A Price Too High

PART 1

“Is it or isn't it?”

Colonel John Sheppard knew that 9 times out of 10, it was impossible to determine if an energy source was something viable as well as usable for Atlantis, but he was not passing up a chance to get a dig in at McKay, who, at the moment, was eagerly staring at the life signs detector as if it were beaming over a porn broadcast instead of indicating the whereabouts of the energy source, which was the sole purpose of their visit to this new world.

“I realize there are only so many brain cells in the average human head,” McKay said, the sarcasm only beginning to rev up. “But you'd think after all this time, you could maintain some information in that skull of yours.”

Which meant Rodney didn't know the answer.

They'd arrived on PL6 2H5 less than an hour ago. The sky was bright blue and clear of any industrial pollutants. No black smoke rose from any ruins, indicating that the wraith hadn't paid a recent visit. A well-trod dirt path, framed by tall trees set evenly apart, led into the distance. The woods precluded flying a jumper through the gate, and might possibly impede a dart as well, although nothing would stop a wraith cruiser from harvesting lunch.

The team passed by another group of villagers. They'd been warmly welcomed and told that the planet was called Rael. They'd barely been able to introduce themselves when the villagers – all of whom had that Renaissance type look with long flowing skirts, ornately embroidered pants and bright blouses – immediately assumed that the team was there for trading and specifically, to entertain an audience with Protran Audran.

Which all seemed fine and dandy, and there were no wraiths lurking behind trees, and McKay had kept his complaining down to a minimum after going on about pollen counts, but… whenever that Protran person was mentioned, everybody looked at him. It didn't matter who was doing the talking, they'd always end up looking at him and smiling.

Well, he had introduced himself first, which obviously put him in the leader role, so maybe the people were reacting to that. And, he'd noticed a few of the younger women giving Ronon the once over, while others regarded the large Satedan with a wary glance. Rodney was basically ignored but then if he didn't keep yammering on about power sources, which none of the villagers were aware of, he might get more than a glower shot in his direction.

“You know, why is it that ZedPMs are always located on backwater planets where they don't even have indoor plumbing?” Rodney continued to mutter.

“So you can get some exercise,” came Ronon's droll response.

McKay's eyes narrowed at the obvious jibe, probably because of their last mission, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Instead, he pointed an arm off to the right.

The path spread out as it entered a village. Ruts were visible in the broad street; evidence of carts or wagons. The dwellings were constructed of stone, standing no more than two stories tall in most cases, except for a large, almost castle-sized structure at the far end of the village. Sheppard had the sneaking suspicion that's where the Protran resided, so that's where they headed.

The villagers were busy going about their daily business, which was pretty the same all over the galaxy: haggling produce prices, obtaining needed services, etc. They got the usual glances that any strangers would get, and again, strange smiles on some of their faces. He was beginning to wonder if any of them had a 'kick me' sign on their backsides.

“This way,” said – no – ordered McKay. Sheppard didn't argue the point, as that sent them toward the castle structure.

Twenty minutes later they arrived in what Sheppard figured was the village square. The castle had a good overview of the entire square, as well as a two-storey building with spires on it. A set of at least a dozen well-maintained steps led up to dual doors on that building. There were ornate little stone animals perched on either side of the steps, which reminded Sheppard of a library.

McKay, however, simply jerked his arm, very much like a hunting dog pointing toward a downed bird, at the doors. “It's in there.”

“Okay, let's take a look-see,” agreed Sheppard.

One or two people stopped to watch them as they went up the steps of the building. They didn't even get halfway up those steps when a dozen men appeared around them. All of them were in deep gray uniforms with tons of buttons and armed with what looked like pretty old guns that Sheppard felt weren't simply for decoration.

“No one enters the Raelan Sanctuary without the Protran's permission,” one guard said in a deep, menacing tone.

Sheppard flashed a smile that he hoped would defuse the guards' obvious hostility. “Hey guys, we were just about to get that. If you can point the way…” He held his arms out to the side, indicating they meant no harm.

Several guns were immediately pointed unerringly at them.

PART 2

“If Teyla were here, we wouldn't be locked in this hellhole,” grumbled McKay. “Awaiting a life sentence for trespassing! She could have talked us out of it.”

Sheppard chose to ignore McKay's complaint. The man still had his computer so he should be darn happy. However, all their weapons had been taken away. He was sure Ronon still had a knife or two up his sleeve, or secreted elsewhere on his person, but he wasn't about to point that out to the guards. There wasn't any need for violence unless the Protran, whom the guards had gone to send word to, decided to hang them from the gallows for mucking up the welcome mat.

Their prison was anything but a hellhole, and Sheppard had seen a few of those in his time. There was a decent sized wooden table to one side, with several chairs around it. Each wooden chair had a thick padded seat. There was a very simple bed against the back wall. If they were stuck there for more than one day, they'd have to flip for who ended up sleeping on the floor. A door to the left led to a simple but clean bathroom.

Since they'd arrived pretty early in the morning, they'd been given breakfast. A nice big platter of fruit, rolls, and what appeared to be cheese. Some of it was a bit too pungent for his taste, but it appeared to be what the locals like to eat, as when they'd been escorted into the building, they walked past the guard's desk. He had a similar plate on it.

The bars that composed the front 'wall' were made of steel or a similar alloy and were more solid than Ronon's right hook. There were no weak areas where a bar might be jarred loose, and the lock was big and complicated. Of course, the key to that lock was down the hall. The window was too small for any of them to fit through, so they had to hope that they got an audience with the Protran before they turned old and gray, or killed one another over who got the bed.

Sheppard was halfway through a pretty delicious chunk of something perhaps citrus in origin – McKay had looked at the fruit as though it were a poisonous asp with fangs dripping venom – when the scientist looked up his computer and stared in horror at his two companions.

“What if the food is drugged?”

As if they hadn't been through that nightmare before with Ford and his little enzyme hopped-up buddies.

“It's not,” said Ronon, plucking what looked like an apple from the platter. He went back to where he'd been leaning against the bars. He took a bite. The crisp crunch sure sounded just like an apple. “Saw one of the guards stealing a few pieces off it for himself before they brought it in.”

“There. See? No poison, Snow White,” smirked Sheppard.

McKay shot a frosty glare at him. “And since when do friendly people lock up their guests?”

“When they trespass?” Sheppard guessed. Although, there hadn't been any signs of 'do not step on the grass,' 'do not proceed.' Nothing. Nada. Apparently it was an unspoken rule and the locals had just let them break that rule. Maybe it was a cheap form of entertainment. Or a test of some kind, but that building they'd tried to enter seemed to be some sort of shrine. And it seemed like a locked-up waiting room they'd been put in, rather than an actual prison, well, except for the steel bars. They'd just been hustled over to the building – which only seemed to have one cell - with guns pointed at them and then told to wait.

“Okay, this is what we know so far…” began McKay. Sheppard watched Ronon drop his head slightly. They'd been stuck there for an hour already. It was like being trapped in a lecture hall for the wrong class and having no way to escape. McKay had formulated all sorts of theories, some insane and some quite rational, about why they were locked up and how they were going to get out, and who should talk to the mysterious Protran. Sheppard just hoped they wouldn't get a repeat of McKay's theory on the Protran, because that would invariably lead back to the supposed ZedPM tucked away in the mysterious building and how uncivilized societies wasted them by burying them or tossing leis on them and throwing them as sacrifices into volcanoes. Although, actually, the 'sacrifice of the virgin ZedPM' had provided them with ten minutes of excellent amusement, that is, until Sheppard and Ronon reluctantly stopped their teasing of Rodney before he burst a blood vessel.

