CHAPTER III: SUSPICION

PART ONE

Six Months Later…

No one's P.O.V

The hiss of the Stargate locking whirred out into the Gateroom. The roar of rushing water heralded the launch as the wormhole stabilized into a rippling loop of undulating blue light.

The alarms of Atlantis were instant. The screaming sirens marking off world activation sent the diminutive cluster of people nestled in the Control room into a frantic flurry of movement. Marines came pounding into the open space of the Gateroom, boots slapping against slick tile in a stampede, backs straight, feet swift, guns raised.

The energy shield came sliding over the gate with a muffled whistle.

Doctor Elizabeth Weir came jogging into the Control room, fresh and soggy from a hastily abandoned shower, towel hanging limply around her shoulders, eyes trained firmly on the open gate below her.

A male technician swivelled in his chair, glasses sitting wonky on the bridge of his proud nose, as he regarded the head of the Atlantis operation with watery, tired eyes.

"It's Major Sheppard's I.D.C."

Weir ran a shaky hand through the curls still cloying damply on her glistening forehead.

"They've only been gone a few hours."

From the crackle of a radio stationed close by, Major John Sheppard's voice popped and buzzed over the weak line. Urgent. Strong.

"Atlantis, this is Sheppard. We're coming in hot."

Immediately, Weir waved her hand to the technician.

"Lower the shield."

The patter of buttons being pressed hid the sound of her bare footsteps as she made her way over to the balcony overlooking the Stargate. The metal railing was cold and sleek in her palm. Quite like a gun would be, she thought. For this is what it was. Every order she gave, every direction and edict was a bullet fired. A possible life lost in friendly fire.

Her shoulders had never felt so heavy.

As if Atlantis was a nest of wasps shaken furiously, more Marines flooded the enclosure of the gate with a buzz and a drone, braced and bolted, crouched, hearts pounding, fingers itching on triggers. The shield fell.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve…

An energy blast of hot green light burst through the stargate. A few marines dived, rolling left and right, as the blast found its mark on a pillar of the room behind them, scorching the bronze metal in a streak and star of blackened char. Another blast.

Another.

Then, thank all, Major John Sheppard came flying out the Stargate, gun high, bullets firing, as he was followed by Lieutenant Aiden Ford, firing just as feverishly as Sheppard, Doctor Rodney McKay, huffing and flushed from an ardent run, and Teyla Emmagan, lithely skidding on her knees, rolling underneath a blast that followed her through.

"Raise the shield!"

Weir thundered, but it was too late. One last shot got through the gate, striking McKay squarely in the face. He cried out, he folded, like a stack of cards under a harsh breeze, and bedlam broke out.

"McKay!"

Sheppard cried as he and Ford lunged for McKay's wilted form, rolling the unconscious man onto his back just as Weir snatched the radio from her belt hoop and flipped the switch.

"Medical team to the Gateroom!"

All Weir could do was stare down, wide-eyed, as Sheppard pressed his fingers against the juncture of McKay's neck. She could only breathe when she saw Sheppard's shoulders sag in relief, as his gaze drifted to her own from across the long room.

"I've got a pulse!"

The Stargate closed with a burst.

John Sheppard's P.O.V

It didn't take long for McKay to woke up in the stiff, starched bed in the infirmary. He looked a little odd, laying so floppily, mouth somewhat ajar. Like a puppet with their strings cut.

Better a puppet than dead.

Carson Beckett, their doctor, immediately jumped into action, checking pulse, flashing a torch into his eyes to watch the pupils dilate, as Sheppard hung back.

"How you feelin'?"

He asked. Sheppard would never tell McKay how fast his heart had fallen in his chest back there, watching as he dropped, crumpled. Sheppard's pride wouldn't let him, and he was sure McKay's arrogance, if he ever did let on, would never let him live it down.

So here he stood at his bedside, effortless, thumb threaded through belt loop, grinning down to a McKay who was flagging his jaw in an effort to speak, acting as if there wasn't a care to be had.

The truth was, there was everything to worry about.

"I ca' fee' anythi... I ... I ca' talk!"

Sheppard chuckled.

"You can't talk either."

McKay scowled at him, or Sheppard supposed that wobble at his slack brows was supposed to be a scowl.

"'at's wha' I said!"

Beckett finally pulled back, plucking up McKay's medical chart to jot down some notes.

"Your body experienced a full overload to its sensory and motor nervous system."

McKay blinked at him.

"Wha'?"

Inching in closer to the bed, now that the dread and adrenaline was slowly rinsing away from his overtaxed system and the possibility of having to watch another man under him die was looking unlikely, Sheppard made an offhanded gesture to his face.

"You took one of those Wraith stunners right to the face."

Beckett lit up like a Christmas tree, fleetingly forgetting about the chart in his hands as he gestured excitedly, spinning to face Sheppard head on. The doctor had been the same since Sheppard had first met him in the Gateroom of SG1, what felt like a lifetime ago, though it had only been four and a half months.

When there was something new to discover and explore, Beckett was there like a dog with a bone, drooling with anticipation and their tail wagging a mile a minute.

"It's really quite fascinating, actually. The Wraith weapon impedes the firing of neurons that enable the necessary-"

McKay, however, was not interested in the scientific angle of his sudden listlessness, as he abruptly cut the good doctor off with a hysterical howl.

"A' I paraly'ed?"

Beckett shook his head.

"The paralysis is only temporary. Don't worry, Dr McKay. You'll be up and about in no time."

Beckett tilted close to Sheppard, voice dropping.

"Bloody good thing that Wraith weapon is only designed to incapacitate or he'd be dead."

"Wha'? Wha' di' you ju' say? Dea'? I' be Dea?!"

