The Captive

Chapter One: Interest

A Sheppard/Wraith OC slash fic. In that order of dominance. You've been warned. There won't be anything remotely smutty, though, so don't get your hopes up. Not to mention this is my first foray into SGA fanfic, though I've been watching the show for some time now. So...if anyone's OOC or anything's not-canon or whatever, feel free to tell me.

The title is tentative until I either think of a better one or I get too used to it to change it.

Summary: When Sheppard gets taken captive by the Wraith, he finds an unlikely ally--and maybe more--in an unusual young Wraith scientist.

Rated T, for safety.

"Ouch...oh...ngh..."

His head hurt! It throbbed in a cascade of agony, and even the slightest motion caused pain to shoot like daggers through his skull. He tried to open his eyes, but a brilliant tirade of light greeted his vision, and he groaned and fell backwards, head hitting the wall, but it didn't hurt. In fact, it felt slightly...squishy.

Squishy? Why were the walls squishy? And where was he? More importantly...

WHO was he?

Damn, amnesia on top of everything else, he thought with a wry chuckle. Even that little movement of his jaw and vocal cords caused an abominable amount of agony to course through his head, and he slumped against the mysteriously squishy wall, unable to open his eyes, unable to move, head throbbing as if it was ready to burst any second now.

Carson could fix this headache, and then he found himself wondering who this "Carson" was, exactly. His head gave a particularly excruciating throb.

Water...damn, some water would be nice. And he found that this was true--he was thirsty. Somehow, he felt some ice cold water would also help to clear his head, his poor tender aching head, and maybe fix up his brain circuits so that he could remember who the hell he was. Yes...some water would be nice...

He tried to speak, because he knew what speaking was. He tried to move his jaw, tried to make sounds issue from his throat, but it was the greatest agony, just trying to think of words to say, what should he say, hmm?

"A little water, guys?"

But who were the "guys", anyway? Maybe he should try to be a little more polite.

"Could I please have some water?"

That was too much to say, though...

"Water. Please."

Hmm. That sounded nice. Only three syllables. It certainly couldn't hurt him that badly, right? Just saying "Water, please."

He tried. He opened his mouth, ignoring the pain that shot through his head, and managed to choke out a syllable that sounded something like, "Wah." Good. Just "Ter" and "Please". "T...t...ter...puh...leez." Was that even him talking? He sounded like a drunk man, or like he had a speech impediment. His voice rumbled and crackled like a monster's, and it caused sharp spikes of agony to dig their way up his ears into his noggin. Oh, this wouldn't do.

"Waaaaaaahh..." he tried again, making a noise like an injured whale. Oh, his poor, horrible, throbbing head! He couldn't take it anymore, this awful pain...was asking for water so hard?

"Taaaaaaa...eeehhhh...rrrrr..." he continued, without any idea of what he was saying. "Puuuhhhhhhhh..."

Just as he had pieced together something that sounded faintly respectable (a bit like, "Wa-tuh-er puh-leez"), his concentration was destroyed by the sound of stomping footsteps. To his poor, aching noggin, the sound was unbearable--each thud was like a sledgehammer driven into his brain. He groaned and twisted as the steps grew louder, and closer, echoing like thunderclaps.

He was vaguely aware of movement somewhere beyond him. Shadowy figures stood in a row before him, but he could not see them, because even trying to crack his eyes open slightly caused a torrent of blinding light to flood him and hammer his head. He kept his eyes closed, and remained slumped.

A thought occured to him--he could ask these people for water, whoever they were.

Before he could begin to launch into his painful attempts to say "Water, please", a voice spoke, a rough, harsh voice that sliced like a dagger through his brain.

"Colonel Sheppard."

And then, all the thoughts, all the scattered, scrambled, random memories, rearranged themselves neatly at the mention of his name, and he remember not only who he was, but how he'd gotten here, and what this place probably was.

"Oh, hell, no," Lt. Colonel John Sheppard muttered.

"Wow, it's really, uh, dark," said Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay, glancing nervously around at the thick branches and tree trunks that loomed out of the oppressive gloom like ravenous devourers or armed warriors. He was pale, and trembling faintly, and sweating quite profusely. "I didn't know it was so, uh, dark."

"What, you afraid of the dark, Rodney?" said Lt. Colonel John Sheppard casually, aiming his gun light through a clump of trees. "Relax, nothing's going to eat you."