“Someone's coming.” Ronon shifted very slightly, and only those who knew him recognize that his casual slouch was anything but relaxed. If things got ugly, the Satedan would have no problem pouncing on one of the guards in the same manner as a mountain lion takes down a hapless deer.

Half a dozen guards stopped in front of the bar. Sheppard figured the guard overload was due in part to Ronon's harsh stare, which on a good day looked like an impending hurricane, and Rodney's earlier vociferous demands for a lawyer. Sheppard had actually tried to be a good negotiator and had not given away any explosives or dialing codes. He heard McKay packing up his laptop in anticipation of an early release for good behavior.

“I am Belfren,” said the guard in the middle. The man had beady little eyes set deep in an angular face. He walked up to within two feet of the bars. “The Protran will see you now.”

“Well, we really appreciate that,” Sheppard said with a broad smile. He motioned for Ronon to step back from the bars as the lock was turned. A second later, the cell door swung open with a creak.

Sheppard stepped forward, sensing both McKay and Ronon following behind him.

Two guards held out their hands to stop the progress of the men behind him. “Only you, Colonel,” said Belfren, squinting slightly as if to convey menace, but all it did was make his eyes almost disappear.

“Really?” said Sheppard quizzically. “And why is that?”

“The Protran wishes to see only you,” repeated Belfren.

Sheppard could already sense unease radiating off of Rodney, so he turned on his heel to confront his two teammates. “Ronon, try not to kill Rodney while I'm gone. Rodney, try not to provoke Ronon into killing you.”

“We need to get into that building,” said McKay, ignoring Sheppard's debatable humor. He lowered his voice, although realistically, the guards could probably hear what was being said. “If they've got a ZedPM just sitting there…”

“I'll do what I can, okay?” said Sheppard, keeping his voice level. “First order of business is getting the two of you out of here, understood?”

“The Protran does not like to be kept waiting,” intoned Belfren.

Sheppard stepped into the hall, not particularly happy to see his two friends getting locked behind those bars, but seeing six more guards waiting down the hall, he knew that escape was impossible.

Besides, so far they'd shown no tendency toward violence. Aiming a gun in one's face could be done easily, but it took a worse temper to smack the butt in a person's jaw and send them painfully to the ground. None of the guards had shown any inking of that tendency.

“When's he coming back?” asked Ronon.

Oh, that was a good question, Sheppard realized.

“As soon as the Protran and your Colonel Sheppard have made their agreement, he will be returned here.”

“And if they don't come to an agreement?” McKay asked rather suspiciously.

The guards looked at each other oddly, as if no one had ever asked that question before. They all shrugged. “No one has ever refused to the agreement,” said a guard from the back.

Belfren swept his gaze over all three of his prisoners. “You still wish to visit the Raelan Sanctuary, do you not?”

Sheppard wasn't so sure, but said yes before McKay began arguing his reasons for going there and then sounding off on how ZedPMs weren't trinkets for gathering dust.

Belfren led the way down the long corridor, with Sheppard following, and in turn, several guards followed him. It seemed like overkill, but then judging from some of the bored looks he caught in passing on the guards, maybe they had nothing better to do with their time.

PART 3

Sheppard didn't much care for the two strong-arm goons whom he'd been handed over to once he'd been granted entry to the small castle. They escorted him through the winding halls, up the stairs, into what looked like someone's rather spacious private quarters. Correction: bedroom or chamber or something similar. It was definitely not your standard meeting room. A desk and some chairs would have been nice but instead, the room was very open, with a tall vaulted ceiling, and what looked like an oval Oriental rug covering the stone floor. A simple but ornately adorned large couch of some sort sat decoratively by a window hidden by thick curtains. Oh, he wasn't very fond of castles, not after the last pseudo-one he'd stepped foot into.

“I understand you wish to trade.” The voice was female, husky and authoritative. He turned to find himself facing a woman who stood at least six inches shorter than him, but the pile of thick auburn hair twirled atop her head added another inch or so. She was perhaps a few years younger than him. Her regal bearing more than made up for her diminutive size, but what he found more worrisome was the almost avaricious manner in which she was eyeing him from head to toe.

“Protran Audran?” he said smoothly. People had such weird titles in the Pegasus Galaxy.

“Yes,” she acknowledged, continuing her disturbing visual assessment of him. “My husband, Protran Millan, is away in Markel on business. I will conduct any business in his absence.”

“That's fine by me, Protran,” he replied back.

“You may call me Audran,” she said.

“Colonel John Sheppard,” he decided to add. She probably knew who he was as after all, he'd been sent for.

She circled him, her deep green dress trailing along the floor. Her actions were a bit unnerving, but oddly enough, not as disturbing as the expressions on the two guards who still stood somewhat behind him. They seemed to look almost resigned to what was occurring.

“Yes,” Audran suddenly spoke, a smile in her voice. “I believe we have an agreement.”

Alarm bells went off in his head. He'd barely said a thing and she was agreeing to... what? And what did she want in return? “As we indicated to your people, we were interested in investigating a building within your village,” he spoke up as she stopped just inches in front of him.

“Oh?” She was staring at his shoulders.

Sheppard nodded. He shot a quick glance at his shoulders. Okay, no dandruff, so why the interest? He resisted the urge to take a step back. Hadn't these people heard of personal space? “Yes, well, our team is looking for technology left behind by the Ancestors. You know of them?”

Her deep blue eyes narrowed very slightly. “I have heard of them mentioned in the Readings.”

Readings. That had to mean ancient, or Ancient, text of some kind, Sheppard surmised. “Might we take a look at these Readings?”

“Which building are you interested in visiting?” she asked. She walked over to the window, beckoning him to join her. She brushed aside the thick curtains.

“That one,” he pointed out at the view of the village square. “The one with the three spires on top. It's your sanctuary, right?”

“Ah,” she murmured.

He really didn't like the sound of that. It was kind of 'ah' that meant that the building probably did not have free admission, as if they didn't already know that. And he was getting to the point he really didn't like asking just precisely what folks in the Pegasus Galaxy considered fair trading value. The last mission had been a disaster. The local natives had wanted Teyla's hair, literally. Some stupid fertility ritual and they'd never seen that particular color of hair, and that had sent them into a real tizzy and well, damn good thing they all could run like bats out of hell. They'd all looked pretty stupid when they'd piled through the gate gasping for breath, but hey, they'd hadn't been scalped! And now Teyla was on the mainland, helping to settle some Athosian dispute, and missing out on all the new fun and games.

“So, we can take a look?” he asked hopefully.

“I see no reason why not,” she responded, pulling back the curtains very carefully to obscure the window behind it. “However, those who wish to visit must be accompanied by guards. We value our history.”

“That's understandable.” He smiled, noticing that the guards had followed them over to the window. It was like having a pair of trained dogs just hovering around, waiting to chew off his kneecaps if he made a mistake. Or worse, trained redwood trees. These guys were big.

“Then we can strike an agreement,” she replied. A second later, she was squeezing his upper arm.

Okay, this was getting a little too touchy-feely for his liking. Trading fruit, C4 or nuclear technology was one thing; he was getting damned tired of Pegasus Galaxy women eyeing him like he was a hunk of cheese. He backed up, but ran smack up against redwood tree #1. “We can trade technology,” he remarked quickly. “To help you protect your people from the wraith. In fact, we might be able to find something in your Readings, which are, uh, over in that building which we really wouldn't mind visiting right about now.”

