Being Loved Gives You Strength

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength; loving someone deeply gives you courage."-Lao Tzu

Filled with this renewed determination and purpose (is the purpose truly and only to help my brother or also something to occupy my hands and mind, so I can't think about what I've done?), I leap from my bed and tear into my closet, looking for something that is both comfortable and cheerful. A butter-yellow blouse and loose brown pinafore seem to fit the bill best; I undo my single long braid, instead plaiting two smaller braids from my temples and then braiding them together to restrain the rest, which is waved from drying in a braid instead of its usually 'poker-straightness'.

I allow myself a glance in the mirror—my smile is slightly forced, and my eyes are darkened such that if I were human they were be red-rimmed and swollen from crying, but the overall effect is one of cheerfulness, which is exactly what my brother needs.

I root around my closet floor until I find a bag, one of uncertain origin and age. Into this I stuff the calculus text that Rodney and Radek prepared especially for me, a tablet and its accompanying roll-up keyboard, and my copy of The Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, which John tells me is an essential part of my earth education. Next, I believe he is having me read Gulliver's Travels and A Modest Proposal.

I head towards the mess hall by as many back-routes as I can—I do not want either the stares or the pity of people who have by now heard that my half-dead brother was brought back with me. If I can make it to the Kitchen without being seen, one of the cooks on duty, I'm sure, will be kind enough to give me a sandwich and maybe a cookie to take with me to the infirmary.

I have to pass through one of the less-used lab sections on my way. As I pass the lab with an unlit sign (which when lit screams "CAUTION!!! HAZMAT PROTOCALS IN PLACE!!! WE'RE TALKING NANITES PEOPLE!!! GO AWAY!!!" in what is a quintessential Rodney McKay warning), I hear voices coming from inside—inaudible to human ears because of the triple, negative-pressure doors, but distinct to me. I determine to pass by silently, not wanting to disturb whoever is inside, but as I draw closer, I hear my name being thrown around and curiosity or a sense of self-preservation takes hold, so that I stop just beyond the door to listen.

"So, maybe you two can explain something for me," Dr. Jackson's voice seeps out to me, speaking typically quickly. "Up until about two months ago, Dr. Weir's weekly reports spoke, for lack of a better term, glowingly about Mairghread. Her reports said that our young wraith was an asset, particularly as she grew older and as able to communicate more about wraith society and technology. Then, all of a sudden, she starts blaming malfunctions on Mairghread, saying she's a saboteur. But neither of you seem to think so…"

"No, we don't," Rodney's voice burns through the door like acid. "And we already explained this to you, so if you don't mind, we have a lot of very important work—"

"No no, you misunderstood my question," Dr. Jackson re-interupts—in my mind, I can see him holding up one hand and shaking his head. "If nothing changed in Mairghread's actions, what happened to Dr. Weir?"

"Oh."

There is a long pause, and I can almost see Rodney looking very uncomfortable.

"You read the reports, right?" I hear John's voice, slightly hesitant, with the edge that always sounds a little sneering to my ears, though I know that is not his intent. "Elizabeth got infected with nanites a while back."

"Yes yes, I read the reports, but it was my understanding you were able to disable them," Dr. Jackson spits out quickly.

"Yes, well, apparently, the little bastards had a plan B," says Rodney bitingly. "It seems they created a sleeper cell of organic nanites. Undetectable and immune to EM radiation." His voice gets closer and farther and closer—he's pacing.

"Wait wait wait. What?"

"The collective Docs think they were put on a kinda time delay," John's voice cuts in—well, if you want to discuss highly sensitive topics, this is the place to do it: very out of the way and very forbidden for everyone Rodney hasn't authorized. "She was fine, and then a few months ago, she started getting kinda…"

"Paranoid."

"Thank you, Rodney. I was just going to say that," John seems to be casting that remark behind him, because his voice is softer to my ears. "Anyway, she started gettin' paranoid and then Beckett noticed some abnormal cells in her bloodwork…"

"That were acting suspiciously like nanites," Rodney cuts in again. "Turns out they were. Little organic robots, like a wraith ship," he mutters and I wince.

Dr. Jackson's voice chimes in again, "So…Dr. Weir got recalled to earth? Why?"

"Because," Rodney drawls in his 'I'm explaining the very obvious to someone who is clearly incredibly thick' voice, "One: Stargate Command has more experience dealing with replicators of weird varieties. Two: Milky Way replicators communicate on a different subspace frequency, so while here she could potentially start broadcasting our position, on earth she won't. It'd be like Zelenka walking into the middle of a wraith convention and explaining our operating systems in Czech—the other replicators won't recognize that Elizabeth's nanites are saying anything. Three…" his voice breaks off. "Well, you can figure out the other reasons. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm very busy…"

I take that as my cue to move as quickly as possible away from the lab and be on my way to the kitchens.

