AN: A Sateda fic, Teyla's POV…in some ways, it's a novelization of Sateda, with some added thoughts from Teyla, and some 'missing scenes'. The dialogue was taken down word for word (and boy wasn't that fun, seeing how no transcripts for this are out yet – now you know why I'm so slow for this tag). Anyway, hope you enjoy it. Thank you gaffer and Linzi for your invaluable beta assistance, remaining mistakes are mine. Feedback is welcome. Though someone could look at this with Teyla-Sheppard ship goggles, it's a gen fic that really speaks about their friendship as shown in canon with the hints of 'maybe more' that canon has also shown. Warning: This is one big massive spoiler for Sateda!

Outsiders

I have often thought that life was easier when I looked upon it with the eyes of a child's view. I did not carry the burdens, fears and worries then that I do now.

Though I might long for just one more night to sit at my father's fire, to listen to the nuts crackling in the heat, I know that where I am now is a moment that some day will be more important than any other time in my life.

The wraith no longer cull without challenge. They no longer own the stars. And I am fighting them.

If I had to explain why to anyone, and I have, then I would say a people came, as Colonel Sheppard often puts it, from a galaxy far, far away, and they fight the wraith for everyone. It is not just for themselves. It is for the Mendali, the Jujura, and Dialarian. It is for all the people in this place of mine that they call the Pegasus Galaxy.

Yet, for the hope that has been brought, I am not of John's people, and neither is Ronon. We are outsiders – and though I know John would not wish to discuss such things, I am under no illusion about where loyalty and priority rests with his people.

For the good they have brought, I have given up many things. My people -- into Halling's care on the mainland -- my world, and in many ways, my life. We had lived on Athos for as long as our history had been recorded, and undoubtedly, longer before that. The drawings in the caves told a painful history of culling after culling, and the great city is one we dared not venture into for fear of bringing the wraith prematurely upon us. Then in one day, everything changed, even the fear.

Before, I feared for the end of my people -- for Halling, Charrin, and Susia. For Jinto and Marsa. Would we survive? Would we be culled, and how many would be taken from us?

But still, life went on. We traded with other worlds, and we lived. Babies were born, lives lost, crops to be harvested and we moved where the soil was rich and the wildlife was plentiful. Despite the losses, we were content. My fear was isolated, at one center of my world.

Now, I fear for the galaxy.

For people like Keturah, and his village. They reacted harshly to Ronon's presence, not understanding. A runner does not choose to live that life, to bring wraith wherever he goes. Ronon is as much a victim as anyone else, but all Keturah's people understand is that Ronon is the Wraithbringer.

I can only hope Rodney managed to return to Atlantis, and a rescue party will arrive soon. Ronon is wearing his blame like a heavy cloak, and I have tried unsuccessfully to assure him that this is not his fault. The hunted owes no pain to the devastation of the hunter.

Perhaps John will be more successful when he wakes from the effects of the drug.

Ronon had woken first, and by the time I had recovered, it was only to find him staring angrily through the slatted log bars. My breath misted before me, and I found my limbs had stiffened noticeably from the cold and the time spent unconscious. I stood only long enough to remove the dart still stuck in John's shoulder, sparing an irritated glance at Ronon. I had maneuvered John into a corner of the cage. He had only recently recovered from this pneumonia, and lying on the cold ground posed a risk for him to become sick again.

The fact that he is still deeply unconscious, and does not stir as I move him, worries me. But then I consider that perhaps the colonel had taken a larger dose because he had not had time to withdraw the drugged dart as I had, and I assume, Ronon had as well, since he had woken before me.

Once I am satisfied that he is breathing well enough, I return to my corner, still feeling the nauseating effects.

"You should have aided Colonel Sheppard," I scold, unable to keep my peace any longer.

Ronon's fingers clutch the bars and he does not even look at me. "He's fine."

I could hear the unspoken, "but not for long…because of me."

The men on my team, the team Colonel Sheppard had asked me over two of their years ago to be a part of, said very little and often meant very much, with the exception of Rodney. Rodney often said much while showing little, and I am not entirely certain of which one I prefer. I am fond of them all, more than I care to admit sometimes, even to myself, and yet…I also feel a certain responsibility for their welfare, both physical and mental.

Ronon is a lost man. He has spent too many years fighting to live to have fully accepted the second chance he has been granted. This…this will not help him travel on that road of acceptance that I had sensed him beginning to consider. When I had convinced him to accept John's offer, he had admitted to feeling as if he would never belong anywhere again. It was a rare confession, and he had refused to discuss it further. Even if he had wanted to, I am not so sure I could have helped, because I have the same fears.

My world is gone, my people, separate from me, and I often wear clothes and use weapons that are not my own. I am no longer clearly Athosian, but I also am not of this Earth, though I live amongst them, eat and dress like them. I watch their movies, play their games and learn many things, but it does not change the fact that I am not from their world any more than they are from mine.

I watch as the colonel sleeps, for the moment unaware and relaxed.

John is just as lost as Ronon. He may be from their world, but I have noticed a distinct…disconnectedness…I am not sure if that is the word, but it is close enough. He is accepted by Elizabeth, his team, Carson and others, but I have also observed that he does not get along well with everyone. He and Colonel Caldwell do their best to avoid deep interactions.

I sense a great discomfort from John at times. In many ways, he is as alone as I am, and perhaps that is why I have always felt an affinity with him, even from that first moment on Athos. There was something about him that begged me to trust, and I do not regret my decision to do so, even though my life changed so drastically thereafter.

The logs are hard against my back, and I hunch over, pressing only the firmness of my spine against the cage, trying to ease the growing ache between my shoulders. Ronon is still staring at the village, lost in his own thoughts, when John finally stirs.

I watch as he begins to move his head slightly. He lifts a hand to his shoulder, the same one where the dart had struck him, and I can imagine he is reliving the last moments before he became unconscious.

"Well, I guess it could be worse."

He sounds slightly less well than usual, but I am pleased he puts together a sentence that is both at once more optimistic than the situation warrants, and also, very much normal for John. I offer him a weak smile because I am glad that he has woken, mostly unharmed, but I am also not sure many places are worse than this. It is cold, I still feel slightly sick to my stomach, and the villagers are not keeping us here for our well-being.

"Look, I know you must be thinking this is your fault…"

John is trying to help Ronon with the guilt he is obviously feeling, huddled and isolated from us, staring at nothing. What Ronon's mind is busy with, I am uncertain, but I am sure it is not good.

