Aspectum,” she chided, “and that is an utterly unacceptable outcome.”  She reached out and ran her clawed finger down the side of his face. “So, fear not. I will not harm him.”  A terrible, terrible smile. “Not yet.”

              No part of that comforted John, and the hardened soldier in him demanded he get up. Fight. Don’t let them take you alive. The soldier’s mantra. But, then what? Fight to his own death and leave Rodney to the mercies of their captors? Running wasn’t even an option. It would take at least a few hours before the stun shot wore off, and John knew he couldn’t carry Rodney all the way to the Dart bay even if he managed to evade recapture all the way there.

              What the hell was Kolya thinking, sending me here? Hoping a Wraith would sever my bond to Rodney? And then what? There must be something he knows that I’m missing. He shook off the thought—it wasn’t productive. And right this second, Kolya’s motives didn’t actually matter. Wait, a voice counseled. Bide your time. This is not the right moment to act.

              While these thoughts flicked through his mind, the queen had straightened, and four more drones entered the chamber. She gestured to them. “Take the Tectumque to a holding cell.”  She gave John a sly look. “On the other side of the hive. Keep watch, and when he wakes, see he is given food and water.”

              The threat of separation overrode all thoughts of discretion. Before any intention to move or act materialized in his thoughts, he was on his feet and lunging for the nearest Wraith. He managed to catch the drone off guard, but his body was still weak; he grabbed onto the stun rifle, but he couldn’t wrest it away. While he wasted three precious seconds grappling with his foe, another drone struck him hard from behind. The force of the blow sent him down to hands and knees, and darkness licked at the edges of his vision.

              The queen let out a primal snarl, grabbing the offending drone from behind and snapping his neck. When he crumpled, she turned her flashing eyes to her remaining servants. “That is the fate of any who harm him!” she hissed. “None of you are irreplaceable—he is!”

              Stupidly, John found himself wanting to laugh at the words. In fact, he realized he was laughing, low and faint in the back of his throat. I’m in trouble, the thought drifted across the surface of his mind. He couldn’t quite focus on anything as the drones grabbed his Guide and dragged his limp form away. John screamed at his body to get up, to do something. His limbs felt like lead. Worse, when two drones grabbed his arms and hauled him up, he couldn’t feel the touch. I’m in trouble.

              They carried him to the table, and John’s body flopped like a ragdoll. They arranged his arms and legs, and the manacles moved on their own, slithering around his wrists and ankles. They felt as warm as skin, and John shuddered to feel them pulsing as if with a heartbeat. He tried to tug against them, but his body didn’t obey that order, either. He saw the drones remove their comrade’s corpse, and then he was alone in the room with the queen and her commander, who stood in front of the door.

              The queen moved to stand at the head of the table, and she placed her hands alongside John’s face without touching him. Not quite knowing what to expect, he found himself holding his breath, but she didn’t keep him in suspense. He felt the formidable force of her mind reaching for him, searching for his bond. Without his Guide to shield him, there was no hiding from her. No other Guide would ever be able to do this, wouldn’t even know how to begin searching for a Sentinel’s bond like this.

              She was not a Guide; she was a Wraith queen. John strained away from her as hard as he could, but her mental fingers clawed along the edges of his bond to his Guide, and his jaw clenched, body trembling wildly at the wrongness of it. As soon as she found it, those claws dug straight into that vast, glowing pathway and wrenched.

              John’s head snapped back, eyes squeezing shut. Never, ever had he felt anything like it, and deliriously he wondered if this was what vivisection felt like. He thought he would’ve cried out if his teeth weren’t clamped so tightly shut. Frantically, he tried to remember how to breathe as he pushed back at her, grasping at those mental claws and trying to pull them free. Better try uprooting a one-thousand-year-old tree with his bare hands.

              Pain swept through his mind, his being, drawing a red haze behind his vision. He could feel his back arching up off the table, and he stopped trying to push her away. Instead, he focused on curling tightly within himself, protecting his bond and sending the considerable strength of his own will into it. And, no matter how she tore and clawed at it, the glow didn’t so much as flicker.

              He sucked in a labored, ragged breath when she abruptly stopped, and he realized a long time must have passed. He sagged down onto the table, and every muscle felt sore and strained from tension. The queen didn’t move from her position, and just as John pried open his eyes to glance up at her, she stabbed her mental claws right back into him.

              He felt his head strike the table as his whole body went rigid, but he couldn’t feel any physical pain. A long, desperate groan tore from his throat as the pain burst back to life. Fire burned along every nerve-ending, white-hot and unrelenting. John’s entire being tried to shrink away from her, tried to find a place where she wasn’t, a place where she couldn’t reach and torment him.

              But there was nowhere. He didn’t know if he was still breathing, if he was still conscious as pain consumed him in a way he never could’ve imagined. Every torture he’d ever suffered paled to nothing in comparison to this, and she wasn’t even touching him. Wild hysteria followed on the heels of that not-thought, and John felt himself zoning. No, he wasn’t. It wasn’t his physical senses being tormented. This was his very spirit being targeted, in a way he didn’t know how to defend against, an enemy he didn’t even know how to touch—

              Blue, cool and calming and soul-balm, surged up all around him, encompassing his being with warmth. He didn’t feel the queen’s claws disengage, but they weren’t there anymore. A presence, vast and familiar and beloved, curled around him in an embrace gentle and inexorable.

              “I’m here, John. I’m here. It’s all right, love. You need to breathe.”

              It took a long time to realize he hadn't heard those words, that they were spoken right into his mind. John’s lungs expanded, and he suddenly knew his brain and body were oxygen-starved. He heard himself panting, heart thudding in his ribcage, and he couldn’t see anything. It took several seconds before his tortured senses rallied, and he flailed inside himself, clinging to his Guide as though his very existence depended on it. Maybe it did.

              “Rodney,” he managed.

              “I’m here,” his Guide responded at once, stroking and caressing through him, soothing all the places pain had ravaged.

              “Truly remarkable.”

              John twitched at the sound of the queen’s voice, not at all sure how he’d forgotten she was there.

              She let out a rasp of laughter. “Your Tectumque pushed me away as though I were a mere insect. Truly, truly remarkable. I see I will have to work much harder with this one.”

              It took tremendous effort to open his eyes, and he looked up to find her peering down at him with sheer avarice. He wanted to snap at her, maybe tell her to go jump out an airlock, but he couldn’t open his mouth.

              She ran her clawed finger over John’s jaw. “I can’t even sense your bond anymore, nor your abilities.”  Something pensive entered her eyes. “Perhaps I will reconsider his fate, once I have severed your bond.”  With that, she stalked around the table and left.

              John wanted to bask in his Guide’s hold, but his tormented senses yielded instead to smothering black.

Chapter Text

              His eyes fluttered open, and he stared, uncomprehending, at the ceiling above him. It seemed vaguely familiar, in an unsettling sort of way. He thought about moving, and as soon as he did, his limbs twitched. Little sparks of electricity zinged over his nerves, pins and needles of limbs too long asleep. An echo of sensation rippled across his awareness, tugging at him, creating a strange urgency.

              Blink.

              Where is John?

              Awareness sent Rodney bolting upright. Pain, pain, pain flared across their bond, sending wave after wave of red along the golden glow. Distantly, Rodney recognized he was back in a cell, but he didn’t give it any attention as he reached for his Sentinel. John wasn’t zoning, thank God, but something else was wrong. He sucked in a startled breath. The Wraith queen was using the force of her will to tear at their bond, and he could feel the echo of John’s torment.

              Growling in the back of his throat, furiously wishing he could get his hands around the queen’s neck and squeeze until her eyes popped out, he grabbed onto her and shredded her hold as easily as paper. He slammed his shields around his Sentinel and carefully, gently wrapped around him. He could feel tension radiating through every inch of John’s body, could feel how his flyboy was struggling.

              “I’m here, John. I’m here. It’s all right, love. You need to breathe.”

              It took several seconds before he felt a response from his Sentinel; then, all at once, he breathed. Then he kept breathing, panting through vestiges of terrible sensation, and Rodney caressed through John’s whole being. His Sentinel pressed himself tightly into his Guide’s hold.

              “Rodney.”  It felt weak. Strained.

              “I’m here,” Rodney replied, lovingly soothing at the places inside his Sentinel that still burned red. Returning them to gold.

              John’s consciousness slid away, and he didn’t try to stop it. Rest, flyboy. He didn’t relax his hold or lower his shields, and he didn’t feel the queen resume her endeavors. Rising, he padded to the back of the cell and sat down, leaning against the wall. Closing his eyes, he considered what he’d felt upon waking. The queen was attacking our bond, not John. She’d weaponized her very mind, rather like when Rodney had attacked her, but more focused. She was ripping her mental claws into it.

              Though he’d never felt (or heard of) anything like it, in a flash Rodney knew what she was doing. She was actually trying to tear our bond apart. Dread, sickening and crushing, welled up inside his chest. It took long moments to fight off the panic attack, breaths choking in his throat, heart beating hard enough to strangle him. No. No, it’s not possible. It’s not possible to break a bond between a Guide and his Sentinel. It’s not possible. Every piece of literature on Earth said so. Bonds were for life. No returns, exchanges, or refunds.

              No one on Earth has ever encountered a Wraith queen, came the ugly thought. He rubbed his chest as though that would calm the thudding of his heart. She’s not really a Guide. Not really. She’s something more. Her abilities are more telepathic, and mine are more empathic. Though he and John had managed to achieve pretty amazing feats, he wouldn’t be able to repeat any of them without his Sentinel.

              Rubbing a hand over his face, Rodney let his head fall back against the wall. I was able to push her back easily. But clearly, all she has to do is just stun me again. I can’t protect John while I’m unconscious. The panic threatened to overtake him again, and he breathed through it. Think. There has to be a way I can protect him. He’s my Sentinel. I’m not letting some stupid lizard queen take him from me!

              He nearly leaped out of his skin when he heard the cell door open, and a Wraith commander strode in, followed by a drone carrying a tray. Rodney ignored the drone, glaring up at the commander. He felt no fear for himself or his personal situation; all his attention was fixed on his Sentinel.

              “Tell your queen,” he spat, “it’ll never work. She’ll never break our bond. Not as long as I live.”

              The commander gave him that hideous Wraith-smile. “You won’t live long,” he predicted before whirling and stalking right back out.

              Rodney didn’t try anything as both left him alone again, and he stared down at the tray of food. He didn’t want to eat, but his stomach anxiously voted for it. Deciding nothing would be accomplished by starving himself, he pulled the tray over and slowly started eating. I wonder if the lizard queen gave John any food.