“That would be useful, but at the moment, I have more pressing needs,” she replied, her voice even huskier than before. She ran her hand down from his shoulder to his elbow as though calculating something.

He politely pulled away from her, but the trees followed him, like shreds of iron ore attracted to a magnet. Damn, he would agree to hand over his weapons. But they'd had no choice in the matter, and he couldn't say 'no' to a meeting with this woman, not with two of his people captive and well, everybody here seemed pretty friendly.

“So, if you would get out of your clothes now,” said Audran very matter-of-factly.

“What?” Sheppard coughed out. He blinked in astonishment. That was too friendly!

“Did you not hear what I said?” she remarked, looking puzzled. She encircled her hand around one of his wrists.

“Doesn't your husband object to this?” He yanked his wrist away. Good lord, what a stupid thing to say.

She grinned and he felt his stomach curdle in horror as she spoke. “This was his idea.”

Oh crap.

The door to the room slammed open and a woman entered in a brusque stride. In probably any other situation he might have done a double-take. She was in her mid-thirties, pretty much on the gorgeous side with long wavy brown hair and brilliant green eyes. If she were in a bar on Earth, she'd be fighting off the guys left and right, but all Sheppard wanted to do was flee when he saw her. Not the sight of her, really, but of the several long straps of leather that draped over her shoulder to fall almost to the floor. Those bits of leather simply did not go with her pale yellow outfit. She put down the satchel she'd been carrying, pulling out something that was rolled up. She unfurled a long black leather strap with little metal studs regularly dotting it every inch. She snapped it out. It struck the floor with a resounding harsh noise that did not bode well for him.

“Why is he still in his clothes?” The woman demanded, squinting her eyes in an almost predatory glare.

Sheppard actually gulped. “Okay, I am so not into S&M,” Sheppard muttered weakly under his breath. Nor was he into group sex, because another woman with an even larger satchel entered the room, pulling out a similarly studded strap from her bag.

Audran stared at him, an odd expression creeping onto her flawless face. Maybe the terminology didn't translate but he was positive that his apprehension definitely did. “I will be back momentarily, Hetcha,” she said, abruptly turning and leaving the room. “Prepare him.”

“I don't think so,” he replied tersely, but he quickly found any escape hindered as two sets of beefy hands clamped solidly atop each shoulder.

PART 4

“Unless you've got a store of wraith enzyme I'm unaware of,” remarked McKay snidely, “You're not breaking those bars.”

Ronon Dex turned away from the series of long steel bars that kept them imprisoned in the room. It wasn't as though it was a dank jail cell with straw on the floor and a bucket instead of a toilet. Instead, it was a decent sized room where they could sleep, and a bathroom off to the side for privacy. McKay had no idea how bad things could truly be.

“I was checking,” said Ronon. He sat down at the table next to McKay, who was busy munching on a large grain roll while checking his computer.

“Are you going to eat that?” Ronon asked, pointing toward a few small pieces of fruit on the plate.

“No, it looks and smells suspiciously of citrus. It would kill me quicker than a wraith,” replied McKay. “Ah hah!”

“What?” Ronon easily polished off the spare pieces of fruit. He was truly surprised how well fed they were for being prisoners. Of course, the guards could just be lulling them into a false sense of security. Sheppard had been gone for hours with no word.

“If this is any indication, there is a ZedPM in that building with the…” He frowned for a moment, forehead crinkling in thought. “Cats, yes, they looked like small stone cats, in front of it.”

“The two-storey stone building with the three spires, triple-locked double doors in front where we were captured?” asked Ronon.

McKay paused. “Uh, yeah, that one.”

Ronon wondered if McKay had truly noticed those details, but then again, it was Sheppard's job, as well as his own, to ensure the safety of preoccupied scientists such as McKay. The details of where escape lay, or assailants might hide, was a higher priority for him than where a ZPM might be tucked away.

McKay continued to chatter on about the particular energy signature that had drawn them toward the village. Ronon tuned him out, focusing on noises outside in the corridor that led to their cell. Fortunately, McKay seemed too preoccupied with potential finds to realize just how long Sheppard had been gone. “Sssh,” Ronon motioned.

“What?”

“The guards are back.”

“Oh good, we can get some—“ McKay stood to get up and go over to the bars, but Ronon quickly motioned him to be silent. “What?” McKay scowled.

“I want to hear what they're talking about.”

Slowly, but surely, the two guards were busy talking, either unaware they were being overhead, or they simply did not care. As the conversation progressed, Ronon realized dismally that it was the latter.

“…probably take all night.”

“Think he'll cooperate?”

A snorted noise of amusement. “You think he has a choice? The Protran can be very persuasive.”

“I heard the outworlders want entry to the Raelan Sanctuary,” said the other voice. “The price will be high.”

“I've never been in there myself.”

“I was chosen for the ceremony once on Caffan Day, but still, I really don't have that good a threshold for pain to gain entry,” came the other voice, followed by a sharp laugh.

Before Ronon could stop him, McKay, who had also heard the increasingly twisted conversation, leapt up and went to the bars. “Hey!”

The two guards went silent. Ronon had to resist the temptation to smack the scientist very hard and knock his head into the bars. A moment later, the two guards came over.

“We can't let you out until the agreement is struck,” said the one guard. He was tall but rangy, and seemed lackadaisical in his guard duties. Ronon knew he could easily snap the man in two if the need arose.

“Excuse me, um…” began McKay.

“Termen,” said the rangy man. “This is Grazerr.” He indicated the bigger, black-haired man who looked more formidable.

“Termen,” repeated McKay. Ronon could tell the man was doing everything possible to maintain his composure. “We're wondering when our friend Colonel Sheppard will be returning.”

The two guards looked at each other. “Whenever the Protran is done with him.”

“Done with him?” parroted McKay in worry.

“It will probably take all evening,” added Grazerr. “The Protran isn't in the best of moods.”

Ronon was about to talk when McKay just swatted him. “We couldn't help but overhear you mentioned something about pain.”

“Yeah, the agreement transaction can be painful,” nodded Terman.

“I assume you mean that in a figurative sense,” continued McKay.

“No. If Hetcha's involved, there are always needles.” Termen winced but in all honesty did not look that bothered by the admission. Grazerr nodded emphatically.

“We can here to trade in good faith,” snarled Ronon, his anger surfacing. He hoped the men would stray closer to the steel bars. Now he had no qualms about killing either of them.

“And the agreement will be struck in good faith, as it always is.” Grazerr looked upset, as if his honor was being questioned.

“Needles?” McKay's voice sounded on the verge of cracking. “All we wanted—“

“The agreement, yes.” Now Termen was definitely upset and when he took a better look at Ronon, took a step back from the bars as if realizing the danger. “The Protran always honors her word.”

“Her? She's a she?” McKay sounded shocked.

“Well, yes, Protran Millan is away,” Termen said as if McKay had just asked the stupidest question in the galaxy. “Protran Audran rules while he is away.”

“And during that time,” added Grazerr. “She will select the men who resemble Protran Millan, and they are required to fulfill her needs.”

Ronon thought he'd seen a lot in his lifetime, but even this sounded strange even to him.

“What?” squeaked McKay.

“Well, why do you think she selected your colonel?” Termen was now definitely annoyed, as if the prisoners were idiots. “He fits her requirements. You,” he eyed Ronon with unease, “are too big, and you…” The look he gave McKay was rather insulting. “Are just not what she desires.”

