Author's Note:

Daughters of Hecate was started as long ago as that time J. Mallozzi talked of the abandoned ep 'Hexed' for Season 5. We were under the impression that it would have been a more comedic ep along the lines of the two Irrs. and that Mr Flanigan had expressed concerns therefore, that it wouldn't have been in keeping with the character of Sheppard. Whumpers all screamed to deaf ears: 'well, why not just write a serious one?' This, then, is my humble version of a more serious 'Hexed,' tied in with a Todd story.

Delayed for a number of reasons, the most major being months of writer's block, suddenly it seemed a shame to leave a 36,000 word story on my files unfinished, so I pushed at it to complete and here I am with just over 112,000. As usual, I intend to update regularly every other day or so.

As this is a post- season 5 story, there may be minor spoilers for all seasons but especially Vengeance, Season 3 - the one with Michael's iratus superbugs. There! Now my spoiler warning needs spoilers!

Reviews would be good. They'd give me incentive to finish other stories! I have 25,000 words of a sequel to 'Dead Man's Shoes' laying around somewhere...

Daughters of Hecate

Foreword

Legend has it that the Forfallen are invincible. Prophecies say they are not so invulnerable and one will come who will destroy them utterly. History says the Wraith have already done so thousands of years ago. Rumour has it, they live still...

Chapter One

"Yes, Master."

They are to travel to Forfallen. Illum to accompany his Wraith Lord.

"It is customary that the designation, 'Master,' is followed by a bow and… averted eyes," instructs his Wraith Lord, not with words that chide Illum's oversight but with words that are almost benign.

Illum considers the command. He has forgotten the expected courtesy, fallen away from memory as so many things. His right hand fidgets at his side and he glances down in its direction. Once, he is certain, he used his right hand to signify compliance with an order. Once, he raised his hand to his forehead. But never to… this Wraith. He is sure of that.

And he frowns, puzzled, as he bows his head slightly and looks down to the floor of the Hive ship where strange mists swirl at his feet, strange mists that imitate those that fog his coherent thought. It is easier to do this, to simply obey every command, than to question why he is to go with his Master, the two of them alone, to this planet. It is easier to do this than search for reason in his memory.

For there is no memory.

Only wisps of images, that sweep through his mind, beyond his grasp, meaningless, with their no-beginning and their no-ending.

"You should accustom yourself to the practice," says the Wraith, steely eyes watching Illum, as Illum looks up once more. "You are a Wraith follower, after all. It is more convincing." And the Wraith shakes his head, as if annoyed with himself for saying that.

But Illum cannot even remember what a Wraith follower is exactly. A servant? Then... he supposes he should be grateful for the clothes upon his back provided by his Master.

His name. Even that has been chosen for him.

And his life. He should be grateful for his life.

For he also supposes that the Wraith could take his life. That the Wraith has had the opportunity to do so and has not. Has spared Illum. For the Wraith is not Illum's kind. Illum is human. And though Illum has no memory of his personal history, how he has come to be here at this precise time, this precise location, it has taken little to figure out that the Wraith, judging from his appearances alone, could be a threat and he should be treated as any threat, with quiet respect.

And Illum should also be grateful for the enzyme. For the enzyme gives him strength, and he is sure of this too, that once he has been weak, so very weak and it is good to feel strong again.

"We are altering course and in two days we shall be at Forfallen." The Wraith strides from one data pad stand to another, concentrating on his work. And Illum sees his own face reflected, as a mirror, in the green glare of glass.

A stranger looks back at him.

Even his own voice is foreign to him.

A human around forty. Dark unruly hair with a touch of grey. A beard that does little to disguise his thick bulbous lips. A round face out of all proportion with his thin form. Florid skin, nearly swollen in appearance. His hand goes to his cheek.

How could he even forget his own face?

And he longs to remember. He so longs to remember that his heart aches. This ship, this ship with its dark cavernous chambers and corridors, with the rank stench from the stretched membranes that form walls and columns, this place is not home. Can never be home.

Home.

Where was home? Were there ever loved ones that knew this face as their own? A wife? Children? The Wraith has not told him. As if to spare him? A Wraith would be so... merciful?