Beckett chuckled and strolled away to his desk, shuffling the towering stack of papers piled crookedly on the corner. Sheppard winced at the sight. Nearly five months here, and almost all Stargate Atlantis personal had been, at least once, in the very same position McKay currently was.

A drop of luck on the right side of dead.

Beckett was likely the busiest individual on this mission.

It was only getting worse.

Lately, there wasn't a single off world exploration that did or had not ended much like this one. In a hailstorm of Wraith fire, and a person clinging to life in the infirmary. One day, one day too soon Sheppard thought, that drop of luck was going to run dry. Sheppard only hoped, as selfish and heartless as it could be taken as, it wasn't one of his team to pay that price first.

The infirmary door opened with a click. Doctor Weir's head popped through the crack, her keen gaze sliding to Sheppard instantly.

"Major? Could I see you for a second?"

Sheppard gave one last peek down to McKay, watching as his chest rose and fell steadily. He was alive. It was okay. Everything was fine. He wasn't a withered husk, bled and fed and-… With a cocky slant of the brow, Sheppard winked and began walking to the door. He could hear the bedsheets ruffle behind him, as if McKay was attempting to follow.

He wouldn't get far.

Not with those jellied legs.

"'allo? 'allo?!"

The doors closing muted McKay's indignant voice.

The first warning sign that Weir was on edge, and this, subsequently, wasn't a friendly catchup, was the speedy pace she set for them both as they marched through the winding and snaking corridors of Atlantis. When something troubled Doctor Weir, Sheppard had found, she was never still. Pacing, marching, trudging on.

In the last month, Sheppard wasn't sure he had seen her in a seat once.

"He's going be fine."

He said in the ensuing silence, unsure whether he was really speaking to Weir or himself. What fine exactly was, he was similarly uncertain. Sure, McKay may survive this latest brush with the Wraith… But what about the next?

And the next?

And the next?

Because every time they turned a fucking corner, it seemed, there they were, the Wraith, waiting. If not McKay, who else? Teyla? Ford? Fuck… Weir?

No.

No one else was going to die on his watch.

Weir stared dead ahead as she spoke, steel lurking beneath the silk of her voice.

"I've heard. I want know what happened out there."

Sheppard scoffed.

"The same old thing."

He didn't need to see her face to know she was frowning.

That was all everyone was doing lately.

Frowning and dying.

"Which makes it the fifth time your team's encountered the Wraith out of how many missions?"

She stated as she came to a stop near the stairs leading to the Control room, one foot perched on the ascent. Sheppard halted behind her, shoving his hands into the pockets of his combats.

"Nine."

Weir finally faced him, sombre, as her head slanted, forcing him to give voice to the thoughts he didn't want to consider. For, if he considered them, really thought about all this, there was only one ending.

An ending no one wanted to see coming.

They knew everyone here.

Most were friends now. Survival did that. Created bonds and kinship and affinity.

To think one of them, perhaps one close to Sheppard himself, could… Could…

"So probably not a coincidence."

Weir chuckled.

It wasn't a pleasant noise.

Harsh. Dry. Dead.

Sheppard stared and wished she wouldn't say it. Anything but that. Don't. Don't Don't.

Of course, she did.

"I think it's pretty damn obvious now. We've got a spy in Atlantis."

Really, there was no other explanation, and, Sheppard knew, there would be nothing more painful.

Someone had betrayed them to the Wraith.

This really fucking sucked.

Pun intended.

Sheppard's P.O.V

The conference room in Atlantis was always the best lit place. Most of the Ancient structure was lit with dim, cold light, that left the humans with strained eyes. Not here, though. Here, around the circular table, facing off amongst the heads of departments and crème of the crop, the light was fierce and bright.

It left no room for secrets entombed in the dark.

It also emphasized McKay's sock clad foot, hooked onto the table, as he massaged his sole with grunts and groans. Sheppard visible cringed.

He thought he could smell cheese.

"Could you please not do that here?"

McKay's fingers halted, before they went back to work with vigour. Brainiac was likely taunting him.

"My foot is still numb, if you'll excuse me."

"Well at least your mouth still works fine."

McKay glared at the goad, foot peeling off the table to slap down, as he opened his mouth to retort.

The doors to the conference room opened, cutting off whatever long-winded response he had. Almost certainly filled with anecdotes of how massage was scientifically proven to aid the nervous system in such circumstances and he, Sheppard, would of course know that if he had bothered to finish high school, McKay had been brewing in that quick mind of his.

Weir came in heading the small group, dressed impeccably in her duty uniform, followed close by Sergeant Bates, in full military regalia, gun included, a person who was rapidly becoming a thorn in Sheppard's side, trailed by one of Sheppard's own teammates, Ford.

They weren't alone.

Two women breezed into the room before the doors resolutely shut behind them.

Sheppard knew the first young woman. Short, with hair always on the wrong side of chaotic, her inquisitive brown eyes glanced about the place with practiced, curious ease. The kind of gaze that didn't miss a single damned thing. He had seen her in the infirmary most nights, flicking through paperwork, picking up where Beckett left off, trying to ease the workload dumped on the doctor.

Hermione Jean Granger.

The second, however, was someone Sheppard had never, personally, seen before. She was a tall thing, lithe too, a good head and shoulders above his own height. Nimble and... Yes, a little daunting. There was something cat-like-

Predatory, in the sleekness of her face, in the angle of her jaw and cheeks, skulking in the arch of her brows and slanting swoop of her eye. Eyes an eery green that, when Sheppard blinked, reminded him of Wraith fire.

There was something else too, something more than the black tresses and carven face and eyes the hue of peril, something in the way she moved as she walked, a molten grace, a calm confidence, but…

Danger.

