“Hey, you,” Big Fat Stupid #2 said, giving Rodney’s shin a bruising kick. “Don’t move so much.”

“My nose itched! So sue me!” Rodney protested. That hood they’d put on him had chafed. “Besides, what do you think I’m going to do? Pull a submachine-gun out of my left nostril?” Tweedle-dumb and Tweedle-dumber seemed particularly frightened of him . . . which was strange, considering how little concern two 250 pound guys with several guns each should really be giving a slightly-pudgy scientist tied to a chair.

Stupid #1 walked in just as #2 was making what he seemed to think was a subtle attempt at looking up Rodney’s nose.

“So?” Stupid #2 said, having determined that Rodney was indeed nose-gun free.

“Nothing,” #1 said, looking worried, which just made him look even more like a giant gorilla.

Rodney’s nose still itched. “Look, I know you’re upset that Kolya’s not here yet and you’re stuck all alone guarding an unarmed scientist tied to a chair, but would it really kill you to untie one of my arms? My nose really itches.”

“Itch this,” #1 said, and proceeded to punch Rodney in the face. That statement didn’t make a lot of logical sense, but it did encourage him not to pester them about anymore itches. Fuck, that hurt!

“Ow . . . Jesus, that was so not called for. I swear! Where the hell did Kolya hire you two, the local GI Stupid store? If you permanently damage the prisoner you need to fix your Ancient weapons storage facility, then he can’t fix it, now can he?”

Actually, he’d reminded himself of a good point. The people Kolya’d brought with him during the storm had been grunts, but they’d been well coordinated, trained. Most of them had body-types similar to John’s and to Ford’s – strong, but wiry, quick on their feet. Rodney couldn’t remember seeing anyone like these two gorillas. Maybe Kolya was actually getting fairly desperate in the hired-help department.

Maybe he could use this to his advantage.

“Commander Kolya is busy right now,” Big Stupid #2 tried to assure Rodney. Yeah right. Rodney’d heard them a minute ago, worried about the ‘nothing’ #1 had obviously heard over the radio.

“Busy with your friend,” #1 added, with a leering snort.

Even though Rodney knew this wasn’t true . . . that the gorillas wouldn’t be worried if something hadn’t cut them off from their central nervous system, the image of Kolya’s smile replayed in his mind – the appraising way he’d looked at John.

No . . . no . . . John had put up a fight. John had escaped . . . maybe even killed Kolya and now the two linebackers guarding him were freaked-out and worrying what to do with him. He ordered himself not to think of all the horrible things he knew Kolya could be doing to John right now.

A not so intelligent look passed between his captors as Rodney tried to rub the blood running from his nose off on his shoulder. Damn them! He liked his nose! John thought it was cute. He hoped he wouldn’t be permanently deformed from this.

Then stupid #2 seemed to get some sort of idea (he seemed to be the brighter of the not-so-bright lightbulbs). “You said this was a weapon’s locker?”

Rodney put on a big show of sighing. “Yes, I did. Now, please. I can’t do anything for you if you keep me tied up like this.”

“You can’t escape either.”

“Oh, how very astute of you. Look, I want to see my friend, okay? Maybe if you let me see him, I’ll help you with your little weapon’s locker problem.”

Big Stupid #1 seemed horrified by the prospect. “We can’t . . .”

Big Stupid #2 seemed even more horrified by what #1 was about to say. He quickly cut him off. “We can’t let you see him until you have finished repairing the locker.”

“And how am I supposed to trust you? You’re just two lower-echelon minions. I demand to speak with Kolya.” Rodney forced more confidence into his voice than he truly felt, jutting his chin out defiantly.

Stupid #2 looked perplexed by this. But #1 seemed to have a solution. He grabbed Rodney by his shirtfront and raised his giant meaty fist. “You can trust that I can pound your face in.”

“Yes . . . right . . . okay, you can let go now . . .” Rodney whimpered. He knew what he needed to know – that the minions hadn’t heard from Kolya for sure, and the most likely reason why was that John had escaped and killed Kolya. There was no way that Kolya would leave supervising something like this up to these idiots . . . not after Rodney had outsmarted him last time.

John was safe . . . Rodney couldn’t help but smile.

“This doesn’t mean we’re untying you,” Stupid #1 said.

Annie didn’t know why she was crying. She wasn't some weak little pussy. She was supposed to be able to handle this. No one had done anything to her. She’d been through much worse without a single tear. She was battled-hardened. She’d survived boot camp for Christ’s sake! And her break-up with Lou hadn’t exactly been clean either. Hell, she didn’t even cry when they put her fucking brother in prison. Why now?

She sniffled, drawing her knees up to her chest. It just . . . she wasn’t expecting this! She’d known about Justin since he was a little boy . . . and she and Lou had been fighting for a long time. But this . . .

The last time she’d cried like this was after Captain Jacobs had stuck his cock down her throat and told her if she ratted him out, he’d tell the General that she was a lesbian and they’d stick her in Leavenworth. But she was over that . . . put it to rest the day she’d reported the jerk. The anger and the hurt had gone with the dishonorable discharge they’d stuck him with.

