misericordia [sga - Michael/Teyla]
Title: Misericordia
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Summary: Teyla is offered a terrible choice.
Rating: Worksafe
Pairing: one-sided Michael/Teyla
Wordcount: 960
Warnings: character death
Notes: Tag for the season four finale and season five premiere. Michael’s reaction to Teyla’s question concerning her fate intrigued me enough to write this.
They were supposed to come.
As she sits on the floor of her cell, staring sightlessly through the bars, she is certain that things should have ended differently. She could almost hate herself for her helpless dependency - she is supposed to be stronger than this - but she no longer has the strength to spare for such selfish emotion.
Her son is gone.
Unclenching her hands, she presses her palm against her stomach, and feels nothing. No telltale sign of life, no small yet sturdy kicks. Of course not, her womb is now empty: she delivered her child days ago.
Now Teyla sits on the floor: forgotten, discarded, wondering why she is even still alive. She had not expected to long outlive her usefulness to her captor, and tries not to dwell on the possibilities concerning her continued existence. Michael is both insane and obsessed; he is well capable of using his victim complex to justify any atrocity.
Footsteps echo in the corridor, and she quickly climbs to her feet, unwilling to display any sign of weakness. Moments later he arrives, alone, and confronted by those nightmarish features - not Wraith, not human - she must fight down the small voice that still whispers, Our fault.
“I thought you would like to hear that your son is healthy,” Michael informs her, his eyes gazing through her with clinical coldness.
Teyla says nothing; there is nothing she can say. One false step, and she is certain that Michael will kill her where she stands.
After a moment, Michael nods, apparently expecting nothing more from her. “There is one more thing of which we must speak,” he finally continues. “Your fate.”
“My death,” Teyla corrects him sharply, and is confused by his sudden flinch.
Michael turns his head sharply, as if he is reluctant to meet her eyes. “That is not my wish,” he insists, his voice strangely choked.
“No?” Teyla replies sceptically. “What it is, then? The way you… relish destroying everything that is not like yourself… how can I expect anything else?”
Michael is staring at her again, his eyes so angry, so painfully human that she is taken aback. “Never forget,” he hisses at her, “that everything I do is done because of the actions of your people.”
“One day, Michael, that excuse will cease to work,” Teyla says, her knuckles white as she clinches the bars. “One day you will have to take responsibility for your transformation into this… abomination.”
Michael’s eyes suddenly flashed with white fire, and she is certain that she has gone too far. “How dare you…” he begins, his voice barely more than a growl, but she cuts him off with a sharp pull against the bars.”
“Ethically, I meant! Even the Wraith do not indulge in such… large-scale destruction!” She cries out, knowing all the same that her words are in vain.
Michael calms somewhat. He turns away and coldly replies, “I do what I must. The entire galaxy has declared war upon me, effectively denying me the right to exist. Would you have me… do nothing?” he asks with a careful inflection on the last word.
“I would have you show mercy,” Teyla replies, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“And I will,” Michael answers softly, turning to again look at her. “To you, at least,” he adds, and he begins to raise his hand as if he wishes to touch her. Quickly he thinks better of it, and the arm falls uselessly to his side. “I shall offer you the choice you never gave me.”
“What do you mean?” She asks cautiously.
He pauses before replying, “You must understand by now that there is something substantial between us,” (disgust and loathing, Teyla notes mentally, though that small voice again adds, guilt and regret), “and despite what your people have done to me, I still feel a certain kinship with you.”
“If that is true,” Teyla replies as calmly as she can, “then why do you not set me free?”
“You know I cannot do that,” he answers, a smile strangely devoid of coldness gracing his lips. “I have too many enemies as it is.
“You are strong, Teyla. Intelligent. Passionate,” and he pronounces the word with an intensity that makes her skin crawl. “You would undoubtedly make a powerful hybrid.”
“You’re mad,” she whispers, fighting to keep the horror out of her voice.
“It would not surprise me,” Michael replies, and laughs humourlessly. “I once asked for freedom or death, and even knowing that I valued my identity over my life, still your people chose to… transform me,” he reminds her, his voice nearly shaking with anger. The last few words he practically spits at her.
“I cannot free you, and I cannot risk keeping you alive in this state,” Michael continues with cool logic. “I would… I would have you by my side, Teyla.”
“You offer me the choice between… becoming like you and death,” she finally manages, although she knows that it is no choice at all. She thinks of Kanaan, twisted until he barely possessed his own free will, and knows that she cannot face such a fate.
“It is more than you offered me,” and she cannot deny that this is anything but the truth.
“I… no. I won’t…” I won’t lose myself, everything I am…
“I understand,” he replies quietly, genuine sadness in his voice. “I had hoped otherwise, but… I am sorry, Teyla,” he finishes, his voice again strong. Emotionless. Inhuman.
It should have ended differently, she believes even now, as the bullet rips through her body and the world fades to black. Her last regret is that she didn’t ask to see her son once more; she believes, at the end, that Michael would have complied.