When Ronon does not respond, I say to John, "I have already tried to console him."

One can never say that the colonel does not keep trying. He steps closer to Ronon and says, "We were bound to run across a planet that you'd been to sooner or later."

"It was night last time," Ronon admits, surprising me.

I look across at John, both of us waiting, but Ronon seems lost in a memory, and before I can prompt him for more, Keturah approaches, his words harsh. "Did you think we would not remember you?"

I watch Ronon as the words hit – words of anger. Ronon came here as a runner, and they had given him food and shelter, only for the wraith to arrive on the village's door, looking for him. I watch Ronon from my position behind him.

"I'm sorry."

Keturah only seems angered by Ronon's apology. "Sorry -- I doubt that. You will not bring death and destruction on us again."

How little does Keturah know? How blind is this leader, to not understand? It is not the man, but the monster, to blame. The wraith brought the death and destruction.

John steps forward, hoping to smooth this, but I know he is only deluding himself. I have seen Keturah's kind, and nothing is likely to get through to him. It only makes me frustrated. "He is a victim of the wraith!" I stress. "Like all of us. His planet was destroyed, he was captured and made a runner, but he is not one anymore. They cannot track him as they once did."

Keturah's anger resonates from him. "They did not feed on us all last time." His hand is tight on his staff. "They promised that if he ever came back and we captured him, we would be forever free from culling in the future."

"They promised?" I say, outraged. This is madness. "They are wraith! I promise you that killing Ronon will not change what happened and it will not protect you in the future."

I have known many people to suffer from delusions, their desperation leading them to accept that which anyone else would say was wrong, and I see the same disturbing belief now in this man. He actually believes he can deal with the wraith, as I dealt with other people on other worlds, trading and bartering for goods and services. What he does not accept, is that the wraith have no need to honor any bargain after they get what they want.

"I said nothing of killing," responds Keturah roughly.

John suspects the same thing as I. "Isn't that what sacrifice means?" he asks, and it comes as no surprise when we see the beacon in his hand. Keturah is a fool, and we will all pay the price. John tells Keturah, "They're going to kill us all, you included."

And they will. The wraith have no reason to let this village survive. It is poor, small, and unlikely to produce a large amount of food (humans) in the future. Keturah thinks he has saved his people, and I see the righteous fervor in his eyes -- distaste for what he's done mixed with the anger over what Ronon brought to his people. I am too sick over the uselessness to tell him he has only a short time left to live, along with us all.

After Keturah leaves, John looks at me and I shake my head. We are in trouble, and I see no way out. The guard is watching us closely and the cage, while simple, is effective. Ronon is lost once again in his memories, and we are left to wait.

"This is not good," John mutters, leaning against the wall I had propped him against earlier. "In fact, I'd go so far as to say, this is probably going to get ugly really soon."

Sometimes, John talks just to think out loud, and to make him feel better, and though I acknowledge the truth of his statement with a slight crooked smile, I do not say what is on my mind.

I move away, to simmer over possible solutions, and I know John is doing the same. When the wraith show, perhaps they will not stun us, and we might be able to disarm a guard, get a stunner, and shoot our way to the 'gate…and perhaps flying Havals will learn to swim. I sigh, and wish the lingering queasiness from the drug would stop. It is distracting.

"Get him back here, the leader of your village."

Ronon's call pulls me out of my internal thoughts. He has not moved from the same position, and I have a bad feeling even while he exchanges words with the villager. I know John is surprised when Ronon grabs the man, and places a knife to his throat, but I am not. I have felt a quiet desperation growing in Ronon, and when he demands, "Let them go. It's me the wraith want. They had nothing to do with what happened here," I am not shocked in the least.

It is something Ronon would do. It is something John would do.

"What the hell are you doing?"

John has moved nearer to Ronon, and I have slipped across our cage to stand with him, ready to act as he sees fit. But right now, the colonel seems inclined to try and talk Ronon away from this course he has taken without consulting us. John knows as well as I, what Ronon is doing, and I believe that is why he is angry.

Ronon tightens his hand on the knife. "Back off, Sheppard."

"Drop the knife, now," orders John.

"No! I didn't mean to bring the wraith here. But it was my fault."

I am incensed. All of this is useless and it will not save us from the approaching wraith. "That isn't true!"

He shoots an angry look at us, before reasserting his grip on the man, who is struggling to not so much as breathe too deep, lest the knife cut into his throat. "You know it is. I should never have come here. I should never have stayed. I'm sorry about what happened to your village, but if you think turning me over to the wraith will help keep you safe, fine, do it. I'll do whatever I have to, to make up for it, but don't punish them for my mistake. They're good people. You let them go, or I'll be dead before the wraith get here, I promise. Then see what the wraith do to you."

I can see the ending even before the conversations have finished.

It plays out much as I thought it would, with John and I sharing alarmed looks while Ronon holds the knife to his own throat. When Keturah agrees, we are hauled from the cage. I look back and see Ronon darted as we are pushed and pulled away. He had bartered for our lives, and even though I am angry, I know he needed to do what he did for his own peace of mind. I also know, as hard as it is for us to leave him behind, this may be our only chance. If we had been taken with him, then none of us would have had hope. Now we have time, possibly, to return with a rescue team. But it will be close.

The guards do not let us talk, but there is no need. I know that John intends to return with a rescue party. Once we clear the 'gate and are back on Atlantis, he immediately delivers the order I expected, but nonetheless, am relieved to hear.

"Someone get us some vests and guns."

Major Mathison approaches, all ready dressed to leave. "Colonel, Teyla," he nods his head. "We were just about to come get you guys. Where's…" he looks at the now inactive 'gate, "…where's Ronon?"

I reach for a vest that has been brought as John replies, "He's still back there. McKay get through okay?"

Doctor Weir answers, apprehension and confusion evident in her tone, "Yeah, he's gonna be fine. What happened?"

I tell her, "Ronon bargained for our freedom," as I finish grabbing my gear from the soldier.

"By sticking a knife to his own throat. We're going back."

I am relieved when Weir does not even hesitate to order over her shoulder, "Dial the 'gate."

"Took us fifteen minutes to get to the gate." Even as John says it, I have also 'done the math' as they like to say. Fifteen minutes to Atlantis, and even though we are quickly ready to leave, it will be another fifteen minutes to the village. The wraith will come in their ships, and they will be faster.

