Author's disclaimer: I do not own Stargate Atlantis and its associated characters. MGM does, for which, for the most part, they have my utmost respect. No copyright infringement is intended in writing these stories.

My deepest respect also goes to the talented actors that brought to life the characters we see in Stargate Atlantis. My portrayal of the characters here is based on my perception of the work of Joe Flanigan, Jason Momoa, Rachel Luttrell, Paul McGillion, David Hewlett, Amanda Tapping, Robert Picardo, Connor Trinneer and Christopher Heyerdahl. Without these people and those that came before them, there would have been no Atlantis as we know it today.

Other assorted original characters (i.e. those that don't really appear in the show) are my own creation, and they, along with the original material presented here are © Eirian Phillips 2009.

Story is rated for mature readers, according to whatever rating system is adopted these days for Fan Fiction. It changes on a site by site basis… It was so much easier way back when…

There may be other virtual seasons of SGA out there in cyberspace. Some may even be unofficially official. However, as a writer, I don't believe that this should discourage others from having their own ideas about things. Mine are presented here.

I can be reached at Feedback is always welcome and emails are usually answered.

Characters and events are purely fictitious, and any similarity to anyone living, transformed, dead, cloned or in any alternate universe or timeline is entirely coincidental.

Stargate Atlantis

Letting Go

The Only Way to Hold On

"You believe in this fight! You know that they'll eventually find us, no matter where we go. Our only hope is to show them that we're not worth the effort, to go feed on some other planet that won't fight back as hard as we will."

Melena - Sateda

Previously On Stargate Atlantis:

Slowly Teyla took hold of Ronon's hands and waited with her head bowed until he shared the gesture with her.

"I will not say goodbye to you, Ronon," she said softly. "Only wish you well until our paths cross again."

"Farewell, Teyla," he answered. "I know you will find him… and when you do—" his voice cracked. "Come back to us."

**

Todd brought her to stand in front of him, close against him, and wrapped his right arm across her belly to rest against her left hip, resting his other hand atop her shoulder, where he almost idly began a gentle stroking of her neck with his thumb.

"You bring a human to our bridge?" the Hive Commander said harshly, stepping down from his console and approaching menacingly.

"I will bring my concubine where I wish. After all, our Queen has given her the freedom of the Hive… unless of course…" Todd eased Vega away from him and turned to face the Hive Commander, his expression unyielding. "…you wish to challenge me."

**

Vega held the soft fabric up to her. Granted the bodice would be tight, and would probably only cover the bare minimum, leaving her shoulders and arms bare. The skirt, though shorter at the front than the back, was full and looked as though it would hang in overlapping layers, exposing her legs if she moved, but keeping her covered when she was still. The whole thing was a deep, almost black velveteen fabric.

"Seems like someone's been a good little girl, and has gotten her just rewards," the captive hybrid said mockingly.

"I said I didn't want—"

"—to hear it, yes, I know," he said. "But have you considered what you have to… or were supposed to have done, in order to receive your prize? You think you have the presence of mind to… lie to a Queen?" the hybrid stressed.

**

The man that stepped through the Gate was tall, and dark, and not at all handsome. His face was scarred on the one side, and the story was that one of his former patients had covered him with gasoline and set him on fire. His blue eyes were completely devoid of warmth as he swept his gaze around the Gate Room, and the dark suit that he wore only accentuated the impression of a brooding, crow-like presence.

"Richard Woolsey," he greeted the man, and though he sounded glad, and held out his hand for the requisite handshake, the coldness in his eyes did not change.

"Professor Varnerin," Woolsey said, shaking the man by the hand and gesturing toward the interior of the city. "Welcome to Atlantis."

**

"Romance is a human notion, Alicia Vega," he said softly, "The truth of the matter is that the Queen has sent you to me as a test of our loyalty to her. Should we have… engaged in such activities and then turned from her—"

"—Then we fail the test." she guessed.

"Then I fail the test," he corrected her softly. "Humans have been known to develop affections for their Wraith masters – so it is not entirely unexpected by the Queen."