The Wraith has said that Illum has come from the planet of Tierozn. A villager. He does wear the simple tunic of farmer. But he looks to his hands, certain they are not the hands that have worked the fields. And when his memory seems to surface, like some cumbrous driftwood briefly turning in a morning tide, that sinks to the depths once more, he does not see village huts, wood and thatch but a palace of diamonds, that glistens and sparkles as the sea. The picture in his mind is so brief, so fleeting it cannot even have been a dream.

Then... he also longs to escape?

Can he ever do so when the Wraith seems always to be so watchful? Even when Illum sleeps, he is certain that somehow the Wraith has the means to watch him.

"Until the time of our departure, I suggest you rest," says his Master.

Then... the Wraith is a good master to think of his servant.

Another Wraith works at another console further in the semi-darkness of the Hive control room. He snorts his disapproval and Illum's Master, snarling, glares back at his fellow Wraith. His Master is protecting Illum, even from other Wraith. And Illum cannot understand his position here. Cannot understand the nature of his employment. He doesn't feel like a servant though he has to say 'master' and bow to be... convincing. Convincing who? He is told to rest. Always to rest. He is not given duties but is instructed to go with his Master to Forfallen. There are no other Wraith followers on this ship. No others are given orders such as these. He is sure of that too.

Illum is unique.

"What is the purpose of travelling there?" he dares to ask. He has no past. And without this information he feels as if he has no future. Caught in this moment only. Forever and ever…

"You will know, you will know when we arrive." And his Master nods his head, confident that Illum would.

Illum is forced to accept this and walks slowly to the exit where he stops, hesitating.

"Master?" The word still does not come easy. Is still unfamiliar.

"Yes, Illum?"

"The enzyme?" He longs for more enzyme too. His mouth is dry. His skin itches and his gut longs for the enzyme. His palms are hot and sweaty. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, the flexing of muscles making the scab at the wound on his right wrist scrape at the thick band of leather that cover it.

He had been gravely injured once and his Master has healed him. Illum knows this though he cannot now recollect the details.

"The correct interval between doses has not yet passed," says the Wraith more firmly. "An excess is unhealthy for you. You will receive sufficient to regain your strength. No more. I made…" And the Wraith huffs, shaking himself, frowning, setting to work at his console again, concentrates on his screen, clearly not wishing to discuss this subject further.

"Master?"

"It is nothing. I made a promise to someone, once…"

A woman with auburn hair. More of those fleeting pictures in Illum's mind.

"…Concerning you," he finishes. "To ensure you remain safe. It may as yet be a promise I cannot keep. Go now to your quarters, Illum. I have much to prepare for."

And Illum is dismissed with a wave of a hand.

-oAo-

Teyla Emmagan, (of all the beings in the Universe!) had, unwittingly, taught him... this.

When he had read her mind once, on Earth, and had thus become cognisant with all manner of things. Would that she had known?

The Lanteans had endeavoured, as always, to conceal their technology and their trivial (oh yes, so very important to them) plans... hmmm... Of course, they had also ensured distance and prevented contact between him and their actual physical bodies. Locked him up. Again. Wouldn't want him feeding now, would they? (A chuckle.) But the mind is a very powerful tool and that had been left free and unshackled.

So he had discovered... this... oh... and the other very useful piece of intelligence too... must not neglect to forget... and the relevance of that here? That Elizabeth Weir had become a Replicator, that she had warned of other species in Pegasus. Further confirmation of the High Commander's already growing suspicion and intelligence. And the relevance of that here? The proposed Wraith alliance, correction, his alliance with the Lanteans, in readiness to defeat the new threat, hopefully even before the threat arose...

So he had discovered... this: the means to hone, to sharpen his already highly developed telepathic skills; to meld, to combine his thoughts with another and not simply with fellow Wraith; to facilitate projection across the Pegasus, much as stellar light with speed and no boundaries; to meditate and to become one... (a hissing sneer to the Earth terminology, a woefully inadequate description but the Wraith had no phrase in his own language that came close) to become one with the Universe and all existence. Not that he ever aspired to Ascend. No! Never! Leave that to the foolishness of humans! There is life, and then there is death. No, use meditation as a tool to prolong life, to see deep into eventualities that might shorten life. Yes.