"The place could be crawling with wraith by now," I say, making sure to look at the waiting members of the rescue party that will now be accompanying us back to the village. It will be dangerous for everyone.

The major says, resolved, "Let's go get him."

I know, even as we walk into the event horizon, we will be too late.

The burning, devastated village is therefore no surprise, but I am angry, all the same. Ronon is gone, and though I promise John we will find him, I do not know how I manage to force the lie through my lips.

OoO

When we arrive back on Atlantis, we are quiet. Doctor Weir calls us into the briefing room, knowing as well as I do, that John needs to move straight into planning further rescue attempts. The colonel is tightly wound, full of restless energy, and he walks past me, saying with enough convicted assurance, "He's alive," that I almost believe him.

Carson is next to me and he looks as skeptical as everyone. "Don't get me wrong, I hope he is, but how can you be certain?"

Maybe the colonel is right; the wraith do not always kill when the first opportunity is presented… "They made a sport out of trying to kill him in the past," I think out loud.

"He's the one that got away," John states, convinced, following my train of thought.

It could be. I had not considered that aspect, but it makes sense, and suddenly, I find myself just as certain as John. "I believe they will try again."

"Ronon will not go down easily," John says, his voice husky.

The colonel is standing with his hands on his hips, and I can sense in him the need to act. I feel it in myself. I see it in Rodney, who is also standing, although he is far more uncomfortable for additional reasons, and I wonder at his presence, so soon after being injured.

Doctor Weir studies John carefully. "But they must know how dangerous he can be…it's not like they're gonna give him a fair chance."

The wraith never give anyone a fair chance.

"And obviously, we don't have much time," agrees John.

When Doctor Weir asks how we find him, I already have the possible answer. "If the wraith placed a tracking device in him the way they did last time…" I know what they can do with their machines; I have watched and learned. They can track signals across the galaxy; surely they can find Ronon if he has been tagged again?

Rodney brings up the critical point. If they put another one in Ronon. But John puts words to how I feel.

"I'll take whatever odds I can get."

Yes, I will also take whatever odds, because moments ago, I had believed Ronon was lost to us, and now, thanks again to John's people, I have hope. As Doctor Weir and Rodney leave, I offer a reassuring smile to John and begin to follow them through the door. When Carson's voice stops us, the colonel is so close on my heels I am surprised he has not stepped on me.

"Colonel, Teyla, I hope you're both aiming for the infirmary."

I pause, and this time, John does run into my back. He steadies me with his strong arms, then gives me space. I put on my best warm smile and turn to Carson. "I was going to prepare for the rescue mission." I am not sure what I have to prepare, but I will find something. The need they have for frequent medical checks grows wearisome. I have traveled through the 'gate for most of my life and have never suffered ill effects before.

Ordinarily, I tolerate the constant intrusion, because of the need they feel for this routine, but my stomach is still mildly unsettled and I am fully aware, that at any time, Carson has the power to say who does, or does not, go through the 'gate, or in this case, on a certain rescue mission I have no intention of missing.

"Lass, you know procedure." Carson smiles briefly and pats my arm affectionately, before slipping in front of me. "Now, follow me, both of you," he adds over his shoulder.

OoO

It turns out that I am pleasantly surprised. I do not freely offer the information about the drugged darts, but in answering the general questions -- number seventeen is: Were you affected by any alien substance off world (that you know of)? Carson learns about our temporary unconsciousness and we have extra blood drawn.

I confess my stomach remains unsettled, and he offers a pill that helps tremendously, and by the time the results are back, he gives me permission to leave. Unfortunately, John is not so lucky. As I suspected, and told Carson, the dart had remained in Sheppard's arm and he received a higher dose than I. His blood work shows trace levels still in his system, and through prompting that only Carson seems able to do with the colonel, John reluctantly admits to an upset stomach and headache.

Carson had used, "Teyla admitted to discomfort, Colonel. Do they not say, lead by example?"

John had met my eyes, looking decidedly trapped. But it had worked. I worry about his health, and it is nice to turn over that worry now to Carson. With a promise of an hour, if that, before John can be released, I tell John I will take the tracking device to Rodney.

I find him in his lab, waiting. Absent-mindedly, Rodney takes the device from me, asking, "Where is the colonel?"

"The infirmary."

I watch as Rodney moves to his bench and slides the tracking device into a holding frame of some kind, attaching sensors to it. He went to sit on his stool, and just as I am about to warn him, his bottom touches the surface. With a yelp, he quickly straightens and glares. He looks at me, and I promise, I do try not to laugh, but it is so hard…

"Oh, nice, laugh at the wounded man," he grumps. "Get that for me, would you?" He points at the device rigged on the metal frame.

"I am sorry, Rodney," I apologize sincerely. "I will not laugh again."

I have to admit, my spirits are high, because there is the possibility that we will find Ronon. That this hope will bear the fruit I want so desperately, and I know, if anyone can bring Ronon back from this, it is John, Rodney, and their technology.

We have lost Ford; I do not wish to see what losing Ronon will do, to either one of them, let alone, myself.

I place it on the floor in an open area where he plans on working, and he soon loses himself in his work, muttering about things I do not understand. I quietly leave.

OoO

While Rodney works on finding Ronon's signal, I have nothing to do. My mission gear is easily prepared in minutes. I feel the need to do…something, and my restlessness drives me to the room John had prepared for me soon after I first came to Atlantis. It is a medium sized room, light and airy, and he'd had exercise mats placed along the floor. It is in this room where I find more peace than anywhere else.

I like to lose myself in the forms of traditional Bantos fighting. There are many ways for a soul to center itself. Meditation, prayer, exercise…but this method is one dear to me. I learned from my father. Here, with them firmly grasped in my hands, moving through the motions handed down through generations, I feel a connection to my past. I remember who I am. It is much more to me than mere exercise.

More than two years ago, when John had come to my room to see if I was settling in without any difficulties, I had been practicing. I had opened the door, the sticks held almost as an after thought in my hands. After I had invited him in, and answered his questions, he had asked what the sticks were and what they were used for. After I had explained, he'd said it sounded like martial arts on Earth.

Surprising me with his interest, John asked if I would demonstrate how to use them. I did not hesitate, and had him pinned to the floor in my quarters within a heartbeat. He'd stared up at me, surprised. I had held my breath, fearing I had insulted him, but he had grinned, once the shock wore off, and after asking me to let him up so he could breathe, also asked if I would teach him.