"And if we don't?"

"If we do not… what?" he asked.

"If we don't… do this thing, then you fail the test again, rejecting her gift and probably so do I for not being… interesting enough of something," she said.

Todd chuckled. "Now you see the predicament."

"What are you laughing at?" she snapped, "this isn't funny."

"You are not uninteresting, Alicia," he answered.

**

Her robes, in swirling blacks and purples, blended with the organic material of the seat, and her dark hair, clasped away from her face, hung almost in ringlets about her shoulders, she had been curled like a huge serpent into the back of her resting place, almost as though she were sleeping, her face turned away from the light. Her eyes were red and bloodshot.

**

"No!" The Elder Queen's voice was whip-like, and the mental echo of it painful even to Todd, at whom it was not directed. The Subordinate-Queen shrank backwards, almost stumbled, and a trickle of blood began to run from her nose.

=how dare you believe you could deceive me!=

**

The Queen was hungry… under a geas, an interdiction against feeding more than enough to keep her alive, given to her by a stronger Queen.

***

"Ronon, you can't run forever."

Melena - Sateda

Act 1

As soon as Ronon cleared the event horizon he set off at a run in the direction of the Athosian settlement, where, barely a month before, he had returned Teyla to her people.

The shielding trees hid the full extent of the truth from his eyes, but already he could see a column of dark smoke rising to mar the otherwise clear sky with the tell-tale signs of trouble.

As he broke from the tree line, he skidded to a halt and almost bent double. The air in his lungs deserted him, and intense, nauseating fear rushed in to fill the empty space. In front of him lay the ruins of the settlement, scattered from one side of the clearing to the other. The debris from the broken houses and workshops littered the ground, while the smoking remains of burned-out homes stood as blackened scars in the untidy remains of his friend's home.

Growling he pushed aside the paralysis and began to sprint toward the settlement where, as he drew closer, he could see bodies lying among the devastation.

"Teyla!" he called out frantically as he started to lift the wreckage from one of the people he could see. The woman beneath the debris of the first home he came to was dead, impaled on a split piece of wood that had once been the support beam of the building.

"Teyla!" he called again, more frantically, as his searching only revealed more corpses.

A low moan, so quiet he almost missed it, sent him hurrying toward the sound, where he desperately began throwing broken timbers and burned and ruined canvass aside. A bloodied hand reached for him as he cleared a way to reach the person buried beneath the house.

"Ronon," a broken voice gasped, and Ronon fell to his knees beside the gravely injured Athosian man, to give Halling what aid he could.

"Lie still," he said urgently, but gently. "I'll get you help."

He lifted his hand, meaning to key his headset, but Halling caught his arm.

"They took Teyla," Halling rasped, "Ronon, they—"

"Who?" he asked. "Who took her?"

"Wrai—" Halling's voice became broken by a rattling cough that shook the whole of his body.

"I'll find her," Ronon promised.

"I tried to—"

"Halling, save your strength," he told the Athosian, but Halling shook his head.

"Save her, Ronon, please. I—" he took a huge breath, paling with the effort. "Landed… they landed the Hive. I—"

"Halling, stop, please," Ronon's emotions at the man's struggles were choking him. "I'll find her. Let me get help for—"

A breathy rattle cut off the words he'd been about to say. He looked down at Halling, into the Athosian's open, staring eyes.

"Halling," he whispered sorrowfully, and wondered how he would ever be able to tell Teyla… once he had rescued her from the Wraith.

**

When seen from the viewscreen of the Daedalus, it was all too easy to forget just how big the Hive truly was; to forget that, when they had first discovered it on M3X-667, it had occupied an entire mountain range. Looking at the Hive ship now, from his hidden vantage point at the edge of the tree line, with its Darts flying patrols overhead, and ground patrols that looked like fleas on the landscape next to the Hive, he wondered how, in the name of the Ancestors, he was going to get aboard.