"Yeah, you think?" shot back Rodney, voice trembling hysterically. "Look, did you hear that shriek when we first Gated in? I bet that was some man-eating bat or something!"

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "Man-eating bat?"

"What's a bat?" said Ronon Dex as he passed Sheppard and Rodney, loosely holding his gun.

"It's like--some sort of--flying thing," said Sheppard, raising his arms in the air in a passable imitation of flight.

"Some flying thing," snorted Rodney derisively. "Oh, wow, nice to see you've got such powers of description, Shakespeare!"

"Hey, that is what a bat is, isn't it?" said Sheppard defensively. "They fly!"

"Yeah, but so do moths and bees and birds," replied Rodney. "And airplanes, and--"

"Look, this conversation is stupid," said Sheppard, deciding to terminate this conversation early before it turned into a full-fledged argument. "Who cares about bats?"

"Well, I do, they might eat me!" squeaked Rodney.

"Flying things that eat people," said Ronon casually. "We had things like that on Sateda. They were huge birds."

Rodney made a noise that sounded very much like "Eek!" Sheppard bit back the urge to laugh.

But it was quite dark, and the beams from the gun lights were barely enough to penetrate the thick and heavy darkness. More than the darkness, there was just some sort of atmosphere, a heavy, oppressive atmosphere that pressed down hard on Sheppard's chest, and made it impossible for him to keep in a jolly mood for long. He was sure the same thing was happening to Rodney, only Rodney was making no effort to act stoic, like Sheppard was. Ronon, Teyla, and Carson seemed to be holding up well too, though Carson kept glancing nervously around.

"This place...has a very...evil...feel to it," said Teyla, her voice laden with apprehension. Sheppard agreed wholeheartedly--the sooner they were out, the better.

"See, I'm not the only person who thinks that! Ha!" yelled Rodney triumphantly.

"Rodney," said Teyla, though she was smiling, "do quiet down, please."

"Yeah, or else the bats will eat you," quipped Sheppard.

"We'll be out soon, won't we?" stammered Carson. "I mean, this is just a basic reconnaissance mission, isn't it? Right? Am I right?"

So many questions in that one, thought Sheppard ruefully. He'd like to be out soon too, though. All they were doing was scouting out the area, since the MALP had apparently detected a village in the distance. Why anyone would want to live somewhere so creepy, though, was beyond him.

"We should've landed on the day side of the planet," Rodney was moaning.

"Grow a spine, McKay," said Ronon quite brusquely.

"Besides, the Stargate's on the night side," pointed out Sheppard.

"Still, we could wait until it's day!" squeaked Rodney.

Sheppard vaguely felt like teasing Rodney some more, but he could see how terrified the Canadian scientist was, so refrained from speaking. Everyone else fell into a grave silence as well, and in silence they continued, aiming their guns through trees, nervously trekking the loamy earth, mindful of the occasional shrieking and flapping of wings that issued from the distance.

Yeah, it is pretty creepy here, thought Sheppard. Maybe we should have come at day.

But hey, he wasn't Rodney, and he certainly wasn't afraid of the dark!

And then, before he had any more time to register what was going on, figures were moving in the trees, and shooting, and reflexes had taken over for Sheppard and he was shooting insanely at the figures, who shot back, not with bullets but with stunners...

"They're Wraith!" roared Ronon above the din of combat. "An ambush!"

Sheppard fired--Wraith fell. But more continued to leap out of the trees and stream out of the darkness, and there were just too many of them...but that was okay, they fell quite easily to his gun. He, Ronon, and Teyla fired with a fierce determination into the ambushing Wraith, and even Carson and Rodney managed to get in a good shot now and then.

The Wraith were nearly all disposed of by now, and Sheppard was glad--he was tired and sweating profusely, and his arms ached from firing that gun so damn often. "So, that's it, then?" he panted, turning to his comrades.

"I s'pose," said Ronon, with a casual shrug.

"Let's go back to Atlantis as quick as possible," said Teyla, glancing wildly around. "We must alert Elizabeth immediately."

"Sounds like a plan," said Carson, white-faced and wide-eyed.

"Auuughhh! Sheppard! Ronon! Teyla! Carson! Help me!!"