              With his hands thus occupied, Rodney turned his consideration to his bond. It filled his mind with its strong, vast, golden glow. Despite the queen’s efforts, it still pulsed strongly between him and his Sentinel. No part of it appeared damaged or changed, and its glow was undiminished. He felt a burst of pride toward his Sentinel. Even if I wasn’t conscious, you still couldn’t do anything. John was strong enough to fight you off on his own, despite the pain you caused him.

              Hatred burned away all his fear and anxiety, and helpless fury tried to drown him. He forced them down; they weren’t any more helpful than panic. Continuing his exploration of their bond, he tried to determine if there was any way to strengthen and protect it if he wasn’t conscious. To him, it felt as inexorable as the tide, a force as strong as the gravitational pull of a sun or star, too vast and inevitable to alter or affect.

              Still, he hadn't forgotten Teyla’s words from weeks ago, that Wraith had learned ways to force Sentinels into a bond. The mere thought of which had almost caused John to zone. He mulled the notion over. I don’t even know how that could be possible. When we bonded, John was an active participant. He had to reach for me as much as I reached for him. There’s no way I could have just . . . made him bond with me. All he had to do was push me away. Hold that part of himself from me.

              Even following that line of thought made him feel ill, so he stopped. Instead, he went back to their bond and resumed his study. All texts I’ve read described a bond as millions of threads attaching a Guide to his Sentinel. Our bond doesn’t feel like that. It feels like a single, enormous pathway between us. It wasn’t linear, but he was at one end and John the other. Like we’re at opposite sides of the same ocean.

              His Sentinel abruptly woke, and Rodney split his focus just enough to idly gather his Sentinel close into his hold and caress him. Distance certainly didn’t affect his ability to do this, at least. John didn’t protest his ministrations, and him being awake didn’t make it more difficult to study their bond.

              After a moment, John’s curiosity finally got the better of him. “What are you doing?”

              Rodney felt himself smiling at the wealth of trust he could feel from his Sentinel. There was no concern or suspicion in that question, just idle curiosity. “Hush, flyboy. Just rest.”

              It spoke volumes to how poorly he felt that John didn’t argue. He just melted into his Guide’s hold and let himself drift. Rodney continued his exploration. It’s strange how it feels infinite to me, but I can find its edges. It exists outside two-dimensional space, but it feels like a flat surface I would walk. It’s not visible, but I can see it clearly. And when he pressed along it, as if pouring his very soul into it, it responded by glowing even brighter. It felt separate from John, but it also was John. If he delved deeply into it, it became impossible to distinguish their bond from John. Or himself from John.

              “Rodney . . .” John abruptly murmured, “that feels . . .”

              Smiling, Rodney once more leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. I know, love. I know how good it feels to you when I do this. He could feel a kind of echo of John’s pleasure along their bond, like little pink motes of light sparking up into the not-space where their bond lived. He kept up his ministrations, watching the glow blaze stronger and stronger, feeling John somehow open to him even more, finding even more to give his Guide, and that not-space seemed to vibrate, some kind of palpable tension breathing in the light between them—

              With a suddenness that left Rodney feeling a bit gob smacked, John drew tightly into himself. Rodney’s eyes flew open when his cell door slid back. The queen was back, and he knew she would begin again. No. No, no, no—

              The Wraith commander’s ugly, shark-toothed smile was the last thing Rodney saw as he lifted his stun pistol and fired.

Chapter Text

              Scans of the planet detected seven human settlements, all of which were as big as (or bigger) than the one nearest the ‘gate. Sensors picked up no energy or radiation readings indicative of technologically advanced civilization. The scans also revealed three different pockets of human life scattered about the continent, each one with about twenty-five individuals. Teyla suspected these were groups of Kastites, and Marshall was a bit surprised there were so few.

              “If this is their homeworld,” he commented, “I would’ve expected more.”

              Teyla, he thought, looked equally perplexed. “I would guess,” she said after a moment, “the Wraith must send them to other worlds to carry on their hunting.”

              Marshall nodded. “Makes sense.”

              The Jumper also picked up one other notable anomaly: a structure giving off no readings (including life signs) and half overgrown with trees and foliage. The Jumper picked it up, however, because the size and shape closely resembled a Wraith cruiser. Marshall sent one team of Marines with Dr. Grodin to the Ancient weather station, and he brought another team and Dr. Zelenka to check out the cruiser. Lieutenant Miller landed the Jumper (not as lightly as Sheppard would have, but serviceably).

              “You and Stackhouse stay here,” Marshall ordered him. “If anyone comes near, notify me immediately. Ford, Teyla, you’re with me.”

              From the outside, it was difficult to determine if the structure was a cruiser or not, but the entrance looked decidedly Wraith. Zelenka hovered close behind Marshall, exuding fear and unease as he kept his eyes glued to his LSD.

              “Anything?” Marshall asked.

              Zelenka jumped. “No life signs,” he said.

              “Then stop looking so scared, Doc,” Marshall said, clapping him on the shoulder. He turned to his two Marines. “Thomlin, Garrison, fan out. Let’s get the lay of this place, but stay in radio contact. If you find a control room, let me know. If anything moves, shoot it.”

              “Yes, Sir,” the Marines said before taking the corridor branching to the right.

              Marshall threw a glance at Teyla as they headed left. “Sense any Wraith?”

              The Athosian shook her head. “No.”

              “How’s your range on that?” Marshall asked, keeping his P90 raised and sweeping the flashlight.

              “Quite far,” she replied. “If there were any in this facility, I would sense them.”

              Comforted a bit, Marshall nodded and didn’t lower his guard a fraction. He took every corner with caution, making sure to keep Zelenka behind him. After a couple meters of seeing nothing, he aimed his flashlight toward the floor. Bingo.

              “Footprints in the dust,” he said. “Recent. Looks like someone’s been here.”

              A moment later, his radio clicked twice. “Colonel, this is Garrison.”

              “Go ahead.”

              “Sir, we found what looks like a Dart bay. There are no Darts, but it’s the right size, and there looks to be a hangar door.”

              “Acknowledged,” Marshall said. “Carry on.”

              “Yes, Sir.”

              Marshall kept on with their own exploration, and after another hundred meters or so, they came to an open door that led into a large room with five different terminals and two large screens. After carefully sweeping every inch of it, he put a hand on Zelenka’s shoulder and gave him a nudge toward a terminal.

              “Get to it, Doc. Let’s see if we can turn on some lights.”

              Still looking mighty uncomfortable and wary, Zelenka nonetheless set his pack down and dug out a laptop. He muttered something under his breath in Czech, and Marshall thought he heard McKay’s name. He nodded at Ford.

              “Keep an eye on the door. Better to assume we’re not safe.”

              The younger Marine nodded and moved to obey. Marshall forced himself not to pace, and he managed not to hover over Zelenka. A few minutes later the engineer managed to turn on power, and emergency lights flickered on. They cast a wan, sickly-yellow glow about the room, doing nothing to diminish the ominous aura of the place. Two minutes after that, his radio clicked again.

              “Sir, we’ve found what look like hibernation pods. All empty.”

              “How many?” Marshall asked.

              “Twelve, Sir,” Garrison’s voice replied.

              “Any chance you can tell if they’ve been used, recently?” Marshall asked.

              “No, Sir. Maybe Dr. Zelenka could?”

              Marshall looked down at the little Czech. “Well, Doc?”

              The man raised his hands in a universal display of confusion. “I have no idea. Rodney would probably have better luck deciphering all this. Wraith system of organization is very baffling. Or, lack of organization.”  He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m having difficulty finding anything useful. Except, this is a Wraith cruiser. Or, perhaps was.”

              Marshall didn’t find that interesting or helpful, but he refrained from saying anything snappish. Sheppard being the scientists’ liaison had taught him his own manner with civilians was a bit . . . brusque. He managed to hold his tongue for another two minutes. “Anything?”

              Zelenka sighed. “To be honest, I’m not sure how much useful information is here. All these terminals have been disabled except for this one, and looks like most of its functions have been turned off. However, I did find one thing.”

              “And that is—?” Marshall inquired, straining for patience.

              The Czech met his eyes, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Four hours ago, a signal was sent from here.”

              Marshall blinked. “What kind of signal?”

              “A subspace signal,” Zelenka replied.

              Pointlessly, Marshall looked down at the terminal as though he could see all its secrets. “Can you tell where it went?”

              Zelenka shook his head, disturbing a few wisps of his flyaway hair. “No. But is safe to assume it has something to do with our Major and Chief Science Officer.”

              “Agreed,” Marshall said. He turned to Teyla, who was calmly watching him. “All right, let’s piece together a timeline. Sheppard and McKay come through the ‘gate. They make their way to the town near the ‘gate first. We don’t know that for sure, but it’s what I would do.”

              Teyla nodded. “Yes. John would be looking for information.”

              “Exactly,” Marshall said, pleased she knew her teammate so well. “Then, somehow they make their way to the weather station, where they’re ambushed by Kastites. Sheppard kills two of them, and then he’s overwhelmed. Possibly because Kolya took all his weapons back on Dagan, leaving him with only two knives.”

              Teyla frowned. “Then what? This cruiser is too far away from the weather station for their captors to have carried them.”

              Marshall considered the logistics for a moment. “This place has a Dart bay with no Darts in it. I’m guessing the Kastites on this planet have some way of contacting the Wraith who manages this place. The most logical assumption is, the Kastites contact their Wraith master. They fly out in their Dart, scoop Sheppard and McKay up, and then leave the planet via the ‘gate. Right before they leave, they send out a signal to their hive.”

              Teyla’s dark brown eyes studied his. “Yes, I concur. No Wraith queen would wait in a small cruiser like this. It is more than reasonable to assume she would station a drone or a commander here.”

              Ford, who was staring at the screen, turned a pensive gaze on his CO. “Okay, and what’s their end goal?”  To Teyla, “You said Wraith want Sentinels but not Guides. You don’t think they woulda . . . killed McKay?”

              Marshall felt a tightening in his gut. That thought had occurred to him. “Unlikely,” he said, trying to reassure both himself and his young Lieutenant. “We didn’t find McKay’s body. If the Kastites killed him, I doubt the Wraith would’ve brought his corpse along.”

              The words seemed to comfort Ford, and he nodded. “Okay, so where do we go next? Check the most recent addresses on the ‘gate?”