He watched for what seemed, to him, to be hours, becoming more and more frustrated that he was failing Teyla in the delay he had in getting on board the Hive. In his mind he saw a succession of Wraith, each of them abusing his friend, feeding on her bruised and bleeding body. With a growl he pushed aside the dark images and forced himself to settle, to wait for nightfall and to try and formulate a plan for what he might do once he was finally aboard the Wraith Hive.

He didn't imagine it would be easy, nor did he expect to be able to simply walk the corridors of the Hive entirely without detection. There would be inevitable fights, and he quietly relished the opportunity to take out as many of the Wraith as possible. So long as he freed Teyla and gave her a way to escape, he did not care what happened to him.

Dusk fell slowly as he watched and waited, and the patrolling of the Wraith surrounding the Hive began to subside, to pull in almost, as though they were securing their perimeter against some real or imagined danger. As he carefully applied a layer of camouflaging dirt to his face and hands, he could not help but glance upward, searching the skies for the presence of other Hives, or other Darts, he reminded himself, and couldn't help but bring to mind the fact that Michael and his hybrid army fought with Wraith ships, using Wraith technology. He looked at the Darts still flying passes overhead. It wouldn't be the first time he and his fellow Atlanteans had mistaken Michael's forces for those of the Wraith.

"Incoming!"

Ronon's warning shout and the whine that seemed to cut through the paralysis left by the explosion made Sam turn again. From behind the rising cloud of smoke over the compound, a Dart was coming, flying low on a path that would bring it into striking range of the engineers and their excavation within seconds.

Sam tried to call a warning to Rodney; to stop him from climbing out of the rubble that had been his prison, and was now a refuge, albeit an insecure one, against the coming attack from the Wraith… but the Dart did not open fire.

Ronon skidded to a halt as the Dart activated its culling beam, that reached into the heart of what was left of the building before, a second later, disengaging as the Dart powered away, taking his friend and team mates with it.

He sighed softly. At least they had gotten McKay back, relatively sound and in one piece. Lorne was another matter… and now that Varnerin had come to Atlantis, Ronon began to worry that the major would not survive until Keller could create some kind of cure for hybridisation. It was not that he necessarily believed that the professor would harm Lorne directly, but he could certainly see Varnerin giving some kind of order that would see Lorne taken to Earth for some kind of intense debriefing – the way the IOA had wanted to do with Teyla.

Teyla…

She of all people had been the one most sympathetic to his plight when first they met, even though he had her bound and a prisoner at the time. It was a part of her personality that he admired even though it was so much the opposite of his own somewhat uncompromising attitude. That's not to say that she didn't have relentlessness of her own. She did, and she was one of the strongest people he knew because of it, but lately her balance had been somewhat overturned. He knew she'd find it again; knew that as soon as she emerged from under Michael's influence she'd be just fine, but until that time he meant to protect her. He had always been protective… a brother to her.

As though his thoughts brought him full circle to the present, he turned his face toward the Hive and cautiously, quietly, began to move on the Wraith ship.

He had to negotiate a steep decline from the edge of the wood toward where the Wraith had landed, watching every placement of his feet with tension in his muscles, ready to strike or flee. At the bottom of the small hill, two Wraith warriors stood sentry, as if they expected attack from that direction. It would be his first test.

Pausing behind a small outcrop of rocks, he slipped two knives from sheaths at his back, taking one into each hand, and hefting them experimentally. He would have no second chances. He would have to take out both Wraith warriors simultaneously, or his rescue attempt would be over before it began, as the warriors would telepathically alert the others on the Hive of the presence of a hostile survivor from the Athosian village. On the other hand, if he could lure the Wraith out of the Hive and into the woods on a wild goose chase for supposed survivors, it might make it easier for him to get inside. Nodding to himself, he quickly made a decision and exchanged one of the knives for his blaster. He wouldn't use it, but felt much better with it in his hand. Then he moved just enough to take aim on one of the two Wraith warriors with the remaining knife.

With all his strength, he launched the deadly blade through the air toward the warrior. It struck true, and the warrior fell. Before he hit the ground, Ronon quickly and quietly moved to a new vantage point, and watched as the second warrior, raising his weapon, moved toward his former position.