"Teyla, briefing room," John's voice comes alive in my ear. In light of events, I had left my earpiece in while exercising. "Rodney's found him, but there's a complication."

I wonder at the 'complication', but acknowledge the request. "I am on my way." I leave the sticks on the bench under the window. I do not have time to properly clean them and it is better for the sweat to air dry rather than tucking them in the carrying bag still damp.

OoO

"We have no choice. We've been unable to dial into Sateda's Stargate."

That is the complication, and I should've expected it. The wraith often do such things to worlds they cull. I glance at the others and say my thoughts aloud, "The wraith likely disabled it." They know what I mean. The wraith's practice of dialing a planet's 'gate, and leaving it active so no one can dial in or out while they cull, or in this instance, hunt, is familiar to all of us.

It is not enough for them to decimate worlds; they must also make a sport out of their killing.

"Which means if the wraith are hunting Ronon, there's a very good chance that there's a Hive in orbit. I shouldn't have to remind you the Daedalus has not done well in its last few engagements with wraith Hive ships." Colonel Caldwell's announcement feels like a death sentence for Ronon.

I am torn. When I had first joined John's team, and we went to other worlds, I would have risked everything trying to save lives. It was only in the second year where I began to accept you cannot always save everyone. Sometimes, the only course was to turn ones' back on those less fortunate, to live and fight another day. Sometimes the losses incurred in attempting to save lives under unbeatable odds were not worth it. I am still not comfortable with that realization, and even less so now that the life at hand is Ronon's.

Rodney looks as if the problem is far simpler than Colonel Caldwell believes. "We drop out of hyperspace, we beam him on board, we get out of there."

Colonel Caldwell vibrates with frustration. "You know damn well we can't come out of hyperspace and get close enough to a planet to beam someone up from the surface. We'll be detected."

Everyone in the room shares uneasy looks, and I feel a pit of ice in my stomach. The hope I felt earlier is turning to ash, and I cannot imagine leaving Ronon to this grisly fate. It is hard enough to leave nameless faces to such an end, but one I have shared much with over the last year…it is worse than Lieutenant Ford, because at least with him, the possibility for his survival existed. Ronon will not live long. Trapped on his world, hunted. The wraith will capture him, and they will kill him.

"Look, you know I want to help, but I will not put my crew and the only ship that we have in this galaxy, at risk for one man."

It is as I feared. I form an argument, but before I can speak, John says angrily, "One man that isn't a member of the US military."

I do not know if John's assessment has merit, but Colonel Caldwell appears insulted as he denies, "I didn't say that."

John strides across the room, towards Colonel Caldwell, and I feel apprehension, because he normally avoids confrontations with the colonel. But, at the same time, I am pleasantly surprised, to see him fighting for Ronon's rescue.

"He's a member of my team, and he deserves the same respect as anyone does on this expedition!"

John's statement is harsh, and the tension in the room is such that we all feel it. I share another uneasy look with Rodney, who watches as well, uncertain of what will be the outcome.

Doctor Weir adds, "We don't leave our people out there, Colonel. Not if there's any chance."

With her support, I know the odds have turned. I no longer feel the rescue is slipping through my fingers. Yet, Colonel Caldwell remains frustrated and says, "Don't preach to me about leaving people behind, Doctor Weir. I'm just saying it's a very bad reward-risk situation."

Reward-risk?

It sounds cold, but I do not have it in me any longer to believe Colonel Caldwell is completely wrong. He is not. We have lost lives in rescue attempts for others, and it has always bothered me that the lives I cherish were saved at the expense of lives that someone else, somewhere, cherished just as much. Life is an unfair thing.

John is pleased enough. "Fine, then just get us close. We'll take a cloaked Jumper the rest of the way."

"I'll go with them, remove the tracking device before we get back on board," Carson volunteers.

I watch the faces in the room. It has so suddenly become possible, and I think once again, that these people are very complicated. Carson is not what many would think of as brave, yet, he is when it is needed. In much the same way as Rodney, and I am very glad to count them as my friends.

The emotion in the room has changed. Before, there was anger and frustration, now there is relief, and conviction…there is a job to do, and they are ready. John's relief is palpable; he knows the argument went in his favor. He promises, "We'll be out of there before the wraith even know what happened."

Colonel Caldwell warns, "I won't bail you out if you get into trouble," in a tone that reminds me of when my father would let me do something he felt was unwise, merely so I could learn from the experience.

But John is confident, much as I always had been in the face of my father's warnings, and replies with irreverence, "You say that as if we're always getting into trouble."

As I follow the others from the room, I think to myself thatis because we always are. But, to always get into trouble, one must be alive, and I would wish for us to continue 'getting into trouble' for many years to come. All of us.

OoO

I think of many things while John flies the Jumper to rendezvous with the Daedalus above Atlantis' skies. Rodney stands behind John, unable to sit because of his wound. At times, he looks so forlornly at the chair that I feel for him. I know he will not remain behind, but I also know he is still hurting. He hides behind a veneer of brittle arrogance, yet he is here for only one reason. He cares, like all of us. Carson, John, myself…

Once we land, Rodney is relieved to have something to do, and he leaves for the bridge, to help direct the flight to Sateda. I am fairly certain that Colonel Caldwell does not need the help, but there are only so many things Rodney can do right now, and this is one where he can reasonably forget his injury. He often stands while on the bridge of the Daedalus.

I have nothing to do, but I have met a few individuals assigned to the Daedalus that are pleasant enough, and I seek them out now. I find that Sergeant Barry has a new son, and Lieutenant Noles bought a house. She insists it is worth the money, even though she often spends a great deal of time on the Daedalus.

Surprisingly, I understand. Everyone needs a place to call home, a place that is just yours, and where you belong. I lost that when I agreed to stay on Atlantis, separate from the rest of my people, who have made a new life for themselves on the mainland. They live there, safe, protected -- as long as John's people continue to win. I could have gone, and resumed a normal life. Married, perhaps even had children, and built a home for myself.

Instead, I live amongst strangers.

And perhaps, not so strange, after all. I have thought a great deal about the events in the briefing room. I am not so sure we would be here if it were not for the words John said. Two possible outcomes; the path to this one was set by a man I have come to admire a great deal. He was…insubordinate…I believe that is the term. Or, very close to it. And it worked, but I am not so naïve to believe it could not have gone an entirely different way.

