She met with Dr. Heightmeyer.

"Do you not wonder where he gets his qualities from," she asked. "Which are learned from what he sees and how we treat them, and which he takes from how he was treated in his Wraith life."

Dr. Heightmeyer shook her head slightly. "I've never thought about it," she admitted. "He's assimilated quite well, actually. It's remarkable to look at him and think he was a Wraith at all."

"That is exactly what I mean, is there not any part of him that might be Wraith still? Perhaps his distress at not knowing his family, could that not come from the Wraith being a hive presence around him, and the loss of that presence."

It didn't look as though that had occurred to her. Dr. Heightmeyer frowned, and for a moment Teyla was heartened, until she saw the professional mask drop into place. Treating Teyla as a case to be talked out, not as though she was actually offering input or suggestions or just trying to talk out the thoughts that had been troubling her.

Teyla supposed, as she walked away from the doctor's office, that it was to be expected. She and Heightmeyer were certainly friendly, but they weren't exactly friends.

"He is settling in remarkably well," she offered, by way of a conversation opener or simply turning the conversation to the subject she wanted to talk about without, she hoped, being too terribly obvious.

"You think?" Sheppard stabbed the vegetable on his tray with more than the necessary force, Teyla thought. "Heh. He hasn't even attacked anyone yet, Ronon's done all the attacking, from what I hear."

Teyla looked up. Sheppard was giving her an inquisitive look, maybe trying to ascertain for himself that she was all right with what had happened. "Michael was unharmed. And he recovered well from the episode, and bears no grudge. On the contrary, he seems to want to apologize for whatever it is he did to offend Ronon. To make peace," she added, was a little bit of emphasis.

Sheppard didn't seem to understand her meaning. "Well, he can try, but I'm not sure Ronon wants to talk to him. Actually," he added. "I'm not sure Ronon wants to be in the same room with him."

Teyla sighed, leaning back in her chair and doing her best not to roll her eyes. "He is unwilling to see past what Michael has been to what he could be," she said, venting a little of her frustration. "Not that I can blame him for being angry, but..." and she wasn't sure how to express the rest of that thought.

"Man's carrying a lot of baggage where the Wraith are concerned."

She understood Sheppard's meaning, even if the words were unfamiliar. But she hadn't meant talk about Ronon, and they were getting sidetracked. "Perhaps he will learn, in time, to accept Michael at least. And perhaps..." she slowed her words and tried to take care in what she spoke. "Later, if Michael continues to show great progress, we can explain to him what has happened."

Sheppard sat straight up and stared at her as though she had turned purple and started dancing on the table tops. "Are you insane? Tell Michael he's a Wraith, if he doesn't try to kill us all after that, he'll probably have some kind of mental breakdown or something."

"I don't mean to say we should tell him everything that has happened to him," she hastened to add, except that that was exactly what she meant. And before the conversation had even reached the halfway point she knew that she could not discuss her ambivalence with Sheppard. "I only mean." Teyla swallowed. "I think the longer we go on, the harder it will be when he finally discovers the truth."

"Then we'd better make sure he doesn't discover the truth, hadn't we?"

There had been no need for him to take that tone, really, Teyla thought. But it left her with very few people to go to. McKay was certainly not the person to whom she would bring this sort of problem. Weir seem to have enough on her hands where Michael was concerned. Which left only one person that she could think of. And she decided to start with the truth this time.

"I do not know how much longer I will be able to keep up this façade."

Dr. Beckett looked at her with more than a little concerned. "Has he said anything? Has he done anything to try to hurt you?"

"No, no. It is nothing like that." The poor man. She laid a hand on his arm, trying to calm him down. He still looked exhausted. "It is simply that I am having some..." what was the phrase? "It is a question of conscience."

"Of conscience?"

Teyla sighed. "I should not have said anything," she half-apologized, turning to go. And now it was Beckett's turn to lay his hand to her arm and stop her.

"No, please." He gestured to an empty chair. "To tell the truth, I've been wrestling with some questions of conscience of my own these past few days."