              Zelenka, who’d been fiddling on the laptop, looked up and pushed his glasses up his nose again. “Ah, that won’t work. The ‘gate’s control crystals have been removed, so no addresses would be stored. They’re dialed by Darts. Or Jumpers.”

              “Any other ideas?” Marshall asked the Czech.

              The man looked put-upon for several seconds before he blinked. “The Wraith hyperdrive is inferior to Ancient, right?”

              “Right,” Marshall said, raising an eyebrow and wondering where this was going.

              “So, Wraith hive ships can’t travel as far or as long as Ancient ships,” Zelenka went on.

              Marshall nodded. “Right, so if a Dart contacted its hive, depending on where it was in the galaxy, it might’ve taken it some time to get here.”

              “Which means,” Ford said, sounding excited, “if it took a couple hours to get here—”

              “And if it jumped straight back into hyperspace,” Teyla added.

              “—it might still be close by!” Ford concluded. “Celestially speaking.”

              Marshall reached up and tapped his radio. “Garrison, this is Sumner. Have you finished your sweep?”

              “Yes, Sir,” came the reply. “We haven’t found anything of note. We were just about to rendezvous with you.”

              “Negative,” Marshall said. “Head back to our point of ingress. We’re going to—”

              “Sir!” Markham’s voice abruptly cut through on the radio. “Sensors just picked up something coming through the ‘gate! Trajectory indicates it’s headed straight for you, and based on speed I’d say it’s a Wraith Dart.”

              The Colonel felt a little pulse of . . . well, not excitement. Optimism, maybe. “Well, if we can’t see where they dialed off this planet, maybe we can capture the pilot and attempt to interrogate him.”

              “If it’s the same Dart that took the Major and Rodney,” Zelenka piped up, “maybe I can plug into its nav’ computer and download its data.”

              Marshall nodded. “Good man. Let’s get you back to the Jumper, Doc. I don’t want you involved in a fight. Markham, get a visual on our incoming bogey. Stay cloaked, do not engage. We’re going to capture the son of a bitch and get some answers.”

              “Yes, Sir,” Markham’s voice replied.

              A few minutes later, after he had Zelenka secure on the landed Jumper, Teyla turned to him with simmering anger in her eyes. “It is a Wraith. I can sense it, now.”

              And then a scant minute after that, “We have visual on the Dart, Sir,” Markham reported. “ETA to your position, three minutes.”

              “Copy that,” Marshall said. “Radio silence until I contact you.”  To Zelenka and Miller: “You two stay here.”  To Ford and Teyla, “You’re with me.”

              “Sir,” Miller quickly interjected, “I should come. You need someone to use the LSD—”

              “Negative,” Marshall cut him off, nodding to Teyla. “Got the best Wraith-detector for the job right here with me.”

              Teyla didn’t outright smile, but the very corner of her mouth twitched as though she wanted to. Marshall led the way back into the cruiser, headed this time for the Dart bay. They reached it moments before the Dart flew in, and Marshall quickly gestured his team to take cover. The Dart landed, and a single Wraith commander exited. Without so much as a single, quick glance around, he strode for the inner door. Marshall gave Ford and Teyla the signal to wait, allowing the Wraith to leave the wide-open bay. Then he turned to Teyla.

              “I don’t like our chances of taking him alive without a stunner,” he murmured. “These bastards fight to the death.”

“Agreed,” Teyla said, voice pitched equally low. “He will not surrender any information, no matter how long we interrogate him.”

              After a moment of consideration, Marshall nodded. Part of him wanted a fight just to take out some of his anger at the capture of his people, but the need for expedience won out. “Right. Forget him; let’s just get the Dart’s nav computer. Teyla, keep watch on the inner door. I want to know if that bastard comes back.”  He tapped his radio twice. “Miller, escort Zelenka back in here. We’ve got a Dart to gut.”

Chapter Text

             The third time she came, she brought another queen with her. John’s entire body tensed, heart beginning to pound. The first two attacks were bad enough with just one queen. Her second attempt had been just as unsuccessful as the first—perhaps even more so thanks to Rodney’s active strengthening of their bond. That didn’t make it any less painful or draining for him, and the mere thought of trying to fight off two queens made him physically ill.

              Pointlessly, he reached for Rodney across their bond. At the other end, his Guide’s presence remained dark and silent, not yet conscious from being stunned several minutes ago. John withdrew into himself, curling around the golden glow to protect its light. The first queen took her usual spot by his head, and the new queen stood to her immediate left.

              “Incredible,” she said, voice a hiss. A purr. “You did not exaggerate his strength at all. I am surprised you would share such a treasure.”

              The first queen let out a harsh sound—laughter, he knew. “We are allied, and I am not averse to sharing what I learn.”

              The new queen made a growling sound. “You will keep our bargain. When you have learned all you can, he is mine.”

              “Of course,” said the first queen, placing her hands alongside John’s head but not touching. “Shall we?”

              John sucked in a quick breath, automatically squeezing his eyes shut as he felt two powerful minds reaching for him. He felt like a frightened animal, trying to hide in the forest from the hunter’s scope. And no matter how he strained away from them, there was no escape. All the air fled his lungs in a ragged groan when two sets of mental claws latched onto his bond and tore into it, voracious as a pair of lions on their kill.

              One queen had been bad. Two was infinitely worse. With one, there was a direction he could withdraw into himself. Now the attack came from both sides, and they could rip at his bond in opposite directions. Their strength was monstrous; it felt like they could—and would—tear him right in half. Almost instantly, the golden glow within him blazed red as his entire existence turned to pain.

              Everything swept away. There was nothing anymore except the howling, ravenous beast that wanted to devour him down to the bone. And then turn his bones to dust. Every time he tried to hide, it found him. It wrenched him back into the sea of red, a blistering haze of agony that stripped his flesh and muscle and sinew and left him bleeding—wait, he wasn’t bleeding because nothing was actually touching him—

              Frantically, he tried to focus his thoughts. If he slid away, it would leave him unable to defend himself. Forcing himself to breathe through the red mist (and trying to ignore how difficult it was), he gathered the fraying ends of his will and grabbed onto one queen’s mental claws. With every ounce of his strength, he pried at them; one by one, pulling them out of his bond. It felt a bit like pulling his own arms off.

              The second queen reacted. She ceased her attack on his bond and focused her will on him, lashing out with a mental blow that would have knocked a normal foe insensate. But this was an attack John could deal with. When she shifted her target to him directly, he caught the blow and shunted it away as easily as slapping a fly out of the air. Immediately, he returned his attention to the second queen, and he actually managed to pry her loose. He curled tightly in on himself, breathing hard through the pain. Strangely, it’s getting easier to deal with this, he thought. Each time a queen attacked him, the sensation grew more familiar. The more he learned, the better he could defend himself.

              The new queen hissed out a laugh. “I see what you mean. He is no ordinary Aspectum. Even against our combined might, he still manages to gain the upper hand.”

              He hated that she sounded amused.

              The first queen chuckled. “You see why I recruited your help. His Tectumque is no less impressive. Were he awake, in fact, he would hold us both at bay, and nothing either of us did would impede him.”

              He hated that they talked over his head. He wanted to snap at them, but he was sure if he opened his mouth, he would puke. Instead, he focused on his own senses, dialing them down and down, until they were so dull and muted it was like the world was wrapped in thick wool.

              That didn’t stop his head from snapping back against the table when the queens started again. Relentless and merciless, their mental claws tore into his bond. Savage birds of prey ripping apart a hapless rodent. Every muscle went rigid again, the darkness behind his eyes awash with red. Angry, burning red. It sparked along his bond, sending up flare after flare of red (like blood from a wound) as the queens wrenched in opposite directions. Tearing him open. Tearing him apart.

              From somewhere far away, he could hear pained, pathetic sounds. Faint, ragged groans of a dying animal. No, that wasn’t right. His thoughts spun—wait, that was him making that sound . . . or was it? He couldn’t feel the vibration of it in his throat—not like that meant anything. He didn’t have a physical body to feel with, anyway—wait. Delirium. Hysteria. Disorientation. Pain causing his thoughts to scatter. Sucking in a long and labored breath, John once more collected his focus, drew it inward and latched onto one queen.

              The second queen instantly retracted her own mental claws, shifting her focus to him directly. The mental attack slammed into him, forceful and heavy but not truly damaging. John let go of the first queen to deflect the attack. The first queen immediately shifted her grip to dig back into his bond, ripping and shredding with that terrible, incredible strength. The second queen didn’t give John the chance to orient on her partner. She lashed out again at John’s mind.

              It was much harder to focus on two fronts like this. No sooner did he deflect one attack and switch back to the other queen than the first queen attacked again. It felt like a game of ping-pong, the destruction of his mind the end prize. He had no idea how long this lasted, but it felt like the span between two heartbeats, the duration of a planet around its star, the inhale of the entire Universe—and then he couldn’t remember which queen was which, and then everything bled into everything else in a haze of red, red, red.

              Was his bond a living entity? Did it have a body? Was it now torn open and gutted, bleeding its entrails into the not-space it inhabited? What color did it used to be? He couldn’t remember. He tried to curl around the creature, tried to protect it from the vicious and ruthless talons shredding it from above. From below. From all around. A raptor in the air? A shark in the sea? It took John a long, long time to realize he wasn’t protecting a creature. He was the creature, its pain was his pain, the death throes racking its body were his, flailing and thrashing against invisible bonds that held him surely and inexorably as steel.

              What was he doing? What lay beyond that red—and ever darkening—veil?

              What was responsible for this torment?

              Was he fighting it?

              Was he losing?

              Am I dying?

              The taste of red filled his mouth. The sound of death filled his nose. The sensation of pain choked his eyes. Wait, no. Sparks of red skittered and burned across his skin. The taste of acid. The smell of open flame. No, wait. Claws dug into his throat, and then he couldn’t breathe because there was no way for air to reach his lungs anymore. There was only red filling them. Wait, no. Nothing was touching him. There was nothing. Wait—

              Then the entire Universe exhaled, and the shimmering veil of red parted enough to breathe some cognizance into him. His strangled and jumbled senses found a semblance of rightness—and his inner clock told him hours had passed—and he grabbed onto both sets of mental claws. With every last ounce of strength he possessed, he simply held onto them. The pain of them piercing into his bond remained, but they could no longer tear at it.

              They tried. Every wrench in his hold sent ripples of crimson in every direction. The longer he held onto them, the bigger the ripples and the weaker his hold. He clung, some little voice in the farthest recesses of his mind warning him, If you let go, you’ll die. He couldn’t die. He had to hold on, he had to last just long enough for . . . what? What was he waiting for?