I call Rodney over the radio, asking where John is; I wish to speak with him, to, at the very least, let him know how much his actions meant to me. Rodney grouches about being Sheppard's 'keeper' but says, "Try the mess hall."

When I walk through the door, I see him sitting alone at a table, playing with the small device they call a PDA. He looks up and sees me, already moving to put away the device.

"Hey," he calls in greeting.

"Am I disturbing you?" I figure I am not, but it is a politeness ingrained in me. Even if I was, I doubt he would say so, because he seems to hide behind equally polite walls.

"No…what's up?" he asks, genuinely happy to talk with me.

"I just wanted to thank you." I leap right in, knowing that the direct approach is often the best to take with John. And I do want to thank him. He needs to know what his actions mean to me, for he is so often unaware of his worth.

Confused, he replies, "For what?"

It does not surprise me that he does not know. "For going after Ronon this way."

"Did you think we wouldn't?" His surprise almost appears as disbelief.

"He is an outsider," I point out reasonably. Does John not see the obvious? Ronon and I do not belong to them. We are not from Earth. But, for the first time, I consider that maybe I am the one not seeing things clearly.

John's response is swift and sure. "Not to me."

What he says is true. I have always felt that John accepted me, but John is only one amongst an entire expedition of people. "I have often felt like an outsider among your people," I confess, feeling slightly guilty for saying it. John is not to blame for how others have treated me. The initial mistrust, the conflict with Sergeant Bates – those events are not so easily forgotten.

"Well, maybe at first, but you know I've always trusted you."

His reply seems to show his thoughts were in the past, like mine, and I do not want John to believe that I felt otherwise about him. I knew from the beginning that John was different. In that first meeting, Colonel Sumner had looked down upon my people, but not John. He had treated me like we were equals.

"Yes, you and Doctor Weir have been very accepting, but this has shown me how far you would go, even for someone who is not from your world."

Even as I finish, hoping to show, as well as say, how much it means to me, I can sense he is uncomfortable, and I smile, encouraging him to not feel as if he must hide behind the casual mask he so often wears.

He awkwardly moves his cup to his tray, needing to do something, though I am not fooled. "Look, Teyla," he says, staring at his tray, "I'm not really good at…uh…actually, I'm…I'm terrible at expressing…" John struggles further and I have to bite my tongue against finishing his thoughts, but just when I can no longer wait, he finds more words, "I don't know what you call it…"

I guess, "Feelings?" because I am certain that is what he means. John feels a great deal, but he rarely shares those feelings. After spending time with him, I had realized there were only two reasons for him to behave as he did. Either he did not trust me enough to share, or, he did not know how.

It had not taken long for me to be assured it was not a trust issue.

He seems to accept my suggestion, and I think, maybe, he feels self-conscious for having it spoken aloud, between us, because he stumbles a little before conceding, "Yeah, sure, okay…the point is I don't really have good…uh…. "

"Social skills?" I offer helpfully. This is the first meaningful conversation we have truly had, and I am loathe for him to retreat. If he requires my suggestions to continue, then I will gladly give them.

He smiles, both relieved and self-deprecatingly. "Well, that is why I enjoyed flying choppers in the most remote parts of my world, before all this craziness happened, but …uh… you should know, I don't have, uh…"

"Friends?"

His response is immediate, and he looks up from the tray. I have at least coaxed that much of a reaction from him, with my mostly unintentional insult.

"No!" he responds quickly, almost horrified that I would think that of him. "I have friends…"

I smile a little, just because I am fully aware that he has friends. I was just not so sure that John knew this.

Perhaps he realizes I was not being completely serious with my suggestion, because he seems to recover, and continues, "You, Elizabeth…" he looks at me, and I am not sure what he is trying to see. "Ronon, Carson, even Rodney are the closest thing I have to…uh…"

I am no longer teasing as I say kindly, "A family." For it is something I recognized in him. He had even less than I when we first met. He never spoke of a family back home, or friends. I am not so blind that I could not see the tree in front of me. It is as if John had no past before he came to Atlantis, and that means, he had a past he did not wish to remember.

He is very solemn now, and quiet. "I'd do anything, for any one of you." His hands are on each side of the tray. He is uncomfortable and I wish suddenly that I had not come here, because I feel the depth of what this is costing him. Yet, on the other hand, I would not leave now for all the Nerals on Athos.

John does not realize that he is telling me something I had all ready suspected, though I will admit, seeing, and hearing, is much different than believing. It is why I am sitting here across from him. Because my belief was borne into fruition when he stood up for Ronon in that briefing room, and he will never truly understand the depth of devotion I, and the others, have equally in return, for him.

He tries to meet my eyes, but he is painfully aware of how open and intimate our conversation has become. John is baring himself to someone, and it is possibly the first time I have ever seen him do so. Though he is fighting to keep eye contact, he mostly connects with me, and I muster a half-smile, still deeply affected by the mere fact that he is telling me these thoughts.

John fights to keep control as he adds, "If I had to give up my life, the way Ronon was going to…I would."

By the time he finishes, his words are spoken so softly, if there had been any nearby conversation, it would have overcome John's voice, and that would have been a terrible thing.

I try to find something to say. I want him to know that he means so very much to all of us, as well, and I have no trouble in presuming to speak for those not sitting with us. I will not share the conversation with them at a later time, because I do not think it is what John would want, but I also do not think it is necessary. I believe even Rodney understands, perhaps more than I, because Rodney has been there for John.

In those early days, I did not know either man very well, but I do remember Rodney and John, cavorting about their new city, exploring and testing. No, I do not doubt that Rodney understands. There is more to their friendship than I see; maybe a common background, maybe each sense something familiar in the other.

John pats my hand, startling me from my thoughts, and I blush, realizing I lost my moment, because he is standing, and walking away.

"Thank you," I manage to say, before he has completely left the room. It is not nearly what I had hoped, but he looks back, just a little, and I know he's waiting. I sigh, because there is no way for me to say everything that I wish too. So, I say instead, "For everything…you meant to say." For everything you are and do, though I keep that to myself. Perhaps John is not the only one that has difficulty in opening up.

He pauses and I know he understands. I watch as he leaves. I have no reason to stay, yet, I find myself sitting at the table for a long time after.

OoO

It is not much later when the atmosphere in the Daedalus changes from lazy anticipation to nervous energy. We have arrived just out of sensor range of Sateda. I meet John, Rodney and Carson in the bay, and when they see me, we move together into the Jumper. John begins the flight procedures he has done many times before, and I know he finds comfort in the routine.