Sheppard saw her, and immediately the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

It didn't make sense, of course. She looked young, as young as her companion, sixteen, seventeen, too young to be here of all places. And she didn't even come close, as her friend, Hermione, came ambling towards the table to take a seat with Weir, Ford and Sergeant Bates.

She stuck to the door, right by the wall, removed and separated, and-

In the only shadows of the room.

Silent.

Watching.

He also knew what they were.

Witches.

Or, as muggles had come to call them, the few that knew of their existence, Atomans. Short for Atomic Manipulators. Factions of humans who had mutated the Ancient gene into something completely… Other. No one, currently, knew why this mutation had taken place, how only some humans were susceptible to it, but it had.

And here they were.

Real life, flesh and blood Atomans.

You could pull them out of the crowd in Atlantis by their flag embroidered into their arm sleeve, like everyone else, the only difference being the overlaid red stitched pentacle sewn over the top. A blaring sign, or warning, of their status.

Only a handful had been allowed to operate in the SGC, as a bridge to better communication and relations between the two who inhabited the same planet, and only these two, standing before Sheppard, had been allowed onto the Stargate Atlantis mission.

Just two.

That's all you'll need, the Atomans had told them when the SGC had requested more.

No doubt, these two had been chosen because the shorter one, Granger, was Carson Beckett's niece. They kept to themselves. Quiet. Reclusive. They never visited the mess hall, their own sleeping quarters were separated into another pylon, and who knew what they actually did here, apart from the few times Sheppard had caught Granger assisting her uncle.

By the records kept in the Control room, neither had ever taken a Gate trip before, and until this day, Sheppard had only ever heard people whisper about the second one, so much so, he had begun to think she was imaginary.

Did you see the tall one? I caught her lifting in the gym… Absolute beast. How old are they? They can't be older than twenty, surely? What do they even do? I bumped into that tall one, you know… She growled at me. I nearly shit my pants!

They were only allowed this estrangement because of their status, separate under their own magical government, they had been given self-governance while in Atlantis, and were only under direct command of Weir when in emergency conditions.

If they were here right now, in this room, it meant either shit was hitting the fan, really and truly going to hell if nothing before this day had dragged them out of their holes, or the Atomans, who had previously been so diligent in isolating themselves from everyone else, wanted something.

Neither boded well for Sheppard's sanity.

"Alright, let's get started."

Ford frowned at Weir.

"Shouldn't we wait for Teyla?"

Weir swallowed, a bob in her throat, a delay. She cut a glance Sheppard's way, before she directed her gaze back to Ford. Oh, Sheppard was not going to enjoy this.

"Teyla wasn't invited."

Sheppard bit his tongue, counted back from five.

"She's a member of my team."

Bates, of course, found this the perfect time to butt in.

"She's also an Athosian, sir."

They better not be saying what Sheppard thought they were saying.

"So?"

His cool exterior cracked a little, broke like glass on concrete, as he barked back. Teyla had been on countless mission with them-

With him. Not only did Sheppard know her, been through things Bates could never imagine with the woman, she was his friend.

If Sheppard was one thing and one thing only, it was loyal.

Bates lip curled, and underneath the table, Sheppard's hand fisted.

"If we've been compromised, and every indication suggests that we have, it's almost certain that one of them is responsible."

Sheppard chuckled.

"We're talking about Teyla."

Weir edged in.

"I don't like it either, Major ..."

"Good, then get her on in here."

With a pointed look shot at him, more than hinting at her annoyance at his stubbornness, Weir meticulously carried on as if he had never spoken.

"... but the safety of this base and its personnel are my main concern right now, as it should be yours. The Wraith have shown up on five of the last nine planets your team has visited, and given the fact that two of those worlds were unpopulated, we can pretty much assume that they have been alerted to your missions by someone on this base."

But alerted by Teyla? Surely, she wouldn't out her own team to the Wraiths, especially when she was with them. It was redundant. Teyla had nearly died as much as the rest of them, perhaps more so, and while Bates would likely say that was a ploy of some kind to gain trust, how she miraculously survived in some cases being point and proof, in the end, neither he or Weir had been there.

They did not see how hard Teyla fought the Wraith.

They did not hear the distaste in her voice at the mere mention of them.

They had not seen first-hand, as Sheppard had, the first time he had met the Athosians planet-side, how much they had struggled to survive because of the Wraith.

The pain.

The fear.

Sheppard was sure, as sure as he could be of anything, that Teyla would first die before ever aiding the Wraith in any form, shape, or colour.

"If someone on this base was communicating with the Wraiths, then why hasn't Atlantis been attacked?"

Sheppard gestured to McKay with a careless sweep of his hand.

"Good point."

Bates, naturally, was not having any of it. In all honesty, he had been having none of anything concerning Sheppard since the death of his head officer, Colonel Marshall Sumner. Certainly, he blamed Sheppard for his death at the hands of the Wraith Queen when they first came to Atlantis and, foolishly, inadvertently, dreadfully stumbled across the Wraith and woke them from hibernation.

If his nightmares were anything to go by, Sheppard sure as hell blamed himself too.

The way the hand had slammed into his chest, the sound of a starving growl, the delight-

"Maybe we should just stop using the Stargate indefinitely."

Sheppard shook his head. He needed to think clearly.

"We can't do that."

Bates crossed his arms over his chest. Petulant.

"Why not?"

God, was he talking to a child?

"Because we need to power this place."

Bates sneered.

"They seem to be running fine right now."

5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Calm. He was calm. As calm as the sea outside. He wouldn't shout. He wouldn't beat Sergeant Bates. And he absolutely wouldn't drown him in the very sea that he, Sheppard, was definitely as calm as. By how taut his voice had become, Sheppard's calming techniques were not working.