And subsequently, he had discovered this truth also - it was, as John Sheppard would say, 'damned difficult'. Ah, and silly things he had learned from that particular human.

And this irked. That meditation required practice and application. And time. And Fini. (Sighs) Yes, he had dependency on the human Fini too. He had to concede that fact. But he supposed Fini was an adequate enough teacher.

But preparations for this alliance meant that said time was now scarce.

But...

'Damned difficult did not mean impossible,' John Sheppard would finish. It simply meant that rewards were slow and he was certain with perseverance, the benefits would be tremendous... to himself... oh... and the Wraith Alliance... must endeavour not to forget that-

"You interrupt me?"

His eyes flicked open with instant anger. And his second-in-command hesitated at the door. What Wraith would not hesitate when challenged by what he hoped was the most murderous of glares?

"Those were your instructions. When we approached the rendezvous." And the Wraith bowed his defence. That the Commander deferentially acknowledged with a nod.

"But we are not close and yet we have slowed down?" he enquired. Though lost in his reflections, he had sensed their location. Had heard the slow groan of diminishing power to all main drives. And yes, he did experience an agreeable pang of pleasure that his mind could now perform on so many levels simultaneously.

"The Trochlor lines. At the convergence." The Point of Convergence... at the very centre, as near as could be calculated, as near as it mattered, of Pegasus. "We anticipated this obstacle? There is interference in varying degrees in all the ship's systems."

"The Trochlor lines... mmm... Not redundant then..."

"No. They are not redundant."

"Then... some still live..." And he had known that too... images in his head... as he sat at his desk... beasts crawling through the quagmire... their claws dragging through the stench and mud... and these creatures supposedly possessed an intelligence surpassing his own? Bah!

"From this evidence, it would appear so, though perhaps it is simply residual energy?"

"No..." And the Commander turned to his desk once more, his face lit by a solitary lamp, casting his shadows of doubt beyond himself. He had seen otherwise. He was certain of it. They lived still.

"The legend has it... the Forfallen are indestructible, capable of surviving all extremities, perhaps even capable of sheltering as a life force in the lines, to reconstruct themselves when it is deemed safer..." ventured the other Wraith.

"The Phoenix Phenomenon?" A term adopted by Ancients. The Commander nodded his head, slowly, considering. "Yes. I have heard of it."

"The legend has it also... that individual Wraith, provided the Iratus gene had not been totally transmuted with time, can either use the lines, or be influenced by them against his own free will or... hers."

And the Commander snorted and waved a dismissive hand at his deputy. "Legends... ha...! do they not belong to the realms and lands of humans!"

Yet...

...it had been Wraith that had been instrumental in the supposed destruction of Forfallen for that very reason... That they were deemed dangerous for the control they could exert - even over Queens.

But then...?

Power. Manipulation.

Could it be supposed that he was such a Wraith that could use these selfsame lines? When he had simply sat at his desk, and seen in his mind's vision these disgusting creatures... Ha! Legends indeed! Legends that said that Forfallen were superior to Wraith. Legends that said the Forfallen were the most... deadly...

"We could always re-locate," proposed the second-in-command, hesitant with his suggestion.

"Wraith do not run." He was firm on that.

"No." And the second-in-command bowed again and stood corrected.

"We will soon be through you say?"

"Yes, even at these reduced speeds."

"Then continue as planned."

"Legend has it that their influence remains in the lines, and in all surrounding areas, long after the original messages have been sent," warned the other Wraith, still persistent.

"Hearsay! We do not run!" Why must he raise his voice to his underlings to make himself clear on this point?

"Just so." Again a bow.

"And..."

"Yes?"

"No more interruptions until our arrival."

"I will endeavour to see that you are not disturbed again."

For he would take this opportunity, and why not as they were so close? Certain that he is a Forfallen equal... or... curiosity, after all? Possibly. And 'look' into these lines. Though... he hated to admit to such curiosity. Wraith have no place for legends. Fables. Stories. Tales that humans tell their offspring. Good versus all that is evil... hmmm... And all that is evil to humans is often Wraith... black... white... and when, in the entire Universe, was there ever such a clear demarcation?

-oAo-

She approaches.

The Thirds.

From their position further down the mountain.