Rodney stands in the back, still preferring not to sit. I smile warmly at him, and stay in the rear rather than sit in front. He could have stayed on Atlantis, or even the Daedalus, but he has chosen, despite his injury, to accompany us on Ronon's rescue. I know there are some that would be surprised at his choice, but I am not one of them.

I listen to John answer Carson's nervous questions about the rescue.

"You will do fine," I assure him.

Carson looks briefly over his shoulder and gives me an appreciative look that is still nervous. When he returns his attention to the front, John is signaling Daedalus that we are ready and Colonel Caldwell wishes us good luck. Luck is something I am familiar with, but on Athos, we called it fortune. Good fortune to those in need, though it rarely would be so. The wraith made certain of that.

The signal from Ronon's tracker is strong. "He is still alive," I say, relieved. Space as dark as night, fills the view screen, until John directs the Jumper in a turn, and then Sateda looms ahead.

"For now," Rodney mutters. He steps past me, and studies the HUD. "The Hive ship…"

We see it there, large and overwhelming, and it reminds me of a giant insect, hovering. It is as ugly and horrible as the wraith. Their technology, as insidious as the beings that create it. Rodney has explained to me their usage of organic material, mixing with the non-living components.

Memories in my mind; the feel of the wraith ship under my fingers, the slippery sound it makes when the doors to the cells open and close; the dank, decay. I have been a captive in a Hive ship twice, and both times, we have suffered losses. I have been in a wraith mind.

As I watch Sateda grow larger, I keep that in mind. One does not go against the wraith and walk away untouched.

"That building," Rodney points, as John guides the ship effortlessly through atmosphere and into the city. It is a bombed and ruined place, like many others I have seen. We are standing too close behind John and Carson, yet no one is complaining. "I think…yes, he should be in there, somewhere."

John steers the Jumper straight on.

"What…you can't fly into it!"

At the last minute, last enough to earn matching faces of worry from Carson and Rodney, John pulls the Jumper into a steep climb, and we soar up and over, before he finds a clear area on the flat, rubble strewn roof. As the ship settles, he grins rakishly at them. "You didn't think I was going to hit, did you?" He stands and claps a friendly hand on Rodney's shoulder, as he steps to the rear, "Lighten up, McKay. I never intentionally crash."

Rodney turns and says, "That wasn't funny. Do you know what tensing up does when you've got a wound in your ass?"

I follow and Carson is close behind me.

Our gear rests on the benches, and we begin to hook the weapons to our vest clips. I am sliding extra ammunition into my pockets, when John stops, and stares at Rodney, who is doing the same.

"What are you doing?" asks John, confused.

Rodney checks the clip on his pistol, then pushes it into his thigh holster with forced comfort. He looks up and says, "Getting ready to die; what does it look like?"

"You're not going, McKay." John's refusal is flat and final.

"Ronon's a member of my team, too," Rodney argues. "I didn't come all this way to appreciate the Armageddon view!"

"You're wounded, and you're not going. Carson, stay on VOX. We get Ronon, we get out of here. Nice, fast and clean. Stay cloaked, and if anything happens…" John drifts off for a moment and looks at me. I nod knowingly and he finishes, "Get back to the Daedalus. No heroics."

John is adjusting his belt and tucking Ronon's blaster that we retrieved from Keturah's village into his vest, and while he is preoccupied, I see the look Carson and Rodney exchange. I know what it means. They will not leave, and I do not blame them. I know John would not want them to risk their lives, but it is not his right to deny him the very thing he is doing now for Ronon.

The hatch lowers, and though Rodney is still close to the edge, his pistol in place, he does not argue further, and we are soon outside, exposed on the rooftop. Before the hatch has retracted, we are running for the door that leads into the building.

It does not take us long to find the room with Ronon. John leads in, and spies the wraith device in the air, its attention on Ronon. He shoots it without waiting to say a word. Ronon is barely standing, but the noise of our arrival, and John's shooting the device, causes him to lurch forward slightly, confused.

"Don't look so surprised," soothes John, the gun in Ronon's hand leveled at his chest. For a moment, I feel fear spike – does he not recognize us? But Ronon lowers the weapon and falls back.

"Are you okay?" I ask. He looks far from it, but it is a courtesy that is ingrained in me. Rodney would have greeted him with a caustic statement about how awful Ronon looked, but that is not me, despite how true the observation would be.

John steps closer to Ronon, and out of practice from prior missions, I keep watch over the door. "Come on, you can thank us later," John says. "McKay and Beckett are waiting for us in a Jumper on the roof."

The gun comes up, again, and Ronon's voice is dangerous. "I'm not going anywhere."

I am splitting my attention between the door, and what is happening between John and Ronon. I see John's face slip from one of relief at finding Ronon alive, to one of…I don't know the word for it. It is as a parent would make with a child that is insisting on one more shoulder ride before bed. Ronon is being stubborn, and now is not a good time for him to behave so.

Over the radio, I hear Rodney demand, "What is going on down there? You have at least 25 wraith closing in on your position from ground level!"

John is surprisingly calm; calmer then I feel. "Seems Ronon doesn't wanna leave."

"Well too bad," Rodney snaps angrily. "You tell that ungrateful example of unevolved humanity that we came all this way to rescue him so he better get off his ass --"

I grimace at the harsh words, but partially agree with Rodney. I am watching the door uneasily. The wraith will be upon us soon, and I do not wish any of us to die this day, yet, Ronon's stubbornness is not helping.

"McKay says he's very hurt that you won't come with us," John paraphrases wisely, and I can hear the underlying humor in his tone. Some day I will ask John how he manages to remain as unaffected as he does under times of high stress. I have seen him passionate, angry, and frustrated many times, yet, there are enough times like this, where in the face of a situation that is anything less then welcome, he remains steady in the face of disaster.

"I can't," grunts Ronon, tired.

The door remains empty, yet I can hear the sounds of footsteps echoing below. They are coming. I look again at Ronon, then back to the door. We will be fighting soon, whether we wish it or not.

"Keturah and his people, they had a deal. They traded me for their freedom."

I feel as incredulous as John sounds when he snarls, "You're doing this for them? Those people, the ones on the planet that turned you over to the wraith?"

By the time John has finished, his words are no longer calm, and I can feel the anger radiating from him. I feel the same. Ronon's honor is greatly misplaced.

He doesn't react to John's disbelief. "It was my fault they were culled," he states flatly.