She breathed a sigh of relief as she sank back into the chair he offered. "I do not know how much more of this I can do, and keep silent. He trusts us. And what have we ever done to earn that trust?"

Beckett looked a little uncomfortable at what she was saying, but he didn't say anything to disagree. "In almost every medical aspect, he is human. I took an oath to first do no harm, but how does that apply to the Wraith?"

She had heard of such a thing, but she had never discussed such matters with Beckett. And now she found it had piqued her curiosity, at least for this situation was concerned, the moment. "Does your oath to do no harm supersede your obligation to your commander?"

"It supersedes all other oaths, at least according to acceptable medical ethics on our planet."

Teyla wanted to ask where that left the experiment with Michael, but Beckett was already clearly worrying himself over that, and she didn't feel the need to add to his burden. "He believes that we are telling him the truth. That we are doing what is best for him, that we are helping him. I feel..."

"As though you are doing something very, very wrong?"

Teyla nodded. At least she was not alone in that, and the relief sent her slumping forward, head into her hands.

Conversation after conversation. She tried to reach him once, and was rebuffed by arguments she could not refute. What they had done was out of a need to survive, not compassion. He was so desperately unhappy, angry and alone, and she could not say that it would've been any different if they had started out with the truth.

The lies, admittedly, had not helped in the slightest. It was only a small consolation that she did not have to lie to him anymore, and instead she sat on the windowsill where they had talked in between sparring sessions and looked for his presence.

It was, most likely these troubling thoughts, that allowed him access to her mind. The wanting so badly to apologize, to make it better. His words had echoed through her mind in over her skin like a soothing embrace, as though he was pulling her into his arms and telling her he understood, and it was all right. Compassion. Whatever compassion there had been between them, there was not likely to be anymore. And as for open minds, well, hers had been open and ready for the taking.

"Just a precaution," he sneered. "I know, you're angry. I lied to you."

Was he going to beat her with the symmetry of it now?

"But you had no right to do this to me. I won't let you experiment on me anymore."

He turned her around, her hands bound behind her back with those plastic manacles. She turned, only to see him pointing one of the Marine's guns at her. She could only hope that the Marine he'd taken it from was still alive.

"Let's go."

As if that weren't enough that he kept them both running at a grueling pace, especially for her with her hands bound behind her back, it was a ragged path. Like the path of a fleeing herd animal, she realized. A path designed to confuse tracks and lead followers astray. Which did not bode well for any rescue attempt Atlantis might make.

One consolation, perhaps, was that he did not seem to know where he was going. And if that were the case he would exhaust himself looking for safe ground, and she could escape.

"You don't need to try to escape," he said, as if he'd been reading her mind. Maybe he had, she realized; of all the things she had expected him to try the telepathic command hadn't been one of them.

"Why not?" she snapped back, disinclined to argue with him while she was still catching her breath.

Michael only shook his head, looked around, and gestured with the gun for her to move off in another direction. She started running, more out of stubbornness and an impulse to make things difficult for him than any sense of obedience. He followed, and after they had run for a few minutes more he told her to stop, but she didn't.

"Stop," he said again, sounding a little breathless. "Stop!"

She stopped. He ran into her, almost knocking them both down. One arm came around her waist, his hand curling over her hip. His other hand pressed the gun sideways and flat against her back. He was pressed up against her, close enough to be confusing, although she ascribed the heat she felt from his body to anger.

"Wait here, quietly. I don't want to kill anyone I don't have to." Unspoken was the reminder that if he killed anyone now, it would be on her head. She glared at him as he turned her loose and came around in front of her, but didn't say anything.

It was over in a matter of minutes. The guards were either dead or unconscious, but she hadn't heard any gunshots, and that was probably a good sign. They moved up into the clearing and he pushed her, none too gently, onto the ground.

"What are you doing?" It was obvious. But she didn't want to believe he would do it.

Michael frowned in concentration, still holding the pistol on her. "We have to get off this planet." He was distracted, she could do something. Perhaps not take the gun from him, but something.