Falling back into old, remembered patterns of hunted and hunter, Ronon smiled grimly, before circling around behind the oncoming Wraith, he went to the first to retrieve his knife, and ensure that the warrior he had targeted was dead.

For a man as big as he was, Ronon moved silently – much more silently than the Wraith warrior he could clearly hear stamping around in the undergrowth, now behind Ronon's advanced position. The former runner did not stay in one place for long. Once he ascertained the position of the remaining warrior, he set off toward the Hive once more, at an acute angle to the direction the warrior was taking, and before he had even fully reached the cover of a small knot of bushes he had chosen as his next vantage point, he began fixing the positions of the other Wraith that were guarding the Hive into his mind.

As he watched, a Wraith commander and several warriors came past the sentries at the entrance to the Hive and began to fan out, to search the surrounding woodland. His plan was working. Whoever commanded this Hive, whatever queen or commander was in charge, certainly wanted the Athosians dead or, he thought bleakly, as meals stored in their cocoons.

Taking his time, he crawled from shadow to shadow, approaching the Hive. He wouldn't use the door to enter the landed craft. Rather, he meant to crawl in through one of the weapons' ports. It was a tactic he had used once or twice before, with a good deal of success.

The air around his patrol was full of the sounds of gunfire, defensive positions exploded beside and behind him, and more and more Darts streamed out of the Hive, heading for the city. If Sateda was to survive much longer, he and his patrol would have to take out the ship.

"It's too heavily guarded," one of his companions called out. "We'll never get inside."

He raised the binoculars, watching in despair as yet another of the loyal Satedan defence patrols was cut down by Wraith warriors that streamed from the ship to fan out and form a defensive line. There had to be a way.

"There!" he said, and handed the binoculars to the doubting companion, pointing out an area along the hull, far away from the door.

"Where?" his companion asked, "I don't see anything."

"That depression, that groove in the hull," he said.

"Yes?"

"It leads inside. It has to," he said. "Some kind of exhaust port or something."

"Could be dangerous." His companion nodded, finally seeing what he meant.

"What, and walking up to the front door wouldn't be?" he quipped.

He took a long slow blink, banishing the memory. His companion hadn't survived. Insisting on going first, he'd climbed out of the weapons' shaft almost directly into the hands of a Wraith inside the ship. Ronon would have to be careful.

The hull of the ship was still warm from re-entry into the atmosphere, but not intolerably so as he'd feared. It was a testament to how long it had taken him to come even this far.

The stamp of boots reminded him of the need to keep moving; of the Wraith's routine of sending regular patrols around their ship. He flattened himself into the shadows directly beneath the port, barely fitting in the small space, and covered himself with the dirt the Hive's landing had disturbed, to wait until the two sets of feet were long since past. Then without waiting any more, he drew his knife, and holding it between his teeth, pulled himself up into the steeply inclined weapons' tubule.

The tangy, bitter taste of Wraith blood, still on the knife, spurred him on, filling him with the need to coat the metal blade with still more – one Wraith for each scream he imagined coming from Teyla's lips.

He had to brace his legs to either side of the tube to stop himself from sliding back, falling to the ground, and into the hands of the patrolling Wraith. He had forgotten it was quite such a difficult climb, and very soon his legs and fingers ached from the effort of holding him up; propelling him forward, but still he wouldn't give up and every few feet he pushed his hand against the side of the tubule, searching for the soft spot that indicated the presence of the vent behind, unable to remember clearly just how high up the shaft it was.

"Come on, come on," he growled softly around the knife as he came within sight of the energy generator at the head of the tube, and bracing himself on both his legs, he pressed his hand urgently all around. He couldn't have missed the vent. It wasn't possible. He'd checked as he'd climbed.