"OK, when the Wraith do show up, and they will, how do we defend ourselves?"

McKay, in spite of their habitually antagonistic and turbulent relationship, did as he always did when Sheppard was being driven into a corner; backed him up.

"Or, for that matter, how do we get back to Earth, huh?"

Weir sighed deeply.

"This is the only Stargate in the Pegasus galaxy that can even reach Earth, and if it comes to that, we're going to have to use the self-destruct before the Wraith take the city."

With a triumphant smile, Sheppard eyed Bates.

"Bottom line: we need to use the Gate."

Obviously, Bates brought it all right back around to a full circle.

"Then we've got to find out who's responsible A.S.A.P. I suggest we start by confining all non-base personnel to the south side of the complex."

Sheppard spluttered.

"Are you kidding?!"

Confinement?

Confinement was his grand answer? Not only did it show Bates's lack of experience in leadership, it also revealed a complete disregard for those around him. Confinement, of any sort, in this high-tension environment, where suspicion, on both sides, were being flung from wall to wall, would only lead to revolts.

And that's the last thing they needed right now.

A war with the Wraith every time they stepped through the Gate, and a fuckin' civil war every time they came home.

If he didn't know better, know how much Bates despised the Wraith himself, Sheppard would say he was working for them with that brilliant brain child of his.

They would be easy pickings if they didn't get their shit together and started acting as one.

"That's the absolute minimum we should do. If Colonel Sumner was still here-"

Sheppard was out of his chair, tilting over the table, eye to eye with Bates.

"He's not!"

Their gazes locked. Lingered. Battling.

Sheppard could not do his job, a job that had lives depending on it, lives in this very room, if every choice he made, every word he gave, every left step he took, was disparaged and condemned by someone who was meant to be following his lead.

Discourse sowed discourse, and at the moment, with how things were becoming on Atlantis, full of suspicion and mistrust and cynicism, a powder keg ready to blow at the tiniest spark, they did not need their heads of department going for each other's throats.

"I am."

Bates paused… And gave in.

"Yes, sir."

Sheppard knew enough to know this wasn't over. Not completely. Bates, as he always did, had more to say, though he halted his tongue.

He also knew the twinging in his temples was a sign of a massive migraine.

Brilliant.

Fuckin' brilliant.

"We're not going to start treating anyone like prisoners."

Weir asserted as Sheppard retook his seat.

"Well, that's good."

Sheppard replied, because if they did, if this, something as magnificent as exploring a whole other galaxy, turned out to be them oppressing the natives, natives who had helped them time and time again against the sake of themselves, they would have to imprison Sheppard too, otherwise he would be the one leading the revolt.

"That said, steps should be taken to safeguard the more sensitive areas of this facility. It's only reasonable."

Bates nodded.

"I recommend no-go zones starting with Stargate Operations, the labs, power generation and the Jumper Bay."

Weir homed in on the Sergeant.

"I'd like to meet with every Athosian on this base. I mean, they've been here three months and I only know a handful of them by name."

Of course they were skittish, Sheppard thought. The only other alien race the Athosians had previous contact with were the Wraith during culls. No one, really, could blame them for their hesitancy.

Bates, evidently, could.

"I could start setting up interviews as soon as we're done here."

Weir jotted something down in her notebook.

"In the meantime, all Gate travel is suspended until further notice. When you have finished scheduling the interviews, send them to Harriet Potter."

Sheppard frowned. Who?

"Potter? Who the hell is Potter?"

Sheppard almost jumped when the shorter girl, sitting next to Ford, folder smartly positioned in front of her, a mountain of colour coded pens at its side, coughed delicately into a fist. Straightening in her seat, as if she was going to give an acceptance speech for the Nobel peace prize, all smiles and twinkling eyes, she scanned those in the room.

"I'm Hermione Granger, and that one there, lurking in the shadows which I told her not to do because it puts people on edge, is Potter. Harriet Potter."

McKay actually laughed.

"And why exactly are we sending possible spies to you? No offence, but I'm sure a marine or a specialized interrogator would be more efficient than a girl who-"

She prowled out of the shadows into the room, coming to a steadfast stand beside Granger. Sheppard could see her properly now.

You could always tell the scientists from the military with a single glance, Sheppard thought. Granger, like McKay and Beckett, was dressed primly, starched white shirt, pressed slacks, shiny Mary-Janes, and a severe bun.

Office and lab work, far from combat.

Potter, however, appeared less welcoming. She, like Granger, wore the standard Atlantis Jacket, but the suit underneath it was nothing less than armour. Black, leather looking from far away, close though, in the light, Sheppard could see it was not leather and hewn from some sort of scaled hide, as dark as her hair. The sleeves were long, melting into the pair of matching gloves as the trousers faded into thick boot, with a tight high mandarin collar that wrapped around her neck.

The only skin on show was her face.

The knobbed sticks lining her left hip, five in total, nestled against something that glinted.

A dagger.

Undeniably not administrative or laboratory work.

"I… specialize in occlumency and legilimency. If there's a secret to be found, I'm the one to find it."

Her voice was not what Sheppard had been expecting. English accent thick, yes, as with Granger, but all lightness, youth and cheeriness vanished. Replaced by smoke and bark and waterfall mist.

A forest at midnight.

A bit like a Wraith, in truth, if they did not speak in that horrendous dual tone.

McKay scoffed.

"Occlu-what-now? Sight? What does that have anything to do with interrogation or-"

There was a twitch on her face, a slight curl of her lip, one Granger, as he did, caught as she softly, but swiftly, cut in.

"Harry's a telepath. The strongest my kind has ever known, and definitely stronger than any your kind has come across. She's right. If anyone is hiding anything, anything at all, Harry is the one to find it."