"Rodney!" yelled Sheppard, instinctively crashing through the branches towards the source of Rodney's panicked scream. There were two Wraith--they were holding Rodney--one had his hand positioned over Rodney's chest--Rodney's eyes were wide as saucers and he was shaking and whimpering--

"Let the hell go of him!" roared Sheppard, but he could do nothing, for fear that a badly aimed shot would hurt Rodney. The Wraith looked up at Sheppard. They were not the faceless drones that Sheppard and friends had been fighting, but taller, long-coated Wraith, the kind who always seemed to be in charge. One of them, a tall one sporting an impressive goatee, merely smirked at Sheppard.

"Tell us why, Colonel Sheppard," he said mockingly, his hand hovering over Rodney's chest. Rodney sucked in deep, rattling breaths and stared up at the completely black sky. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh God," he gasped at the sky.

"I'm warning you," shouted Sheppard, uselessly pointing his gun at the Wraith. Both merely chuckled, and the goateed one clamped his hand right over Rodney's heart. Rodney actually screamed--a heartrendring shriek of utter, absolute terror. Sheppard cocked his gun, but the Wraith positioned themselves so that no matter how he shot, he would end up harming Rodney more than them.

Just then, in the nick of time, his (rather slow) comrades came crashing through the underbrush, Ronon roaring in rage and shooting his stunner wildly--the Wraith crumpled and Rodney fell over, sobbing miserably into the loamy earth. Teyla and Carson ran over to his side, and helped him get up, while he shook and moaned and groaned.

"Thanks for the save, big guy," said Sheppard, turning to Ronon with a grin.

"No problem," replied Ronon, shrugging again. "Least I could do."

"John--! Behind you!"

Sheppard was barely able to register Teyla's terrified shriek before he turned around and found a Wraith stunner pressed firmly against his forehead.

I've been taken prisoner. I'm in a Wraith prison. That's why it's so squishy, 'cause it's the Wraith, you know, and they like their squishy.

Sheppard was amazed that he could think such wry thoughts even when confronted by Wraith. But honestly, it didn't hurt that much to think anymore. The pounding in his head had subsided quite a bit, and experimentally, he cracked his eyes open, and was not greeted by a hail of overwhelming light, but by the sight of "squishy" walls made of the organic tendrils Wraith loved so much, and through the bars of what was obviously his cell, a group of Wraith, lined up, the goateed Wraith at the very center and forefront.

"Colonel Sheppard," repeated the goateed Wraith, a smirk quite evident in his deep voice. "You are finally awake."

"Ungh...and I'm to take that this God-awful hangover I've got is courtesy of you?" grunted Sheppard, hauling himself up to a sitting position. His head still ached badly and his vision was blurry, but at the very least, he was no longer in the intense pain he had been earlier. Regaining his memories seemed to have reset his cognitive processes quite a bit.

The goateed Wraith chuckled humorlessly. "Colonel Sheppard, we have done our best to ensure that you have not been hurt...too badly."

"What do you want with me?" snapped Sheppard, deciding to drop the wit (just a little). "And where's the rest of my team?"

"Don't worry, they escaped," said the Wraith. "We have no need for them, anyway."

"You think? Well, that just goes back to my first question, doesn't it? What the hell are you planning on using me for?"

Goatee's smirk widened, if possible. "That is not for you to know at the moment."

"Yeah, but I'd like to know," retorted Sheppard. "Since your kind aren't big on taking prisoners. Usually you'd have eaten me already, wouldn't you?"

The goateed Wraith (damn, he needed a better name...) continued to smirk at Sheppard through the bars. "You will know...later."

"I take that to mean that whatever you want with me, isn't exactly pleasant on my part?" said Sheppard with a shrug. "Well? Tell me? Hot or cold?"

The Wraith merely peered impassively at Sheppard, his expression unfathomable in the dim light and Sheppard's bleary stare. "We will return...later."

Geez, this Wraith sure liked to say "later" a lot!

"Fine by me," said Sheppard, yawning and stretching out. "I'm damn tired, anyway." The goateed Wraith continued to watch Sheppard through the bars of the cell, before turning around and leaving, followed by his drone consort. Sheppard watched them leave, and felt his head begin to pound again, but this time, it was a little more bearable.

So the Wraith had taken him prisoner...but what for? Goatee wouldn't say, except that Sheppard would know "later". When it came to the Wraith, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Did he want to be held in suspense wondering what they were doing, or know what nefarious plot they had in store for him? He honestly didn't know, but for now, he had other things to worry about.

Yeah, right. You've only got yourself to worry about, unless they were lying when they said the team got away.