A trickle of sweat ran between his shoulder blades, and down his back, both at the effort of holding himself up, and at the added heat from the generator to which he was getting dangerously close. Pushing himself up another step, he began again to press his hands all around – still nothing. Another desperate lurch jostled his heart, and another anxious push with his legs took him higher. He could have laughed with joy when, a moment later, his hand encountered the spongy give of the membrane separating the tubule from the vent behind. He pushed with his legs still harder to hold his position as he reached to take the knife from between his teeth, and viciously plunged it into the fleshy skin covering the vent. Quickly he cut himself a slit, an artificial sphincter through which he all but threw himself a second later as the internal, automatic defence of the ship powered up the generator enough to send a burst of deadly energy along the veins in the side of the tube, and the slice in the membrane began to knit itself together around him.

He felt the tingle of the approaching energy, the tightening of the rubbery material around him, and wriggled and struggled his way through, like some twisted parody of birth or rebirth, and all but fell, his legs covered in the sticky, colourless slime of the Hive's regenerative fluids, into the narrow vent beyond. For just a moment or two he lay, winded and breathing hard, on the chitinous floor.

"That was too close," he told himself softly and pushed up off the floor.

The vent was small, and he had to bend almost double to be able to move along it, to move toward where he sought another membranous juncture between the ship's corridors, and the vent that ran alongside them. He could only imagine what might happen if the Hive were to take off while he was still inside the vent, and it was not a pretty picture his mind supplied, but he also knew that an incautious exit would equally as likely prove to be the death of him.

Getting out of the vent proved to be a difficult endeavour. He cut himself a hole so that he could check that the hallway of the ship beyond was unoccupied, only to have it begin to heal itself almost before he had time to look first one way and then the other. He growled, starting to get frustrated after the third attempt failed to give him long enough to check both ways at once. With a sigh he started to cut himself a hole large enough to get through. He couldn't waste time any more.

He also knew that once he was through he needed to be away from the area as soon as he could. He doubted that structural damage inside the ship would be missed by the Wraith monitoring the status of the Hive. He would have to move fast, and as far away as the maze of corridors would allow, and for just a moment, he missed having the annoying whine of McKay's voice at his side. At least then he'd have some idea of which way was best to go, but McKay was busy, and the urgency of the message he'd received – obvious now as to why – had precluded him being able to wait.

At first, his luck held. As he pushed through the membrane, the passage into which he emerged was empty of Wraith. The echoing strangeness of the corridor, however, did not comfort him and he worried he would not be able to tell from which direction any might emerge. Keeping close to the dips and alcoves in the organic shape of the hallway, he began to move as swiftly as he could away from the area he had damaged, striking inward as soon as possible… looking for a room or a chamber in which he could conceal himself; take stock and figure out a way he would be able to find Teyla.

Quickly, and as quietly as he could, Ronon slipped from one irregular alcove to the next as small groups of Wraith guards strode past him along the twisting and winding corridors. There was no doubt in his mind that they had been sent to investigate the damage to the ship and were now searching for a saboteur; the one responsible. They were looking for him.

The sound of booted feet, tramping closer, caught him mid-way along a slightly curving corridor. Urgently, he looked first behind him and then up ahead. He could see no new alcove in front of him, but knew that it was quite a way back to the one he had just left, and that he had no way of knowing what was behind him or whether he would walk into a patrol at his back. His heart began to race, his blood sounding loudly in his ears. Press on, or fall back – he had barely seconds to decide. If he delayed, the chances of him being spotted either way became ever more likely.

He closed his fist around the hilt of his blaster as he decided, and began to sprint ahead, down the dim lit hallway. He had no choice than to go on. He wouldn't leave Teyla in the hands of the Wraith. He knew the kinds of things they would likely do to someone such as her, and wouldn't allow her to suffer those things.

As he rounded the bend, he saw it – a deep alcove beside a door that opened onto a dark and, he hoped, unoccupied room. It was his best option; his only option, as the booted feet became accompanied by the slight rattle of leather and bone. He barely pressed himself into the concealing darkness, seeing from the corner of his eyes as he did, the patrol of four Wraith warriors entering the corridor from the junction ahead. He held his breath, afraid that even the slight sound of his breathing would alert them to his presence. It had been too close. He had to find a way to create some kind of diversion, and a way to discover where they were holding Teyla.