This is madness. "Ronon, the wraith didn't honor the deal," I hiss, looking over my shoulder at him. He should have known better, but then again, Ronon has proved to be gullible in the past. He is too trusting for his own good. "Keturah, and his village, they're all dead."

When I am finished, he looks up at me, tortured emotions racing across his features. I can feel the sense of betrayal, but they are wraith. He should have known better.

"Now, can we go?" John asks, impatiently. He feels as I do, and hears; the wraith will soon be on our level.

"No."

Ronon's answer is forceful and unequivocal.

John pulls back, frustration even more evident now. I feel the same. "Why not?"

Again, it is as if John is dealing with a child, refusing to sleep, even after the parent has explained for the tenth time that it is impossible for monsters to come for them in the night. It never worked for me as a child, because there was nothing my father could say or promise, that would keep me safe from the wraith.

Furiously, Ronon snarls, "Because I'm gonna kill the wraith responsible for all of this."

I reluctantly understand Ronon's motives in refusing to leave. And I see in John that he does as well.

"I don't suppose he happens to be one of the ones out there that's about to come in here?" John asks.

"No, he's probably still up on the Hive."

Ronon's admission is tired, but in no way, defeated. I look at him again…he is being unrealistic. "We can't take on a Hive ship now."

"You won't have to."

Before I can ask what he means by that, Rodney is back on VOX demanding, "Why aren't you moving?"

I do not say what I am thinking, and John answers, "Ronon wants to take care of a few things first."

I can see in him the understanding of what Ronon feels he must do, and that John believes it can be done, but I am not so sure. Before I can insert a word of caution, Rodney retorts with, "Oh, really, like what?" and with the same sarcasm that I am feeling inside but have been unable to voice.

Like revenge, I want to say. And revenge is often useless. I have seen Ronon's revenge before, and it is still a sore point with me. He used me to get to Kell, and while he has not repeated the same error in judgment since, it is not something easily forgotten.

But John is approaching Ronon, and holding his hand out for Ronon to pull himself up. He doesn't answer Rodney; instead, he speaks to Ronon, resigned. "Come on. Let's go kill some wraith."

Ronon takes John's hand, and pulls himself up, groaning from the effort.

And he plans on killing those wraith in his condition? When he can barely stand? He is foolish.

As he walks past John, he growls, "Just stay out of my way." He is limping towards me, when John calls, "Hey!" He unzips his vest a little and pulls the weapon free. "Thought you might want this."

John is going to let Ronon have his revenge, and now I do not know who I wish to berate more, John or Ronon.

Ronon takes the gun without so much as a twitch of gratitude, so lost in his anger over what has transpired. John calls, "You're welcome," as Ronon slips past me. Even with a limp, he moves with stealth.

We have both forgotten that Rodney is waiting, and his voice returns, loud and worried. "What the hell is going on down there?"

As John moves past me, wishing to take the lead, I fall in behind, and we enter the corridor. This building is an old hospital, and as we descend towards the wraith that are working up towards us, I cannot help but feel the death all around us, both old and new.

"Ronon thinks he can get the head wraith responsible for all of this to come down and fight him if we kill all of these wraith first." John is explaining to Rodney, even as we run down the stairs. I can no longer see Ronon, but I hear the shots echoing. He has already reached the wraith.

Rodney snaps, "That is the stupidest plan I have ever heard!"

I almost remind Rodney of some of his plans, but John is faster than I am. "I don't know, killing a bunch of wraith really seems like a good idea to me."

We pass two wraith, dead.

Rodney says, "They outnumber you 25 to 3."

We are all on Vox, so I hear Carson interject, "It's actually 22 to 3…21."

I hear the continuing gunfire, and I add, "And Ronon appears to be quite angry." I'm breathing heavily from chasing John and Ronon down the stairs

The situation has quickly escalated out of control, and Rodney's sarcastic, "Oh that evens it out. You do realize there's a Hive ship in orbit capable of blowing us all off the face of this planet!" is not helping.

We realize, and yet, we are still chasing Ronon into a corridor. There are two wraith warriors approaching John from the side, and he quickly dispatches them, only to spin ninety degrees and take out another. I have wraith approaching from behind me, and I quickly kill them, only for John to turn and shoot one of the other warriors again when it sits up. They have self destruct mechanisms, and we cannot let them activate one, or this building might fall upon us.

Even as we fight off more wraith, a communication device like we saw in the room with Ronon earlier, flies near. John shoots it, only for it to spin away, towards me. I finish the device off, disgusted. It is yet another reminder that our lives are nothing to the wraith. Nothing.

We are running alongside one another now, Ronon still out of sight, and we take out more wraith, firing together. When we turn around, Ronon is there. The wraith are taken care of, and John says to Rodney, "That's it, we got 'em all…"

When there's no reply, he narrows his eyes and says, "McKay?"

Rodney sounds surprised, "Yes, it's just you guys left…well, that was quick."

John slides a satisfied look my way. "Yeah, I got six, Teyla got…"

I don't hesitate to answer, "Eight." Keeping count of how many wraith I kill is something I take seriously.

John pauses. "I got nine, Teyla got eight. Ronon got the rest."

He is not looking at me when he says the new number, but nonetheless, I skim a tolerant look his way. John is at times like a little boy, and he does not realize it only makes me care more.

Another device has flown in, and before we can shoot this one, Ronon approaches, twisting his head. "You wanna watch me die up close, you're just gonna have to come down here and do it yourself!" His limbs are hanging tight from his shoulders, and the desperate anger is so thick I can touch it. Ronon wants this. "You want me," he screams. "Come and get me…I'll be waiting." How he finishes calmly only makes a shiver run up my spine. This is the Ronon that will kill anything or anyone in his way.

I look sideways at John and see the same realization on his face. This is a Ronon that is very dangerous. Primal.

When Ronon walks past Sheppard, he pauses, then says low, "You kill him before I do, I kill you."

"What if he kills you first?" John asks.

Ronon does not even hesitate. "Then you kill him."

His death means nothing to him right now, but we do not feel the same. Still, this is not the time to point that out, and John wisely nods and says, "Got it."

But he looks across at me in a way that says a lot more.

We let Ronon go, and John leads us to a place on the roof. We have a clear view of Ronon, and we watch as the wraith dart screams in, beaming the one responsible in front of Ronon.

