Chapter 8 – Feelings

Michael opened the entrance of Teyla's cell and stepped in. He had a bread-like, pale thing in his hands. She was lying on the floor, trying to sleep a bit, but it was impossible because of her pain. She sat up as she saw him arriving. He had been gone for at least eight hours now if not longer; she began to think that he forgot about her.

"Where were you?" she asked silently.

"It's none of your business," he barked at her roughly, the fact that his mood was really bad seemed obvious.

"Did something wrong happen to you?"

"I brought you some food," he said instead of answering.

"Okay, thank you, but I'm not hungry at all."

"I'm not interested in it, you have to eat because I say so," he replied coldly, offering her the bread-like thing. It had an unhealthy, greenish pale color, reminding Teyla of mold.

"It's disgusting." The answer burst out of her, she could not stop herself in time. "Why don't you bring me normal food?"

"Eat it, or I'll hit you," he snarled.

Teyla sighed, and reached out for the bread. She ate it quickly, trying not to notice the cheese-like odor and the sourness in its taste. When she finished it, she felt even more miserable than she did before, her headache increased from the motions of her jaw as she chewed the bits of the bread.

"How did you like it? I myself baked it for you," Michael announced proudly.

"Erm, it was really er unique," she stammered, struggling not to show her abomination.

"What would you like to eat next time? I can cook you a special soup..."

"Oh, you don't need to bother, some fruit will perfectly do," she replied hastily.

"Don't be that humble. I'll cook you a nice soup."

Teyla closed her eyes, and she wondered if dying would be a more pleasant option than eating Michael's meals.

"The truth is," she moaned, "That Wraith food is not very good for me. I would be happier if you brought me some human food."

"It was no Wraith food," Michael's response sounded indignant. "Wraiths don't eat things like that, we gain our energy from humans. I found the recipe of this bread in a human cookery book."

"Oh, really?" Teyla saw that her objection was totally stupid. "Well, thank you." She gave up the hope to dissuade Michael from cooking her.

"Lately, I have often read human books," Michael went on. "I'd like to get familiar with human nature."

Teyla did not ask why, she closed her eyes again, for her headache turned so acute.

"When I was in Atlantis, I borrowed a very interesting novel from one of the cadets." Michael told her slowly. "It was about a nice, young couple and about their deep love. They go for walks in the park, they sit in restaurants eating oyster, and they breed a little white dog. They buy a new house for the two of them. One day, when the man comes home earlier, he catches sight of his girl and another man kissing each other. He hides behind a tree, and waits until the other man leaves. Later he walks into his house, and asks the girl to help him bring up some coal from the basement of their house. She goes down the stairs, and he locks the door behind her. He locks her in the basement of his house, right under his bedroom. He leaves her there forever. She screams and screams and screams for days, and he just paces in his room, listening to her screams. When he doesn't hear her anymore, he lies down on his bed, and smiles, and falls asleep. That's the end of the novel."

"What kind of stupid things do you read in your free time?" Teyla sighed. Her temple was burning from the pain as if her skull was stuffed with hot cinder. "That book was not about love."

"Yes, it was." The Wraith did not even turn in her direction; he stared at the organic, reddish wall of the cell.

"No. There is great difference between true love and sick obsession."

"I don't see any."

"Michael, you are a Wraith, you can't understand human feelings," Teyla told him, though she suspected that it was not true. She pressed her palms to her forehead to ease her pains.

"Yes, I can because I feel some of them!" He clenched his fists.

"What?" She regretted her question the moment she said it.

"Yes," Michael's answer came quickly; he still kept his eyes on the wall. "I love you."

"Why did I have to ask it, why, why, why?" Teyla thought glumly. She was angry with herself for inquiring about his feelings because now she had to improvise a proper response, but the unbearably splitting headache made it nearly impossible to form deliberate answers.

"You can't be sure that it's love," she said shyly. "You are not familiar with human feelings. Maybe, it's just... just..."

"It's the same feeling the man felt in the novel." He turned to her, and threw a scary, eager glance at her.

"Okay. Please, promise me one thing. Next time, if you want to learn about human emotions, don't read books about vengeful, jealous fools."

"Do you think that I have this feeling because I read the novel? No, no, you greatly misunderstood the whole thing. It's not the book that made me feel it. It's you."