The breath burst out of him as the rattle of Wraith died away to the near and eerie silence of the Hive. He shivered, and carefully began to extricate himself from the cramped alcove, only to flatten himself against the wall and tip his head first one and then the other, to ensure the corridor ahead was free of Wraith, meaning to go on.

The attack came out of the darkness behind him – a rumbling growl that preceded the sudden choking sensation as a vicelike arm clamped around his neck, pulling him backwards into the dark cavern of the room. Then there came the jab of a near paralysing strike to the inside of his right elbow that sent his weapon clattering to the floor. He tried to come to one knee, to reach behind him for the Wraith assaulting him, but, pulled backwards, he could not shift his balance enough to complete the move. He considered simply allowing himself to fall backwards; to pin the unfortunate Wraith beneath him, but in the end froze, and ceased his struggles as he felt the unmistakable pressure of a Wraith blaster pushed against the small of his back. He doubted very much that it would be set to stun.

"I could kill you right now," the familiar, hated voice that sounded behind him was calm, almost mocking in its tone, "though I doubt that would serve either of our purposes."

"Michael!" he hissed, and in spite of his position, tensed every muscle in his body.

"Under the circumstances, it's good to see you again, Ronon," Michael answered. "It would be beneficial, however, if I had the opportunity to close this door, to prevent those patrols from… interrupting our little reunion."

"You let go of me, and I'm going to kill you," he warned.

"I don't think so." The confidence in Michael's voice only served to fuel Ronon's anger against the hybrid. The anger only deepened when, in the next moment, he found himself stumbling away from Michael's grasp, and barely managed to turn in time to watch the guillotine-like action of the descending door severing them from the corridor beyond. The dim illumination activated automatically, casting long shadows around the two of them, and making it harder still for him to find his fallen weapon. He heard Michael's slow footfalls cross the room as he searched.

As he glanced between the floor and the threatening presence of his adversary, he couldn't help but notice that the Wraith-Human hybrid looked more pallid than usual, that his face was more angled and bony, almost as though he had reverted further toward his original form. His hands were gloved, and there was the slightest of tremors in the one that held the weapon pointed in Ronon's direction. He also noticed that Michael moved with the slightest of limps, which could have been easily missed, save for the fact that the more Ronon noticed, the more he began to wonder what had happened and the more he examined his enemy.

"You don't look well, Michael," Ronon said in a parody of concern that he would never feel for him.

"You didn't come here to gloat over the state of my health, or otherwise, Ronon Dex," Michael rumbled just as Ronon spotted his blaster lying against one of the walls.

Michael tilted his head, but when the Satedan spun toward the weapon a second later, did nothing to prevent him from snatching it up from the ground. Nor did he move as Ronon flicked his thumb against the switch at the side of the blaster, then raised it, snarling, to point it directly at his head.

"Predictable…" Michael almost sighed, his lips parting around slightly pointed teeth through which he let out a slow, almost resigned hiss.

"What did you do to her?" Ronon snarled. Michael's calm was akin to an unbearable taunt to him.

"Do?" Michael tilted his head once more, frowning in confusion. "I would imagine that, under the repeated attempts by your interrogators to debrief her, she has by now told you all exactly what befell her while she was under my care."

"Care?" Ronon sneered.

"I did not harm her!" Michael raised his voice for the first time and took a step forward, heedless of the weapon pointing at his head. He seemed to calm then, and continued in a more measured way, "That fell to the Atlanteans… after all, that is why she ran from you, isn't it?"

"She didn't run from me," Ronon countered.

"Why even now she struggles in the captivity of the Wraith, in danger of her life," Michael continued almost without missing a beat, "in spite of all of my efforts to ensure her safety."

"Save it," Ronon told him, pressing the gun into Michael's forehead as though he wanted to use it to keep him at arm's length. "I don't buy it any more than Sheppard did."