Nanites, replicators, organic sleeper cells—Rodney's words buzz through my mind in chaotic order; in solving one mystery for me, he has given me many more. Before, I simply assumed Dr. Weir came to dislike me because I look like a monster—only apparent youth and clothes differentiate me from the murderous queens.

Now you are a monster…

Shut up.

But, if it was not simply appearance, but the nanites causing paranoia…but is that really all there is? Can all her hatred of me be explained by tiny alien robots? Or did they simply magnify, give credence to what was already there? Can I blame these things for changing my Aunt Elizabeth who played with me on the floor of our apartment when she had a few minutes to spare to the distant and disdainful Dr. Weir?

Face it—she hates you because you're no different from me…a murderer…

I told you to shut up.

I firmly try to shove all these thoughts away from myself when I can smell the faint aromas of cooking rolling towards me. I slip through the back door of the kitchens and nearly collide with Simon, one of the cooks.

"Mon dieuMairghread, you nearly ran me over!" he exclaims as he tries to balance a large tray of what looks like tuna-fish sandwiches.

"Pardonnez-moi," I apologize and snag one of the sandwiches from the tray, holding it up inquiringly. "Tuna?"

"Ouais" he affirms my suspicions. Simon sets the tray down on the counter, and takes hold of my shoulders, holding my eyes with his hazel ones. "Mairghread, chérie, how is your brother?"

"Does news really travel that fast?" a part of me knows that it does, but a part of me is permanently wishing it didn't.

"Maisoui" Simon feigns shock and smiles before becoming serious again and repeating his question. "But you did not answer my question. How is your brother?"

"The surgery went well," I reply somewhat evasively. "Beyond that, qui peux dire"

"Of course," Simon claps my shoulders in the bizarre human gesture of sympathy and comfort. "Si tudevraisquelque chose…"

"I'll give you a call," I assure him with a smile. "Thank you Simon." I glance around the kitchens, but can't see anything resembling a desert. "Any chance of sneaking a dessert?"

Simon is indignant. "What do you zink thiz iz? A cave? Are we barbarians?! Of course zere iz dessert!" he disappears into the semi-controlled chaos of kitchens, only to reappear a moment later with a lunch tray bearing a water bottle and what looks like a cross between a small cake and a small pudding. "C'est bread pudding du chocolat," he informs me, plucking the sandwich from my hand and placing it firmly on the tray. "Now go. Eat. Be with your brother. Get out of here! We have work to do!"

"Yes sir!" I laugh and scoot out of the kitchen's carrying my tray—I don't think I'll get berated too much for this lunch.

I make it to the infirmary without encountering anyone and without the straps on my bag breaking. Several teams have just returned from off-world, and so no one notices me as I slip in and sneak around the edge to towards the back and the isolation rooms. From the looks of it, the teams were lucky this morning—a few scraps, what looks like maybe a sprained ankle, but no serious injuries; the floor is miraculously free of blood.

The doors to the isolation room slid open for me, thanks to the motion detectors that were installed for the benefit of us who do not and cannot have the ancient gene.

Gilleasbachan's room is blessedly silent. In the far corner sits a nurse, Ryan, I think. He looks up and waves slightly to me as I enter. I nod back, softly setting the tray on the bed table and dropping my bag into the cushioned chair someone was kind enough to leave next to the bed.

I kick off my shoes and shove them under the chair. I then realize that it was silly to put the bag in the chair, because I need to sit there. So I carefully lower the bag to the floor, remembering that there is a tablet inside besides the books.

I am reaching for the sandwich when Ryan's voice next to my ear makes me jump and drop the (thankfully) plastic wrapped sandwich on the floor.

"Hey Mary," he starts and then laughs when I ungracefully send my lunch-hopeful soaring several feet behind me. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he apologizes, picking up the sandwich and returning it to me. "Just wanted to let you know, Dr Beckett was here a little while ago, said your brother Gillez, Gilles—"

"Gil"

"Gil, has pretty much healed from the surgery. If he's thirsty when he wakes up, you can give him some ice chips. We got a bucket of them over there," he points to an insulated ice bucket and plastic cups. "He also said to make sure you eat dinner."

"It's just lunchtime and he's worried about me eating dinner," I mutter rebelliously to myself as I start unwrapping the sandwich, and Ryan laughs.

"Don't shoot the messenger," he admonishes me and I have to smile.

"Sorry," I offer him half my sandwich. "Tuna?"

"No thanks, I already ate," he heads back to his desk. "Just holler if you need anything."