Harry chuckled, deep, rumbling, partway laughter, halfway growl.

"And, Dr Meredith, it's extremely rude to be thinking of what size bra a person wears. Particularly a six-foot-two, not an eight-foot woman who can, as you are currently thinking, snap your neck before you can blink."

McKay's face turned a violent pink, blistering down his neck in scalding red blotches. Sheppard couldn't help himself. He laughed.

Laughed for the first time in what felt like years.

"I like you. However, if you're a telepath, why have we not been using you before now? It would have been helpful to have a mind-reader out there on the field. You could have saved us a lot of trouble."

At his reasonable question, Harry, as Granger called her, seemed to fold in on herself.

"I… I have difficulty… I…"

Granger was out of her seat, laying a calming hand on the taller woman's shoulder. It was almost funny how high she had to reach.

Almost.

"Harry has trouble around muggles, your kind. She's been isolated most of her life. My kind knows how to instinctively close their mind. At least partially. Muggles don't. Not in the slightest. There's a lot of people here, Major. A lot of thoughts and feelings. It's taken her a while to get… Grounded. She also suffers with… digestion complications. Issues that need strict and constant observation and regulation under complete quarantine. It's why we've separated ourselves for so long. She's better now, though. Well enough to begin integrating."

Sheppard cocked a brow at Harry.

"Cheesecake don't agree with you?

Her answering smile was positively keen and slick.

"My food never seems to stop complaining."

There was a joke there, to be sure, loitering between her words. A joke Sheppard couldn't fully grasp, but sent Granger into a sullen nightmare that ended up clipping Harry on the shoulder, scowling.

She only chuckled in return.

Sheppard had the impression she was laughing because no one else was, because no one else could see the gag, because, somehow, someway, that made it all the more hilarious.

He found himself grinning along.

The girl had spunk, and Sheppard liked spunk, and by the sticks at her hip, wands the Atomans called them, that dagger, and the six-foot-two aura of don't-mess-with-me-or-else, and, certainly, the little matter of having a fuckin' telepath on side, the room seemed brighter for her presence.

Things were looking up.

She winked at him.

Oh… Telepath, yes. That was going to get some getting used to.

Welcome aboard this train wreck. If you can, please don't kill McKay. He means well, even if he constantly puts his foot in his mouth.

"No wonder his breath stinks like week old socks. I make no promises, but I'll try. He does turn a delightful shade of red."

The rest of the room seemed bewildered by her sudden switch, semi-heard conversation. Sheppard simply beamed.

She really was a telepath.

This was fuckin' cool.

"Not as cool as you think. Dr Weir, I'm feeling rather… Tired. I think I should head back to my rooms until the interviews can take place."

Weir washed off the confusion on her face with the practiced ease of a politician, replacing it with a warm smile.

"Go ahead. I'll call you in when the time comes."

One Day Later…

Elizabeth Weir's P.O.V

"Come in!"

Elizabeth shouted to the beeping at her office door without a glance up, as she was hunched over her computer, sleep bruising purple under her eyes. Five more files, and then she would head to bed.

She would.

She didn't think she had another all-nighter in her.

Not the third in a row.

The door whizzed open.

Their footsteps were silent.

Weir peered up and startled at the person already standing at the edge of her desk.

Harriet Potter stared down at her unflinchingly.

Maybe Weir should make a new rule about wearing bells…

"That was quick. I was not expecting to see you for another week."

Weir said as she placed down her electronic pen, giving the woman in front of her her undivided attention. Harriet finally looked away, down to her tidy desk, idly picking up the little meditating statue of an Athosian Elizabeth kept on her desk. A gift from one of the natives.

She brushed a leather clad thumb over the tiny stone face.

"Muggle's are extremely easy to read. No matter what trinkets and knickknacks they try to surround themselves with, their thoughts always give them away. Voices crying into the void to be heard and appreciated…"

Inexplicably, Weir felt as if Harriet was discussing herself, encircled in the anarchy of the Pegasus galaxy with little pensive sculptures, calming watercolours, and soothing light. All of which did nothing for her escalating anxiety, fear and, God, how very tired she was.

Her mask didn't work here.

And that was a problem.

Weir needed to be seen as in control. Steady. Cool. If she didn't, what hope did she have of others feeling the same? It was her job to lead by example. It also made her exceptionally uneasy. How easy it was for this woman, who Weir had only had momentary interaction with on the first day before they set out for the Pegasus and she was put in isolation to adjust to the muggles, that she could so effortlessly strip that well practiced mask away with a mere glance.

Before Weir could answer, perhaps demand she not dig into her mind as she did everyone else even if it was as natural to her as breathing, possibly to tell her to leave right now and never come back, and maybe, just maybe, desperately ask for advice so she could have just one night of unbroken sleep, Harry was smiling, easy breezy and full of charm.

Her cheeks were flushed lightly, dimples prominent, and Weir thought she looked healthier than in the Conference room. In fact, she had not realized, until she saw Harriet standing here, how… Gaunt she had appeared back there.

Gaunt and Haggard.

She must have found something feasible to eat for that dietary problem Granger had mentioned.

Good.

Over the next few weeks, perhaps months, Weir was sure she could use all the help she could get by having a Telepath on hand, healthy and in full faculties, would do wonders.

"They're clean."

Weir took the offer for what it was, an elegant detour of her anxieties she was not ready to face, and straightened in her seat.

At least Harriet Potter seemed, even if she could not help ploughing into peoples private thoughts, feelings and psyches, to have some subtlety and tact, and not flaunt it in their faces.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. It, as with the rest of the dusky spectre of keen slants and angles that rendered her, was sharp. A single tilt up and down. Done.