But . . . Major Sheppard . . . he was supposed to be different. He always smiled at her, told her she could always come to him if anything happened. And whatever he’d said to Kavanagh the day after he’d called her a ‘PMSing bitch without the balls to make a command decision’ and tried to disobey her orders had certainly taken care of the problem. The major had done so much . . . he’d gone after Bates and Sumner when the Wraith had taken them. He’d taken out a whole Genii Strike Force practically single-handedly the day of the storm. He’d given them that talk about how being good soldiers didn’t just mean doing what needed to be done, but doing the ‘right’ thing. And she’d believed him.

Annie thought she’d known the right thing . . . she knew that Kolya was the enemy. She’d wished that he was punished for what he’d done. But . . . rape . . . that was always supposed to be wrong, wasn’t it? The sick feeling deep in her stomach told her that there was never a time when it was right.

And Sheppard . . . and the stink of sweat and blood and the silver gleam of the Ancient restraints . . . Annie pulled herself over to a corner, to one of the abandoned plants that maintenance still hadn’t gotten rid of and threw up all over it. It was . . . god . . . she hadn’t . . . she didn’t want to . . . she could still taste Jacob’s come on the back of her throat. She could still feel his hands in her hair . . . she could still see Sheppard bent over, grunting and moaning and fucking . . . fucking enjoying humiliating another human being like that, the same way Jacob’s had enjoyed having her on her knees.

Then a hand, cool against her neck.

Annie flinched, jumped back into a protective crouch. She couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but by the halo of light shining off the tufts of wild hair, she knew who it was.

“Don’t touch me!” she shouted. His touch seemed to burn, the way Jacobs’ had when he’d brushed against her on his way out of the hearing.

Sheppard raised his hands placatingly, punctuated by the sharp intake of breath that must have been the movement pulling at his stitches.

“Okay. Okay. Easy, Lieutenant.”

“Sir . . .” she didn’t know what she wanted to say to him. She wanted to tell him why it was wrong, how much it hurt, but the words were illusive, hidden by sadness and rage.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Annie.” Her first name sounded so strange on his tongue. He’d never used it before. And she didn’t want to hear him use it ever again.

“So am I, Sir.” She wished she'd never insisted. She wished she hadn't been 'up in your face' with Bates about Beckett's orders. She wished she hadn't let pride get the better of her when he'd said that Sheppard had entrusted him with keeping watch and was not to be disturbed, especially by her. Maybe she should've trusted someone else to take care of her, for once.

“I don’t know what to say . . . I just . . . I’m really sorry.” He sounded so broken, so sad. She didn’t want to hear him like this. It was almost worse than seeing him . . . doing that.

“You were drugged . . . you . . . you . . . he hurt you, Sir. And he still has Dr. McKay . . .”

“It’s no excuse, Lieutenant,” he said with a sigh, head hanging with the weight of his self-recrimination.

Annie stood, forced herself to grip his arm, even though the very idea of touching him still disgusted her. “If it was what you needed to do . . .”

She wanted to understand . . . she wanted to believe that it was necessary. She wanted to believe that Sheppard was still whole and righteous and the brilliant commander who she’d follow to the end of the world if she had to.

He sighed. “I don’t know . . . God . . . Parker, I don’t know.”

She released his arm. “You mean he didn’t tell you where Dr. McKay is?” She was dismayed.

“I didn’t . . . I can’t go back there.” And there was a time when she thought there wasn’t anything Sheppard couldn’t do. “Will you go back and ask him for me? We’ll . . . we’ll play ourselves a little ‘Good Cop/Bad Cop.’” He was trying to smile – she could tell even in the darkness. The sound of his voice told her that he wasn’t succeeding.

“I’m supposed to escort you back to the infirmary, Sir.”

“I think I can make it myself. Every minute we wait is a minute something could happen to Rodney . . .”

Annie could sense the tension in his voice, the pain. Whatever she might think about her CO now, she could say that he still truly cared about his people. Maybe he cared too much.

“Yes, Sir.”

He nodded. “Are you going to report me to Weir . . . assuming she makes it out of this . . . .” That pained him too. Annie tried not to think about it . . . about all the people who were depending on what they did right here, right now.

In truth, she wasn’t sure she could tell anybody. It would just be too horrible to have to relate that. And she knew about men . . . that they could enjoy pretty much anything rubbing their dicks. Sheppard wasn’t like that pervert, Jacobs. He was still the man that’d put his life on the line for any one of his men. He’d still fight the Wraith until his death. He’d still smile at her and be there to back her up. He still believed in right and wrong, even if he knew that what he’d just done wasn’t right.

Maybe it really was the only choice. Even if it wasn’t ‘right,’ maybe it was the only thing to do. She couldn’t blame Sheppard for wanting Dr. McKay back. She couldn’t fault him for caring.