              The answer flooded into him like a tidal wave. A powerful and encompassing wave of blue, washing away the red. Suddenly, he wasn’t holding onto anything anymore, and he was drowning, sinking down into blue—

              “Easy, easy, John . . . it’s okay, love. I’m here. I’m here. You’re okay.”

              Oh. Right. That’s what he was waiting for. Blue. No, wait. Rodney. Rodney.

              “That’s right, love,” his Guide said, and the sheer vastness of his mental voice filled John’s whole being with gold. “It’s me. Rodney. I’m here. You’ve been so brave. God, you’ve been so strong. But I’m here, now. I’m here.”

              Sounds clanged around in his ears. Rattling, incomprehensible. They felt wrong. Dangerous. He couldn’t figure out why, and he felt a strange pressure somewhere. Inside his body? On his skin? He couldn’t tell, and he thought that meant he was in a bad way. He couldn’t summon the energy or the will to care, and some distant part warned he should.

              But that wave of blue, the shimmer, the glow, the blaze was gently tugging at him. The red slowly but steadily gave way to it, and after a long time John realized the red was pain and the blue was Rodney soothing it away. Since he couldn’t find his body, he knew the pain was inside him, in places where touch couldn’t reach.

              “Focus on me, love. Come back to me.”

              Come back? To Rodney? Yes.

              “Rodney . . .”  Though weak, it came out as a fully realized thought and intention to speak to his Guide.

              “I’m here, John. I blocked the queens. God, I can’t believe there are two of them, now. Are they still in the room with you?”

              For a time, the stream of words resolved as meaningless noise. Slowly, with difficulty, John managed to parse together their meaning. It was even more difficult to figure out how to open his eyes, and more difficult still to figure out what they saw. Then he had to remember the original question.

              “No,” he finally said. “We’re alone.”  Wait, no; there wasn’t anyone in the room. “I’m . . .” but he couldn’t figure out how to end that would-be sentence, and for some reason, it brought a rush of panic.

              “Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Rodney soothed, and a blanket of blue settled soft as a cloud around the negative feeling. It went out like a snuffed candle. “You just rest, flyboy. You’re exhausted. I’ve got you.”

              John let out a soft, broken noise when fingers of blue stroked and caressed and massaged through him, and he felt himself sliding rapidly toward sleep. He knew with a suddenness it was Rodney nudging him into that gentle dark, and he instantly flailed away from it. He didn’t want to sleep, because he was far too exhausted for it, and that black would smother him, and he didn’t want anything separating him from Rodney, and he had no idea how to articulate any of this—

              “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, love,” Rodney murmured, and the pressure eased. “It’s okay. It’s okay, John.”

              Feeling panic creeping back in, John tried to reach for their bond. Only, he couldn’t find it, or maybe he could no longer reach for it, because he was too weak and exhausted and in too much pain. He heard himself whimper, head tossing on the hard surface of the table. “Rodney . . . Rodney . . . is our bond . . . are we still . . .?”

              The blue intensified, a cool and calming glow that had completely and utterly surrounded him, as if the entire universe had turned to a cobalt sun. “Of course, love. Can’t you feel it? It’s all around you. I’m all around you.”

              Oh. Right. He couldn’t hear Rodney if their bond was . . . he sucked in a shuddery breath. After several moments of just breathing, he realized he could see their bond. Only, what was gold was now blue. Or, and blue? He wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter, all he wanted was for it to be all around him, like it already was, holding and caressing him like it currently was, and he finally recognized that it felt good.

              “I held them off,” he managed, because it felt important to let Rodney know how hard he’d fought. How desperately he’d protected their bond.

              “I know, I know, love,” Rodney’s mental voice whispered through him. “You’ve been so strong. I’m so proud of you, love. And I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you fight.”

              It took a while for him to understand what Rodney was apologizing for. John huffed a breath of laughter. “Because that’s something you should be able to do, unconscious from a Wraith stunner?”

              The blue changed colors again, softening from cobalt to summer-sky blue. “Maybe not, but I’m still sorry I couldn’t help you.”

              Relief, John thought. His Guide was relieved. Another few seconds and John decided he was relieved, too. His senses were more organized, now. His thoughts more coherent. Enough that he could ask, “Did they . . . damage it?”

              He didn’t explain further, but Rodney didn’t need further explanation. He caressed firmly through John. “No, but . . . they did weaken it.”

              John thought his Guide wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He thought Rodney was hiding something from him, and he knew he should ask, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. There was no strength left in him, and he was too afraid of what Rodney would say.

Chapter Text

              For the first time, Rodney felt a pulse of real fear. By herself, the Wraith queen hadn't managed to do anything to their bond. Her attempts had caused John a great deal of pain, yes, but her attacks accomplished nothing more than that. Adding the strength of another . . . that had changed things. Their bond wasn’t damaged in the way a bleeding wound was damage to a body. But it was weakened, like an immune system under attack rendered less able to defend against new infections.

              His Sentinel was much worse this time, too. Not only was he suffering from severe synesthesia as though he were zoning, but the pain reflected so strongly across their bond Rodney had a hard time soothing it. It took him much longer, and John flickered in an out of awareness. Rodney desperately wanted him to sleep, to rest; his Sentinel resisted each time he tried.

              Without impatience, Rodney continued to stroke and caress through John’s mind, focusing on their bond and pouring his love and strength into it. The sparks and ripples of red were much harder to soothe away, persisting for far longer than the last two times. His Sentinel didn’t react to the pleasure of the sensation, either.

              Outside the cell, he heard footsteps approaching. Experience had taught him by now, that would be the commander bringing him food and water. They usually only gave him a few hours of consciousness. The sinewy door opened, and the leering Wraith commander strode in with his attendant drones.

              “It won’t be long, now,” the commander said in the usual goading tones, shark-mouth gaping in a grin. “Soon, my Queen will have what she wants.”

              “No,” Rodney said, soft and low, sure the hatred in his eyes must have turned them black, “she won’t.”

              The commander gargled out a throaty sound (their version of a laugh), and the drone deposited its tray of food. The three of them left as quickly as they came, and Rodney pushed himself off the floor. He carried the tray to the farthest wall from the door, once more sitting in the corner. His entire body ached, loudly disapproving the lack of proper furniture or support. He ignored it, beginning to eat sustenance that had long stopped tasting like food. All the while keeping up his ministrations on his Sentinel.

              “Rodney,” John abruptly said, and it seemed like concentrating on words took a lot of effort, “when he comes again to stun you, I think I can stop it from working.”

              Rodney felt his whole body seize up in shock and protest. “What!?” he exclaimed. “Are you kidding? No way, flyboy. No way am I letting you do that. You’re too weak and exhausted—”

              “I can take your pain,” John cut him off. “The principle of a stun pistol isn’t much different.”

              “You transfer my pain to yourself,” Rodney argued, “but you still feel it. How would this be different? You’re stunned instead of me?”

              “Preferable,” John said without a hint of humor.

              Ordinarily, Rodney would find many flaws in that statement. This time, however, he had to agree with his Sentinel. Still, “All the commander has to do stun me again. Then we’re both unconscious.”

              John didn’t respond, but Rodney could tell his Sentinel didn’t find fault with that idea. Rodney kept up his ministrations for a few more minutes. Then, “Do they allow you to eat?”

              A pause. “Sort of. This . . . tube-thing comes up out of the table.”

              He didn’t say more than that, but Rodney didn’t need more information. He rubbed a hand over his face, and the impotence of his anger nearly snuffed out the remains of his appetite. He forced himself to keep eating. If he was going to be of any use to his Sentinel, he couldn’t starve himself.

              It took time (almost two hours, his internal clock told him) before John started to react more normally to his Guide’s touch. The flickers and sparks along their bond told Rodney it’d begun to feel good again, and that John could feel it again. Gently, he nudged at his Sentinel’s thought-patterns, but John immediately pushed him away. Rodney didn’t try to resist or push the matter, and John settled right back into his Guide’s hold.

              The commander returned right on schedule, followed by his two drones. Wearing his usual arrogant shark-smile, he opened the door, lifted his stun pistol, and fired without a word. Rodney didn’t fully have time to put together a warning to his Sentinel, and he felt the usual sensation of electricity crackling over his nerves and the surface of his skin. A split second later, the sensation vanished, taking with it the pull into darkness. And John, already weak and exhausted, instantly zoned.

              The commander frowned, clearly not sure what’d just happened. Rodney couldn’t take satisfaction in watching the smug expression crumble. The commander raised his stun pistol again, but then he froze. Though Rodney couldn’t hear the queen, he suspected she was communicating with her commander. A moment later, he let out a growling sound and gestured at Rodney with his pistol.

              “Get up.”  He whirled and stalked out of the cell.

              Scrambling to his feet, Rodney followed the commander into the hall. Though his body ached, he wanted to snap at the Wraith to hurry up, to move faster, to get him to John sooner. By the time they crossed the hive he was ready to kick the commander in the backs of his knees. When the Wraith finally opened the door into the cold, large room serving as John’s prison, Rodney shoved past the commander and bolted for the table. Though aware of the two queens standing at the table’s head, he ignored them both.

              His Sentinel lay unmoving on the table, and Rodney grimaced at how pale he looked. The sinewy manacles were no longer around John’s wrists and ankles, so he wrapped his arms around his Sentinel and somewhat awkwardly dragged him off the table and into the corner. Did the raven feel lighter than before? He curled his whole body around his Sentinel’s, wanting nothing more than to shield him from sight. He heard more than saw the Wraith leave the room, and he gave them no more attention.

              It took him longer than it should have, to bring John out of the zone. When he eventually succeeded, his Sentinel seemed inordinately confused by his change in position. In fact, he didn’t even seem aware Rodney was holding him for several, long moments. Then, abruptly, he weakly twisted and writhed in his Guide’s hold, pressing his face in Rodney’s chest. He pushed his fingers up under Rodney’s sleeve, and his nails dug so hard into bare skin Rodney winced at the pinch of pain.

              “Rod-ney,” he gasped, voice ragged and thin (as though he’d been screaming, Rodney thought), “I . . . think I’m . . .” he made a sound like an abortive laugh that turned into a cough.

              Squeezing his eyes shut, Rodney pressed his fingers into John’s hair, massaging his scalp and down his neck. “You shouldn’t have done that, flyboy. You don’t need to take everything on your shoulders.”

              John huffed, the faintest breath of a chuckle, and rubbed his nose into the skin of Rodney’s throat. “You’re kidding, right?”