Watching, lurking in marshes, slipping through oily waters, unseen, silent among the blackened decaying reed beds. Their warning, generated by vibrating the uscular chord at the back of the brain, transmitted not quite as music, not quite as sound, but more as a sensation, heard only by Forfallen ears buried deep in the protective plating over the back of their necks and skulls. A humming. A regular clicking. An intonation. In feeding trances... frenzied...

The Wraith Queen would not have heard it however sharp her perception might be. But then, she was possibly preoccupied cursing her fate to be traversing the sucking bog beneath rain laden and dark storm driven clouds of a night on Forfallen.

The First Forfal raised her jaw into the wind, sniffing the air, to confirm it. Her antennae, agitated by gusts of howling wind, whipped about her long ebony forehead and into her eyes and ocelli.

Annoyingly.

Black froth slathered at her mandible and the surrounding multiple feelers indicating her mood. And Ef Xo's ragged dirt-encrusted cloak flapped limp and damp, maddening her even more and she crossly drew it in, wrapping it round her segmented insectoid body with long extended claws.

She would much rather be down in the marsh, where the wind was not so intense.

A dozen large fires, fuelled by Forfallen and Iratus bug discarded casts, that hissed and snackled in the onslaught of rain offered little warmth.

Cold-blooded, indeed!

But the Wraith Queen had insisted on open ground for this meeting and the Forfallen had obliged. Oh, let the stupid Wraith believe she was in control here! Let her believe that Iratus Forfallen were her... "less evolved" inferiors to command! But Ef Xo had known that the Wraith would be seeking an audience, long before the Queen had even known herself...

Though even here, this craggy platform set into the mountainside, was preferable to the suggested Wraith ship. Ef Xo's world was elemental. Organic as the Wraith ships were, they would feel, to a creature as free as the wind and rain, as a prison to her, an anathema, claustrophobic. Besides... there was always that threat of attack. She would not even permit the Wraith to beam down directly to this spot. She had read their minds and there were those in the Queen's company who were not favourable to this meeting. Forfallen were invincible, would ultimately prevail in such an assault, but they never relished a fight that might take years... centuries to recuperate.

Usually such audiences were shunned. Business was conducted through the psychic plasma dimension. As answers to fervent prayers at candlelit alters. As answers to the shrieking anguish of nightmares into tear soaked pillows. As answers to the lusting murmur of aching groins. Those tales told by humans? Of selling your soul to demons in return for your heart's desire? Every one of them true. The Wraith fed on life forces. Broad. General. The Forfallen fed on a specific. And Ef Xo so liked to think a superior specific too, with its potential... for malice... for evil.

So much sweeter!

They had tried 'broader, general' aeons ago, so Ef Xo was fully acquainted with the difference and could never contemplate going back to anything less. Oh, to feed on the soul of a Wraith Queen desirous to do harm in the universe! And one who had fed on so many humans! So many impure humans. For they were all fallible and weak. The very thought sent her slobbering in anticipation.

And Ef Xo, had always acknowledged that exposure on this particular mountain top, catching as it did, the cosmic dust blowing in from the Grimo constellation, and moon beams on rare clear nights, shining down from overhead Styginhal, always honed the Forfal powers, sharpened their acumen, made more acute their intuition, extended their vast telepathic range, made them... more dangerous...

She makes pretence of travelling alone, but the whole mountain swarms with Wraith, sneered the Second, Ka Oh, adding a low hiss to her clicking to indicate her contempt.

Ef Xo glanced her way, peering through the flame-lit yellow rain, the Forfallen Second, nothing more than a shadowed hulk on the other side of site, coloured only occasionally by a sear of lightning. Ka Oh had exaggerated. There were merely a half-dozen of the Queen's most faithful as the Wraith herself had wished to keep this meeting so very secret.

It is nothing, replied Ef Xo, hugging herself and her cloak close again against the elements. She had expected little different, that the Queen would renege on the agreement. They had permitted the Queen an escort of one. It should have been sufficient. But... such double-cross, the sense of mistrust, made the whole proceedings so much... more evil... more sweet...

Thousands of young, newly hatched bugs, suddenly came teeming, shrieking out of the near-by cave, riding a wave of mud and sludge swollen by the torrential rain, threatening to put out two of the fires. The ground made so thick with the creatures, it seemed to move and heave in one black oily mess. She kicked at a few of their number, and they tolerated it, only offended enough to shriek a little less.