“De-des…” sputtered McKay. “So she just abducts strangers off the streets!?”

“He was not abducted. He went willingly, and obviously since he has not returned, he has agreed to her … request.” Terman spat out the last word with a slight shudder. “Besides, it is not as though the few men in the village who met her requirements have not fulfilled it, as was their duty.”

“They just all ran for the hills when Protran Millan left,” muttered Grazerr under his breath.

Terman smacked his companion hard across the chest as a warning. “You should not speak of the Protran's actions in such a manner.”

Grazerr rubbed his sore chest, nodding in apology. “We must leave. We will be back later with lunch, unless your friend returns earlier.” With that statement, both men departed, despite McKay's angry yells and pleadings.

Ronon finally pulled McKay away from the bars. “You're wasting your time.”

”We have to get out of here! Rescue Sheppard!”

“We're trapped. I've already checked,” reminded Ronon.

“How can you be so calm?” McKay accused hotly. “They're—they're torturing him! I mean, they were talking needles. Needles mean drugs! Persuasive? That's persuasion. That's just a weasel word for torture! They don't even care that we know!”

Weasel word? Ronon had no idea what that term meant, but then half of what McKay said made no sense.

“What is it with the women in this galaxy? Does Sheppard have a 'I'm available, attack me,' sign painted on his forehead?!” continued McKay, pacing frantically.

Ronon finally grabbed the man by the arm, swung him around and plopped him in the chair. “You're giving me a headache,” he said curtly. “We'll rescue him.

“And in the meantime, this Protran woman is—she's—“ McKay couldn't get out the words.

Ronon walked over to the bars, jerking at them savagely with both hands. They were solid. They were trapped. The only consolation was that the guards had not spoken of anybody being killed by this Protran. Sheppard was a soldier. He could endure whatever this woman could inflict upon him. Life in the Pegasus Galaxy could be harsh, and there was far worse suffering than what might be occurring to Sheppard at that very moment.

PART 5

God, why couldn't he just be in a wrestling match with a hungry wraith?

Sheppard had shut his eyes tightly, trying to think of anything else than what was being done with his body. He wasn't sure how people zoned out, Zenned out, left their bodies through astral projection, whatever, but he sure as hell wished he was anyplace else but there. Yet in the end, he knew that he was enduring this miserable indignity for his team and ultimately, for Atlantis. Yes, he'd survive this torture and he could get over the humiliation. No one would ever have to know what had been done. Never.

Oh crap. He could feel Hetcha's touch again, which meant... He hissed at the not-totally-unexpected sharp jab of pain. Damn, was the woman a friggin' sadist or what? Oh, wait, that was a stupid thought to entertain. At least he hadn't screamed like the last time but then that had hurt like hell and had come out of left field.

“Perhaps if you would just do as I ordered?” came a woman's silky voice from behind him.

Oh, he had a number of very good and totally unprintable responses to that remark and it wasn't the first time she'd made that order either, but he'd just had to grin and bear it. It wasn't like he was going to bleed to death from the puncture wounds. At least he sure hoped not. ZPM. Just had to repeat, ZPM. Do this and they get entry to the building with a ZPM. He just figured that if he repeated that as a mantra he could get through this.

“You don't need to close your eyes.” Audran's voice. She was far too close for his liking.

“Well, it's easier this way,” he admitted.

“As you wish.” A pause, then he felt her lean into him again. Damn, he really wished she'd stop doing that, especially the close breathing part. “Of course, we can discuss the trade.”

Sheppard cracked open one eye suspiciously. “Now?”

“It is very obvious that you are bored with Hetcha's work,” Audran arched a well-plucked eyebrow meaningfully at him. “We might as well.”

Sheppard decided for the sake of diplomacy not to give his honest opinion of Hetcha's 'work.' He valued his skin. He really didn't feel he was in a position – literally – to be arguing. In fact, he felt damned vulnerable, but, if it would make this nightmare end any sooner…. “Sure,” he finally replied.

---

“McKay.”

Ronon had barely spoken a word since they'd been escorted into the Raelan Sanctuary. It was similar to many houses of worship, but it also doubled as a repository of knowledge. Any visitors to the building had to be approved by the Protran, and accompanied by guards. And they'd been accompanied by a lot of guards, probably because Ronon had shot them looks of sheer murder after the guards had leaked the news on Sheppard's whereabouts.

“What?” McKay muttered. Couldn't Ronon see that he was probably half an hour away from finding an actual honest-to-god ZedPM? If they had an extra ZedPM, they could keep the gate open to Earth all the time. No more waiting for the Daedalus to show up with supplies; being able to ship back injured to intensive care units if necessary. He could go home and get a Big Mac instead of dreaming about them…

“Sheppard.”

The one word – the name he'd been trying to put out of his mind for hours – pierced his concentration and he dropped the book, much to the consternation of the guard standing in front of him. “It's fine. See, binding's not broken. Fine,” repeated Rodney as he pointed at the book on the table. He dashed over to the window, shoving aside Dex without thinking. The man really was heavy. No wonder the guards were in mortal fear of the man. It had been lunchtime when the guards had returned with food, as well as the news that Sheppard had secured them visiting privileges to the Sanctuary. McKay just felt the acid churn in his stomach at the news that should have elated him. All he could think of was what that 'privilege' had cost Sheppard.

He peered through the ornately stained glass window. Night had already fallen. Numerous, large oil torches illuminated the square. He could make out Sheppard's figure going across the square. The uniform was a giveaway, even if he couldn't quite make out the face in the dim light. Sheppard suddenly stopped. It was then Rodney spotted the two guards who had been accompanying him. One of them grabbed him by the arm. A discussion of some sort took place. Sheppard appeared to disagree, trying to break free, but the effort seemed … lackluster. A second later, the guards just dragged him off and to Rodney's eyes, it seemed that Sheppard looked defeated in his posture.

“This isn't good, this isn't good at all,” Rodney moaned.

“We'll have to wait until morning,” said Ronon.

“Excuse me?” Rodney had to stop himself from yelling, forcing his voice down to an angry whisper. “What happened to Mr. I Can't Wait Another Second so I'll Break their Heads?”

Dex simply crooked his head over his shoulder. “Eight guards here, ten more outside, and we don't know how many more are inside the main government building.”

“And god knows what they're doing to Sheppard in the meantime,” hissed Rodney, shooting a cautious glance at the horde of guards not far away.

“He can still walk so he's not dead,” responded Ronon. “Are we done here?”

“No,” came Rodney's sharp retort. “What is it with you people in this galaxy? Sheppard's being…” Rodney stopped, not even wanting to think of the actual word for what those people were probably doing to him. “Abused! His brain could be fried from the drugs, and—“

“McKay,” interrupted Ronon. “He can handle it.”

“Oh, and you're sure of that?” Ronon finally turned away from where he'd been staring darkly out the glazed window. “No, but I'm sure he'll survive. He's strong.”

Rodney wasn't so sure. There was only so much abuse that any one person could endure. The guards at their room might have shrugged it off as though it was nothing, and maybe on this particular backwater planet maltreatment was a daily occurrence, but it wasn't elsewhere. It was bad enough that Ascended women were always trying to get their claws into Sheppard; this latest woman was so blatant in her intent it was downright frightening, and he couldn't help but think of drugs and torture. What else would needles be used for?

“We're never getting off this planet, are we?” he whispered dismally.

“We will,” replied Ronon. The voice was firm and full of conviction, and for the first time since they'd entered the village, there was a slight crumb of hope.