              He wasn’t, but he didn’t want John to waste energy talking, so he didn’t respond. Instead, he reached across their bond and gently nudged his Sentinel toward sleep. John denied him yet again, but this time Rodney persisted. He pressed his lips to John’s forehead, and his skin was cold as ice. “Please, love,” he whispered. “You need sleep. You’re exhausted.”

              All at once, John relented. Rodney pushed him straight into deep, restful, healing sleep. He continued to stroke his Sentinel’s raven hair, and it felt lank and slightly greasy between his fingers. Not silken soft as usual. I have to get us out of here. He can’t last much longer. If they actually manage to break our bond—

              The mere thought brought a panic attack so strong Rodney had a difficult time bringing it under control. His whole being had become so focused on being a Guide, John’s Guide, that he could barely imagine being anything else. More appropriately, he didn’t want to imagine being anything else. This love was so strong and all-encompassing nothing else felt important.

              Some time passed. Maybe an hour, he thought. The door opening made him raise his head, though he didn’t move from his protective position. When he saw one of the queens enter, he heard himself snarling like a feral animal; he wanted to tear her apart with his bare hands and teeth. She strode over to the table and casually leaned against it, coming no nearer.

              For a while, she simply regarded him in silence. He recognized her as the first queen. Presently, she blinked and folded her arms. “You and I,” she said in her rasping hiss, “do not have to be enemies.”

              For a moment, Rodney just stared at her, too shocked to reply. Then he barked a laugh. It sounded harsh. “There is nothing,” he spat, “we could be except enemies. You’re trying to take my Sentinel from me.”

              She gazed at him with open curiosity. “Sentinel. Hm. Your human word for them? But I am in earnest. You and I are the same. We want his rare and special abilities.”

              Rodney glared at her. His abilities? I want so much more than that, you stupid lizard. You can’t even fathom what I want.

              “But our mutual desires,” she went on, “needn’t stand in opposition. You are strong. The strongest Tectumque I have ever encountered. Not only does your strength of mind impress me, but your strength of will, as well.”

              Rodney swallowed a derisive snort. Gold star to me, then.

              “I have a proposition for you,” she said. “One that benefits us both. I can make you Wraith.”

              After almost chocking on his saliva, Rodney gathered his wits. “What?”

              “Indeed,” she said, nodding. “Think on it. I need to sever your bond with him to forge my own. But once I’ve taken what I need, I am more than happy to give him back to you. As my commander, you will enjoy a position of respect and power on my hive, and you may keep your pet Aspectum as long as you like.”

              Rodney stared at her, horrified by yet another ugly revelation, and he had the hysterical thought he was hallucinating. Make me Wraith? How? Why would she even offer such a nasty thing? But even worse, her cavalier talk of John like some kind of inanimate object, a mere tool for her use, it chilled him to the bone. She’s already caused him so much torment just by trying to break our bond. What is wrong with these creatures?

              She chuckled. “I can see the notion perturbs you. No matter. I could use you, so we will revisit this topic after your bond is broken. Rest while you can, Tectumque. I will return in a few hours’ time to continue my work.”

              Rodney watched her leave. He’d never before wished he could use his Guide abilities to kill. Right now, he wished it.

*~*

              The fourth time they came, there were three of them. John woke suddenly to find Rodney already unconscious, gone from the room, and himself back upon the table, secured by wrists and ankles. When three queens entered the room, his heart leaped into his throat and did its level best to strangle him. Panic set in so strong and heavy it greyed his vision. No. No, no, no. I barely withstood two. How will I fight off three—?

              They glided around the table, taking up positions to surround his head. His breaths came in rapid pants, and he knew he was hyperventilating, and he heard the queens say something, but he couldn’t make out the words. His body went rigid before they even reached for him, tense and shaking, fearful and desperately anticipating the worst yet—

              They descended on him like a falling mountain, like a tsunami; a sweeping, crushing force that ripped into him without mercy. Two of them tore into his bond, their rending claws instantly turning it red, ablaze with pain. The third queen attacked him directly, forcing him to defend against her, leaving him and his bond vulnerable to the other two queens.

              In a matter of seconds, his entire world was awash in agony. Drowning in a sea of red, red, red. It felt like zoning except worse, because while zoning was disorienting and unpleasant, it wasn’t actually painful. Zoning didn’t tear into his body and mind and soul and shred them into little, bleeding pieces. He couldn’t breathe, and even when he tried, fire filled his lungs. His throat burned, and he thought he’d swallowed acid, and then he realized he was screaming.

              And then he couldn’t stop, because it was too much. He couldn’t properly defend himself from an attack on three fronts, and then he couldn’t defend at all. And when he tried to curl tightly in on himself, they ruthlessly and relentlessly pulled him back open. This must be, the thought drifted by on a distant current, what an animal felt like, being pulled apart alive by ravenous hyenas. Nowhere to run, no way to flee.

              Something inside him shifted. Stretched. Went thin. Brittle. His bond, which once felt vast and strong and bright, flickered. He tried to curl around it, desperate to protect it, and all three queens wrenched him away, all in different directions. Drawing and quartering him, intent upon tearing him apart—

              The light flickered.

              Darkness yawned all around him, an endless and inescapable black void. He didn’t want to look. Couldn’t. Because if his concentration wavered, he would fall off the precipice (was he standing on a precipice?) and then he’d never stop. Stop what? Falling?

              The light waned.

              No. Concentrate. Don’t fall. The darkness is hungry, it consumes. If it consumes you, there is no coming back. Don’t look. There is nothing that way but emptiness.

              The light went out.

              Somewhere deep, deep inside him, in a place where no hands should be able to reach, something snapped. Talons of flame gouged down into the weakest place, and then he was falling, nothing to stand on or hold onto anymore, and they pulled and wrenched and tore at his bond. They tore until he screamed. They tore until he bled.

              They tore until it broke.

Chapter Text

              The sensation of falling into an endless abyss jolted him awake, entire body flailing to escape its icy, inky grip. But when he opened his eyes, it was to find he had fallen into an endless abyss. Its tendrils burned so cold they froze his breath and blood, and his eyes stared into nothingness until they stung and wept. The light, the path, that blazing golden star that had given him purpose, belonging, and love, was gone. It wasn’t cold, dark, or silenced.

              It was gone.

              The man called Rodney McKay opened his mouth and screamed and died.

              The creature rose, pure, raw, animal terror and rage. It knew nothing of thought. Of self. It desired nothing but an end to everything. It threw its head back and howled and howled and howled and clawed at its skin and the walls and the floor and wanted to sink its teeth into something and tear it apart. It knew something was missing. Its purpose. Its mate. Someone was responsible, and it would crush it to dust—

              A crawling, fleshy sound. The creature lunged to its feet, and suddenly it was given a target. Three beasts entered. It recognized them from somewhere. Somehow, it knew they were responsible for this terrible, gaping, gnawing darkness. This terrible, pervasive silence. This dreadful, consuming nothingness.

              One was unmasked, wearing a grin full of shark teeth. It had some strength. The other two were masked, and they were weak. Empty of mind and will, born with only the simple programming to obey. With a snarl that made its throat bleed, the creature lashed out at them. It didn’t move; it didn’t need to move to tear them to shreds. Their walls may as well have been made of paper. The creature burned them to ashes and buried its mental claws into their minds and wrenched. It wanted them to hurt, and so it hurt them, and its lips curled away from its teeth. OBEY ME!

              They stumbled. They faltered. They were gone.

              It looked at the unmasked beast. Destroy it! Destroy it! DESTROY IT!

              The slave-beasts dropped their weapons and lunged at the unmasked beast just as it opened its mouth. No sound escaped as the slave-beasts kicked with their feet and struck with their fists and fought without concern for their own wellbeing. Reduced to one simple objective: obey their new master. Kill the unmasked beast.

              Savage pleasure filled the creature as it watched them. It could detect the beast’s pain as it tried in vain to protect itself, ripples of red. The creature greedily drank them down and cast its vicious, ravening will outward. There were more beasts, empty of their own will, wrapped up in some kind of web of control perpetuated by others like the unmasked beast currently dying in this little room. There were only a handful of them.

              The creature reached and reached and reached and clamped onto every single empty beast it could find, the force of its will turned into talons, ripping into those flimsy walls and tearing them to pieces. It latched onto them, taking great delight in how it pained them. Obey me! Obey!

              They had no will of their own. They crumpled like paper sacks. The creature spat cruel laughter as they bowed to their new master, offering no resistance or fighting the pain it caused them. It turned its hateful eyes to the unmasked beast; it was barely alive, and it coughed out its last, pathetic breath as the slave-beasts crushed its throat beneath their boots.

              Find others like this one, the creature ordered. Destroy them! Make them suffer! Kill them slowly until they drown in their own blood!

              The two slave-beasts rose from their messy kill and came to kneel before the creature. It glared down at them, hating them no less than the beast they’d just slain. Its lip curled back in a sneer, and it wished for teeth like theirs to rip out their throats. Follow, it ordered, shoving past them and bolting out of the room. The creature didn’t know where this was, and the walls seemed to close in all around. It wanted nothing more than open sky and light, an escape from this dark.

              My . . . my . . . the other half of . . . I need . . . where—?

              The creature raced through its prison, the tangled and twisted corridors confusing its senses. It collided with walls, trying to find its way through the maze, and everywhere the smells of death and decay soured its gut. This whole place. Destroy it. Destroy it! DESTROY IT! The creature continued to run, pausing only when it encountered places where its slave-beasts were ruthlessly and brutally slaughtering the unmasked beasts. It watched the spectacle, and somehow their pain and suffering made the creature feel better.

              Suffer. Suffer! Drown in pain and agony and blood and SUFFER!

              It continued to run, snarling in helpless rage every time the confounding twists ended in a dead-end or closed door. It pounded its fists against the strange, fleshy wall. It remembered these were panels that would open doors, but it couldn’t remember how to use them. It heard a snapping sound in its hand, saw the smears of red covering the panel. Whirling, it bared its teeth at one of the slave-beasts.

              Smash it in!

              The slave-beast immediately attacked the panel with bare hands, beating and clawing and pulling at the fleshy, leathery wall. The creature could feel the slave-beast’s hands burning with pain, and it wanted to stop, but the slave-beast had no will of its own and the creature’s will was too powerful to stop. Grinning, enjoying the slave-beast’s pain, the creature goaded it onward, even after the door slithered open.

