Realstone:  No matter how good a person you are trying to be, to become.  There are people and circumstances that cause you to listen to who you truly are.  That causes you to know that…

"Hate is often an obverse form of love. 

You hate someone whom you really wish to love but whom you cannot love." 

By Sri Chinmoy

            “The child or the woman which is more important?”  Demanded the hybrid standing near its creator.  

            Michael turned to his creation, the face staring back at him devoid of the emotion its voice emoted.  “We will not leave until I have all that I want.”

            “…she will never give you the child.  We need to leave this place!”

            “Finish what we came to do.”  Michael growled. 

            With a terse nod the hybrid moved back to the console. 

            Michael walked away until he stood before the floor to ceiling window of the office holding the reason for his unexpected arrival at Atlantis.  He stared past his reflection to where the woman paced about the office holding the key to his plans.    Feelings of frustration and impotence filled him at the delay of four years of careful planning.   Clinching his hands into fist he closed his eyes, redirecting his feelings.  He would let nothing stop him.  Not “Teyla’s misplaced loyalty to the human squatters of Atlantis or the delay in engaging the city’s self destruct system.

            “We were finally able to decipher the encryption on the self destruct device.”

            “Good. Prepare the ship to leave. We'll arm the self destruct and switch the power back to Atlantis' systems a split second before we leave. The timing of the switch must be precise. I don't want to give them any opportunity to disarm the device.

            “I will make the calculations.”  Michael watched with satisfaction as his child, his creation sat at the console its fingers moved rapidly against the smooth surface.    Pushing one of many buttons in front of him Michael activated the city’s communication system.  “Teyla. I know you can hear me. That alarm – if you're not aware – is Atlantis' self destruct device.  I've armed it; set it for ten minutes. That is the amount of time you have to consider the offer I'm about to make you. If you will surrender yourself and your child to me, I'll disarm the device, sparing the lives of everyone on this base. If not, you, your baby and everyone else will die.” 

            Teyla half listens to Michael’s implied threat, her attention on the child in her arms.  After avoiding the hybrids searching for them she had hastily and with little a guilt, force feed him hoping that a full stomach would keep him quiet.  So far it had worked. 

            “…Teyla.  You disappoint me…so I will leave you to the fate you have chosen.  But I’m not leaving alone.  You should know I have already collected your son’s DNA...” 

            It is not the words that frighten her, but the inescapable possibility that Michael’s hold on them will never end.   She peels back Torren’s blanket and outer clothing searching for any truth in her tormentor’s words.  Her fingers trace the trimmed hair behind his ear.  Her fingers open the small hand…the fingernails are shorter than she remembers.  On his right leg is a small oval bruise.  She screams inside unable to voice her grief from her hiding place.  Her fingers move across the child’s forehead, the skin smooth and flawless.  A finger tracks down the bridge of his nose searching for herself, Kaanan or her father in his features.    She closes her eyes desperately needing to believe that Colonel Sheppard and the others will stop Michael.    

            “…cloning him will require additional time, delaying the implementation of my plan, but as you well know I will not be deterred.  Goodbye Teyla.”

Michael’s voice slices through the silence and she pulls the child closer promising that the wraith hybrid will never fulfill his threat.    Moments past and the silence around her grows as does a feeling of unease.   Shoving aside the panel of the power conduit she lowers the ladder and climbs out into the open.   Moving rapidly down the hall in the direction of the control room, Teyla stopped outside Mr. Woolsey's office listening to the murmurs of the SGA personnel gathered inside.  Standing in the entrance to the large room she quickly scans the area her glance settling on lieutenant Banks.   Moving past those standing near the entrance, she hands the lieutenant her son. “Amelia will you take care of Torren for me?” 

“Of course.”   

Outside in the empty corridor she focuses on the connection between her and Michael.   She can taste his fear; feel the erratic beating of his heart; his lungs struggling for air.    The muffled sound of gunfire reaches her and she hurries forward knowing that the rounds came from the Colonel, John’s automatic.   She moves faster, empting her mind, preparing for her final meeting with Michael.  Up another flight of stairs, around a corner and she is there.    

The sounds of flesh pounding against flesh mixed with the roar of the wind rushing past the tower masks her arrival through the doorway.  Light from the open door and the tower’s recessed panels is enough for her see the two males struggling each grappling for an advantage.   The opening she needs seems to happen in seconds, Michael pins the colonel against the tower's smooth surface, his fist raised to strike, a tight smile of satisfaction distorting his features. 