“Find one of those ZPMs,” Ronon said so low that Rodney barely heard him. “If nothing else, we can use it as a bartering chip if it comes to that.”

Rodney nodded. These people were obsessed with the building and its contents, and lord knew what price they were exacting from Sheppard so that they could access it. With a determination he hadn't felt before, Rodney went back to the books, determined to find something to get them all off this hellish world.

PART 6

Rodney's head shot up quickly, the headache increasing in violent tempo from the sudden action. He grabbed at his head with both hands, letting it fall back to the pillow. Damn. The annoying knocking sound wasn't going away. All he could remember was the guards telling him it was time to leave the sanctuary and he'd protested but been given little choice but to go back to the cell. They didn't do late night hours. At least Ronon let him have the bed.

“Aren't you ever getting up?” snapped an impatient voice. Something hit him square on the back.

That woke him up. McKay rolled over on the bed and sat up, staring in disbelief at the bars of their cell, or rather, who stood on the other side. Sheppard. His clothing looked disheveled. He looked weary, but there were no bruises on his face or… McKay swallowed nervously. That particular kind of abuse wouldn't show on the face, would it?

“Colonel?” he managed weakly.

“Crap, McKay. Get yourself in gear before Audran decides she wants another piece out of my ass.” Sheppard shot a wary glance down the corridor, where they couldn't see precisely what he was looking at it.

McKay blinked, his mind flooded with conflicting emotions. Okay, he had to be strong. Who knew when all the torture inflicted might just smack Sheppard and he'd crumble. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I'm fine.”

Denial. Denial was one of the stages. He remembered reading that. Somewhere. He couldn't remember. Had it been in that stupid Cosmo magazine he'd found in Miko's drawer in the lab?

“And what are you looking at?” Sheppard shot an acerbic glance at Ronon, who stood right next to the bars.

“Just waiting to get out of here,” replied Ronon flatly.

The two guards came down the hall, joking about something. They instantly became somber at all the dour faces staring at them. Termen unlocked the cell door, standing back quickly.

“Ronon, I know you hate being locked up but don't kill anyone because I've already sacrificed enough for this damn agreement,” groused Sheppard.

McKay gathered up his equipment, following Ronon out of the cell but keeping a wary eye on Sheppard. As they proceeded down the long passageway, McKay noticed with dismay that the colonel was walking a bit stiffly, if not awkwardly. What could that woman have done to him to…? He pushed the thoughts aside. No no no, he wasn't going to think about that now; the misery people inflicted upon others was endless, even in the Pegasus Galaxy.

They rounded a corner and Sheppard stopped when they were handed back their weapons. McKay accidentally bumped into him. Sheppard hissed, pulling away. “McKay, do not touch me, okay?” He held up a finger in warning; McKay instantly nodded, horrified at this new development.

“By the way, did we get anything out of that building?” asked Sheppard.

“There's a lot of text in there that will take a while to translate,” McKay finally offered.

“And a ZPM?” Sheppard sounded hopeful, and McKay was reluctant to dash that hope.

“There's definitely a power source behind a wall,” he replied with a pang of regret. “If it's a ZedPM, it's severely depleted.”

“Crap.” Sheppard muttered. “Oh well, we can trade for fruit. They've got great fruit here,” he said with a sigh.

McKay shared a worried glance with Ronon, whose face was unreadable.

Two guards, big burly types whom McKay recognized as having sucked Sheppard back into the castle the previous day, escorted them back to the gate. The trip was tedious and very quiet.

“Oh god.” Sheppard's mutter of horror filtered back to him.

McKay looked past Sheppard, who had stopped, his head sagging for a moment before he held it back up. A woman was standing near the DHD. She was pretty, dressed in long flowing green robes that just touched the tops of her black boots. She had thick auburn hair and an intense expression that was a bit unsettling.

“Audran,” Sheppard forced the name out of his mouth. “Come to see me off?”

McKay's mouth almost fell open. That was Protran Audran??

“Yes, John.” The woman practically sidled up to invade his personal space. Somehow, Sheppard seemed to manage not to recoil in horror. “I wish to thank for your services,” she said, holding on to one of his arms.

McKay wondered how Sheppard didn't throw up at that tasteless description of what the woman had no doubt done to him. Instead, the colonel just managed a tired smile that didn't even reach his eyes. “Oh yeah, it was a pleasure,” he remarked dryly. “Next time, just ask.”

“Our agreement should preclude any more 'next times,'” she said with a knowing smile.

Now McKay wanted to throw up. Ronon just held his arms crossed firmly against his chest, probably to stop himself from shooting the woman. After all, he had promised Sheppard that he wouldn't commit any acts of violence.

Both Sheppard and Audran continued the bizarre conversation for another minute, as if they were discussing the weather or what to have for dinner. He caught enough of the gist of it to know that she had been inflicting this vileness on men for over two years now, but something Sheppard had arranged would put a stop to it.

McKay looked around. The guards seemed totally blasé about what was going on, as if sending off tortured prisoners was a daily occurrence. Maybe it was on this godforsaken world. He didn't catch the tail end of what was said, but Audran simply stood up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. The final cruel insult, as far as McKay was concerned, but Sheppard just smiled amiably as the woman who, along with what were obviously two of her consorts or henchpeople who had been loitering nearby, got into a wagon and left.

“McKay, dial us out of here,” ordered Sheppard. McKay darted over to the DHD as Sheppard wiped his hand against his cheek. “Great,” the colonel muttered. “Oh, what the hell, she probably gave me God knows what diseases last night anyway.”

McKay stopped dialing, horrified at hearing that dreadful remark. Sheppard looked up, frowning. “What? McKay, we're not staying here all day. Oh wait.” A lanky teenager boy in tan clothing ran up them with a large burlap type bag. “Your fruit, colonel.”

“Thanks,” he told the teenager. “Ronon,” Sheppard motioned at the bag. The Satedan picked up the heavy bag. The boy ran off. Sheppard stared at the bag for a moment. “You know, this fruit is really pretty good.”

McKay stared at the DHD, his mind utterly paralyzed for a brief second. He'd totally lost his place at Sheppard's casual treatment of the events of the evening before. This was completely beyond denial. Would the next step be Sheppard falling into some kind of catatonic state?

“McKay,” drawled Sheppard. “I'm going to drop dead if you stand there all day.”

“Yes, dialing, dialing,” McKay muttered quickly under his breath. He dialed, as fast as he'd ever dialed in his life, watching as the guards left them. The damned Protran had gotten what she wanted, so why hang around?

A moment later they stepped through the gate, back into the vast control room on Atlantis. “Finally,” muttered Sheppard. “I'm beat.”

McKay could read between the lines on that remark. He looked around. Thank god Teyla wasn't back from the mainland yet. This wasn't the kind of stuff discussed with women, at least not that he knew of, unless they were doctors and even then… “Why don't we go to the infirmary?” he suggested calmly, gently grabbing Sheppard's arm.

“I'm going to take a hot shower first,” said Sheppard.

“You know Beckett,” said McKay quickly. “He'll blow a gasket if you don't go there first.” He tugged and abruptly, Ronon took Sheppard by the other arm and tugged him in the opposite direction. “He can do what he wants.”

With a quick yank, Sheppard pulled his arms away from both men. “He is not a damn wishbone!” He glared at both men, oblivious to the stares directed at him from the security personnel around the gate. “What is it with you two? Sheesh, I'm the one hammering out the agreement while you two just get to hang around a plush jail cell and stuff your faces. I'm not—“ Sheppard suddenly let loose a massive sneeze. “Oh damn, okay. Guess I'll go to the infirmary,” he remarked, almost as an afterthought, and just left.