“Goodbye, Teyla.”
Finis
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Summary: Teyla is offered a terrible choice.
Rating: Worksafe
Pairing: one-sided Michael/Teyla
Wordcount: 960
Warnings: character death
Notes: Tag for the season four finale and season five premiere. Michael’s reaction to Teyla’s question concerning her fate intrigued me enough to write this.
They were supposed to come.
As she sits on the floor of her cell, staring sightlessly through the bars, she is certain that things should have ended differently. She could almost hate herself for her helpless dependency - she is supposed to be stronger than this - but she no longer has the strength to spare for such selfish emotion.
Her son is gone.
Unclenching her hands, she presses her palm against her stomach, and feels nothing. No telltale sign of life, no small yet sturdy kicks. Of course not, her womb is now empty: she delivered her child days ago.
Now Teyla sits on the floor: forgotten, discarded, wondering why she is even still alive. She had not expected to long outlive her usefulness to her captor, and tries not to dwell on the possibilities concerning her continued existence. Michael is both insane and obsessed; he is well capable of using his victim complex to justify any atrocity.
Footsteps echo in the corridor, and she quickly climbs to her feet, unwilling to display any sign of weakness. Moments later he arrives, alone, and confronted by those nightmarish features - not Wraith, not human - she must fight down the small voice that still whispers, Our fault.
“I thought you would like to hear that your son is healthy,” Michael informs her, his eyes gazing through her with clinical coldness.
Teyla says nothing; there is nothing she can say. One false step, and she is certain that Michael will kill her where she stands.
After a moment, Michael nods, apparently expecting nothing more from her. “There is one more thing of which we must speak,” he finally continues. “Your fate.”
“My death,” Teyla corrects him sharply, and is confused by his sudden flinch.
Michael turns his head sharply, as if he is reluctant to meet her eyes. “That is not my wish,” he insists, his voice strangely choked.
“No?” Teyla replies sceptically. “What it is, then? The way you… relish destroying everything that is not like yourself… how can I expect anything else?”
Michael is staring at her again, his eyes so angry, so painfully human that she is taken aback. “Never forget,” he hisses at her, “that everything I do is done because of the actions of your people.”
“One day, Michael, that excuse will cease to work,” Teyla says, her knuckles white as she clinches the bars. “One day you will have to take responsibility for your transformation into this… abomination.”
Michael’s eyes suddenly flashed with white fire, and she is certain that she has gone too far. “How dare you…” he begins, his voice barely more than a growl, but she cuts him off with a sharp pull against the bars.”
“Ethically, I meant! Even the Wraith do not indulge in such… large-scale destruction!” She cries out, knowing all the same that her words are in vain.
Michael calms somewhat. He turns away and coldly replies, “I do what I must. The entire galaxy has declared war upon me, effectively denying me the right to exist. Would you have me… do nothing?” he asks with a careful inflection on the last word.
“I would have you show mercy,” Teyla replies, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“And I will,” Michael answers softly, turning to again look at her. “To you, at least,” he adds, and he begins to raise his hand as if he wishes to touch her. Quickly he thinks better of it, and the arm falls uselessly to his side. “I shall offer you the choice you never gave me.”
“What do you mean?” She asks cautiously.
He pauses before replying, “You must understand by now that there is something substantial between us,” (disgust and loathing, Teyla notes mentally, though that small voice again adds, guilt and regret), “and despite what your people have done to me, I still feel a certain kinship with you.”
“If that is true,” Teyla replies as calmly as she can, “then why do you not set me free?”
“You know I cannot do that,” he answers, a smile strangely devoid of coldness gracing his lips. “I have too many enemies as it is.
“You are strong, Teyla. Intelligent. Passionate,” and he pronounces the word with an intensity that makes her skin crawl. “You would undoubtedly make a powerful hybrid.”
“You’re mad,” she whispers, fighting to keep the horror out of her voice.
“It would not surprise me,” Michael replies, and laughs humourlessly. “I once asked for freedom or death, and even knowing that I valued my identity over my life, still your people chose to… transform me,” he reminds her, his voice nearly shaking with anger. The last few words he practically spits at her.
“I cannot free you, and I cannot risk keeping you alive in this state,” Michael continues with cool logic. “I would… I would have you by my side, Teyla.”
“You offer me the choice between… becoming like you and death,” she finally manages, although she knows that it is no choice at all. She thinks of Kanaan, twisted until he barely possessed his own free will, and knows that she cannot face such a fate.
“It is more than you offered me,” and she cannot deny that this is anything but the truth.
“I… no. I won’t…” I won’t lose myself, everything I am…
“I understand,” he replies quietly, genuine sadness in his voice. “I had hoped otherwise, but… I am sorry, Teyla,” he finishes, his voice again strong. Emotionless. Inhuman.
It should have ended differently, she believes even now, as the bullet rips through her body and the world fades to black. Her last regret is that she didn’t ask to see her son once more; she believes, at the end, that Michael would have complied.
“Goodbye, Teyla.”
Finis