What Forgiveness? By Mojave Dragonfly
Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with the creation of Stargate:Atlantis. Also, After Such Knowledge, this story's AU universe, is by Sarah T, not me. I am writing in her world with permission.
Author notes: In "After Such Knowledge," the human Michael is peripherally included in the team's missions, but when he secretly uses Wraith technology to create a version of the retrovirus which does not require a booster, Caldwell puts him under guard again. When Rodney figures out how to aerosolize it, the team realizes they have a weapon that could turn the Wraith crew of an entire cruiser human if Michael can lure a ship by reverting to a Wraith and summoning them telepathically. It would probably be suicide for him. You can read it at http[colon slash slash]www[dot]aliencorn[dot]net[slash]stories[slash]after[dot]html. It's a great story. You should read it. This is a sequel to it.
Sheppard strides through the corridor to Teyla's quarters, two MPs flanking him, unconcerned about approaching silently, since the solid walls of Atlantis are soundproof. "Colonel," says the senior of the MPs, a buck sergeant, "we should go in drawn. It's procedure."
"I said, no." Sheppard checks his own weapon's security in his holster. "This is bad enough. I'm not barging in with guns drawn." Privately, he considers a surprised Teyla a greater potential danger than even the escaped prisoner with her in her quarters. If she's not under any threat in there, her response to their invasion could be ... unpleasant. As for Michael …
Anger smolders in him, anger he struggles to keep banked. He has no cause to believe Michael has a weapon. If he'd wanted one, he would have taken it from the guard on his room – the one he'd somehow drugged into a woozy sleep, the one who now strides shamefaced and doubly determined at Sheppard's heels.
At Teyla's door he slaps a command override in and the three of them burst through. "Step back, Michael. Away from Teyla," he orders, gesturing with one hand, the other on his holster. Before he finishes speaking, Michael jumps to his feet, releasing Teyla's hands, his gaze flicking around the room. Teyla wears a soft robe over her sleeping gown. Her hair is down. They had been seated, facing, holding each other's hands like the pious at prayer.
Again Sheppard smothers irrational fury. They'd been holding hands. The Wraith used their hands to feed …
"Take him," he orders, barely looking at Michael. The MPs shoulder past him as Teyla stands, gracefully. She regards Sheppard calmly, faintly disapproving, nothing like the warrior's reaction he'd feared she might exhibit. It is as if she'd expected this. "Don't hurt him," she says, and that makes him angry, too. "John." His name makes it personal, makes it urgent. Makes it an appeal.
Sheppard regards Michael, defiant in the MPs' grips. The wraith-man's face is a sullen mask, not succeeding at covering his fury. Fury and something else. Something devastated. Sheppard ignores it; he doesn't have time for it. "Take him back to his quarters and 'cuff him to his bed. I'll be there in a minute." Michael doesn't struggle as they take him away, but his reluctant steps are not cooperative, either.
The moment the door clicks, he asks, "What happened?"
Teyla sighs and turns away. "Would you like some tea?"
"I don't want tea; I want a report."
She turns back, surprised at his tone, then composes herself into a soldier. "He came to my door. I let him in and we talked."
"You knew he was confined to quarters." He needs her to remember what Michael is.
She tips her head yes, and looks at his face. "Was anyone hurt?"
Seeing her understanding, he relaxes a little. "His guard fell asleep. I'm sure Michael had something to do with it. Did he tell you how he got out?"
She frowns, thinking. "No." The look she gives him speaks her veiled concern. "Fell asleep?" Her tone is unbelieving.
"Yeah." Sheppard sinks onto a bench, releasing the anger and fear he wouldn't admit to. Replacing it, reluctantly, with something bigger. "Not very likely, is it."
"But possible," she says, not believing it herself.
So there it lies, between them, heavy in the room. The possibility that Michael has been hiding Wraith abilities from them. Michael has Powers. The certainty of Caldwell's wrath and the severity of the retribution that will fall on Michael forms a knot in his stomach. "What did he want?" he asks quietly.
"Is that really salient to the report? Something that happens in the privacy of my quarters?" She dares him to assume the worst.
Sheppard doesn't take the bait. He knows her better than she suspects. "Everything about Michael is salient to the report. He's still an experiment. Knowing what he wanted would tell me how serious his escape is."
He sees her consider that. "He wanted to talk," she says. "He was scared. I've never seen him so … vulnerable. He told me he never knows when the sun rises if he'll be permitted to live to see it set. That's a lot of stress."
"Even the Wraith value their lives, Teyla. And any of us can die at any time."
"We don't have to fear death at each other's hands, John. We don't worry that our own execution is going to suddenly appear on the day's schedule."
"That's—" He had been going to say 'ridiculous,' but he stops. "So he cries on your shoulder and you go all soft on him? We still don't know what he is."
She shakes her head. "When I think of him as a wraith – the things he must have done …" A look of such disgust distorts her smooth features that the hair on Sheppard's neck rises. The moment passes, and she looks at him. "We're asking him to give up his life for our cause. It's the ultimate sacrifice one human can make for others, and we're not even convinced of his humanity."
"Because we don't know how much he has," Sheppard replies, grimly. "Maybe less than we thought."
"Maybe," she admits. "But maybe more."