              This room had more slave-beasts within. Seven of them in total. There were two unmasked beasts, and their heads were so mutilated as to be unrecognizable. The creature paused, feeling wildly sadistic glee at the grisly scene. The seven slave-beasts, all with bleeding hands and injuries of their own, came and knelt before the creature. It ignored the obeisance, glancing around the room for another means of escape. There were none.

              Destroy everything!

              The slave-beasts immediately obeyed, smashing staff-like objects down onto all the pedestals in the room. The creature disregarded them, whirling and bolting back the way it’d come. Its two, attendant slave-beasts followed. The creature continued its frantic searching, grinding its teeth in impotent fury at the sheer size of this prisonlike place.

              Abruptly, the creature rounded a corner to find itself in a much larger anteroom. It froze, eyes alighting on a female beast. Rage couldn’t begin to describe the pure, blinding wrath that filled the creature’s mind, hazing its vision with red. This is it; the one who caused the dark. This prison is hers. Kill. Kill! Destroy! DESTROY!

              The two slave-beasts charged at the she-beast. But she was much stronger than the unmasked beasts. She lashed her will against theirs, and the slave-beasts faltered, clapping their bleeding hands to the sides of their heads. The creature snarled, mercilessly tearing into the slave-beasts’ minds, ordering them to attack the she-beast and ignore the pain.

              They staggered upright, stumbling toward her like animals drunk on fermented fruit. She battered her will against them, ordering them to stop, to turn, to obey her. But the creature was stronger than the she-beast, and it didn’t care if the slave-beasts suffered. It relentlessly goaded them on, grinning and sneering and wanting them to suffer. Reaching out with its mind, it found the seven nearby slave-beasts.

              Come! Come now! The two slave-beasts were still struggling against their former master, and the creature wanted—no, needed—to see her die! It wanted her to die and die and die, to choke on her own pain and drown in her own fluids and suffer and burn and DIE! Seven more slave-beasts charged into the room, and the she-beast’s eyes widened and her mouth opened and some meaningless sounds spilled out, and the creature ignored it all because that was fear in her worthless eyes! She gabbled and wailed at the creature up until the slave-beasts tore her eyes out and punctured her throat with their claws, and she continued to try and regain control clear up until the end.

              The creature slumped against the wall, banging its head on the hard surface and raking its claws down its face and howling. The rage was not lessened by watching the she-beast die, even knowing how she had suffered. There are more. There are more. They all need to die. They ALL need to die! Lunging to its feet, the creature dashed across the anteroom, continuing its search.

              Presently, the creature sprinted into the largest room yet. It paused, looking around. This space was enormous, cavernous, filled with strange objects floating above the ground. The sight startled the creature, though it felt no alarm. The slave-beasts knew what these objects were, and they were capable of using them; this information drifted to the creature but was meaningless for now. It ordered all but two of the slave-beasts to disperse back into this prison, to continue their destruction of the place. Then it turned to go.

              Something gave the creature pause. A sound. A grating sound. The creature whirled, already growling, and it froze again. Three beings were striding across the huge cavern, and the creature could not identify them. They were not beasts like the slave-beasts and she-beast. Their mouths flapped, and meaningless sounds poured out, and they grated. The creature snarled them, unsure if they were a threat. They were not the source of its rage, so it felt no immediate need for them to suffer. The slave-beasts would protect the creature if there was danger, so it turned to go.

              The beings made more noises and ran toward the creature. It spun, reassessing their threat level. They stopped, and the female being held out her hands. To prove she was not a threat? Her mouth moved more, but the creature turned away. They meant nothing. There was more of this place to search.

              A hand grazed the creature’s arm. It twisted away, striking the hand with all its strength. The being yanked backward, and the female made more sounds with her mouth. The creature whirled and bolted for the cavern’s entrance, ordering its slave-beasts to deal with these strange beings. Disregarding them immediately after, it continued its search. Nothing was more important than that.

*~*

              Teyla felt a painful yanking sensation in her gut as Rodney turned away from her, Sumner, and Aedin without a trace of recognition on his face. The two Wraith drones attacked immediately, lacking their usual finesse but possessing far more savagery. The had no weapons, lashing out with clawed hands which were already torn and bleeding. Sumner and Aedin dispatched them with a few bursts of P-90 fire.

              “What the hell was that?” Sumner muttered, staring after where Rodney had disappeared.

              Feeling a strange sense of apathetic detachment, one that turned her limbs to lead, she looked up at the Colonel. “His face,” she murmured, “and arms were covered with scratches.”

              “He looked at us like he didn’t know who we were,” Aedin added, sounding just as disturbed as she felt.

              “Am I the only one who noticed he was controlling those drones?” Sumner said.

              “No,” Teyla replied. “I noticed it, as well.”  She shuddered. “Something is very wrong. I sense Wraith, but there are fewer than there should be, and I cannot sense the queen.”

              “Killing those drones should’ve set off an alarm,” Sumner said, looking around as though he still expected it to happen. “Nothing. Something’s definitely wrong, here.”

              For a moment, none of them spoke. Then, looking deeply uncomfortable, Aedin shifted his feet. “You don’t suppose . . . Major Sheppard . . .”

              “No,” Sumner cut him off. “We proceed under the assumption he’s still alive. Until I see a body, I refuse to believe we’re too late.”

              Though she didn’t speak, Teyla agreed.

              Aedin gave her a hopeful look. “I know you’ve kinda linked up with the Major and McKay. Any chance you can . . . sense him?”

              She shook her head. “No. I am not a Guide. Much as I wish I could help, I cannot.”

              Reaching over, he squeezed her arm and offered a small smile. “Hey, it’s okay. Not like it’s your fault or anything.”

              Sumner adjusted his gun. “What I wouldn’t give for an LSD that can differentiate between human and Wraith life signs.”  He seemed to steel himself. “Right, we’ve come this far. Let’s go. Ford, take our six.”

              The trio set out across the Dart bay, and Teyla kept her senses open. It was easier than ever for her to sense Wraith, and her range had extended as well. She could detect them crawling around here and there, but they seemed to lack the cohesion she was used to. She kept her senses alert, but as they continued their careful progress, they encountered nothing resembling resistance. In fact, the strangeness compounded when they entered what looked like a control room.

              There were five drones inside, and all of them were engaged in . . . destroying everything in sight. Teyla stared at them, feeling slightly stunned. Most of the consoles were already smashed. But more disturbing still, she could see a Wraith commander. Well, his body. He was clearly dead, head smashed and mutilated with obvious rage.

              “What the hell?” Aedin breathed, watching with side eyes. “What’s going on?”

              Teyla took a steadying breath. “Rodney,” she whispered. “He must be controlling them, somehow. The drones all have bleeding and injured hands. He must have made them kill their commanders with their fists.”

              “He can do that?” Aedin said, looking vaguely ill.

              “I do not know,” she confessed. “And to be honest, I find all this very disturbing.”  She glanced at Sumner. “I suspect if we went in there, the drones would ignore us. They did not attack us until you tried to stop Rodney. It seems we are not seen as a threat.”

              The Colonel seemed to mull that over before nodding. “Agreed. Any idea what could’ve caused him to behave this way? Something the Wraith did to him?”

              “I can think of no other explanation,” she said, “and I know very little of a Wraith’s Guide abilities. Perhaps . . . some form of mind-break?”  She didn’t like even giving voice to such a dreadful theory.

              Aedin swallowed harshly. “That’d be my guess.”

              “We have to find him,” Sumner said, “and Sheppard. You two stay here. I’m gonna see if I can grab the stun pistol.”

              Teyla watched, scarce daring to breathe, as the Colonel slipped into the room. He kept to the walls, placing each step carefully. It seemed, however, he needn’t bother with stealth. The drones completely ignored him, not ceasing in their systematic destruction. Even when Sumner reached the corpse and snatched up the pistol, they paid him no mind. Sumner exercised the same care when he exited the room.

              “Okay,” Aedin said quietly, “this is officially freaking me out. You don’t suppose McKay killed all the commanders . . .?”

              And the queen? Teyla added silently. A shiver raced up her spine. If anyone could do such a thing, it would be him. His is the strongest mind I have ever encountered, stronger than any Wraith queen. I suspect even he does not fully know what he’s capable of. It is not such a stretch that he could control drones, which are already susceptible to telepathic influence.

              “If he did,” Sumner said, “so much the better for us. It means the Wraith won’t present any kind of unified tactics.”

              Teyla tried to swallow her dread. “How do we find Rodney? This is a hive ship, not a cruiser. We could search for days and never see him.”

              “Especially with our limited numbers,” Aedin added sourly.

              Sumner straightened and tapped his radio. “Sumner to Miller. Status report.”

              The radio fuzzed to life. “Miller here, Sir. All quiet. No sign of any Wraith, and no alarms.”

              “We're heading back to you,” Sumner said, “and then I'm sending you back to the 'gate to contact Atlantis. We need reinforcements. This is the right place, but things are a little . . . off, and we need help searching it.”

              Teyla mentally calculated. They’d found the hive ship floating in space, looking completely derelict, about a twelve-hour flight from the orbiting Stargate of the nearest planet. Best-case scenario, it would be well over one day before any help would arrive. “I suppose,” she said softly, “that will give us plenty of time to explore the hive and learn what we can.”

              “Right,” Sumner said, making a circular gesture with one hand, “let’s head back to the Jumper and get Zelenka. We’ll plug him into a terminal and see if the ship’s computer can tell us anything useful.”

              Though she hated the notion of abandoning the search for Rodney, Teyla didn’t argue. Mindlessly wandering the ship would waste time, and something told her they needed to act with all possible speed. That time was something of which they had dangerously, precious little.

Chapter Text

              Marshall tried not to hover over Zelenka as (yet again) the Czech tinkered with his laptop. He’d plugged it into a terminal exactly nine minutes and seventeen seconds ago, and he’d budged nothing except his fingers over the keys and said not a word. Occasionally his lips moved, but no words came out. Marshall struggled against his own impulse to demand information, and he won that battle for nine minutes and twenty seconds before he simply could wait no longer.

              “Well? Anything?”

              Zelenka jumped as though he’d forgotten anyone else existed. “What? Oh. Yes, yes. Well, No. Not really. That is, the ship is damaged. Yes. But there seems to be no record of battle or enemy forces that would account for—that is, it seems the Wraith have done this to their own ship.”

              Folding his arms, Marshall leaned against the terminal. “So, all the drones have gone crazy, killed their commanders—and maybe their queen—and . . . what? For what reason?”

              “The computer indicates this hive ship met with two others over the course of the last few days,” Zelenka piped up. “Both have obviously left, but for at least a few hours before we arrived, there were three.”