Here, in the ruins of his world, in a street that only has a clearing down the middle, I see in Ronon the belief that this one wraith is responsible for it all. For the death of his people, his world, Keturah's village…this wraith is temporarily the embodiment of everything the wraith have done to Ronon, and everyone else in our galaxy.

This is something that John cannot possibly hope to understand, as he raises his weapon, and sights on the wraith.

Ronon's screams do not startle me. He is hurting, physically and mentally. Does he believe he will win? I am not so sure. Part of me wonders if Ronon is doing this in hopes that he will lose. Being back here, the memories…it could not have been easy.

The wraith backhands Ronon as effortlessly as if he is a child, and Ronon flies into the side of a building, hitting very hard. He falls to the ground, and I clutch my gun tighter. As the wraith strikes Ronon again, John says, "I can shoot him right now." His voice is tight. He does not wish to watch this mockery of a battle. Ronon was already injured, and a wraith against a human…they are very strong.

Still, at least for now, I shake my head. "I wouldn't."

Ronon is still on his feet, and he is still fighting. If John ended it now, I do not think Ronon would be able to accept the loss of his revenge so easily.

"You really think Ronon would kill me?"

It is not that. Ronon would not kill John, of that I am certain. "I think he wouldn't forgive you," I tell John honestly.

But still, we both have our weapons ready, and we are watching someone we have grown to care about, beaten and tossed like a child's plaything, and it is not easy. The words that John spoke to me on the Daedalus are not far from my mind, and I understand that holding his fire is taking more then he will admit.

"I think he'd get over it."

Maybe he would, but I look upward. "The Hive has got to be watching. We shoot that wraith, it blasts us all from space."

I do not waste breath in using politeness. We are in a bad position, and John is well aware.

The wraith has Ronon on his back, standing over him, and for a moment I feel my own finger tighten on the trigger. Then Ronon is up, and fighting back. It is only a momentary reprieve before the wraith throws him back to the ground, and now Ronon is crawling away. I send a worried look at John. Perhaps we should act now, and risk the Hive ship…though I cautioned him earlier, I do not think either of us will be able to let the inevitable happen. The only decision is when to act.

It is when the wraith has stalked him lazily, flips him, and kneels, his hand raised, that Rodney and Carson take the decision from our hands. The Jumper uncloaks, large and menacing, just behind Ronon, and inwardly I cheer.

When the drone fires, strikes the wraith, and drives him back into a building, before the drone and the wraith erupt into a massive explosion, we move instantly. We know the Hive ship has seen it as well.

As we grab Ronon, lifting him between us, the Jumper has turned, and the rear hatch has opened. An explosion chases us forward, and we fall in, dropping Ronon to the floor of the ship. We quickly grab the netting to keep from falling as another explosion rocks the ship.

John bangs on the door to the cockpit. "Go!"

As we lift into the air, the rear hatch closes, and I feel weak relief. We are all alive.

I finally have enough presence of mind to help Ronon to the bench. John is a moment behind me, and helps ease him the rest of the way. Ronon is a bloody mess, and I know he will be spending at least the night in the infirmary…but he is alive.

There had been a time when I had believed he was gone, that we would not see him again. When I had walked through the devastated village, and amongst the dead, it had seemed the end for Ronon.

A night in the infirmary is a small price to pay.

The door between the rear of the Jumper and the front opens. Carson is the first to appear, but I see Rodney behind him.

"Is everyone okay?" Carson asks, worried.

I nod, feeling another wave of relief, as I can answer, "We are okay."

We are not dead, we have survived. All of us.

"Which one of you killed the wraith?" Ronon's voice is gravelly, rough from the abuse his body has taken.

I watch, suddenly uneasy, as Rodney and Carson share proud smiles. Carson admits, "That would be me."

Rodney raises his finger and adds happily, "My idea."

When Ronon pulls himself up, using the cargo net to help him, I sternly call, "Ronon!" I realize he did not wish for help, but he was near death, and expecting any of us to wait –

"What?" Carson's startled reply interrupts my thoughts. "Don't tell me you're not happy that he's dead?"

John is rueful as he explains, "I had him in my sights, but Ronon said he'd kill me if I shot him."

"It was all Beckett's idea," claims Rodney, pointing at Carson.

I do not let Rodney believe for a moment he is fooling anyone. The tension is only slightly real, because though I do think a part of Ronon wanted to die, I think a larger part of him wishes to live. The wraith was going to win, and I believe he is well aware of that fact.

When Ronon moves forward, grabs Carson and engulfs him in a hug, mumbling, "Thanks, Doc," I am not so surprised as the rest.

Carson's soft, "Oh," says a great deal.

"What? Him you thank?" Rodney's outrage is met by a surprisingly patient glance from Ronon.

"I could've killed him at any time, but Teyla wouldn't let me!"

My smile over the exchange between Ronon, Carson and Rodney is derailed by John's annoyed statement. I spare a dirty look his way. I did not take his weapon from him, nor bind his hands behind his back.

Ronon's anger has disappeared, and I believe the fact is truly sinking in now – the fact that he is alive, rescued, and among friends, again. That he has a home, and we did not leave him to die at the hands of the wraith. "Thank you," he says, his voice still rough and low, husky. "All of you."

He pats Rodney on the shoulder, because Ronon understands Rodney just as much as I do.

Rodney's smile is unaccountably pleased. "Oh, don't mention it."

John's grin is back, as he adds, "It was nothing, really. I only killed eleven, twelve wraith…"

I look at John and raise an eyebrow. Really. This tendency he has for over exaggeration makes me wonder…

Carson assesses Ronon with his eyes. "How 'bout you sit down and I get that tracking device out of you, and deactivated before the Hive ship gets a bead on us. I take it this time you won't mind if I give you a sedative."

We all turn to look as Ronon stares for a moment at Carson, then slumps to the side, and falls to the floor.

"Or not." Carson looks for a moment at Rodney, before beginning to bend towards Ronon. Surprised by Ronon's faint, I lose my thoughts about John's feelings of inadequacy over wraith kills. I was not aware he was that badly injured. As I bend down to assist Carson, I hear John ask Rodney, "Who's flying the ship?"

Rodney's fast, "Me?" makes me smile even as Carson rolls Ronon and begins the task of preparing him to remove the tracking device.

Despite the odds, John's family is, once again, intact. And perhaps, they have also become my family, and for Ronon, as well. I know that there are still those that will always regard us as outsiders, but it is enough that these people do not.

coming soon, Progeny tag!