"And go where?" If she could leave a message, or if she could get these handcuffs off, there had to be something she could do.

He shook his head slightly, trying to remember. "I don't know." And then he looked over at her, the address almost complete. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she snapped back, finishing the last glyph his hand had been hovering over. She rose up to her knees, twisting little and dropping the slate behind her. He frowned at her, but was either unwilling to believe that she had been up to anything or unable to figure out what it was.

Moments after he pressed the last glyph, Ronon and Sheppard came into view. And for moment she was unsure what she hoped would happen in this encounter. There were no more second chances for Michael; Ronon would be shooting to kill, and Sheppard wouldn't be inclined to stop him.

She didn't get much of a chance to decide either way. Michael grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet, and they ran through the gate. It dissipated on the other side, without either Ronan or Sheppard appearing behind them. Teyla caught her breath. She could only hope now that Ronon saw the markings she had made, the gate address Michael had dialed.

"What is this place?" she asked.

Michael was looking around, seeming only slightly less confused and wondering than she was. "I don't know..."

They kept walking. It was darker on this planet and it had been at the Alpha site, almost full dark. They were only walking now, still with that same jagged step, that crooked path, but more relaxed now that they were away from any immediate pursuit. Michael still didn't say anything. She wanted to know what he was thinking, now more than ever.

"You did not have to do this," she said, surprised at how out of breath she was.

He made a little scornful noise. "I'm sure you would've rather I stay and enjoy your hospitality, instead." His voice dripped sarcasm, hurt and anger.

"You could have lived with us, you could have stayed, been a part of..." he didn't give her the chance to finish.

"I killed a man," he snapped, whirling on her. "Your friend Ronon said he was just waiting for me to give him an excuse to kill me. What do you think would have happened the first time I spoke up for myself, he would have apologized?"

"Dr. Weir would have forbidden him from attacking you."

"As long as I continue to take your treatments, your retrovirus. As long as I continued to pretend I was one of you. Like a good little test subject." His voice actually shook with emotion, eyes wide and tired. He swallowed. "You never had the right to do this to me in the first place, what makes you think I would let you ever touch me again?"

The words hung between them and took on all sorts of twisted and painful meanings. She shook her head, and walked in the direction he indicated.

Teyla sat on the edge of her bed with her head on her hands and wondered how it had all gone so terribly wrong. Or perhaps it had been set right. Michael was with his people now, and at least his life had been put back the way it should be. Of course, that still left the question of what would happen to Atlantis.

It had all been a bad idea the first place. She felt a little guilty about not having spoken up sooner, except that no one had realized what a bad idea it was, including her, when they had first started. They had all agreed it was at least worth trying, and then she had come to know Michael as a person and not as a walking nightmare. And then Michael had come to realize the nightmare he was in and they were all faced with the dilemma of what to do with Michael versus what to do about the safety of Atlantis. And now that decision had been taken out of her hands, and she did feel badly about how much relief she felt.

There was a knock at the door. She wasn't sure she was up for company. Teyla waited a moment longer, then stood and moved towards the door, opening it after a moment to catch her breath and regain her composure.

"Oh. Hey." It looked as though Sheppard had been about to leave. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up or anything."

Teyla smiled, just a little. "It is all right, John." Opening the door a little further, she gestured for him to come in. "I was only thinking."

"About Michael," he said rather than asked. There was a tense note to his voice, something that was either concern or jealousy, or maybe simple stress. Exhaustion. They were all exhausted, especially Sheppard, who had been handling the security changes since Michael's escape, and Dr. Beckett.

"Yes," she said, turning and sitting back down on the corner of her bed. "About Michael."

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" The implication was heavy in his voice and attitude and expression, that if Michael had hurt her in any way Sheppard would be more than happy to pick up Ronon and go hunting.

Teyla shook her head, fingers moving along the bed to reach out to him, and then stopping because she didn't feel as though she could, somehow. "He did not hurt me. Actually," she admitted, and she had been thinking of it off and on ever since the rescue. "When you found me..."