McKay and Ronon stared at each other. McKay nearly jumped out of his boots when Weir came up beside him.

“Am I missing something?” She looked at the bag Ronon had by his side.

“Fruit,” he remarked, handing the bag over to a guard who came over.

“Glad to see the mission went well,” Weir said. Her smile faltered as she took in McKay's worried face. “Rodney, is something wrong?” She looked over her shoulder to where Sheppard had vanished down the hall. “Is the colonel all right?”

“Probably caught a cold,” Ronon said, breaking the silence.

“Well, if he caught some virus…” She took a cautious step back. “You two might have been exposed as well. Go down and have Carson check you out. We don't need any flu epidemics on Atlantis.” She arched an eyebrow meaningfully and went back to her office.

PART 7

Sheppard dragged himself into the infirmary. He stifled a yawn. He'd barely gotten any sleep what with Hetcha and her handiwork. He could use an aspirin, if nothing else, but what he really wanted was a nice hot shower and then at least twelve hours passed out on a bed so he could forget that the whole damned mission had ever happened. Oh hell, the aspirin could wait. He turned to leave and was nearly flattened by McKay and Ronon, both of whom blocked the exit like hostile linebackers for the opposing team.

“Where are you going?” McKay sounded nervous. In fact, McKay had been acting weird ever since he'd woken him up that morning. Of course, Sheppard had tossed a fruit at him.

“To my room.”

“But Beckett should see you first,” insisted McKay.

Sheppard just yawned. “Oh come on, all Carson's gonna do is give me two aspirin and tell me to drink plenty of fluids.”

McKay looked like a canary just got lodged in his throat.

“Rodney?” Sheppard asked.

“Aspirin?” the scientist croaked.

“You need some?” Sheppard wondered if McKay had a headache. In fact, the man looked sick now.

“No!”

“All right, who needs to see me?” Beckett's brogue interrupted the tense atmosphere as the physician approach the trio.

Sheppard pointed at McKay while, much to his surprise, both McKay and Ronon pointed at him.

Beckett arched his eyebrows in confusion. “It seems Mr. Dex isn't in need of a doctor, but the two of you are, and the reasons would be…?”

“I'm fine,” McKay blurted.

Sheppard doubted that. He sat on one of the exam beds, figuring that resistance was futile. “Just give me some aspirin, doc, and send me on my way. It's nothing. Just a cold.”

“A cold?” McKay nearly screamed. “And Rodney has lost his mind,” Sheppard snapped, drawing down his eyebrows in a severe line. “You've been acting whacko ever since you got out of jail.”

“Jail?” repeated Beckett worriedly. “Just what kind of jail?”

“A very plush one,” Sheppard glared at McKay. “I was there for a while and it wasn't bad. And it was a private jail, just him and Ronon.”

“Aspirin isn't going to cut it,” McKay muttered darkly under his breath.

“Would somebody like to tell me what's going on?” asked Beckett.

McKay sucked in a deep breath. “Colonel, we know what happened.”

Sheppard just stared at the scientist and former weapons specialist. McKay looked deadly serious and Ronon looked, scarily, almost sympathetic. “What?” he nearly stammered.

“For god's sake, Sheppard, even a blind man could see that woman had designs on you!”

Crap. Sheppard scrabbled for a response to that too true accusation. “Uh, how…?”

McKay crossed his arms against his chest, but honestly didn't look as self-assured as normal. “Well, for one thing, your T-shirt's on inside out.”

Sheppard then decided denial was the best strategy. “I'm not talking about it and so help me if you tell anybody, I'll wring your neck, Rodney.” If it got out into Atlantis, it would get on to the Daedalus and then the next thing he knew, the news would hit Earth. He'd never live it down.

“Another woman then?” Beckett said curiously, studying the T-shirt's label. Sheppard swatted the man's hand away.

“Excuse me.” Sheppard was getting sick of this. “Since when did I get this undeserved reputation about women? Cripes, Carson, I'm sure you've seen more action than me since we've gotten to this galaxy.”

Beckett had the good graces to turn a slight shade of pink, and Sheppard didn't mind the poke at the physician. The Scot had certainly been a happier man since hooking up with Lieutenant Cadman.

“Look, Colonel,” continued McKay, now sounding like some daytime reality show shrink. “It won't go beyond us, but you should still let Beckett--”

“What?” argued Sheppard, hoping to gain control of the situation before it got out of control. “Look, I had a tetanus booster just last month.”

“As if a booster could cover…” McKay seemed to drift off in horror.

“What?” Beckett interrupted. “Who did what to whom? I'm confused.”

“Well, at least talk to Kate,” McKay tried to offer.

“What on earth for?” countered Sheppard. “It might have been humiliating at first but it wasn't like it was anything traumatic.”

McKay's jaw practically unhinged.

“Rodney, people get paid to do this every day back on earth,” Sheppard continued. “Sure, it sucked at first but after a while you just zone out and if I hadn't done it, you wouldn't have gotten into that stupid building, where, I might remind you, you still didn't find a working ZPM. You know, next time, I hope you bear an uncanny resemblance to some ruler's spouse so you can be subject to her quirky behavior.”

“Good lord!” hissed Beckett.

Sheppard looked up from where he'd been staring at the sheets beneath him. Rodney was standing there looking almost as white as the sheets. “Rodney?” Sheppard instantly hopped off the bed, regretting that quick action as a certain pain made itself known.

Beckett pushed Rodney onto a nearby bed, ordering him to breath steadily before the man began to hyperventilate. Sheppard pushed himself past Ronon to stand over Rodney. “What the hell is going on?”

“How? I mean…” stammered McKay.

“Just what the blazes is goin' on here?” demanded Beckett.

“It's the drugs, isn't it?” blurted McKay, grabbing onto Beckett and pointing at Sheppard.. “He's in PTDD or whatever from the shock.”

“What drugs?” Now Sheppard was totally confused as well.

“From the needles,” supplied Ronon.

Great, now Dex was in on this confusing conspiracy. Shock? PTDD? Was McKay talking about PTSD?

“Where they drugged you and then that woman—“ spat Rodney.

And the room went deadly silent as everybody digested the words and implications thereof. Everybody stared at him in horror, except Ronon, who seemed the strongest of the trio. In a sharp moment of clarity, Sheppard suddenly realized where this was all headed. It wasn't as though he had entertained the same panicked thoughts when Hetcha had dragged out that metal studded strap, only to discover shortly thereafter that it wasn't some weird instrument of S&M orgies, but simply a tape measurer. He really wanted to forget that truly embarrassing moment – for everyone involved - when he'd discovered precisely what they wanted him for.

He felt an odd sensation in his throat. “Damn.”

“What?” Beckett asked cautiously.

“Audran gave me her damn cold. She was sneezing all over me last night,” admitted Sheppard. “I bet in a day I'll sound like her, too. My throat's getting scratchy.”

“That's all you're concerned about?” Rodney protested.

“Nothing like what you think happened... happened,” countered Sheppard.

“But you—“ began McKay, obviously at a loss for words. A true first.. “Didn't she, I, well, have her, um, take advan—“

“NO!” snapped Sheppard. Oh, that didn't do his throat much good at all. “Where on earth did you get an idea like that?”

“From the guards, who told us about the needles and that whenever her husband is out of town, she drags up men to her to room to do whatever she wants to … do with… them,” he trailed off.