Teyla closed her eyes wearily.

"That man in the book..." she went on broodingly. "I suppose, in the end he was not in love anymore. One thing I'm sure of: he could not have any positive feelings for that particular girl if he enjoyed her sufferings. That is the difference between true love and cruel, selfish obsession."

"Really?" Michael's voice sounded doubtful. "You are trying to deceive me again. These two things are the two different sides of the same feeling. You think that I will believe you everything you tell me about human love just because I'm originally a Wraith, but you won't succeed because I know how complex things feelings might be. That book was about love."

Teyla sighed, and leaned her head back to the wall, seeing that Michael caught her out in her lie. In fact, the old-fashioned tradition of killing women who cheated on their husbands was still alive at her tribe, though this form of revenge did not rate very popular anymore, it happened every now and then, but younger couples found it brutal and unnecessary.

"Love has many different faces," Michael went on. "I cannot love you the way a normal, ordinary man can do, but it doesn't mean that I don't love you at all."

She seemed to think it through, though in reality she was unable to think, she was just fighting with the increasing headache. Finally, she told him, "You did not lock me in so that I die of thirst and hunger. Why not, if that's what you call love?"

The Wraith gave no response, so Teyla went on, "Do you see? If that book had been about real love, you would feel no uneasiness about torturing and killing me."

"I don't think that you are right. You just want to convince me that if I loved you, I should release you. Isn't it your secret purpose?"

Teyla made a tired, painful grimace. "Michael, if you keep me here, in the end either I will kill you or you will kill me. There's no other way."

"Yes, there is! I hope one day you will grow to love me, and then everything will be wonderful."

This childish, naive statement made Teyla feel even sadder than she did before. "No, Michael, don't you understand? I don't love you, and I will never ever love you. I'm sorry."

The Wraith snorted. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I..." she stopped suddenly, realizing that telling him the truth would make the Wraith kill her. "Oh, well, I can't be sure," she said quickly instead, "but I don't think it is a good idea to try it."

"Why not? Just give it a chance," Michael's voice was buoyant in a way she had never heard him speak before. He was always cagey, gloomy or even somber, but now he seemed to truly believe that there could be love between the two of them. He beamed with the pride that he could talk about his feelings so clearly. He leaned over to her, and kneeled down beside her, taking her hand into his cold, slimy palms.

"Do you trust in me?" He asked softly.

"No, not in the least," she thought dismally, but her answer was reassuring. "I do," she whispered.

"Alright." He let her pull away her hand from the grip of his fingers. "You will see how much I can do for you to keep you by my side."

It sounded rather a threat than a compliment for Teyla, but she forced a smile on her face. The aching seemed to blow up her head.

"Just give us time, Teyla," he said enthusiastically. "I'll try everything... Would you like me to bring you flowers?"

"No," she moaned. "I don't need flowers. It's another sad thing about human novels: they make you believe a few decorative plants are able to create feelings that did not exist before."

Michael hissed, and grabbed her neck with his dead-like, cool fingers, increasing her pains with the rough motion.

"It's because of my looks and my race, isn't it?" he snarled. "You can't love me since I'm a Wraith!"

She felt unable to answer. Her pain took over, she slid out of the fitful, desperate grip of the Wraith, and collapsed on the floor choking, heaving. Her suffering pressed tears out of her tightly closed eyes. Stinging, red sore was burning in her head.

"Go now... please, go," she panted. "Please."

Michael seemed to regret his previous behavior.

"I want to help you," he mumbled timidly, and put his hand on her trembling shoulder.

"Go! Please, go away!" she moaned from the pain.

He got up with a deep sigh, "Alright, I'll bring you some fresh water."

After he left, Teyla mustered enough strength to sit up again, but her whole body was shaking from the effort. Words were floating in her head from the horrid story Michael told her about the tragic novel of the couple, pictures of his monster face were flickering before her smarting eyes, and these all mixed with the pain, the wounds, the blood-drops running down on her forehead, the dizziness, the semidarkness, the pulsating branches running up and down, the reddish skin of the walls...

Teyla crawled on her knees into the bathroom belonging to her cell, then she grabbed the brim of the nearest cauldron and vomited the food she had just eaten into the greenish liquid.