Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis, its characters and all related entities are the property of MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions and The SciFi Channel. No copyright infringement is intended.
This is fan fiction and not intended for commercial profit.

Warning: character death (yes, besides the title one). Spoilers up to and including S05E01, just to be on the safe side.

Author's Note: Still my favourite bad guy :-)

Summary: ... and each time it's with a smile.

1

The human life span is risible compared to the Wraith's. Food and energy consumption is the biggest factor in this, Michael has realized over the years. Choosing a humanoid digestive track for the hybrids was the only way to ensure that he could dispose safely (and completely) of his enemies, but it does mean that he finds himself contemplating the slow decline of his body much sooner than he expected.

He has achieved all that he set out to do at the beginning, but over time he has discovered so much more that needs to be done. When he gets that shortness of breath –that pain in his side- he knows that the end is a little nearer, death creeping up on him, and worries about leaving unfinished business. But he has good people to rely on now, his servants, his comrades in arms, those who've shared his successes and his losses, and he knows that he's leaving his stars in good hands.

One night, when his breath stutters for the last time, he has a moment of clarity: he doesn't regret a single thing. When the waking cycle resumes and they find him, still in his bed, there's a smile on his lips.

2

Realizing that Kanaan cannot help her gives her great pain, but even greater resolve. Three lives depend upon her now: hers, the man she loves and their unborn child. She will not let Michael destroy her family, her life, her happiness without a fight. She prays to the Ancestors even though she knows now that they were never gods, prays with all her will to whoever might listen, and vows that one chance is all she needs.

And finally one day it comes. Michael becomes too sure of himself, or grows careless in his little cruelties, and comes to collect her for yet more tests with only Kanaan as a guard. He cannot help her, but when she picks up the rod in the laboratory and charges their captor with all her desperation he remains motionless, doesn't stop her, and that's enough. Her belly is heavy, makes her less sure of her movements, but this doesn't require the finesse of Bantos fighting, and she uses her weight to propel her momentum and body-slams him into the viscous tissue that makes up every wall on the hive, the rod impaling him against it.

A human would have died instantly, and even a wraith would eventually die of a wound that grievous, so her hope is high when she steps back and sees him immobile, clutching at the stick, still breathing. He looks up at her, eyes clear if a little disbelieving. "You're so strong," he whispers with honest awe. Blood, purplish blue, starts dribbling down his mouth. "Like a true Queen... my real..." His words are stolen by his last exhale. She is disturbed to see his lips pulling back into a smile as death comes over him.

When Kanaan drops silently to the ground behind her she doesn't even have time to reach him and stare in his eyes and touch her forehead to his before he's dead.

All over the Hive the hybrids die instantly along with their maker.

3

"Just so we're clear... I have no problem killing you."

Since the last time he was tortured he hasn't been able to regain full control of his mind skills, but now he also has a greater understanding of human expressions and emotions, something a Wraith would never consider, and he has no doubt that Colonel Sheppard is sincere in his threat even though he cannot read his thoughts.

His death was one of the consequences of about eighty percent of the scenarios he's predicted with a mathematical model based on his experiences with the Lanteans. It does not change his resolve in the least. "And I have no problem with dying," he replies, lowering his stunner and facing the human fully. His creatures are closing in, but not fast enough, and he cannot let this opportunity slip by. He knows from their radio chatter that they're all inside the compound, the team of humans that captured him. He would have liked to kill Dr. Weir as well, but they will do. He walks right up to the gun, and slowly puts his hand on it, guiding Sheppard's aim to the middle of his chest instead of his head. That's not how he plans to go.

"Do it. You should have had the courage to do it a long time ago."

Sheppard fires, three shots in rapid succession. They tear him apart, but he only blacks out for a moment. When he comes to he's sprawled on the ground, and Sheppard and Ronon are battling one of his creatures further down the corridor.

He only has a few moments left, but that's all he needs as his fingers close on the detonator in his pocket. He smiles as he congratulates himself on his thoroughness: booby-trapping all his compounds had been time consuming, but very much worth it.