I take a bite of the sandwich and hear the doors slide open behind me.

"Mairghread?"

I turn around half-way to see Mum and Dad approaching somewhat…tentatively?

"Hi Mum, Dad," I greet them and take another bite of my sandwich. I should be nicer, but I admit a slight bitterness…

"Mairghread, we would like to talk to you about something," Mum continues as she and Dad both drag chairs over to be near me.

"Alright," I put down my lunch and turn my chair to face them, but so I still have Gilleasbachan in the corner of my eye.

Dad leans back in his chair, stretching out his long legs and Mum folds her hand calmly in her lap as she begins, "Mairghread, Ronon, your father and I have decided to be married," she tells me serenely and bluntly. "But I believe you already knew that," she adds as she watches my reaction—was my facial expression that obvious?

Dad looks very uncomfortable—very happy, but also very uncomfortable. His eyes continually dart over my shoulder towards Gilleasbachan. I can only hope that in time he will see that my brother is as innocent as I. Perhaps more so.

"I overheard you and John speaking," I admit. "But I had been wondering for some time when you would, what's the term, tie the knot?"

Mum and Dad exchange a look, as though sharing a private joke before looking at me again. Or in Dad's case, over my shoulder at the new wraith.

"Since John has…given his blessing?...so to speak, we will have one ceremony on New Athos, and another, here on Atlantis," Mum tells me. "We are hoping to be wed in two weeks."

"Two ceremonies?" I repeat, confused. "Why?"

Mum looks upset, but explains, "You would not be able to attend the ceremony on New Athos."

Of course. I'm a wraith. The enemy. I know Mum hasn't told the Athosians that the child she adopted is a wraith. A part of me knew that when she was married according to Athosian custom, though as her daughter I should take part in the ceremony, I would not and could not.

And yet, it stings.

"So…," Dad interrupts, "John offered to have a second ceremony here."

"Which one counts?" I ask, confused. I like the idea, if only because it means I will be able to see my adoptive parents married, but two ceremonies?

Dad shrugs "Both of 'em."

I share a look with my parents—earth customs are weird.

"Uhhhhnnn…"

A low moan behind me snaps my attention from my parents to my brother.

"Mum, Dad, I'm really sorry—"

"Go," they say together and I share a brief smile with them before vaulting over the back of the chair to stand as close to Gilleasbachan as the bed and his casts will allow.

In the corner of the room, I hear Ryan paging Dr. Beckett.

"Gilleasbachan?" I call him softly as his eyelids flutter and the oxygen mask fogs more rapidly. "Gilleasbachan, please open your eyes. Look at me," I plead with him, holding his fingers, giving him an anchor back to the land of the living.

"Urgh," he moans quietly and rolls his head towards the sound of my voice, heavy eyelids pealing apart and stuggling to focus through the lingering fog of anesthetic and painkillers. "Mair—"

"Shh, s'ok," I reassure him, stroking his hair gently. "How do you feel?"

He licks his lips, and whispers hoarsely, "Thirsty."

"Here," rumbles Dad's voice and a cup full of ice chips appears in my hand. I glance over my shoulder; Dad looks both uncomfortable and supremely proud—it is a peculiar blend of emotions to see on his face.

"Thanks." I turn back to Gilleasbachan, lifting up the oxygen mask for a moment to slide a small ice chip between his parched lips. He draws it into his mouth instinctively and immediately there is a look of pure relief on his face. "Better?"

"More?" he begs me, his eyes imploring me even more pitifully. I comply and slide a slightly larger chip into his mouth. I hope Dr. Beckett gets here soon, and switches Gilleasbachan to a nasal canula—in some ways a little more uncomfortable than the oxygen mask, but so much more convenient.

Mum comes along side me and rests a hand on my shoulder, silently asking my permission to speak to my brother. I acquiesce and step slightly to one side so he can see her better.

"Hello, Gilleasbachan," she greets him softly, gently laying her hand on his in a comforting touch that makes him wince slightly. "I am Teyla."

Gilleasbachan's eyes dart frightenedly towards me, whether seeking comfort or guidance or rescue I can't be certain but I am quick to reassure him.

"It's all right, Gilleasbachan. Teyla," it is so strange to use her first name—she is mum to me, always has been and always will be, "Is my adoptive mother. You don't have to be afraid."

"Adoptive mother?" he echoes, his voice harsh and raw though less so thanks to the ice, looking back at Mum. "You took care of my little sister?"

"Yes," Mum replies, slightly taken aback. "Since Cullough revealed her location to Colonel Sheppard."

He seems to be trying to read Mum's character through her face and reaches a decision. "Good."