              Marshall raised an eyebrow. “The Wraith had a little powwow? This whole damn situation gets more mysterious every second.”

              Teyla, who’d been silently observing and looking restless, shifted. “If I may, Colonel, I do not believe it matters at this time. If this hive met up with others, the queen likely made some kind of arrangement with them, and it is likely they will return. I believe it is more important to find Rodney and John and leave here as quickly as we can.”

              After a moment, Marshall nodded. The soldier in him lamented the thought of leaving a perfectly good hive ship adrift without even trying to salvage it, but they were in no position to defend it if more hive ships did show up. “You’re right. Zelenka, any chance you could make the computer tell us anything useful about our Sentinel and Guide?”

              Zelenka waved his hands at the laptop screen. “The ship’s computer doesn’t exactly have a functional OS with a search-engine where I can just type in a query and scroll through the results. I have to wade through a lot of other information, and of course the laptop has to translate it with the language matrix Atlantis provided—”

              “Okay, okay,” Marshall cut him off, really not in the mood for a scientist rant. “Forget about information. Can you at least pull up a ship schematic?”

              “Yes, that should be relatively simple—”

              “Do it, then,” Marshall ordered. “Ford, barricade yourselves in here. Teyla and I are going scouting. We’ll stay in radio contact. Dr. Zelenka, I want you to be our navigator.”

              Though the mousy Czech looked nervous about the idea of them leaving, he just nodded. “Where am I navigating you to?”

              “Any key area of the ship,” Marshall said. “Hyperdrive engines, power relay stations, queen’s quarters, bridge.”

              “Right,” Zelenka said, scanning his laptop screen. “Right, it looks like there is power relay station near us, just a few corridors down.”

              With a last nod and significant look at Ford, Marshall led Teyla from the room and back into the corridor. She kept close behind him, and after a moment he asked, “Sense any Wraith?”

              “Yes,” she replied, “but they do not appear to be moving around.”

              Marshall’s radio fuzzed. “Colonel,” came Zelenka’s voice, “when the corridor branches, turn left.”

              “Got it,” Marshall replied. Then, to Teyla, “I’ve been thinking about what our captive queen said, back in Atlantis.”

              Her dark brown eyes briefly met his before continuing to scan ahead. “You mean that she did not care John was already bonded. You have been wondering if queens know a way to sever a Guide and Sentinel’s bond.”

              Well, her ability to read minds was certainly useful. “Yeah,” he admitted, casting a careful eye around the empty corridor ahead. “If that’s the case, it had occurred to me McKay might be acting so bizarrely because this hive’s damn queen succeeded.”

              Judging by the haunted look on her face, the same thing had occurred to Teyla. “I can’t even imagine what a terrible and traumatic thing it must be, to have a bond forcibly severed. Charin used to describe it as the ultimate sharing. A powerful and intimate connection of their very souls.”

              Marshall didn’t even want to imagine. Losing the love of one’s life would be painful enough without there being some kind of emotional and telepathic connection. And if their bond had been severed . . . What can I even do about that? Is there some kind of cure? Can they just bond again? If McKay’s erratic behavior was any indication of what to expect, it wasn’t likely to be that easy. There’s all the chance in the world my 2IC will be even worse.

              They reached the door to the power relay station, and Teyla stopped him. “I sense three Wraith within.”

              He nodded, putting a finger to his lips (even though it wasn’t necessary) before pressing against the wall and leaning an eye around the corner. The three drones were beating and tearing and kicking at everything in sight. Sinewy wires hung down and stuck up everywhere, weeping fluid and spitting sparks. The drones’ hands were mangled, bleeding messes, and even though Marshall felt no love for the creatures, he still winced at the sight. They all had broken—or missing—fingers, and in many places the bones were visible and jutting.

              Teyla touched his shoulder and beckoned him back a few paces. “Colonel,” she said softly, “I have an idea. If Rodney is indeed controlling the drones—and I am certain he is—perhaps we can lure him to us by attacking them.”

              Marshall considered this. “Are you sure that would have the desired effect? McKay couldn’t get away from us fast enough, back there in the bay.”

              “Yes,” she conceded, “but it’s apparent he needs these drones for whatever his goal is. If we start killing them, he might decide we need to be dealt with rather than avoided.”

              The Marine in him was pleased by her lack of unnecessary compassion for their enemy. “I don’t have a better plan,” he said at length, “and frankly, it seems like the Wraith are hellbent on destroying this hive. Since it’s the only thing between us and the vacuum of space, killing them isn’t a bad idea.”

              To his surprise, her lips quirked and amusement sparked in her eyes. “I am glad to have such enthusiastic approval.”

              He almost chuckled. Giving her the quick signal to wait on one side of the doorway while he slipped to the other, they took up positions. He held up one hand and made a quick gesture. They both whipped into the entry and opened fire. The stealth, however, was unnecessary. Even when being shot up by P-90 fire, the three drones ignored them. They didn’t so much as look up, even as they were gunned down. Teyla gazed down at their corpses.

              “Perhaps,” she said with audible distaste, “Rodney’s control over them is far more singular than that Wraith commanders and queens. Given only a single directive, and they cannot disobey it—even at the cost of their own lives.”

              Marshall grimaced. “Why do I find this behavior more disturbing than their usual?”

              “I do, as well,” Teyla murmured. “They are Wraith, and I do not feel sorry for them . . .”

              He nodded. Reaching up, he tapped his radio. “Zelenka, we found the relay station. It’s trashed. Give us another location like it. We’re going monster hunting.”

              “Ah, yes . . . you are near an auxiliary control room,” Zelenka reported.

              “Good enough,” Marshall said. “Let’s go kill us some Wraith.”

*~*

              For the next several hours, Teyla followed Colonel Sumner around the hive ship. The drones, which never seemed to run out, were always grouped in important areas, destroying everything in sight. They mindlessly focused on this single goal, making them wretchedly easy targets. She and Sumner had probably killed dozens of them by the time they finally changed their behavior. Though they’d proved no danger in their distracted state, she found herself strangely grateful when they entered the queen’s chamber and found several drones waiting in ambush.

              She and Sumner both dove behind a couple pillar-like structures, opening fire. The drones charged right for them, but their headlong rush lacked any self-preservation. They ran right into P-90 fire, ignoring the slugs slamming into their chests. It only took marginally longer to dispatch them, and Sumner heaved a deep breath.

              “Well, I guess we got their master’s attention,” he said in a dry tone, nodding toward the corpse at the base of the throne. “Did you notice the dead queen?”

              She nodded, shivering despite the warm air. “It looks like she was torn apart with special savagery.”

              “I’d feel a special loathing toward her, if I were in McKay’s place,” Sumner muttered darkly. “I hope like hell she suffered.”

              Teyla could not find fault with his words. She swept her gaze around the queen’s chamber before pointing to a small, well-concealed door in the far corner behind the throne. “Through there. I sense Wraith. Many.”

              “Then that’s where we’re going.”  Without hesitation, the Colonel strode right to the door. He pulled a wicked-looking knife from his boot and jammed it straight into the barely-visible panel. The door slid open with a wet, fleshy sound.

              I hate this place, she thought, not for the first time. I will be well glad to be quit of it!

              The door opened into a narrow corridor, which would be the perfect place to defend, but no Wraith drones leaped out at them. The corridor opened into a wide hallway with several different doors. Sumner stopped, and Teyla could detect a hint of annoyance.

              “Shall we see what’s behind door number one?” he grumbled.

              A grin pulled at the corners of her mouth, and she didn’t fight it. The first door opened into a chamber of stasis pods. Teyla’s stomach curdled, and she felt a bolt of relief to see no humans in them. Sumner made a disgusted sound in his throat.

              “Here’s where she keeps little snacks for herself?” he muttered.

              “Indeed,” Teyla said, equally repulsed.

              There was nothing else inside the chamber, so Sumner turned and led the way back out.  He bypassed the other doors and went to the furthest, once again stabbing his knife right into the panel. The door hissed out of the way, and Teyla’s eyes widened in alarm, mouth opening to cry out a warning as a figure lunged straight out at Sumner.

              The Colonel, however, was already ducking to the side, and Teyla felt a powerful bolt of relief that he hadn't fired. Rodney swung a stun-rifle right at the Colonel’s head, and there was no more recognition (or sanity) in his eyes than when first they’d seen him. Still, she was grateful he didn’t seem to realize the capability of his weapon, wielding it only as a club. Drones spilled out of the doorway behind him, all with a variety of hideous wounds, charging straight at the pair.

              Teyla quickly aimed her P-90, careful to keep Rodney well out of the crossfire as she targeted the drones. Rather than rush straight at her, these scattered outward. Whether it was an attempt at strategy or not she didn’t know, but they were a bit more successful than their fallen brethren down below.

              Sumner let out a sharp whistle. “Fall back to the corridor!” he called, dodging another vicious but clumsy strike from Rodney.

              Teyla obeyed, putting the narrow corridor behind her, providing a much more defensible position. However, neither Rodney nor his drones followed them. They instead drew back into the room they’d just exited. Teyla’s heart gave a little skip. “It’s just a hunch,” she said to the Colonel, “but that could be where John is.”

              “Then we need to get in there,” Sumner said. He tsked. “Damn it. If he hadn't jumped out so fast, I coulda stunned him.”

              Teyla shook her head. “We cannot know how the drones will react once his hold on them is broken. They would most likely attack both him and John, a risk—”

              “We can’t take,” Sumner interrupted, nodding once. “We need to take care of them, first.”  He gazed toward the door for several moments, as if hoping the drones would just file out one-by-one to be shot. “If they stay behind that door—whatever room’s behind it—we can’t go in with P-90s. The chances of hitting McKay are too high, especially if he has them surrounding him for protection.”

              “Yes,” she agreed quietly. “Perhaps we could come back to this location with more stun pistols and rifles?”

              He immediately turned away, tapping his radio. “Zelenka, does this ship have some kind of weapons storage locker?”

              “Ah, let me see,” Zelenka’s voice replied. “Um, is difficult to tell for sure . . . yes, I have it. There seems to be a supply room short distance from your current location. Exit the queen’s chamber and take the corridor to the left.”

              Teyla glanced at her wrist chronometer (watch, the Earthers called them). “Do we try to take them all out on our own? It is still over twelve hours until the Jumper returns with reinforcements.”

              Sumner seemed to consider before shaking his head. “No. Even if the drones are only fighting with their bare hands, there are too many of them. I don’t want to risk injury. We’ll wait for backup. In the meantime, let’s keep cleaning house. I’m not keen on the drones busting important systems like life-support and artificial gravity.”