4

When Beckett stabs him in the back with a syringe full of poison his first emotion is regret: he should have spent more time on the developmental process and implanted a neural block in all his creatures, but that would have meant months of delay before he could have a viable clone, and he'd been too impatient. Now he wonders if the good doctor has been lying about the research as well. For all he knows Beckett could have restored him back to full Wraith instead of making him take the longer path with the research. Anyway it doesn't really matter now.

Whatever it is that he's been inoculated with, it's paralyzing all his muscles and will kill him quickly of asphyxiation. He can't strike back physically, but Beckett's underestimated him. Again. With the last reserves of his energy he focuses his mind and makes the human reach out and take the hidden dagger in his boot. He doesn't have the strength to make him cut his own throat from side to side, but nicking the artery will suffice. When blood spurts out of the small cut the doctor comes back into control, hands grabbing at his neck to stem the flow, but it's too late.

The toxin pulls his features taut, moulds his face in a grotesquely huge and bitter grin. Somewhere near him Beckett whimpers, blood loss already sending him crashing to the ground. Creature and creator, scientist and experiment, torturer and victim. He thinks it's only fit that they die together.

5

He stops running when he reaches one of the outer balconies. The night is beautiful, a glorious starry sky above him and the glittering city of the Ancients below him. It reminds him of open space, of what humans call home, but the Hive and belonging to it's community is a sentiment that's a lot stronger and more complex for Wraith. It's not something he's going to have again, he reflects calmly.

He puts down the gun he stole and climbs on the parapet, looks into the almost endless chasm between him and the pier below. The wind rushes up to him, tussles his hair, invites him to take that last step. He thinks he remembers flying on a dart, piloting. He wonders if it would feel much different.

"Michael, stop!"

He turns. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't even notice them spilling onto the balcony, Dr Weir and Dr. Beckett, Colonel Sheppard, assorted marines, Ronon. All sorts of guns are pointed at him, which makes him chuckle: threatening to shoot him is not going to stop him now, is it?

"I'm sorry about killing that man," he says, and he means it. A senseless killing, waste of a life, the greatest sin a Wraith can commit. If he hadn't tried to stop him he would have gladly let him go, to be fed on another day and sate someone, then at least his death would have been worth it.

"That's ok, let's talk about it. Why don't you come down now?"

He ignores them. He would have preferred to land in the ocean, make sure that they could never retrieve his body, but he's confident he's high enough for the impact to disintegrate him anyway. Physics, equations flutter away at the edge of his memory. He's pretty sure they're not going to get much more than his DNA, which they already have anyway. It's good enough.

"What do you want, Michael? Come down and let's bargain."

He turns to look at them again. More people have arrived. Dr. Heightmeyer. Teyla. It's becoming rather crowded.

He thinks about it for a moment. What is it that he really wants? "What I want... is to never be tortured and experimented on ever again. To be myself. I want to go back to my Hive... my Queen. Then I want to bring them here and have them cull this city, and feed on all of you. Lay Atlantis at Her feet. Choose a lab for myself and study the Ancient technology you so clearly don't understand. What I want is for this to never have happened to me, or any Wraith." Hey, as long as he's wishing...

"But I will settle for never being experimented on again." He steps backwards, still facing them, sees their impassive faces as he starts falling. He arches back, looking at the night sky, imagines that he's in deep space, flying in the void between the stars. When he hits he knows it's much too soon even before he blacks out.

He comes to, sprawled painfully on his back, wind rushing everywhere. He's still alive, but he can't move anything. He doesn't know if he's paralyzed or if he's simply stunned by the pain, but at least he knows he's outside. Did the wind pick him up and slam him to the side of the tower? Is he on a ledge somewhere?

He can't even turn his head to the side, but above him the distant stars seem to be shifting, and out of the corner of his eyes he catches glimpses, spires and towers rushing past in the wrong direction: he's moving horizontally, and that's impossible. There is a legend among the Wraith, a story for the young, that tells of Hives flying forever through space after their final culling, everyone together. He's outgrown it a long time ago, but maybe his lack of faith was a mistake, because he's flying, finally freed.

He passes out again, a little smile on his face. That's how he misses the Jumper uncloaking under him, heading for the bay.