Blunt.

As keen, quick and candid as Harriet, herself, was turning out to be.

Weir could, in this whole ungodly mess, appreciate that.

Maybe she would actually get some work done with Harry on side.

"If the Athosians are spying, they are not doing it consciously. Neither is there a hidden directive implanted in their minds. I dug deep, there is nothing. They're clean."

Well… Damn. If it was not an Athosian, there was only one other alternative.

Somebody from the SGA.

Her stomach roiled at the sheer thought of it.

Weir knew every single face on her personnel roster, could name them all, had chatted to all of them…

"Thank you, Miss Potter."

Harriet lingered by her desk.

"Dr. Weir… If I could give you some advice?"

Weir was not arrogant enough to dismiss any suggestion given by someone who had, within a day, less than sixteen hours, analysed the minds of the Athosians who, compared to the SGA, outnumbered her men six to one. At her nod, the woman carried on.

"You've alienated them. They're planning on leaving to find new land. They feel… Constricted and distrusted by the recent turn of events. They haven't formed a coherent plan yet, neither have they organised themselves, but they all are thinking of leaving one way or another."

Weir's gaze drifted to the tiny introspective figurines lining her desk. Alienating the Athosians had never been what Weir had wanted. They were a loving bunch, welcoming and warm, and here, lost in the Pegasus galaxy, Weir and her people needed all the allies they could get.

Perhaps, in the light of thinking they had been betrayed, how fast her gaze had turned to the Athosians as culprits, was a slight they could not ignore.

A snub, if the boot was on the other foot, Weir would certainly not disregard.

How did it all come to this?

The Wraith.

That was how.

Even when they weren't present, they still divided and conquered.

Turned brother against brother.

Weir didn't think there was anything, in her entire life, she had loathed more than the Wraith.

"My advice is, when they go, for it is when… Let them. You will have a bigger problem in trying to force them into staying, even if you think it is in their best interest."

Weir hummed her agreement.

"Thank you. Is that all?"

Harry pressed in closer, voice dropping low.

"Yes. That thought just now… Wraith. You thought of the Wraith. I keep hearing it. Wraith. Wraith. Wraith. Everywhere. Everyone. I saw something… In a few minds… A shadow. I couldn't get a good grip on the image. Fear has made it slippery to hold. However, I know what being hunted feels like. I know what loss feels like. The name… Wraith, it was interwoven with these memories. So tight I couldn't pick apart one from the other. With your memories too. Wraith. What are they?"

Of course she wouldn't know.

Harriet had been segregated off since she had first stepped through the Gate beside Hermione Granger. Stashed away to adjust slowly but surely to the bombardment of muggle thought. It was one of the rules, amongst four, the wizarding Government had given SGC upon having, arguably, one of their best soldiers on the Atlantis mission.

One; Harriet Potter was, under no circumstances, to be disturbed prior to her acclimating to being around so many muggles at once.

Two: Harriet Potter was, under no circumstances, to be left alone, without Granger, with muggles.

Three: Harriet Potter was, under no circumstances, to be forced to drop her glamours. Whatever a Glamour was, Weir thought.

Four; and perhaps the strangest yet: Never, not once, grab Harriet by the hand. Do not touch them. Do not take her gloves off. Do not, no matter the situation, hold or shake or venture near her gloved hands.

For having a telepath capable of magic on their side, one as highly regarded as Harriet Potter was in her world despite her young age, the rules, no matter how strange they appeared, were too easy to overlook as the SGC had scrambled to say yes to them.

So easy to overlook Weir had forgotten rule number two. Weir had Granger assisting her uncle in the infirmary yesterday… Yesterday while Harriet Potter had been interviewing, alone, the Athosians…

Weir scoffed at herself.

What harm had it caused?

The infirmary records, for the first time in months, were up to date, and now they new exactly where to look for the spy. Additionally, Harriet Potter seemed all the better for some alone time. Healthier than she looked yesterday, so Weir must have done something right.

"The Wraith are-"

The door buzzed once more as Bates came peeping in.

"Sir, you told me to inform you when SGA-1 are readying for departure. They're gearing up now. They should be in the Gateroom within the hour."

Weir stood from her desk.

"Right, yes, of course… Harriet, how do you feel about a little bit of travel?"

After all, rule two was broken once, a second time wouldn't do much more damage.

The woman grinned at her.

"I think that sounds wonderful."

Sheppard's P.O.V

Sheppard, McKay, Ford, and Teyla, shadowed by a quartet of jittery scientists, marched into the Gateroom, checking guns, rations, medi-packs and equipment. It was expected to be a routine, run-of-the-mill mission, some agronomic examinations of a local planets soil to test for fertility for farming, but when the Stargate was involved nothing could be taken as intended.

Sheppard wasn't going to be caught with his pants down if a Wraith raid came hurtling their way.

Weir was already waiting for them by the Gate to give the big send off.

Teyla doggedly strode past her.

This would be the first mission Teyla was allowed on since the accusation of espionage had been levelled at her people.

At herself.

She had, naturally, taken it hard.

Weir seemed to understand by the sad smile she shot at her retreating back, though she did nothing to stop her.

"Anxious to step through the Gate again, Major?"

Sheppard double checked the clip in his gone. Loaded. It wouldn't kill a Wraith, but it sure as hell would slow one down, enough for Sheppard, or his team, to run for it.

The click of the clip sliding back in echoed around them.

"Yes, I am."

Teyla spoke up by a cache of wires and camera's the scientists had assured them were completely necessary. Sheppard wasn't buying it. He spotted all the selfies lining their offices. Yet, who was he to prevent any shred of happiness one could find in this dark place?

"We all are."