"He was about to kill you, I saw."

"No, that was not it." Teyla shook her head. John was not likely to believe what she was about to tell him, but she did feel safe in telling him this much. "When you found me, he was about to feed on me, yes. I believe he would have if you hadn't stopped him. But before that, we had stopped for the evening. And he let me sit down, let me rest."

John's expression slid from confused to skeptical. "He let you just sit down and rest?"

"When I woke up, I was unbound. He had cut the handcuffs off, cut his own vest off, he had left everything behind except the gun. He left me unbound and lying on the ground. I could have escaped and he did not seem to care."

She hadn't known what to make of it at the time. Now, she did remember that Michael said he hadn't wanted to kill the soldier, he just wanted to escape. John didn't seem to know what to make of it either, but he crouched down in front of her and put his hand over hers.

"I'm just glad we got you back safe and sound," he said, with a rueful smile that didn't pretend to be anything more than it was. She was surprised to realize how grateful she was that. She was surprised at a lot of things that had happened in last several days.

"So am I."

A week or two later, the dreams had not subsided, but her confusion had faded into the background. She spoke with Dr. Heightmeyer once, about the dreams that had reoccurred since Michael's escape.

"Do you think what happened with Michael has changed your outlook on the Wraith?"

Teyla frowned. "If you mean, do I think any better of them than I did before, the answer is no. Would I be more willing to accept..." she tried to think of an appropriate example of what she meant, but couldn't.

"If you encountered a Wraith in a non-hostile setting, what do you think your reaction would be?"

"Fear," Teyla's response was immediate and sure. "Possibly anger, possibly I might wish to defend myself. I cannot imagine any circumstance under which I would meet a Wraith that would not be hostile. For one or both of us."

"What do you think you would do if you met Michael again?"

That was the question. Meeting Michael again would be anything but non-hostile, but there was history between them now. She had never before experienced an encounter with a Wraith that would give them history, a history that they would remember upon meeting again.

"I don't know."

Dr. Heightmeyer seemed to take that in for a moment, and to be letting Teyla get control of herself again. Teyla didn't feel as though she had never been out of control of herself, only a little bit sad.

"If I saw him again, I suppose that would depend on what he intended. If he intended me or my friends harm, I would have to... take the appropriate steps." There, that was ambiguous enough without committing herself to some sort of ridiculous and unthinking vendetta. Not that she thought Dr. Heightmeyer believed she should take up such a vendetta. "If he did not, then, I would want to talk with him."

"To talk with him," she repeated. "To try to understand..." Something. It wasn't something she could express in words, she thought. "To try to understand him," she decided, which was as close as she could come to an explanation.

Dr. Heightmeyer nodded. And she might have leaned forward a bit. "And do you think what happened with Michael is why you've been having the dreams again?"

"I think ... it is a part of it. I think it may have reminded me of some part of myself that I wanted to forget."

She didn't understand Teyla's meaning. "What part of yourself do you think..."

"I am, in part, a Wraith. Although it is not a part of me that I wish to acknowledge, nor did I ever ask for it, they did change me. I think..." Teyla looked down at her hands. "That sometimes I willfully forget that, because I do not wish to think about it."

She knew, when she looked up again, that Dr. Heightmeyer didn't understand.

[Allies]
She had never expected to hear from him again. That Michael had survived, even thrived on the Wraith ship that had taken him away, she did not doubt. But that he would ever come into contact with them again, willingly, that had not been something she had foreseen or even dreamed up.

And when she received word that he wanted to talk to her, she didn't know what to think.

To go talk to him, or to stay in relative security that still felt like cowardice. She didn't know what to do. And the soldier who had brought the message into was to guard her while they spoke was waiting.

"I'll take over," someone said, a familiar rumble. "You can go."

Teyla looked over at Ronon with something like relief. Not quite relief yet, considering what Ronon's attitude towards Michael had been the last time a half breed had been on Atlantis. And yet. She knew she didn't want to face him alone.

