My Soul From Out That Shadow, by Frostfire
Title: My Soul From Out That Shadow
Author: Frostfire
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Poisoning the Well
Notes: Right. First story. *deep breaths* Unbeta'd because I know exactly zero people in fandom. Feel free to come over to my LJ and help change that.
Also, title from "The Raven"
Summary: Steve has some issues.

Major Sheppard has not come yet today.

He paces his cell. The Lieutenant, the young one, has been standing among the regular guards. He does not know why this person was placed here, just as he does not know why Major Sheppard comes more often, and he does not know why they have been taking tissue samples from his body.

Often, he finds it difficult to care.

He thinks, when he can think. They are conducting experiments. They are researching his body. They are—

—they stand so close. The regular guards will stay far away, as far from him as they can go and remain in the chamber. He sneers at them as he makes a turn; he can smell their fear, see it in their nervous glances as they hug the wall and their pathetic weapons. The Sergeant, when he comes, will step up to the wall, but only for a minute. The Lieutenant stands there, watching him, young and frightened and so close so close he could reach through the bars and have him—

Were it not for the force field, of course.

He remembers the force field. He knows it is there. It is merely…sometimes difficult to concentrate.

He paces. Three angry strides, or five calm ones, and he moves from force field to force field. The Lieutenant remains where he is, and the hunger waxes and wanes as he moves from one end of the cell to the other.

And Major Sheppard…

Major Sheppard speaks to him from barely a hand’s length away. Major Sheppard taunts, and teases, and paces around and around and around his blue-lit world until he thinks he will batter himself against the field until he is unconscious. So close.

The guards he would feed on for revenge, and for nourishment. The young Lieutenant he would savor, each second of feeding, each year of life, correspondent to each hour he has spent staring at the dark face beyond the bars. Major Sheppard…

He wants Major Sheppard under his hand like he has wanted no other. Had he fed on hundreds, were he sated enough to last for a thousand years, he would fight to the death for the privilege. Were he starving, he would give up dozens of easy victims for one chance—so close, so close—

When the Major arrives, he no longer steps up to the cell’s edge to speak with him. He does not think he could control himself; he does not think he would remember the force field, with Sheppard’s face so close to his. He forgot himself once, in a fit of rage as much as hunger, and he will not risk it again.

For the Major teases, and taunts. And if Sheppard knew how the hunger multiplies whenever he steps into the room, how staying in the middle of the cell is an ordeal almost unendurable—

“Hi, Steve.”

So close.