Slipping the gun back in its holster by his ribs, Sheppard regarded Weir with a smile.

"Would you like us to bring back anything special?"

Weir shook her head.

"Uh, no thanks. However, you can take an extra set of eyes."

Please, by any god that was listening, don't let her be talking about Bates.

Scientists, no matter the danger, had the tendency to wander off. He would have enough trouble keeping track of the four under his command, let alone arguing with Bates about where to station who for tactical advantage of a possible attack.

"What?"

Weir stepped aside, and finally, Sheppard could see who stood behind her, right by the Gate, a few feet away, waiting.

Sheppard grinned.

"Coming out for a jaunty walk under the sun? You are looking a little pasty. Or is that a British thing?"

Harriet's chuckle carried over the din of the Gateroom. The back of Sheppard's neck prickled.

He wasn't sure whether the sound made him want to irrationally run away, or whether he liked it and the sudden shot of adrenaline it gave.

Perhaps a bit of both.

"Weir said with the trouble you're normally getting in, it might be best to have the local mind-reader trail you, now that I've been lifted from quarantine permanently. Plus, having a wand at your side is always a plus, isn't it?"

Sheppard zipped up his jacket.

Maybe, just maybe, he was only cold.

"No more sick stomach?"

Harriet carelessly shrugged.

Even that, something normally so awkward on everybody else, seemed gracefully fluid when done by her.

"I'm not currently… Hungry. It shouldn't be a problem."

Sheppard chuckled as he ambled close to the wormhole, skirting to the side along with Harriet to escape the blast zone, ramming his hands deep into his pockets.

"Well, let's just hope the Wraith aren't hungry either."

That got her attention.

Her head cocked, green eyes eager and curious, bolted onto him.

Sheppard nearly squirmed under the scorching stare.

Nearly, but didn't.

Thank god.

"Wraith? I keep hearing this name. What are these Wraith?"

McKay, who had been fixing up the communication devices a few steps away, blustered indignantly.

"How can you possibly not know what the Wraith are? We've been here five months and they're everywhere here!"

The glare she shot him, astonishingly, shut the doctor up.

Sheppard would have to ask how she had done that.

Maybe ask if she could teach it to him too.

"I've been locked in a bloody room for five months while Hermione has run every possible test on me to stop me from eating y-… From eating things I shouldn't eat. What part of complete quarantine is hard to understand? I know you think you're smart, but please, Doc, keep up."

She likely didn't have access to the countless reports of the Wraith while in quarantine, hooked up to who-knows-what while Granger ran her tests. Moreover, while she was ill, or 'grounding' herself as Hermione called it, informing her there was a subversive race right outside their door, with mouths on their hands, preparing to devour every single one of them, expectedly was counterproductive to healing and kept away until she was back on her feet.

Having a telepath, stable and in control, at their side seemed to be the prerogative rather than barraging said telepath with things she could not change.

Sheppard went to clap her on the back.

She dodged before his hand hit home.

A blink and she was over the other side of him.

His neck twanged with how fast it snapped to face her.

Okay… Touch was apparently a no go, but that speed would come in handy.

His hand dropped to his side as the Stargate began turning, activating.

"I'll fill you in when we're back. Let's just say their mean and green. Come on then people, let's move out!"

Teyla was the first to move, smiling politely at Harriet as she passed and jumped through-

Went to pass.

She stalled.

Her smile sank.

Something murky and bleak and awful, a ghost, darted across her gaze.

"Teyla, you alright there?"

Sheppard cautiously asked, but whatever it was that had frozen Teyla to the spot snapped like a rubber band and she laughed.

Sheppard sensed it was more nervous than happy.

"Yes, yes. Sorry. I thought I saw… Nothing. It was nothing."

She grinned again at Harriet, but there was a stiffness to it. Rigid and brittle like stone. From the corner of his eye, Sheppard saw Harriet smile back, warm and welcoming and utterly wolfish.

Teyla strode through the Gate, promptly followed by McKay and the scientists.

"I know it can be a little frightening, but Gate travel is safe and its only cold for a little-"

She didn't need his reassurance as she, without any preamble, dived right in.

Sheppard chuckled and followed her.

The Gate whooshed closed.

Three Hours Later…

Sheppard's P.O.V

Of course, the scientists got side-tracked. A set of old ruins were located around the Gate, and, according to them, they had to be investigated right now for when else would they get the chance?

Who knows what secrets they held!

Or so McKay claimed.

All Sheppard saw was moss and rocks.

So here they were, three hours into a supposed two-hour mission, having not even started on what they were meant to. Sheppard would give them half hour more before he demanded they get done.

Squinting down to his watch, he missed the flicker of movement behind him in the treeline nearby. Nevertheless, when he did look up, he did see Harriet, who had taken guard by a demolished pillar on the fringes of the temple, freeze.

Her eyes darted to the trees around them, following… Something.

"Harriet?"

She grunted then. Groaned in pain as hands shot up to cover her ears much like a child would when their parents argued. Sheppard knew that one personally. It didn't help as she growled, low and guttural. Even though she wasn't too far away, close enough for Sheppard to see the pupil in her eye balloon until nearly all the evergreen was consumed, and definitely close enough for her not to yell so loudly.

"Can't you hear all the voices!?"

She was practically screaming, though she was standing next to him.

Voices?

There were only nine people here, including herself, and she had seemed fine in the Gateroom, where even more people had been ambling around and-

"Fuck! Shit! Stop! Tell them to stop! I can't hear! I can't-"

Her knees gave out just as Sheppard rushed for her. He barely managed to grasp her elbow before she plummeted to the mud below them.

"I can't-… I-… Hungry! They're starving! I-… So fuckin' hungry!"