Although his greatest urge was to sleep, Sheppard resisted, and instead checked himself. He was still in his uniform (why would the Wraith want to strip him, anyway...? He was having bizarre thoughts), but his weapons and communication equipment were all gone. He gingerly reached for the back of his head and winced when he touched a particularly tender spot. To his shock, flakes of caked-on dried blood fell off from where his fingers touched on to the squishy floor.

Damn. That must have been one intense injury. A simple stunner couldn't do that. What had happened to him?

Well, now he knew why his head hurt him so. He'd obviously hit his head quite badly, to the point of drawing blood. The rest of him appeared okay, excepting a few minor scratches and bruises from his wild rampage through the underbrush when he had been searching for Rodney. He also sported quite an impressive rough stubble now, even more impressive than it usually was. How long had he been out?

His head was throbbing badly now, and a aching weariness settled over his limbs. Sheppard obeyed his instincts, and slumped on to the squishy floor and closed his eyes. To his surprise, the floor's squishiness made it quite a nice mattress, and he slept well.

Colonel Sheppard had no idea how long he languished in the cell until he was visited by another Wraith. His sleep, at the very least, had done wonders for his aching body, and his headache had definitely subsided. But a new problem came over him as he slumped against the squishy wall...

He was hungry.

That told him he must have been here for quite a while, since the instant he woke up, his stomach began to churn like mad. He tried to remember his last meal before going on that mission...it had been lunch at Atlantis, though night at that world, and he had had a tuna-salad sandwich and an Athosian-fruit and yogurt parfait and a Pepsi. Oh, how he craved a sandwich now...or some pizza...or a burger, yes a nice juicy burger, with ketchup and pickles and onions and melting cheese, and a side order of crispy golden fries and a large, ice-cold Pepsi...

Obviously, such thoughts did little to relieve his hunger.

By the time the Wraith had arrived, Sheppard had managed to find two Powerbars tucked inside his jacket's inside pocket, and he immediately congratulated himself on his find. Though his instinct had been to eat them both immediately, he realized that maybe the Wraith wouldn't feed him, and so he sadly divided the Powerbars into little bite-sized rations. He had eaten one, but it had obviously done nothing to curb his appetite.

He was beginning to consider eating another portion (It's just one, he told himself), when the loud stomping of a drone cut through his still tender head. Sheppard whirled around and instinctively reached for his gun--but it wasn't there. Damn.

What was there was a soldier drone standing at the bars. He held a plain metal tray with a bowl and a tin cup of water on it, and without a word slipped it under the bars (for they had risen very slightly, to allow the food tray's entry), before turning around and stomping off just as loudly.

"Hey, you didn't even give me a chance to say 'thank you'," called Sheppard after the drone, still as witty as ever despite his growling stomach. And speaking of growling stomachs...

He immediately seized the tray and pulled it over. Previously, Sheppard wouldn't even have touched the bowl's contents--some disgusting, thick, greenish-whitish slop that looked like it had been reconstituted from a foil package. It smelled awful, too, but now, starving as he was, he had never seen anything better.

"Bon appetit," he announced over the bowl, and started searching for something to eat it with...before realizing that there was no cutlery.

"Geez, didn't even have a single fork to spare, did you?" he called out indignantly, but then again, Wraith didn't need to use utensils to eat what they did. He scowled and decided to slurp from the bowl. The stuff, thankfully, was completely flavorless, though slightly bitter.

When he'd emptied the bowl, he turned to the water. Even the water seemed strange, with a sort of off sour note, and a layer of white residue around the rim. Geez, you could wash your cups a little better. Use less soap! he tiraded in his head, before downing the water.

Soon after his meal, he began to feel sleepy and sluggish again, and his headache began pounding full-force. Strangely he felt worse than he had when he'd started--a disgusting bitter-sour taste clung to his mouth and throat, and his whole body felt like a leaden weight. Right before he sank to the squishy floor in absolute weariness, he glanced at the cup again and realized the entire thing, not just the rim, was covered with a fine, white, sour-smelling powder. It was then then that it struck him.

They've drugged the food, his sluggish brain managed to churn out before he slipped into a deep, dreamless, drugged sleep.

Just like before, the sound of footfalls awoke Sheppard from his slumber. The sound, mercifully, wasn't the loud stomping of drones--whoever was heading his direction was taking great pains to tread carefully, but nonetheless, the noise still hurt the poor Colonel's sleep-fogged brain greatly.

"Ungh...gonna tell me now...?" he grumbled, pulling himself up to a sitting position and shaking his head to clear it. He still felt heavy and stupid.

