“Ronon has to get over this,” John said.
“He is not going to,” Teyla said as the doors opened on the corridor near her living quarters. “He cannot do this,” Teyla said. “And such is my love for him that I cannot ask him to. It is too much for him to know this.”
“It’s you,” John said stubbornly, following her into her rooms. “You’re not a Wraith.”
“John.” She stopped in the middle of the floor, her arms at her sides. Behind her woven blinds covered the windows, opened to let in the dim winter sun, and a big plastic munitions crate held Torren’s toys. Her laced black boots sunk deep into the white rug. “Look at me.”
“I know what you are,” he said.
“How much Wraith DNA does it take to make one Bloodtainted? How much Wraith blood to be a Wraith?” She shook her head as he took a step toward her. “I am not fully human, John, even when I appear to be. I can still speak mind to mind. I looked human when I defeated Coldamber beneath the sea, and she was a great queen in her time.”
“And if you hadn’t we’d all be dead,” John said. “I’m not going to complain about that.” He reached for her hand and took it in his, drew her down to sit beside him on the couch. “You’re a person.”
“Is Todd a person?” she asked.
He’d known the answer to that in Kolya’s prison. Which didn’t mean he liked it. “Yes.”
“Ronon has been hunted too long,” Teyla said. “His scars run too deep. He cannot see the Wraith as people, John.”
“No,” John said. “No.” He turned her hand over in his, his eyes on it. “That’s the thing. You can’t see the enemy as people. You can’t afford to. The minute you do it, it’s like slicing your guts up with glass every time you have to kill. You’ve got to turn it off. You’ve got to make it different. Otherwise you can’t do it without going crazy.” He didn’t lift his eyes from her fingers, as though they held some answer. “Otherwise you get called in for an airstrike on some village that’s harboring insurgents, and it turns out to be these guys you were drinking tea with last week, and you walk through the burned out houses afterwards and the smoke is blowing around you and you wonder if you got the insurgents but you got a lot of other people. You got that kid who was running around while you were talking with his dad, and he’s lying there with his eyes open and no legs, and there’s his grandmother dead beside the goat and Holland just keeps saying over and over that there were supposed to be Taliban here and…”
“John.” She closed his hand in hers, dark green claws against his skin. “John.”
He couldn’t seem to stop, though he knew he should. He shouldn’t say this stuff, not sitting on her couch with the verdigris walls of Atlantis about them and the snowlight coming through the windows unbearably bright. “And then two weeks later Holland’s bleeding out on you and he says it’s pay up time. Tit for tat. An eye for an eye. Those who live by the sword die by the sword. You can try to shut him up. You can make him shut up. But it’s still true.”
“John.” Her voice was quiet, urgent.
And still he couldn’t stop. “It’s borrowed time, Teyla. Sooner or later the account is due.”
Her eyes searched his face, as though she saw every mission there, every time the clock had been running out and he’d been willing. If someone had to go it ought to be him, the marked man.
“Very well,” Teyla said gravely. “If it is borrowed time, then it is. You will do the best you can while you may, and when you must you will die. That will be the story of your life, and it is better than many. You will not die for nothing, and you will not die unmourned.” Her voice cracked. “I will mourn you.”
“I didn’t mean to do that,” he said. “I didn’t mean to leave anybody who would be hurt.”
“You do not get to make that decision, John,” she said levelly. “That is my risk to take.”
He bent his head again, looking down at her hand. It felt like a weight lifting, like something loosening within him. “Ok.” One day it would be the last time. The reprieve would be over. Mitch and Dex and Holland had a few weeks. He’d had years. He’d had nearly seven years. It was more than he deserved. Nothing to complain about, really, when the time ran out.
Teyla watched him with golden Wraith’s eyes and her voice was steady. “When the time comes I will mourn. But until then you will not deny me joy.”
“I can never deny you anything,” John said truthfully.
She lifted her hand to his cheek, purpled feeding slit against his skin. “I know,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Disclosures
John didn’t think he would be able to sleep, but he did. And it was a good thing, too. Once the clock started running on this mission he had no idea when he’d sleep again. If he could rest before it started, he’d be in better shape all along. He’d hardly stirred when Teyla got up to go to the infirmary. Dr. Keller needed to touch up her work before Teyla left for her rendezvous with Todd — another round of injections of skin dye, a reapplication of a dental cap. He’d vaguely heard her leave and rolled over into the warm place she left behind, but hadn’t awakened fully.
Now he did wake up, bright light coming in through the half opened blinds, glaring off the snow outside, and for a moment he lay there trying to figure out what the strange sensation he felt was. Nothing hurt. Right this second, nothing hurt at all. They had a plan and they were going to get Rodney and that was how it was going to be.
“Colonel Sheppard?” His headset crackled, and John flailed around for it, finding it on the floor in one of his shoes.
“Yes?”
It was Airman Salawi, but for a change she didn’t sound stressed out. “Dr. Kusanagi has the watch, and she told me to radio you since Teyla was in the infirmary having a procedure. Kanaan’s brought Torren back, and somebody needs to come to the gateroom and get him.”
“Right,” John said, scrubbing his hand over his unshaven chin. He’d been having a good day for about two minutes there. He wasn’t looking forward to having a conversation with Kanaan. But he couldn’t leave Torren stuck in the gateroom either. “I’m on my way,” he said.
Kanaan was talking to Kusanagi down on the floor by the gate, a couple of big boxes at his feet that John figured were the trade goods for the Athosians on their way back in exchange for the week’s milk, Torren on his shoulder.
The sunlight through the stained glass made bright patterns across the floor, and Torren lifted his arms, fascinated by how the golden stripes rendered his hands yellow when he touched them. He twisted around abruptly when he saw John.
Kusanagi’s eyes went wide. “I am very busy now,” she said. “It was so nice to see you.” She fled back up the steps to the control boards.
Crap, John thought, but kept his tone studiously nonchalant as he reached for Torren. “Hey, buddy.”
Kanaan glanced over him, unshaved face and yesterday’s uniform. “Dr. Kusanagi said Teyla was in the infirmary. Is she ill?”
“No, she’s just having a procedure done,” John said. None of the Athosians knew about Teyla’s Wraith disguise, and she’d probably want it kept that way. It was hers to tell or not as she chose, not his. “She’s fine. Dr. Keller’s working on one of her teeth.” Which was true. The dental cap that had come off was on one of her teeth.
“Oh.” A bunch of the Athosians had had dental work done at one time or another, so it was an unremarkable reason. Kanaan looked him over again, a thoughtful expression on his face. He put the flat of his hand to Torren’s cheek. “I will see you soon, Torren. Be well and whole.”
“Bye-bye, Papa,” Torren said cheerily. “Bye-bye soon.”