Her pupils were blown wide, gaping black holes, and, ultimately, the chips fell.

The voices.

Hunger.

Beckett had theorized the Wraith were telepathically linked into a hive mind. This… If Harriet, right now, was hearing a Wraith, then she wasn't just hearing that Wraith, but hearing the hive it was linked to…

Can't you hear all the voices!?

Beckett had been right.

Fuck!

Sheppard hauled the suddenly paralyzed telepath up, slinking her arm over his own, shouldering her prone form and wait, as he began to shout to those around him, urging them back to the gate.

"Wraith! Move out! We have Wraith incoming!"

She was mumbling something, lowly, fast, quicker than he was ever possible of catching.

Abandoning the equipment behind, the small group made it to the dais of the Stargate before the first Wraith showed their face, bursting out the trees, firing their stunners at the huddled cluster of humans.

"Start the Gate, now!"

Sheppard barked. Having heard the gunfire, Ford and Teyla, who had gone further afield to find supplies, buzzed through the walkie-talkie at his chest.

"Major, what's the situation?"

Ducking low to the ground to miss a blast, Sheppard hustled Harriet over so he could answer.

"Lieutenant, we're taking fire. You're going to have to circle round to get back to the Gate."

"Teyla's not with me. She went to-"

"Find her and get yourselves back."

The call cut off.

The gate stabilized.

"Move out!"

Sheppard hollered as he shot his own fire back, cover for the scientists scurrying through the wormhole.

His aim was lucky and one of the big guards went down, crashing to the ground.

He only realised his mistake after the fact.

The mistake that the Atoman currently blitzed in his grasp was, unfortunately, telepathically linked to the downed Wraith.

Hearing his dying thoughts.

Feeling his dying breathes.

Harriet violently jerked out his hold, growling and snarling and-

Suddenly, there was a hand around his throat, constricting, his feet were off the floor, dangling, and he was left breathless in the face of undiluted, pure rage.

Her free hand came up, fingers curled, leather creaking, looking like she was going to backhand his head clean off his shoulders or-

Or.

If she was a Wraith, Sheppard would say she unnervingly appeared as if she was seconds from feeding on him.

Another three Wraiths broke the treeline, stunners raised and ready.

They caught her attention.

Distracted, he was dropped as, thank all, Harriet seemed to come back to herself with a shattering blink.

A Wraith fired a shot.

It was targeted right at him, he could see it coming, a flash of green, bright, brilliant, brutal.

She stepped in front of him.

The shot hit, bounced, she stumbled and-

Stayed perfectly upright.

A stunner to the shoulder, and all she did was stagger.

"Stop!"

The Wraith charged.

"I said freeze!"

Sheppard went to pull her away, run, sprint, because, what the hell did she think-

The Wraith halted.

Stopped.

Completely still.

Guns lifted, mid-stride, frozen in time.

What the fuck was-

"Hurry up and get through the bloody gate! I can't hold 'em for much longer."

The scientists took their chance, plunging into the Stargate back to Atlantis.

McKay ducked around the stiff back of Harriet, glanced up to her face, intense, fevered in concentration, pupils still blown wide.

A trickle of blood escaped her nose, ran down her lip, dripping of her chin.

"How the hell are you doing-"

"Telepathic ties work both ways, but I'm not strong enough to hold them… Too many… Screaming… Can't… Run! Please!"

Sheppard took a step back, dragging McKay with him.

"I'm not leaving you behind to face-"

"I'll be right behind you. Just go!"

The Wraith came too just as Sheppard hauled McKay into his side, as they lept through the wormhole.

The gate closed.

They landed in a heap in the Gateroom, a skidding, flopping mess of limbs.

Sheppard glanced back to the gate.

Nothing.

She hadn't made it through.

Harriet's P.O.V

Her legs collapsed beneath her, knees unforgivingly hitting stone. Her mind was a jumbled tangle of thorns, thoughts like rushing rivers in a thousand directions, sights she weren't seeing, voices not her own.

Why was everything so loud?

She couldn't-

Those things in the woods, the ones coming for them-

Couldn't see them, not properly. Not with so many images running through her own mind at once, unsure what was hers and not the voices and-

Hands over ears.

Eyes scrunched tight.

Shut up!

Shut up!

Shut up!

Footsteps approaching, pounding on grass… Slowing… Slowing…

Humming.

She could hear humming over the madness of thoughts and pictures and-

Humming.

She hummed back.

She didn't know why, but she did.

She trilled.

Something-

Someone trilled back.

The song of the crickets, echoing, finding one another.

Follow the song.

Pick the thread back home.

Something soft on her cheek.

The cool rinse of her glamours falling-

Her eyes snapped open.

Right into another pair.

A pair that belonged to a face strangely like her own.

Her true face.

White hair cascading, green skin slick, recessive nose, ridged brow and keen eyed.

The Wraith…

They were-

They-

She was just like them.

He had his hand on her face, gentle.

He was humming to her.

She was humming back.

Thoughts?

A.N: Wraith are descended from the Iratus Bug, a type of insect, and a lot of insects on earth locate and find each other through songs, humming or other types of music they create. I always thought it would be cool if the Wraith showed more signs of being insectoid rather than just in their appearance and having a hive-mind, and thought this one would be good to add.

I also wanted to test out Sheppard before adding him to the pairing, to let you guys, as well as myself, get a feel for him. I hope you liked it, and let me know what you think!

Thank you for all the follows, favourites, and of course reviews. Sorry this update has taken so long, I really am the worst, but I'm steadily making my way through my fics, after a bit of a Hiatus, and updating. I hope this chapter made up for the wait and I really do hope you're looking forward to what comes next!

As always, if you have a spare moment, please drop a review, they keep the Wraiths humming lol