No more eating their food anymore, he told himself resolutely. Even if he starved, at least, he wouldn't be pumped full of drugs.

"Well? What're you going to do with me?" Sheppard called out into the darkness. He was amazed that he'd initially been so overwhelmed by the light every time he opened his eyes--there was barely any light here, like in any Wraith facility. It was all dark and squishy.

"Hellooo," he scowled, annoyed now. Maybe he was just imagining it, but he was certain--someone was definitely coming his way. He folded his arms and waited for Goatee to come and tell him exactly what it was the Wraith wanted to do with Colonel John Sheppard.

But as the figure came closer, Sheppard realized it wasn't Goatee. In fact, it didn't look like any Wraith he'd ever seen before. This Wraith was thinner and lighter, and smaller in build, than most of the others Sheppard had seen, and the long black coat he wore seemed too big for him. Like most Wraith, his hair was long and white, but this one didn't bother to tie it back and it was impossibly fine and delicate, falling unrestrained into his eyes. And those eyes, too...Sheppard had never seen eyes like that on any Wraith, or any human, for that matter. The Wraith's eyes were large and pale and luminous, and glowed with a sort of inquisitive, almost fascinated light that was oddly entrancing to Sheppard.

Sheppard shook his head to clear the last dandruff of sleep out of it, trying to think of something clever to say, but much to his surprise, words escaped him. And here he was thinking he was such a master of wit!

"Colonel Sheppard," said the Wraith in greeting, with a little jerk of his head. His voice was surprising, too--not harsh and deep like that of most Wraith, but light and soft. Sheppard watched the Wraith dumbly.

"Yeah, hi, that's my name," he said, making a desperate stab at wit. Pull yourself together, John! Who cares how he looks, he's still just a Wraith! Something intrigued him, though, and he had to voice it. "Hey, how do you all know my name, anyway?"

The Wraith blinked twice, never removing his strange luminous eyes from the colonel. "Our fellows have had encounters with you and--and your team."

"Ah..." muttered Sheppard, leaning back against the wall. "Yeah, I guess I've made quite a name for myself, haven't I?"

The Wraith continued to survey Sheppard for a long while--he didn't know how long. Sheppard began to feel somewhat uncomfortable under the Wraith's unwavering, pale-eyed stare. Didn't he need to blink, even? He turned away, discomfited.

"You're unusual humans,"said the Wraith after a long silence. Sheppard jerked--the Wraith's soft voice suddenly speaking had surprised him.

"What, is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?" frowned Sheppard. He noted quite foolishly at the Wraith's figure, even obscured by the overlarge coat, was rather girly. He quickly averted his eyes, feeling like something of a voyeur. Even if it was a freaking Wraith...

"It is...it's an observation," said the Wraith after a brief moment of deliberation. "You are highly unusual, you humans from Atlantis. You fight back. You resist."

"Well, of course we do, we don't want to be eaten, you know," said Sheppard peevishly, wondering why the Wraith sounded so intrigued by this. It was plenty obvious why the Lanteans fought back!

"But other humans don't fight, and you are our food. Food shouldn't resist being eaten," explained the Wraith. Sheppard bit back a laugh, though he had no idea what was so funny. The Wraith was talking about eating humans--there was nothing funny about that!

(That brought to Sheppard's mind a dead baby joke Major Lorne had told him just yesterday: "What's the difference between a Quarter Pounder with cheese and a pile of dead babies?" "What?" "I didn't eat a Quarter Pounder with cheese for lunch.")

Once more Sheppard shook his head, wondering why the hell he was thinking of dead baby jokes of all things.

"Look, we're not food, okay," he said, though he knew such explanations had no effect on the Wraith. Still, didn't hurt to try..."We're people, and we just want to live happy lives and marry and have kids and have fun and be rich. Unfortunately, with you Wraith around trying to eat us, that isn't too easy."

"Humans are food," countered the Wraith stubbornly. "We have never had food that resisted so much before. Your expedition is well known among us. Many hives compete trying to be the first one to cull Atlantis."

Now Sheppard laughed for real. "Yeah, like that's going to happen! Listen, for as long as we can, until we either all die or win this war, we're going to keep on fighting. That's just the way things are."