Ga Hi giggled.

Quiet! And Ef Xo clumped the Second so hard across the skull with a claw, that Ga Hi's uscular chord actually rattled with the blow. Ga Hi, whose brain power was always suspect, merely cackled again, falling to all six appendages, the natural way, crawling off to a safer distance.

You should kill them. Should kill them all for what they have done to our kind in the past, complained Bi Lu, hulking towards Ef Xo's fire.

Hunted. Slaughtered, nearly to extinction by the Wraith, save for this one small nest on Forfallen. Save for the clones created by the one they had called Michael, the So Ka, the in-between. The Wraith would never acknowledge their affinity with the Forfallen, even less that the Forfallen might be their evolutionary superiors.

Ah but, our 'clients' should be made to feel welcome. Important. Then we can deal with them how we so please. Is that not so, Ef Xo? It is all part of the... game. Wraith are always so much... sweeter... if... 'played' with. If we forever kill them, how would we ever taste that exquisite flavour? Pointed out Ab Su, Ef Xo's favourite Second, who always snivelled up close to the First Forfal's side. A special place in Ef Xo's affections, this Second, not a pure Black but with a streak of blue running down her back.

Clients? Sniffled Bi Lu, snout raised into the rain and wind with disgust. Bi Lu had better be wary. Ab Su, though only a Secondary, possessed greater telepathic powers than even Ef Xo, and was therefore potentially more of a threat to all other Seconds. It had been Ab Su who had warned them of the approach of the Wraith ship five thousand light years away after all.

How can you do this Ef Xo First? Agree to meet a Wraith? It is an insult to our forbears, Bi Lu clicked.

You dare to question me?

And Ef Xo's anger was instant. She lunged at Bi Lu's back, dropping her cloak, hugging the Second's middle section in an almost death-like grip, causing the protective plate to rise, exposing the soft ooze of flesh beneath.

Ef Xo understood exactly how far to go despite her rage, and swung round her tail to bury its tip into Bi Lu's belly, feeling the satisfying twitch of the Second as the sting was delivered, maintaining her grip to enjoy the writhing agony of the Forfal under the influence of the poison, allowing her ire to subside to relish the moment, letting the throbbing excitement reach down to her lower abdomen.

Ecstasy.

Bi Lu clicked a moan but not her submission. It would not be her way. Ef Xo injected harder. There was no need to kill Bi Lu... not quite... though in all probability, Bi Lu had some degree of immunity to the First's powerful poison.

Bi Lu struggled feebly, unable to fall to the defensive six legged stance as Ef Xo drew back her head hard, arcing her whole body. She wanted to feel this... the slavering of fluids from Bi Lu's pain reduction glands at her neck, and the squelching sensation from Bi Lu's body, that increased Ef Xo's rapture further, causing her to plunge her stigma in yet deeper...

There was no need to kill her... not quite... but Ef Xo knew the importance of pain. It was her business after all. After this, Bi Lu would not be quite so quick with her opposition. She released Bi Lu with a push, and Bi Lu, immediately dropping to five legs only, limped her way through the mud, holding her side, nursing the wound. She would heal soon enough. Even now, tissue secreted from one of Bi Lu's glands, webbed itself, criss-cross fashion to bind the puncture hole.

Ef Xo looked around her defiantly. No Second would dare doubt her authority after such a show. Yet again she had demonstrated her unquestionable right to be First. Though it was disconcerting that Ga Hi merely giggled from her side of the ring of fires.

Supremacy. Hierarchy, 'place' was always of paramount importance in all Forfallen idealogy. Firsts could only mete out punishment to Seconds. Seconds to Thirds. And this visitation was important to Ef Xo. The Wraith Queen had chosen to seek her out, perhaps even acknowledging at long last, that they were equals. This was a Queen meeting a fellow Queen.

But Ef Xo planned to overturn even this new accepted order of things.

A movement at the edge of the enclosure caught the attention of all the Forfallen. The dark skies lit by flash after flash of lightning revealed a lone Wraith. His face and hair, white and silver, made starker in the flares from above. Black eyes in their hollows surveyed all before him. His mind showed that whatever his Queen thought, the Wraith regarded the Forfallen as lowly life, an abomination, lower than the human herds, fit for nothing but squashing underfoot at birth.

