He didn’t look so tough. At least that’s what Sergeant Eugene Bates kept telling himself. He didn’t flinch as he stood by the door of the brig. With Ancient shields that could contain a Wraith, he wasn’t afraid of Commander Acastus Kolya in the very least. He could take him. It didn’t matter how world-worn and pock-marked the guy’s face was.

Gene stepped closer to the barrier, giving Kolya his best cold, hard stare. The man didn’t even flinch, just stared right back.

Gene expected him to say something . . . anything, like any good villain should, but he did nothing more than sneer, appearing as dismissive as he looked satisfied.

“You’ll pay for what you did,” Gene said. He knew it wasn’t really his business to speak with the prisoner, but he’d heard what had happened to Sheppard, what could be happening to McKay and Teyla and Weir.

Gene didn’t really approve of all of Sheppard’s decisions, but the man was his CO. And he was on Gene’s side. He was a good guy and whatever Kolya did to him . . . he deserved to be punished.

Kolya’s sneer stretched, eyes twinkling like he was remembering a fond memory. He ignored Gene and sat down on the small bench on the side of the cell. “I want to speak with Dr. Weir.”

Wait . . . didn’t Kolya have Weir? Gene had seen evidence of a struggle, but in truth, that someone could’ve escaped was just wishful thinking . . . was it possible that Weir really had? And if so, why hadn’t she come back by now?

Before he could investigate further, the door slid open and Parker walked in, her mouth narrowed to a thin line. Bates wanted to glare at her, but refrained, not wanting to show division in front of the prisoner. Then again, Kolya’d probably take little miss Air Force Barbie to be as much of a joke as Gene did.

Sheppard and Ford were okay. Sheppard was a gung-ho hero type with no respect for authority and too much trust in aliens, but he was a good pilot and a fair leader. Ford was a little boy, but Sumner had trusted him, and Gene trusted anyone his long-time CO had trusted. Sumner was a good judge of character.

Parker, on the other hand, didn’t belong here. Even Sheppard knew better than to let her have any real missions or power. He sent her out to baby-sit the scientists. Fine. Like any woman, she knew how to soothe them, make them behave. But despite the fact that she’d actually managed to keep the other scientists from killing that pussy, Kavanagh, she wasn’t ready for a real command. Women couldn’t command. Women couldn’t be trusted to do the hard thing when the time came. They could endure pain, they could have fucking children, but they couldn’t fight.

And now this little girl was just going to waltz in here and interrogate the fucking prisoner? Gene didn’t think so. Kolya would tear her down and spit her out.

But she’d gone to college. She’d gotten in on some ridiculous politically correct crusade and he hadn’t, so he had to actually listen to this clueless little c-nt.

“Lieutenant,” he threw her a picture-perfect salute. She was still and officer, after all, and Gene was locked in his little box of duty and propriety.

“Stand down, Sergeant.” Her voice was deliberate and solid, but Gene could smell the fear on her. He was sure the prisoner could too.

“Looks like the pretty little girl’s got you on a leash,” Kolya said to Gene, winking.

Parker ignored the comment, stepping right up to the bars. “Where are the others?”

Kolya grinned. “Dr. McKay is safe; I can assure you. The women . . . I can’t make any promises.” He leered.

Parker’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t step back. “What did you do with them?”

Gene had already heard Lieutenant Ford’s report – they were gone, taken to another world.

“I didn’t lay a hand on them,” Kolya said.

It could be the truth. I could be a complete and utter lie. Gene didn’t know and, right now, he didn’t care. He’d kill this bastard for that sneer alone.

“I’ll ask you again . . . where are they?”

Kolya stood in one swift motion, advancing so his face was inches from hers, shield shimmering blue between them. Parker flinched. Of course she flinched.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Sheppard?”

Parker spun around so fast that the hair from her ponytail sizzled against the crackling surface of the force field. “Watch him,” she said to Gene, as though it wasn’t immediately obvious.

Lieutenant Ford wasn’t that much taller than Radek, not like Sheppard or McKay, even, but it seemed that he was capable of going twice the distance in a single stride as Radek. He had to scurry to keep up with him.

“What are you going to do, Lieutenant? They are not here. Idiot with toaster for brain can see that they are not here.” He figured he could take a leaf out of McKay’s book. It seemed to work on Ford occasionally.

They’d searched the entire military complex and the surrounding fields, and every house in the nearby village. There was nothing here.

Now that Atlantis had radioed them and informed them of Kolya’s capture and Major Sheppard’s return, all they had to do was wait . . . wait for those back in the city to get the information. There was no need for this racing about; no need for Lieutenant Ford’s angry strides towards the chieftain’s house.

Ford yanked open the bamboo door so fast that it was left clattering against the wall by a single hinge. The noise it made hitting the side of the hut was hollow like the clunking of coconut shells on the tropical beach he’d much rather be on right now, like the hollowness he heard in Ford’s voice.

“Where did they go?” Ford growled, pulling the chief out of his seat and pressing him against the wall.

His wife . . . nice breasts, ugly face, was huddled in the corner, a small child huddled in fear under either arm. They all whimpered and Radek wondered how it was that he was seeing this . . . whether or not this was real.

“You’d better not be hiding them.” Radek could still see the awkward little boy he saw Ford as in that comment, but with six feet of wiry muscle and a semi-automatic, who cared if it was awkward?

Ford didn’t release the chief, whose face was now splotchy and red, the tea he had just been drinking running down through his wiry red beard and onto the dirty suede of his vest. Ford was going to stain his cast.

“We’re not . . . I swear . . . you checked the houses yourself!” The man raised his hands in supplication.