"Are you sure?"

Ronon shrugged. "Do you know why he wants to see you?" He asked, Texas. Teyla thought about at least trying to make him answer the question, and decided against it.

"I do not know. Perhaps he feels we have some sort of connection or bond because of what happened last time," she speculated. Not that she wanted to speculate too hard about that, but it was the most likely answer. "Perhaps he simply wants to find out what our intentions are, and he thinks I will be the most sympathetic and likely to answer his questions."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?" She blinked at him.

"Sympathetic to him."

There were two ways she could answer that. Because it was Ronon, and because he had never liked the idea of the experiment from the start, and liked Michael even less, she could answer either honestly or with what honesty would not start a fight between Ronon and Michael. Even if the Atlantis team would most likely judge any fight between them in Ronon's favor, she opted on the side of diplomacy.

"I do feel some measure of responsibility for what happened to him. He did not make the choice to become human, we forced that on him. But everything that he is done since then has been his own choice, including killing that soldier and taking me hostage." She did not remind Ronon that he had also let her go afterwards. That, if he hadn't returned the moment she'd woken up, she likely would have been able to find her way back to the gate and leave Michael to be picked up by the Wraith without incident.

Ronon did seem to accept that answer without much more than a grimace, which might have been at her capture. "Do you trust him?"

Now that was a difficult question. "I do not know. But I would rather have you with me," she added, and impulse, both to make Ronon feel better about her meeting Michael and because Sheppard, too, would be furious if he knew Teyla had been meeting with Michael without backup.

And perhaps it was a little of her own fear of her impulses as well. Her compassion had gotten her into trouble once, and she did not want to repeat that mistake.

"I would like it very much," she rephrased, smiling at him. "If you would accompany me to see Michael."

"Then let's go," he smiled back.

[after Misbegotten]
He did not accompany her the second time.

She didn't know whether that had been a good thing or a bad thing, but it had not ended well. Their second conversation in a week, after the dizzying highs and lows of the battle with the wraith ship that had briefly been their ally, everything going almost too fast to comprehend. John had been dead, and then not dead, and Michael was here and their conversation had been full of raw emotions. She had the feeling he hadn't told anyone else what had happened, not in words that made it clear how he felt about it. The way he spoke with Sheppard and Weir spoke of survival. The way he had talked with her was something else.

Teyla sat heavily on the corner of her bed. She looked at me as if I was some kind of unclean thing. She wondered what he'd meant to say after that.

Sympathy. Compassion. She did not want to feel either of those things for Michael; she wanted to be able to handle all dealings with him with unbreakable dispassion. And yet, she could not help but think what it would be like to be forced to spend the rest of your life on a ship that loathed and looked down on you.

Her fingertips massaged at her temples, trying to banish a headache that would not go away. There had been only two choices for him, she had tried to make him believe that. Death, which she did not want for him, or life as a human. And yet when he had made the argument that life as a human, not knowing anything of who he had been, was the same as death she could not argue against that either. She had simply changed the subject.

A part of her wished she had not. A part of her wished they had continued the conversation, to every uncomfortable place it had taken them, to some sort of conclusion. That was the same part of her that mourned him now, quietly, in the privacy of her quarters.

Michael was dead, he had to be. Nothing could have survived that bombardment. And perhaps it was better that way, for as much as he had fought for life there had been so many times when she thought she must surely ask him why. As unhappy as he was, why would you fight to live a life that no longer seemed worth living?

Or perhaps she had been mistaken about that, too. There was no way of knowing now, no way to ask him.

Teyla brushed the tears out of her eyes, took a breath, and knelt down. There were rituals for everything that mattered, life, love, death. Forgiveness, and redemption. She composed herself to begin the funeral ritual that would breach no seal of security, tell no secret to no living person. If she could not give him the dignity she felt he deserved in life, no matter who he had been before she had come to know him, she could give him that in death. And perhaps, even if he was not there to hear it, apologize for her part in what had been done to him.

Go to the top! For you have reached the bottom.

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