I glance over my shoulder, wondering if Dad has hung around, but he is gone. I know that he will not have gone far—his protective instincts are blazing right now—but if he has not come to terms with my brother, better that he not be here to scare him.

The doors slide open again and Carson comes over, smiling and friendly, pulling his stethoscope from his shoulders and holding it lightly in his hands as he stands on the other side of the bed.

"Well, hello again, Gilleasbachan," he says companionably. "Remember me, lad?"

Gilleasbachan nods slightly. "Doct'r Beckett."

"Aye, that's me," Carson smiles and holds up his stethoscope. "Mind if I take a listen tae yer lungs?"

A fearful, questioning look from Gilleasbachan is thrown my way, and I respond affirmatively and reassuringly. "It's alright, Gil. It won't hurt."

He nods at me and then nods at Carson, who smiles and pulls down the blankets to my brother's waist. He takes a pair of nurses scissors, making sure that they remain out of Gil's line of sight, and slices through the bandages from just under his left arm down to his hips. Behind my brother's head, he passes me the scissors and indicates that I should do the same. The scissor's blades are sharp, but their outside edge is broad, blunt and flat so as to protect the skin underneath the bandages to be cut off.

When I'm done, I put the scissors in my pocket and nod to Carson, who gently begins to peel the gauze off Gilleasbachan's chest.

For a moment, I'm irrationally afraid that the scans were wrong, that Gilleasbachan's not healed at all, that the blood will stream when the gauze is gone, but it is only an irrational fear. When the bandages are gone and disposed of in a biowaste container, except for the last vestiges of dried blood, the skin on Gilleasbachan's chest is smooth. The surgical scars are indistinguishable from the other scars.

Dr. Beckett listens closely, placing the bell all over Gilleasbachan's torso, before nodding happily and pulling the blankets back over my brother's emaciated form.

"Excellent," he declares, looping the stethoscope around his shoulder's once more and ripping open a nasal canula pouch. He connects it to the oxygen beneath the bed before removing the oxygen mask and gently guiding the canula into place and over my brother's ears. "As soon as we get those arms and legs fixed properly and get ye fed up, ye'll be fit as a fiddle."

Gilleasbachan looks to me for a translation.

"Dr. Beckett says you're healing quite nicely," I tell him. "You should be feeling fine in no time."

"Aye," Carson confirms my words and smiles. "So, how are ye feeling? Ye need anything?"

"Hungry," Gil replies without hesitation and his stomach seconds his words with a loud grumble at being empty.

Carson and I laugh; I silently ask him for permission.

"Well, Ah was going tae put it off 'til tomorrow," he muses, "But Ah cannae think of a good reason tae. Mairghread, perhaps you'd like tae help me get some broth and jello from the Mess?"

I give Carson a curious look, but he nods as if to say, 'Come on."

"Gil, I just need to go give the cooks the recipe for isean and tava bean soup, alright? I'll be right back with something to eat," I reassure him, trying to stem the panic which immediately rises in his eyes. "Look, Mum will stay here with you, keep you company while I'm gone. Right, Mum?" I plead her with my eyes and she smiles as if to say, 'you didn't even need to ask'.

"Okay," he whispers, sounding like a small child and I kiss him lightly on the cheek.

"Right back," I tell him again and follow Carson out of the infirmary. "You never get the food. That's what nurses and friends are for."

Carson grins. "Aye," he says before turning serious again. "But Ah needed to speak tae ye alone for a moment."

Fear bubbles like acid in my chest. "What? What is it?"

"Calm down, lass," he holds up his hands placatingly. "Nothing. Gilleasbachan is healing remarkably quickly, given the circumstances. Ah just wanted ye tae know that, and Ah'm no psychologist now but, Ah think it's because ye went tae him—ye're meeting him where he is and guiding him back."

I'm confused where Carson is going with this. "But?"

"It's not really a 'but'," he replies. "More like a warning and an encouragement. Just because he's healing physically, don't assume he'll heal so quickly psychologically. That said," he smiles warmly, "I'd say that it's because he knows that you love him, despite the company he's kept, that he's healing so nicely."

I wrap Dr. Beckett in a crushing hug before jogging off towards the infirmary.

Hope tempered with wisdom—with these, and love as Carson said, maybe my brother can be made whole again.

End Part I

Part II: Strength and Courage (Yes, new title!)

A/N: Come on guys! Reviews! I'm BEGGING you! Please! And go read Part II, now up!

Oh, and I have no clue if Milky Way replicators really communicate on a different frequency, but it would be a pretty huge coincidence since they were created by different peoples if they had the same bandwidth as it were. So, for purposes of this story, they don't.