              “That would indeed be problematic,” Teyla agreed.

              Sumner tapped his radio again. “Zelenka, any chance you could seal off the corridor behind the queen’s receiving chamber? It’s where McKay is, currently, and it would be nice to keep him confined to one area.”

              The Czech rambled on for a while about how difficult it was to make the ship do anything, but after a few minutes the small door behind the throne hissed shut. “There,” he said in his thick accent, “that should hold off all but most strenuous attempts to open it.”

              Sumner glanced at Teyla, giving the impression of rolling his eyes without doing so. “Sometimes I think he protests my requests just so I’m impressed when he pulls off the impossible.”

              Teyla let out a little huff of unintentional laughter. “Yes. He and Rodney are quite alike in that.”

              He smirked. “Much as they’d both like to disagree.”

              The moment of levity helped lift her spirits. “Perhaps, after we’ve located the weapons, we should replenish our energy with food and rest. It has been a very long five days.”

              “Good idea,” he said, striding across the queen’s receiving chamber. “Something tells me it’s gonna be a long night.”

*~*

              Though she expected to get none, Teyla managed to sleep for several hours. While they waited for reinforcements, she and Sumner found the weapons locker and gathered dozens of stun rifles, carrying them back to the control room where Ford and Zelenka still waited. They also continued their hunting, managing to kill dozens more Wraith drones. Zelenka continued his tinkering with the computer, and he learned enough to report the hive ship was salvageable, and he also managed to figure out how to turn on the ship’s long-range scanners.

              No other hive ships were near them, and the only two within range were both traveling away. Sumner believed (and she agreed) those were the two hive ships that had previously met up with this one. They still had no idea about the reason the hive ships had met up, but she was just grateful they were long gone. She wanted to weep with relief when the two Jumpers arrived with reinforcements.

              Sumner had them meet the Marines in the Dart bay. He gave them a brief overview of their situation, the limited information they had, and the plan. “Dr. McKay is behaving as though under some form of extreme mental duress,” he said with a tact Teyla silently approved. “We suspect some form of torture or mind-break caused by the Wraith. As such, we have been unable to apprehend him, and we’ve still seen no trace of Major Sheppard. We do believe, however, we know where he is. His condition is still unknown.”

              With that, they wasted no time setting out. Sumner saw them all equipped with Wraith stun pistols and rifles, and they headed to the queen’s chamber. The hive was abnormally quiet, and Teyla felt a chill. Everything about this felt wrong. At her side, Aedin’s normal youthful optimism was vanished behind a grim countenance.

              The door at the back of the huge receiving chamber was open and torn, and she could see traces of Wraith blood and flesh all over it. She grimaced. It appears they tore it open with their bare hands. Sumner muttered a faint curse, quietly ordering his Marines to watch their six as well as ahead before turning to Lieutenant Miller.

              “Seventeen life signs ahead, Sir,” the Marine murmured. “No idea if they’re human or Wraith.”

              Sumner hefted the stun rifle. “Right. Let’s go.”

              The group made their way through the narrow corridor to the wide hallway, and the LSD indicated all the life signs were grouped in the back behind the farthest door. Sumner led the way, giving signals for his Marines to provide wide cover, then plunged his knife into the panel. The door slithered open, and Teyla and the Marines poured inside.

              The Wraith lunged at them without a trace of self-preservation, utterly fearless. Teyla immediately found herself grappling with a drone that grabbed onto her rifle and tried to wrench it from her grasp. Its hands were a bloody, mangled mess, but it seemed neither to care nor even notice. Still, its grip was slippery with blood, giving her the leverage she needed to yank the rifle away and slam its butt into the drone’s face. While it may not notice any pain, the force of the blow sent it staggering backward, and she fired the rifle. It took three shots to down the thing, and she felt no pity.

              The battle with the Wraith was eerily quiet, and it was over in less than a minute. As soon as there were no longer any unoccupied drones, Teyla turned her attention on the figure she’d noticed immediately upon entering, lying prone in the farthest corner of the room. She bolted forward, recognizing the BDUs of Atlantis personnel. Her heart pounded as she dropped to her knees and gently grasped his shoulder, rolling him onto his back.

              “Is it Sheppard?” Sumner barked, smashing his own stun rifle into the face of a drone.

              “Yes,” Teyla replied, aware of Aedin coming up beside her and kneeling as well.

              Sumner ordered his Marines to stand guard outside the door before joining Teyla and Aedin. “Condition?” the Colonel asked.

              Teyla felt for a pulse with trembling fingers, and she found one. Weak and slow. But John’s face . . . she felt no comfort in finding his eyes open. Mere slits, they tracked no movement, did not react to her touch, and reflected no light. It was as if his body was still alive but the soul had long left it. Fear gripped her throat, making it extremely difficult to breathe.

              “I do not know,” she whispered, sharing a glance with Aedin.

              “Unresponsive, Sir,” Aedin said, ineffectually shaking John’s shoulder. “He’s breathing, pulse slow, and he’s freezing.”

              Teyla carefully examined the skin she could see, probing gently at his limbs and torso for any signs of internal injury or broken bones. There seemed to be none, but that didn’t comfort her, either. “I don’t think he’s injured.”

              “Let’s get him back to the Jumper,” Sumner said. “Stay with him.”  He strode to the door, and she heard him ordering two Marines to return to the Jumper and get a stretcher.

              Aedin looked up at Teyla, and she could see a desperation in his eyes, as if begging her to reassure him everything would be fine. “Do you think they did it?” he said quietly, voice thick with dread. “Severed his bond with McKay?”

              Teyla swallowed, throat suddenly and murderously dry. She looked down at John, reaching out with her flimsy senses. But without Rodney’s help, she had no idea how to reach the Sentinel. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly, “but I fear . . .”

              “We got company!” Miller’s voice called out from the door.

              Teyla wanted to move, to get up and help them, but her limbs felt rubbery and useless. She couldn’t make herself move from John’s side, overcome with the fear that if he left her sight, he would vanish into nothingness. She felt another bolt of sickly anxiety when she heard Sumner say,

              “It’s McKay!”

              “I hate this,” Aedin abruptly hissed, helpless fury rising up in his dark brown eyes. “I hate the Wraith, I hate that they did this to them. God, I wish we could just kill them all!”

              Teyla could not disagree, and she carefully sat beside John and gingerly pulled him so his head was pillowed in her lap. She lightly stroked her fingers through his thick hair, and it was lank and greasy between her fingers. “I am here, John. Don’t worry. We’ll get you out of here and back to Atlantis. Carson will be able to help you. Just hold on a while.”

              Aedin gripped their team leader’s hand. “That’s right, Sir. It’s almost over.”

              A few minutes later, Sumner reentered the room, bleeding from a gash on his cheek. “He fought like a damn, mad beast,” he grunted. “Never seen anything like it.”

              “Were you able to capture him?” Teyla asked.

              “Yes,” Sumner said, touching his cheek. “He managed to dislocate Markham’s shoulder and break Stackhouse’s wrist. Miller’s on his way with two stretchers.”

              Teyla nodded, resuming her stroking. She feathered her fingers over John’s brow, the bridge of his nose, and his cheeks. He didn’t so much as twitch at the sensation, and his skin felt like ice. Though she knew it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, it felt like hours before the Marines returned with stretchers. She refused the let any of the Marines touch John, only allowing Aedin to help her roll the unresponsive Major onto it and then lift it. She felt another sickly pang when she finally laid eyes on Rodney. Even unconscious, he looked pale and haunted.

              Please, she prayed to anyone listening, please let them be okay.

*~*

              “How are they, Carson?” Elizabeth asked.

              With a long, deep sigh, Carson looked up from his personal laptop. “To be honest,” he replied to her, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I have no idea.”  He turned the screen to face her. “Major Sheppard’s vitals indicate a state similar to a coma, but at the same time the EEG indicates he’s experiencing constant pain. I administered painkillers and a sedative, but it didn’t seem to affect anything. His eyes are open, but he’s completely unresponsive to any stimulus.”

              He could see the worry in her kind face. “And Rodney?”  She sounded like she dreaded hearing his answer.

              Rising, Carson padded to the door. “See for yourself.”

              He led her to the isolation room viewing deck. The room, though not large, looked enormous with nothing in it but a medical bed. Its occupant was strapped down by wrists, ankles, and across his chest. Rodney McKay, arguably his best friend, lay there, thrashing and howling like a mad beast, drenched in sweat, pale as a sheet of paper, dark shadows beneath his eyes.

              Elizabeth sucked in a sharp breath. “What on Earth happened to them?”

              Carson shook his head. “I can’t say for sure. But I managed to get Rodney under the scanner before he woke, and I’m extremely concerned by what I found. I compared both their scans to the ones I took establishing baseline. Their vitals displayed a kind of synchronicity that I attributed to being a bonded pair. That synchronicity is gone.”

              She swallowed so hard Carson saw her throat move. “So, Marshall’s suspicion was right. The Wraith queen severed their bond.”

              “Aye, I believe she did,” Carson replied, “and I’m afraid I have no idea the long-term effect that will have on the pair of them.”

              For several moments, Elizabeth didn’t speak. Then, “What’s wrong with his hands?”

              “Both covered in lacerations,” Carson said. “It looks like he smashed it against something. Repeatedly.”

              She folded her arms across her middle, and he thought the action looked defensive. “So, what can we do?”

              He shook his head. “I wish I knew. Rodney’s almost behaving like an addict suffering from withdrawal, but his vitals don’t match up with that theory. I have no idea if this is a state he’ll come out of on his own. And unfortunately, I’m no surer with the Major.”

              She took a deep, shuddering breath, and for a moment he thought she might cry. Then her face smoothed. “Keep me informed, Carson. Let me know immediately if their conditions change. Either of them.”

              He nodded. “I will, lass. I’ll do everything I can for them.”

              She squeezed his shoulder. “I know you will, Carson.”  With that, she left.

              Carson remained where he was a while longer, watching Rodney relentlessly struggle and strain against his bindings. The doctor closed his eyes for a few seconds, waiting for the threat of tears to pass before opening them. I’ll have to sedate him, again. His wrists are starting to bruise. Swallowing harshly, he turned from the window and headed into the infirmary to gather the supplies.

              As a man, it was easy to feel hopeless. To feel weighted down and defeated by the situation, by the lack of information. As a doctor, he wouldn’t give up. Not until his patients drew in their last breath. Whatever it takes, I’ll find a way to help ye both. I swear it.