“No, Sir. I won’t tell.”

Sheran had placed them in guest quarters, which turned out to be nothing more than a small private tent located in the center of the camp and relatively far from the front lines. The floor was still made of mud and the walls weren’t much cleaner.

Teyla sighed and sat down on the bed. She did not know what to do. All she knew was that she didn’t want to go out there again, everything noise and bodies and a landscape shaped by man, but not manmade like the great cities she had visited on many worlds. There was no wonder to be found on this one.

She could not fight here. Regardless of what power these Magi possessed, Teyla would not begin to know how to fight. She could wield a bow and arrow or a sword as swift and strong as any warrior. She could even use a gun now that Major Sheppard had shown her. But what use were those things here? Running from pit to pit with the enemy all around? Here, she was an insect . . . one creature among thousands, where chance, not skill, was man’s salvation.

Dr. Weir was sitting silently on her cot, looking at her hands. She had been quieter . . . more introspective than usual, which suited Teyla just fine.

She had no idea what to say. On Athos, people were never taken forcibly. If a man desired a woman, she would usually indulge him, unless rank or heritage prevented it.

But that was not the main reason for Teyla’s silence. The words she did not want to say . . . could not say, were that she had killed. She had killed and she now knew enough of it to know that she never wanted to do it again.

Killing was for the Wraith. Killing was for need. It was a termination of a life, a life which could have lived to a ripe old age. In Teyla’s world, everyone had the right to try to survive the Wraith. Everyone had the right to fight on and struggle, because all life had meaning. Each person represented a chance of happiness in a world where early death was almost certain. What right did she have to take that away?

And yet . . . Dr. Weir had thanked her. Dr. Weir had not flinched at the sight of the dead body, only at her own pain. She had been relieved. Yes, Teyla understood the idea of a woman’s honor, of her integrity to set where and when and how, but was this honor worth more than a man’s life, no matter how horrible his intentions?

“Teyla?” Dr. Weir’s voice was small, shaking slightly as she spoke.

Teyla stopped the pacing she hadn’t even realized she was doing. Even inside these flimsy canvas walls, she felt caged. “Yes, Dr. Weir.”

“Please, Teyla, call me Elizabeth.”

Teyla nodded. It was an honor, an intimacy that Dr. Weir had tried to bestow on her many a time, but only now, she felt as though perhaps she deserved it. If Dr. Weir had seen her at her lowest . . . seen her kill and still wished to honor her, then perhaps it really was an intimacy she could wear.

“Teyla . . . would you . . . could you come here?” Elizabeth’s voice was uncertain for once. And Teyla had always thought her so strong . . . strong enough even to stand up to Major Sheppard’s stubborn willfulness.

Teyla nodded, crossing the room, forcing the tensions from her muscles as Elizabeth lay back on the bed, letting Teyla lie down beside her. It was a tight fit, but they were both slight women. Elizabeth wrapped one arm around Teyla’s waist as they faced each other – her touch was light and her hands cold, as usual. Teyla leaned against her.

This was awkward, lying with one’s leader like this. Teyla would never lay herself down this way with Major Sheppard. But perhaps it was the way of these people. Perhaps it worked, because she felt the tension flow from her as Elizabeth sighed. It was like the ceremony of She’la . . . the ceremony of touch to ease the grief of loss.

“We need to get out of here,” Elizabeth said.

“Yes, we do.” Teyla wanted nothing more than to leave this world to its fighting.

“I think that Sheran might be willing to trade with us, but I don’t know how long . . . . And I don’t know what we can offer him. He has seen our weapons . . . but we don’t have enough supplies for all these soldiers. And we can’t bring him to Atlantis . . . . The Genii have John and Rodney. We have to get back . . .”

Elizabeth’s eyes were sad, green like the forest that Teyla missed here in this grey grime. She studied Teyla imploringly, waiting for Teyla to make the decision they both knew had to be made.

“I believe our chances of escaping the camp are high. But to make it to the Gate . . .”

Elizabeth sighed, eyes closing on the shimmering that would soon become tears. Elizabeth wanted to stay here no more than Teyla did.

“Then we’ll have to negotiate.”

Teyla breathed a sigh of relief she didn’t know she was holding. She had to tell Elizabeth. She had to let her know . . . Elizabeth would understand.

“I cannot promise to protect you, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth raised her head so she could look Teyla in the eyes. “You stopped it in time, Teyla. That’s more than enough.”

“No, Elizabeth. I cannot do that again. I . . .” Teyla blinked back the tears. “I cannot kill again.”

“Not even to protect yourself?”

Teyla shook her head.

“Not even to protect me?” Elizabeth looked frightened . . . truly scared for the first time since the attack.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth was silent for a long moment. Then she sighed, burying her face in Teyla’s shoulder. “Don’t be . . .”

“Perhaps you should take my weapon . . .”

“Perhaps.”

But Elizabeth did not move from her position. She only embraced Teyla tighter.

She was a strong woman. Teyla had never known how strong until now.