“Well, obviously the guards aren't very accurate in relaying gossip,” argued Sheppard. Now he was getting a headache.

“So, she didn't force you to have sex with her?” came Ronon's blunt query.

“No,” Sheppard repeated very sternly, mostly for Beckett's benefit as the man probably had a gazillion embarrassing tests for sexually transmitted diseases. “And for the record, Audran is faithful to her husband.”

“Then what the hell was all that about pain and needles and why didn't you want any of us touching you?” Rodney's panicked voice had dissipated, perhaps because he'd spent the last day worried about an assault that had never taken place, and was now peeved at wasting that much energy and emotion.

Oh great. He'd thought they knew what had happened but now obviously they didn't know but if he didn't tell them the truth, it would still be a huge mess of horrid speculation. Sheppard muttered something under his breath, hoping that would shut them all up.

“I didn't catch that,” said Rodney tersely.

Beckett crossed his arms. “Neither did I.”

“SEWING NEEDLES,” Sheppard ground out.

“Huh?” replied Rodney.

“Are you deaf?” Sheppard shot back.

“No, just very, very confused. I need a drink,” replied the scientist pitifully as he lay back down on the bed. “Or something.”

“So you were tortured with sewing needles?” prodded Ronon curiously.

Sheppard wanted to bang his head on a table, but none were immediately available.

“The guards were saying how you resembled her husband so that's why they took you?” said Ronon.

“I'm the same size,” said Sheppard with a wisp of a sigh.

“Size?” remarked Rodney, sitting back up.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Sheppard snapped back, although he was sure that wasn't the size that Rodney had meant but at least the scientist had clamped his mouth shut for the time being. He sat on the other exam bed. “I'm his exact size, as in…” Sheppard grimaced, as if someone was driving bamboo shoots under his fingernails. “Inseam.”

“Excuse me, colonel,” interrupted Beckett. “But did I hear ye say inseam?”

“Yes, there it is. It's out!” Sheppard waved an arm dramatically. “You get this story once, it does not get blabbed anywhere else, do I make myself clear?”

A bunch of heads nodded, albeit reluctantly.

“When Audran's husband is away, he apparently gave her blanket permission to just about snatch any guy off the street—“

“That sounds horrible,” said Beckett, shocked.

“Can I finish this story before I change my mind?” Sheppard said flatly. “Okay, apparently he hates being fitted for royal robes and all that crap. So hey, guess what? I'm his size. Inseam, neck size, even waist; which is why Audran kept checking me out. They say everybody has a double somewhere in the universe but they don't warn you of the dangers. Anyway, the only other two guys who fit the bill in town hightailed it to the hills to farm goats or something when he left on a trip, so when we strolled into town…”

“Ah,” said McKay, as though a lightbulb had just gone off over his head. “So that's why everybody kept looking at you.”

“Yeah, so after a bit of miscommunication, I got turned into a… what do you call those things they sew clothes on?”

“Mannequin?” said Beckett.

“Dummy,” added Rodney with a hint of a grin.

“Don't make me come over there and smack you,” warned Sheppard. “The reason why her husband refuses to have any more royal clothes made is that their royal seamstress, Hetcha, can't see worth a damn up close and stabs people with needles.” He winced in memory of her misplaced jabs in his body. “Anyway, she stabbed him in one spot that is really, really sensitive.” Everybody's face registered a sympathy wince, so he didn't need to supply the gory details.

“If she's that much of a danger, why do they let her sew?” asked Beckett.

“Royal lineage or whatever,” sighed Sheppard. “I must have a dozen holes in my backside and legs from her.”

“We'll need to take some blood from ye, Colonel,” said Beckett, “plus give you some antibiotics.”

“No problem, doc,” agreed Sheppard. “As long as you stay away from my backside. It's been punctured enough.” Beckett frowned as he mulled over the location, no doubt.

“It's because they're really, really fond of stitchery all over the pants,” explained Sheppard. “Which is why he got stabbed in the—“

“We have the picture, colonel,” Beckett cut in quickly.

“Oh by the way, I told her you'd be visiting tomorrow.”

“Excuse me?” exclaimed Beckett.

“With Lorne. That damned Hetcha is a menace. She needs glasses,” said Sheppard. “I told Audran you could do that, and believe me, lots of guys with my inseam and collar size will thank you profusely.”

“God, we'd thought…” trailed off McKay, starting to look uncomfortable. “With what the guards said and all.”

Sheppard managed a smile. “Well, I didn't get the full story until after I tried to escape from her guards.”

“That must have been a sight,” said Rodney with the beginning of a smirk.

“Oh yeah, a real laugh riot, Rodney,” remarked Sheppard. “They really need to work on who tells who what where instead of blindly leading visitors up to a room and telling 'em to strip.”

Rodney's eyes bulged.

“Not all the way,” Sheppard corrected rapidly. Thank god they'd let him keep his shorts. In fact, Audran had insisted on it, blushing a definite shade of pink. Or maybe that had just been the result of that medicine she kept taking. Sheppard sneezed again. “Damn.”

“Just what kind of illness did she have, colonel?” asked Beckett.

“Mostly sore throat and stuffed nose,” Sheppard recalled. “She was taking some kind of local herbal medicine that gave her that deep voice and I'm pretty sure made her sorta, well, spacey.”

“So that's why she kept looking at you like that,” said Rodney.

“Like what?”

“Never mind.” Ronon shook his head.

Best forgotten as far as he was concerned, until someone opened his mouth again.

“So, this means your virtue remains intact?” snarked Rodney with a big grin.

“Ronon,” said Sheppard dryly.

“Yeah?”

“He's too far away for me to hit him.”

Smack!

“That's abuse!” cried Rodney, rubbing the back of his head.

“No,” countered Sheppard with a smirk. “That's….”

“Delegation?” supplied Beckett, shaking his head at the whole mess.

“Yeah, that's the word.”

PART 8

Sheppard sat down in the mess hall with a tray of food. He'd finally gotten his appetite back after going through several days of sheer misery from that wretched bug Audran had passed on to him. He'd ended up with a stuffed nose and a throat that felt as though it had been scorched with a flame thrower, but Beckett had merely shot him up with antibiotics and told him to stay put in his quarters, drink plenty of fluids and not contaminate the rest of the base.

“You going to eat that?” Ronon sat down opposite him, his tray full of food.

“Yes, I am,” retorted Sheppard happily. Gone were the days of soup and Jello. He could actually let real food slide down his throat without gagging on searing pain.

And at least he hadn't had to worry about McKay blabbing all over the base about precisely what the agreement negotiations had consisted of, because just hours later, Rodney had fallen victim to the same bug.

Ronon looked up, past Sheppard, grinning. “Better hope he doesn't throw his lunch at you.”

McKay sat down next to Ronon, sparing a moment to glare intensely at Sheppard. His lunch consisted of soup and Jello, but he wasn't contagious anymore. It was just taking him longer to recover from one particular aspect of the cold, which amazingly had hit him harder than it had Sheppard, but then again, Sheppard had been bright enough (at least this time) to obey Beckett's orders and had taken it easy.

“He still blames you for sneezing on him,” Ronon remarked, studying the dark glare McKay focused on Sheppard.

“I did say I was sorry,” said Sheppard. He knew the sincerity of that remark had long since dried up, as hell, how many times did McKay expect him to apologize for something that really hadn't been his fault? How was he to know both the Protrans' would be so grateful as to allow Zelenka pretty much carte blanc to the stupid Sanctuary building, while Rodney sat back on base, suffering from a stupid cold?