There was no reply to this. The Wraith continued to examine Sheppard with his wide-eyed, luminous stare. It was starting to bother Sheppard, those strange eyes...he knew it was illogical and stupid, but being scrutinized by such eyes made him feel uncomfortable, as if every secret, every past event of his life, was laid bare over his soul, and those eyes could see them.

Don't be dumb, Sheppard told himself angrily. He matched the Wraith's stare with a bored, casual, indifference, leaning languidly against the wall and stretching his legs out.

"You are an unusual human, too," said the Wraith. Sheppard frowned.

"Again, can't decide if that's a compliment or an insult," he said.

"You aren't afraid," noted the Wraith. Once more, Sheppard laughed at this.

"No, why should I be?" He wasn't a total wimp like Rodney, stupid Rodney who'd been afraid of the dark. The instant he thought these thoughts, he felt bad--after all, Rodney had almost been eaten by the Wraith.

Yeah, I saved his ass, and this is the thanks I get? he thought, but it was all in jest. The team would rescue him, and if they didn't, he would break out himself. That is, if his head stopped hurting him so much.

"Most humans, when we take them prisoners," said the Wraith, "are terrified. They cry and beg to be released, or they cower...but you...you're still calm."

"Hey, panicking never got anyone anywhere, that's my philosophy," said Sheppard, grinning, even though he personally didn't feel that cheerful. Since he felt it would be rude to look away, but didn't want to look in those eyes, he settled for looking at the rest of the Wraith. He was surprised by how small and light the Wraith's build was--certainly, most Wraith like him (the not-drones) weren't exactly bodybuilders, but they did have at least some muscle definition. This Wraith was also short, about a head shorter than Sheppard at the most which surprised Sheppard, since all the Wraith he'd seen so far had been on the tall side. He looked quite young, really.

"What...what are you, anyway? A scientist or an administrator or what?" said Sheppard, curious. He simply couldn't imagine this unusual, wide-eyed Wraith doing anything remotely Wraith-like. He looked like the kind of person who wandered around aimlessly all day lost in a dream world.

"You're interested?" said the Wraith, sounding a little surprised. Once more Sheppard had to fight the urge to laugh (what, the third time today?). He didn't know why--perhaps it was amusing to him that a Wraith was displaying an emotion other than acting scary (which really wasn't an emotion), gloating, or smirking evilly like Goatee had been.

"Well, just a little," said Sheppard. "I mean, Wraith have different jobs, don't they? What do you do?"

The Wraith continued to survey Sheppard through the bars, before saying, "I am studying to be a scientist, under the Wraith in charge of this facility."

"What?" said Sheppard, somewhat startled. "Studying?" Well, of course, you think they just pop out knowing everything they do? Really, he hadn't given much thought to how Wraith society worked...'cause hell, he'd been too busy trying to not get killed by them!

"So you're pretty close to the people at the top, aren't you?" inquired Sheppard. The Wraith remained stolidly silent, watching Sheppard through the bars.

"You really are...you are an interesting human," he finally said. Sheppard scowled. That hadn't been what he was talking about!

"Well...I was just wondering," said Sheppard, trying another stab at getting the Wraith to answer the question he wanted answered, "maybe you know what's going on? Y'know, what your higher-ups want me for?"

"I've never met a human like you before," continued the Wraith. Sheppard felt like yelling in frustration. Answer the goddamn question!

"You intrigue me," said the Wraith, after another silence, where human and Wraith watched each other cautiously through the bars. "Lt. Colonel John Sheppard."

"Well..." said Sheppard, scratching the back of his head. "Let's just say that you kind of interest me, too."

The Wraith's eyes widened very slightly, but he said nothing, his gaze as unwavering as ever before. Sheppard found that he didn't mind meeting that gaze now, and he gazed back at the strange young Wraith, the young Wraith scientist who considered Colonel Sheppard to be "interesting". Somehow, somewhere, Sheppard dimly sensed an opportunity just beyond his grasp, but he didn't know exactly what it meant.

Then, without another word, the Wraith gracefully turned away from the bars and departed, his too-long coat swirling behind him. Sheppard watched, feeling somewhat dazed, as if he had just awakened from a dream. His head was starting to throb again, and he dug his knuckles into his temple.

"Hey," he mused aloud to the squishy walls of the cell, "he didn't answer my question, did he?"

This is my first recent fanfic that isn't a Kingdom Hearts oneshot, so I expect some things to be a little wonky or off or whatever with it. As said before, feel free to leave some constructive criticism, particularly in regards to characters and canon.

TBC in Chapter Two: Name.