He would learn one day, that such thoughts were... perilous, promised Ef Xo to herself.

"You are ready to receive my Queen?" he boomed out haughtily, obviously assessing the lack of seating arrangements as a negative indication.

"The cave is flooded!" blurted out Ga Hi, in her best Pegasian, giggling once more, taking delight in his discomfort at standing in four digit measures of stinking mud and water, her laughter incongruous in the lashing rain.

"She has to take us as she finds us," pointed out Ka Oh, coming up chest close to the Wraith, the Wraith's coat and her plating both as shining black coals in the downpour. She as proud, disdainful, fearless as he, pulling up her cloak out of harm's way of the cave's effluent of sodden Iratus excrement.

Ef Xo approached him too. "Bring her to the cave's entrance. There is a more sheltered spot where we may be seated and hold our conversation both in private and in some degree of comfort." She hated using Pegasian. Her underdeveloped tongue situated beneath her mandible was not suited for it and she was conscious of lisping as she spoke.

Her larger bulk unsettled him. She detected the temerity that he tried to hide, eyes flitting from left to right, scanning the area, looking at anything rather than meet her eye. Lightning and thunder racked the sky again and shrieking came out of the darkness that followed as a writhing swarm of young Forfallen bugs ran screeching past him. Spooked, he pulled out a stunner and started firing at the ground, sending up sprays of filthy water and blasted Iratus bodies.

"Put it away, fool!" And Ef Xo was instantly at his side, jerking down his weapon. She softened, becoming more conciliatory. "Come now? A Wraith afraid of Iratus Bugs?" she quizzed. "They smell fear. Courage is your protection."

"I have to ensure my Queen's safety," he snorted.

"Nothing is ever guaranteed." And with that ambiguous threat, he nodded and strode back down the slopes.

Let us now see how determined our Queen is, shall we?

And Ga Hi was not alone in clicking her laughter.

The Queen appeared moments later at her Wraith's side. Tall. Regal. Stoic. Not admitting to the existence of the storm nor her obviously soiled clothing. Though she had been sensible enough to tie up her hair, and to wear leggings and jacket and not a robe. She seemed a Wraith inclined towards a greener complexion though that might have been the jaundicing effect of the blazes and the lightning.

She bowed. Oh, and the thrill that pulsated through Ef Xo's body. Her now stumped remnants of wings rattled at her back. Indeed, truly they were equals. This was evidence enough. Ef Xo returned the bow, straightening, eying the Queen narrowly through the rain. Ef Xo's eyes, embedded in the flesh of the compound globes were the closest to human about her and could detect the slightest mood from the slightest expression. No... the Queen was unnerved by all before her... the fires, the other Forfallen that scrutinized her from the flickering shadows thrown up by the smoke. Even the plumper, shorter Ga Hi appeared intimidating. No... Ef Xo was superior to this Queen.

Ef Xo pulled her cloak around her and flounced by the fire, showing the way to two rocks sited at a recess near the cave's entrance, where they could sit comfortably. It was dry in there, twenty digits away from the pelting rain.

See. I can do manners! And she clicked her mockery, so that the other Forfallen, even Bi Lu, could laugh.

The Queen took her place stiffly on one of the rocks, nodding to her Wraith to stand his distance. He fought the complaint that formed in his mind. An inquisitive Ga Hi, at his side, fingered and stroked his fine leathery coat, till he could stand it no longer, scowling at her, brushing her away with one hand. She side-scuttled back to the nearest fire, cackling and clicking into the wind, darkness and rain.

"Your fame reaches far," began the Queen silkily. Ah, compliments... But Ef Xo sensed the Queen's awkwardness at conversing with Ef Xo's large insectoid head.

"We aim to please."

Niceties... but this Queen's evil knows no bounds... hypocrite... oh, sweeter than ever!

"You were difficult to locate."

"Yet, here you are."