Two more trays hit the table lightly. Teyla sat down beside Sheppard while Beckett was seated next to McKay.

“So, Rodney, feeling better today?” Beckett said with a chipper smile.

Sheppard watched McKay make some hand gestures, a primitive method of communicating since he didn't have his laptop handy and the cold had given him such a nasty case of laryngitis that he'd lost, albeit temporarily, his capacity to speak. It was both a curse and a blessing, but more so the latter.

“Doc,” said Sheppard with a grin. “I think he just told you to stuff it where the sun don't shine.”

“Ach, Rodney, you'll be fine in no time.” Beckett patted the man reassuringly on an arm. Sheppard was sure glad McKay didn't have a fork, because he could see that Rodney was sorely tempted to stab the physician for his patronizing attitude.

“Anyway,” said Beckett, pulling his hand away and oblivious to how close he came to being stabbed with a blunt spoon. “Major Lorne's team just returned from Rael.”

“And how are Protran Audran and her sister?” asked Sheppard. Quite honestly, he shouldn't have been surprised to learn that Hetcha was actually Audran's sister. That's why Hetcha had been allowed to torture unsuspecting men with sewing needles for so long. Nepotism.

“They're both adjusting quite well to their new glasses,” replied Beckett, digging into his scrambled eggs. “I've been asked back to check on other some of the other villagers. Apparently there is a genetic predisposition toward farsightness.”

“I am surprised that you didn't notice that Audran required vision correction,” spoke up Teyla. She'd been off on the Mainland for the entire disaster, tending to some Athosian business, which in some respects had been good but then again, he always wondered if she might have been able to rescue him from that awful night of being a sewing dummy. She was so much better at the diplomatic stuff than any of the rest of them. Fortunately, she didn't know the full story of what had gone on, although she knew that reading glasses were part of the barter Sheppard had arranged.

“Well,” Sheppard said, ignoring the smirk that went across McKay's face. The scientist delighted in any misery Sheppard experienced at the moment. He was really being quite petty. “I just sorta figured she was really interested in the, um, stitching.”

McKay snorted on his green Jello. Sheppard was so tempted to lob a French fry at the man. Even when he couldn't speak, he could still be terribly annoying.

“I'm really amazed at her handiwork considering how strong her hyperopia is,” said Beckett. “Her close-up vision, that is,” he added for the benefit of the lay people around him.

“So that means the farmers don't need to hide in the hills anymore,” Sheppard said off-handedly.

Beckett grinned. “Aye, I'd say that several men in town have breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Also, Protran Millan returned yesterday from his trip. He sends you his thanks and apologies.”

“Upping the ante on the fruit trade would be helpful,” suggested Sheppard. He really had no intention of returning back to that world, despite the invite that Lorne had passed along from Audran a day ago. Any reason for visiting was purely diplomatic and scientific and he was military, therefore, not really needed. Well, Lorne and his men could cover that.

“Actually, Radek is making good progress on securing the ZPM,” Beckett added, almost with glee. “Both the Protrans seem quite taken with him. Perhaps it's the accent,” mused Beckett.

Sheppard watched one of McKay's eyes twitch nervously. The scientist was really ticked off that the Czech and a few others had returned to secure what they now knew was a ZPM. “He says the power in it might sustain Atlantis' shield for half an hour,” finished Beckett.

Sheppard hadn't thought it possible – Jello could be pureed. McKay was stirring his spoon into the now semi-gelatinous substance with a vengeance. Zelenka would probably pay dearly for enjoying himself so much on this mission.

“Major Lorne said the ZPM came out of the wall quite easily.” Beckett was on a role, oblivious to the ensuing disaster that sat next to him.

McKay smacked his spoon into the bowl of Jello, splattering the green substance all over the table.

“Rodney, calm down,” advised Sheppard, although he had to hide a smile behind the coffee cup he put to his face.

“Don't talk,” Beckett sternly added as soon as McKay opened his mouth. “You want to damage your throat?”

Sheppard wondered if McKay was going to bend the spoon into a pretzel, but instead he made a few more new and totally indecipherable hand gestures.

Ronon laughed, a deep sound that turned a few heads at other tables.

McKay stopped, scowling at the larger man.

“You'd have your throat slit from ear to ear on Gaima if you used that gesture there,” Ronon explained with a grin.

McKay looked somewhat unnerved at that revelation, then stared at both his hands as if realizing they could be the death of him.

“Colonel, Ronon,” said Teyla. “You really should stop needling Dr. McKay when he unable to speak for himself.”

The occupants at the table went dead silent, McKay excluded, who dropped the spoon from his hand. It clattered on the table. Sheppard shot a steely glance at the men around him, all of whom shook their heads. McKay, Beckett and Ronon had sworn not to leak just how disastrous, well, embarrassing, the agreement process had been. Of course, he'd threatened to make their lives hell if they did.

Teyla looked at everyone, cocking her head to the side in confusion. “Is there something wrong?”

“Um,” began Sheppard. “It's just that we've never heard you use that phrase before.”

Teyla's eyes widened, perhaps in horror or embarrassment. “It was something I heard Dr. Weir use when speaking to Dr. Zelenka today. It did not appear to be an insult—“

“No, no, it's fine,” said Sheppard. He was glad he was sitting down as his knees felt weak. He really wished there was a two-month long mission he could immediately go on so by the time he got back, some other gossip would replace the stories that would soon be circulating throughout Atlantis.

McKay, Ronon and Beckett all looked relieved at his newfound misery, which compounded even further when Teyla finished her tea, stood up and then leaned over Sheppard. “Dr. Weir also wanted me to tell you, and that I should repeat this verbatim, that you would 'not need to make 'alterations' to your mission report if you were to accept the Protrans' invitation as they could be valuable trading partners.'” With that, Teyla just smiled knowingly and left the table.

McKay smirked, picked up his spoon and stuck the blunt end into his balled up fist, twisting it.

“I think he means to say you're screwed, colonel,” Beckett said with a weak smile.

“Can he travel?” Sheppard suddenly asked.

“Rodney?” said Beckett. “I suppose so, as long as he doesn't try to talk. He's healthy otherwise.”

“Good.” Sheppard just smiled broadly, delighting in McKay's sudden discomfiture. “If I'm going back there, so are you. You can boss around Zelenka.” He held up his finger as if to make a point. “Oh wait, you can't talk. That's gonna be tough.”

McKay began to sputter in either horror or indignation.

Ronon leaned in on the table. “I'll go, too.” He shrugged at Sheppard's confused look. “This might be too fun to miss.”

“Well, won't be much to do,” said Sheppard. “After all—“ His next words were cut off as a large glob of Jello smacked him in the face. As it dripped off his nose, he saw McKay across the table, spoon still in hand and a victorious look on his face.

“Need a bodyguard?” asked Ronon.

“You're hired,” replied Sheppard, nailing McKay right between the eyes with a French Fry.

THE END

Author's Note: This story came about from reading too many 'net discussions on how Sheppard was kissing (or more!) every women in sight (not).

THE END

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COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: The Stargate Atlantis characters, as presented on the series, belong to MGM, Sci Fi, and other registered copyright holders. No copyright infringement is meant or intended by the writing and posting of this material. I'm just borrowing the characters and the universe for a piece of non-profit 'fan fiction' and will return in one piece (well, usually). Please do not repost this fiction, in whole or in part, anywhere, without expression written permission of the author. Please email PX7555@aol.com if you have any questions, or feedback.