Radek turned away, not wanting to look . . . not daring. He remembered soldiers like this – callous, cold, willing to do anything to get him to work on their projects. He’d seen this before, but he’d thought he could escape it a galaxy away.

And now he had to watch as nice young Lieutenant Ford, who would not know a prime number if it danced the naked hula on his lap, was pressing a man against a bamboo wall, eyes just as heartless.

“Then where are they?” Ford asked.

“I don’t know.”

“But I think that you do. And I think you’re gonna tell me.” Ford lifted his hand, the one still in the cast, until it was resting just beneath the man’s chin, exerting a slight pressure.

“Lieutenant Ford. You are being a little too rough, yes?” Radek managed, forcing himself to meet Ford’s eye.

“Shut up, Dr. Z.” Normally Ford was so happy-go-lucky. Now, his tone brooked no argument.

The chieftain gulped. “We heard the Wraithwell. We heard it go off.”

“That was just Sheppard gating back to Atlantis,” Radek saw fit to point out. Ford turned around to glare at him. Of course he wasn’t stupid. Radek should know better than to taunt the guy with all the guns, even if he was on Radek’s side. The Russians were supposed to have been on his side too.

“No . . . no . . .” The man squired up against Ford’s chest. “We heard it twice,” he panted.

“You got an address?” Ford released his grip and now he was scowling.

“No . . . no one saw.”

“But the Genii have a base here. They come and go all the time. You must know the address.”

“No.”

Ford pressed the hard surface of his cast harder against the man’s throat, using it like a club. “You dial out since then?”

The chief shook his head.

Ford clapped him on the shoulder, making him look even more terrified. “Good. Lucky for you, Dr. Z can totally solve this little problem.”

Radek had always found Ford’s grin kind of disturbing. Now he knew why.

Somehow, when the door opened, Elizabeth knew that it wasn’t their guards come to retrieve them. It wasn’t magic or some sort of battle instinct, but the rapid flash with which the door was flung open, the way a man dropped down inside, ready and wary.

He had dark black hair, slightly wavy and shoulder-length. It, too, was streaked with mud just like his black suit, coattail swinging behind him as he landed, green eyes even colder than Sheran’s. In fact, Elizabeth recognized this look – it was the cold fury she’d seen in John’s eyes once and only once. She still remembered the panic, the adrenaline coursing through her veins, that rumbling voice in her ear like mountains moving against each other, those hands, bruising around her neck. But it was John’s eyes that slew her – the look that said that he would risk killing her, would kill her before he let Kolya take her back through that Gate.

And now that man that looked like John but wasn’t . . . he had that same look in his eyes – like he might care about people, but right here, right now, he was looking at objects.

The space was small and he didn’t appear to have any weapons, but Elizabeth was afraid of him anyway. He looked like he didn’t need weapons . . . the kind of man that would wear a designer black suit onto a field of mud.

Teyla was on him in an instant. They too, were weaponless, but Teyla was a good fighter. She kicked him in the gut, slamming him back against the crumbling mud of the wall. But he came right back, arms flying . . . one of them elbowing Elizabeth in the eye as he went. Teyla’s hands were a blur. She pushed his arms back. She kicked. She punched. She shoved. But it was not enough. A hard backhand and Teyla was a crumpled heap on the floor.

Elizabeth knew that there was nothing she could do, but she tried anyway. She launched herself at him, hands digging into that long thick hair and pulling. The man grunted and growled, but still managed to slam her back against the wall, the shock of the blow dislodging her, knocking the breath from her lungs almost effortlessly.

Before she could blink away the stars that danced before her eyes, she found rough hands clenching around her wrists, the squelch of mud inaudible beneath the deep huffing of his breathing.

He pushed himself on top of her, even as she struggled, crushing her down to the floor. She could feel herself sinking in mud, returning to drown in the earth. Both her wrists were held above her head now, his free hand skimming down her stomach to the zipper on her pants.

“No!” she screamed, realizing what he was doing.

In the middle of all this chaos and raw, raw pain, she wondered if she’d ever be able to look at John and his distant green eyes again.

The man didn’t smile. He didn’t smirk like she’d imagine a rapist would smirk. His gaze was still cold, not appraising, not hateful.

Elizabeth struggled. She pushed. She even tried to bite him, but it was useless . . . he overpowered her.

Then, as he was working his own pants, as Elizabeth felt the cold slick feeling of mud against her exposed back, running down into her pants and coating everything, the man stopped, let her see that look of crazed determination that she’d seen in John, and said, “I’m sorry.”

“If you’re sorry then don’t,” Elizabeth breathed.

“But I have to,” the man said.

Elizabeth shut her eyes, letting the tears flow, not caring. She was too old for this. She had too much to deal with. She just . . . she couldn’t have this happen.

And then she heard a strangled gasp, felt cold hands go limp against her, the sudden weight of a body.

And then it was gone.

She opened her eyes to see Teyla staring down at her, covered in mud and blood just like everything else here.

The man in the black suit was a crumpled heap in the corner, a stray shard of metal sticking out of his back.

“Oh my god,” Elizabeth said, letting the tears run through the mud.

Teyla didn’t speak, she just knelt, drawing Elizabeth into her arms.

“Thank you, thank you. Teyla.” She twined her hands in Teyla’s grimy hair, kissed her muddy cheek, petted her like her favorite pet, even as she disgusted herself with the gesture. Teyla was not a pet, but right now, Elizabeth needed the unconditional comfort of one.

Teyla’s arms were unmoving steel; they were cold and determined just like those eyes. But Elizabeth didn’t care. Teyla made her feel safe.