And Ef Xo, watched the Queen's eyes flick over to the cave's entrance. Poorly lit it might be, with the rain driving down, but the Queen had nonetheless spotted some of the strange contents of the cave shelved out to hold the paraphernalia of Forfallen craft... the jars... bottles... herbs, plants, some luminescent, shining with an eerie orange red glow, some smoked and misted, pickled creatures, all sizes, worms, slugs, some alive, some screamed still, clawing at stoppers to escape, some unerringly resembling parts of humans, Wraith, flesh, bone, fingers, toes, eyes... She sensed the Wraith Queen's flesh crawl.

Oh indeed! This Queen had met her match!

"Down to business." The Queen had no wish to be here longer than absolutely necessary.

"Is how I like it."

"This should not take long."

"As I said, that is how I like it."

"I have... 'work' for you."

Ah, revenge... sweet...

-oAo-

"No... try it... you will find it good and very beneficial for your sore throat," encouraged Teyla, ignoring the eye roll from Ronon, gently pushing the rough earthenware dish closer to Rodney's chest so he had no option but take it. It was that obvious that Rodney was intent on handing the dish straight back to the stall-holder otherwise. She picked up her own steaming portion and began to carefully sip at the contents, never taking her eyes from him for one instant. No way was she going to accept a refusal from the scientist.

Rodney dubiously sniffed at the gruel. Judging from his expression, he fully expected a sheep's eye to surface any time soon and wink at him. Or worse... to see some part of lower anatomy bobbing around in there somewhere. It wouldn't have surprised Sheppard either but Teyla had said it was ok and that was good enough for him.

"You'd think they'd at least give us a spoon," Rodney complained. "And this is the local delicacy?" he queried, looking queasy, still unable to believe anything good of the glutinous grey substance that by the second seemed to be cooling and thickening into something resembling, yeah, frogspawn.

"Oh yes... quite the KFC..." said Teyla, now fully familiar with the fast food industry on Earth.

"Actually, it's more like... " began Sheppard, placing his empty bowl down on the wooden counter beside Ronon's, wiping his mouth to hide a smirk, pretending to scrutinise the surrounding bustling market and scan the architecture of the town's roof tops, "birds nest soup..."

Waiting... waiting for the expected response... just as Rodney had taken his first tentative mouth full...

Rodney choked, convulsed, half flinging the bowl back at Teyla, who only just managed to catch hold of it in time, without spilling the contents. His other free hand groped for his throat, spitting soup too close to Ronon's feet.

Ronon expertly backed away from danger with a 'hey!'

"Hey-" A coughing fit doubled Rodney over with hands on his knees, "-your-self!" he struggled out, going crimson in the face. Teyla hastily put down the bowls and asked the stall holder for water, who passed over a tumbler, concerned that a customer had fallen ill all too soon after eating his soup. Passers-by were giving them all odd looks. This was gonna be bad for trade.

Sheppard started thumping Rodney hard on the back. Grinning at Ronon. Hardly remorseful.

"Not-so... hard!" spluttered Rodney, waving a finger at him, "You know... what-they... put-into... that?" Eyes streaming.

"Bird's nest soup? Birds' saliva, you mean?" he asked innocently. "Yeah. I said it was like bird's nest soup... only like, Rodney..." said Sheppard, relentlessly carrying on with the thumping.

"Nuff-" and Rodney started coughing again with a vengeance.

"Don't talk," was Ronon's solitary bit of advice.

Teyla crouched down and touched Rodney on the shoulder to indicate he should drink the water she was holding for him.

"Rodney!" she cried alarmed as the choking increased and Rodney fell forward onto his hands and knees, away from Sheppard, leaving him standing there, staring down at his friend.

This had suddenly gotten serious. And he watched, seconds only, as a couple more spasms and gasps for air sent Rodney over to his side, curling into a ball, his body jerking, his face now blue with the effort to breathe.

Ronon was there, pushing the dazed Sheppard to one side, wrapping his arms around the scientist's chest, hauling him up. "Think he actually got something stuck?" He was going to perform the Heimlich Manoeuvre, and not before time - Rodney's breathing was now nothing more than half wheezes, marked by occasional jerks. His body strangely still and limp in Ronon's arms. His eyes closed.

With a grunt, Ronon formed a fist below Rodney's ribcage and pulled back hard. Rodney flopped against Ronon like some rag doll. No other movement. Nothing.

