John strode down the hall, his jaw locked and his face twisted in a painful grimace. He didn't even notice Teyla, who was standing beside the transporters, waiting for it to come back down.
"Hello, John," she said, a hint of sadness in her eyes. He didn't respond; he didn't even acknowledge her presence by looking in her direction. "At least look at me. I know you are mad. . ."
His eyes finally flickered in her direction, and the pain, the raw anger that glowed there like hot coals caused her to recoil. "Mad?" he asked in a low voice. "I'm not mad, I'm furious. McKay assumed, he made a decision in opposition to my order. It would have been so much kinder to just let Elizabeth die."
"Kinder? To let her die?"
"Yeah, it's a helluva lot kinder than letting her live as a damned replicator. Death would have been a merciful release."
John's words sent Teyla's mind reeling. "What? You cannot mean. . .? How can you . . .? Why do you . . .? I do not understand."
The transporters door opened and John stepped inside. "I'll be in the lower level is anyone needs me. By the way, I can't answer your questions. The pain is too. . .too fresh, too close." Teyla sensed John's need to be alone, so she just stepped back and let the transporter's doors close.