Teyla’s eye catalogues the movement of Michael’s hand and instinctually her hand rises, clutching his arm with all the hatred and love she has within for enemy, son and friend.  His face is filled with surprise and in the seconds it takes him to understand what her presence means she slams her fist into his jaw; holding nothing back, her purpose to destroy.  Fluidly her leg connects with his body driving him forward into the colonel’s space and fist.  Teyla watches her enemy struggle to recover from the Colonel’s blow and her mind considers that an outsider would deem it unjust for two seasoned fighters to pound into damage flesh.  But an outsider has not lived with the years of pain Michael’s existence has caused.    All the bad memories evade her conscious and with a step forward she strikes Michael again.  Before he can recover the Colonel’s fist slams into him as well.   It is her final blow that forces her enemy over the edge of the platform. 

He falls and as with all living things he fights for the last bits of life.   Desperately holding onto the ledge, the wraith looks up into the eyes of his executioner.   She stands above him, watching the wind push his body to and fro, his hands moving, seeking a better purchase on the cold stone.  Regret lies cold within him.  The greatness he envisioned destroyed because she refused to see that he was better than the humans who had wasted his legacy.  She stares down on him without the compassion of their first meeting.  Then she had understood his fear and anger at what their experiments has turned him into; neither human nor wraith an outcast struggling to belong.  He feels her hatred as a weight pushing him downward.  Her eyes bore into him.

Teyla stands, staring downward past the wraith, past the metal and glass jutting out below him into the liquid darkness and she remembers an elder once telling her that love required conviction and conviction required action.  Her foot moves forward and Michael dangles by one hand. 

“Teyla!” His voice pleads.  She cannot hear.  Her mind rages that there is only one way to be free of his unending need for retribution.  Only one way.  The cold winds whips at her body, her hair blinds her for a moment giving Michael precious seconds but her will is stronger, her foot kicks out again.  She watches him fall away, arms failing, body rapidly disappearing into the darkness, the silence.  There is no satisfaction in her eyes just a relaxing of her shoulders as she turns away, her eyes meeting the Colonel’s glance.   Tonight it is his turn to watch her, ease her back from the abyss.  It is the man, the friend that leads her back inside not the soldier, the team leader who will ask the questions when death and anger no longer fills their minds.

Teyla dresses slowly the soreness from last night’s fight not yet exercised away.   Hours after Michael’s death and the detention of the other hybrids she had returned from her briefing with the Colonel and Mr. Woolsey to find Torren sleeping and Lt. Banks keeping watch in the rocker by Torren’s crib.  She had thanked Lt. Banks before gently shooing her back to her own quarters.   Once Amelia was gone she had settling into her usual position for meditation, her hand resting against the base of Torren’s crib.  The touch of morning light drew mother and child into a new day.    By full light both were bathed, dressed and one well-fed.   Walking through the cafeteria Teyla grabbed a slice of Althosian bread before heading for the infirmary to check on Ronon.   She found him still sleeping with Dr. Keller nearby. 

“How is he?”

“Mean, stubborn and ten other adjectives, but he is going to be fine.”

Teyla shifted Torren so that his head was resting against her chest.  The infant held on tightly to his mother’s thumb.  “Have you seen Colonel Sheppard?”

“No, but I’ve heard several people grumbling about boys and their toys.”

“Ah.” Teyla rested her hand on Ronon’s arm.  “When he wakes tell him I’ll return to thank him.”

Walking to the east pier she is filled with a sense of déjà vu that slows her steps for a moment.   She reminds herself that the danger facing them yesterday is over and though Michael’s death is not yet forgotten it is what it should be, a fading memory.  Turning the corner she watches the Colonel and Rodney crowing over their current favorite toys.  It feels good to hear them joking and free of yesterday’s cares. 

“Whoa.  Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.  We’re just…you know.”  Rodney pants out the words as he runs toward her and Torren, the Colonel at few steps behind.

“Who is winning?”

“I am.”  They both answer.

Watching her rock Torren back and forth, John Shepherd reaches out to him and Teyla hands her son over without words passing between them.  The Colonel in turn hands the alert infant to Rodney.    Torren smiles reaching out for his godfather.

“You two children play while the grown ups have a conversation.”   John places his hand on Teyla’s shoulder and guides her away.    At the end of the hall Teyla turns to him.  They are a breath apart and he searches her eyes for the quiet rage he saw burning there last night.  What he finds is the calm he’s come to expect. 

            “Did you kill him to save me?  If you did I just want to say…”

            Teyla reaches up and traces the bruises above his eye, across his cheek and lips.  Her fingers linger.   He lets himself acknowledge her touch but his glance tells her that he expects an answer.   She steps back her glance moving to where Rodney stands watching, holding Torren who is trying to use his godfather’s thumb as a teething ring.

            “I ended him for all of us. I killed him for this moment of silence.”

- -the end- -