"Crap! Get him down on the ground!" ordered Sheppard, coming close to assist. His voice edged with the panic he felt. His mind urgent with the need to perform CPR in something like minus thirty seconds flat. "We need room!" He snapped to the growing ring of onlookers as he fell quickly to his knees. Wasn't their fault. Wasn't their fault though.

Ronon quickly laid Rodney out on his back on the dusty tiles.

He looked dead. God, but he looked dead...

And Teyla, who was also down beside Sheppard, nearly as good as confirmed it. She'd taken hold of a drooping wrist. "There is no pulse, John.," she said, her eyes, big and round.

Sheppard's hands were madly ripping at the fastenings on Rodney's tac vest, ripping at his T-shirt. His palms pressing down hard on the still chest, over and over. Waiting as Ronon breathed air into the lifeless purple lips. Counting time with a whispered 'come on buddy, come on buddy.' Before back to work, once more with his hands. tense through to his shoulders, hardly daring to breath himself except for the steady 'come on, come on' uttered with each forceful thrust of his wrists... easing off... allowing Ronon space... sweating, wiping a hand across his forehead... his fault... his fault... his fault for messing around... hardly hearing Teyla yell at the store-keeper behind them.

"Did the broth contain citrus fruit?"

Damn. No one had thought to ask when they'd bought the stuff. His fault... his fault... watching Teyla madly hauling her way through the pockets of Rodney's tac jacket... her eyes growing wider. "I have it! His epi-pen?" And she jabbed it into Rodney's exposed neck as Sheppard continued to pump at Rodney's chest.

Ronon's "It's ok now," seconds later, as Rodney's chest began to gently rise and fall again.

Relief like a wave allowed his breath once more. Even a low murmur running through the crowd. But Sheppard couldn't move. Could only numbly look on as Teyla and Ronon rolled Rodney into recovery. Could only stare down at Rodney's face... Rodney's bloated face. His lips swollen... emitting a low moan... when a minute ago...

Teyla was back on her feet at the stall, repeating her earlier question.

"Did the broth contain any citrus fruits?"

She had thought to ask. Same as Ronon had thought to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre... Sheppard hadn't... numb... numb... like now... if it'd been bullets... arrows... he would have reacted... but something like this... caught off guard... Rodney's allergy was always a joke... no one had ever taken him seriously... and it'd nearly cost him... them...

Sheppard shivered. Cold. Hell, Lt. Col. John Sheppard in shock?

"I don't understand," stammered out the stall holder, horrified that he was to blame for the collapse of one of his customers. And Teyla reeled off a number of alien fruits that she knew were similar.

"Kwangi? Michan? Dunatti? Trell?"

And the man shook his head. "Only milk, bread, bats livers and herbs, good madam."

"We require a sample to take back with us. With the bowl." In case of some other toxin. And he grimaced at the thought of the bats liver. He was surprised they weren't all ill. But Teyla was thinking of everything... "Can you put them in some container please, so that we may carry them?" Her voice was full of urgency. They needed to be getting Rodney back through the Gate. He wasn't out of the woods yet. An occasional coughing, wheezing, accompanying the heaving of the shoulders, and the arm that rested on his prone body, showed how he still struggled.

"Hey, Rodney, you'll be ok." That's all he could do, give the guy assurances and hope he heard.

A hand touched Sheppard's shoulder and he started. "Good sir, we can help take your friend to the Gate perhaps?" He lifted his eyes. One of the villagers. Concerned. A whole sea of faces... all concerned, all affected... witnessing death... even near death is never treated lightly by anyone...

"No... no... we're good... thanks." He'd got to get his act together but couldn't stop shivering. He prayed it didn't show.

He was only vaguely aware of the stall keeper giving Teyla a leather bag, of Ronon nudging his shoulder, indicating he should stand now and move aside. And Ronon scooped up the scientist's semi-conscious body into his arms. Even this was being taken care of by Ronon.

And Sheppard followed his team through the crowd that opened up for them making a path. Still in his daze.

It wasn't far to the Gate. Wasn't far for Ronon to carry Rodney. Two streets away. The Gate, set in a small garden. They'd only been on this planet for ten minutes. Ten whole minutes. That's all the time that'd passed to nearly lose a friend...

-oAo-