"It must be almost the death of you to realise that the only chance you have of finding Teyla is if you let me live – work with me," he said mockingly.

"I'll take this place apart with my bare hands before I even think about letting you walk away from this alive!" Ronon snarled.

Michael spread his arms to either side of himself, invitingly.

"Then go ahead," he said and sounded tired. "Kill me, but know that in doing so, you might as well be pulling the trigger on your friend. Is that what you want, Ronon?"

Ronon trembled, tensing every muscle, fighting himself to squeeze the trigger, to take Michael's head from his shoulders with a single shot and rid the galaxy of his threat once and for all, but Michael's words, and his manner, troubled him.

"You think you can manipulate me?" he growled as he fought with himself.

"We don't have time for this, Ronon." Michael's voice was clipped and he fixed him with an intense golden stare. "My goal is the same as yours. I'm here to rescue Teyla."

As soon as he finished speaking, Michael turned away from him, and took a step towards a console that stood at the far side of the room. Grumbling in frustrated hatred, Ronon put up his weapon and, instead, reached out to catch Michael by the arm before he had moved too far. The Wraith-Human hybrid stopped moving, and turned his head to look at the contact until Ronon let go, and then he looked up into his face.

"Just tell me she's all right," he demanded, glaring at Michael. "I know you— she…"

He could not bring himself to speak of his knowing that Teyla shared a mental connection with Michael, because, if he did, then it would be admitting it were true, and could mean that everything else she had spoken of her time with Michael was true as well. At the same time he had to know that his friend was all right. He gestured toward his head and then away, knowing full well that Michael would understand.

"For the moment," Michael answered, and briefly closed his eyes, breathing out a long slow breath. When he opened his eyes again, he added, "But we must hurry. She is afraid."

He began to move again and this time Ronon went with him, the two of them crossed the room to stand in front of the control station. Michael wasted no time and quickly began working at the terminal, presumably searching the database to find out where they were holding Teyla. Ronon watched the strings of Wraith text scrolling across the screen, hating that he had no way to know that he was not, himself, being led into a trap, or being used by Michael in some kind of self-centred plan that would only get him killed.

"What happens when we find her?" he asked, no longer able to remain silent and simply watch.

"It matters very little what we think will happen. Once we have freed Teyla, we will have to fight our way out," Michael answered. "I may be able to find another control terminal and program key systems to overload – keep them busy to make our escape an easier one, but either way, we will have to fight."

Ronon shook his head. He knew their escape from the Hive would not be without battle. What he wanted to know was what the two of them would do once the need for this alliance was over; once they had rescued Teyla and got away.

Michael turned slowly from the console and fixed him with an intense glare as if he understood exactly what was going through Ronon's mind.

"Then," he said slowly, "we must let Teyla decide."

Ronon took a breath, fearful of what that might mean for him, for the team, for Teyla…

"You really meant it," he said sadly, "about not coming back?"

"Ronon, I am sorry," she said softly, "but not for a long time, if ever."

She shivered then and allowed him to draw her closer.

"Promise me something, Ronon," she asked softly.

"Anything," he answered.

"Look out for the others… especially where Varnerin is concerned."

"You have my word on that," he said with just a hint of anger in his voice. He softened quickly as he asked, "What will you do now?"

"There is only one thing I can do," she said and there was sorrow in her eyes. Some part of him knew that she was thinking of Michael, and all she had discovered that had happened between them, and through that, thinking of her missing son. "I have to find Nethaiye."

"And Michael?" he asked hesitantly.

"I honestly do not know what I might do when we next meet," she said, and then frowning, added, "If we ever do."

Ronon nodded, understanding and accepting that she would have a confused mix of feelings. Michael had fixed his attention on her, had taken her from her friends and now had her child in his possession, but through it all, she had said, he never harmed her, or the boy, in fact treated them both with care and concern.

He opened his mouth to comment, to accuse Michael of using the baby as a lever to ensure that Teyla would go with him, but Michael had already turned back to the console and spoke before he could.

"They have taken her to the Hive Commander. Three levels up," he said, and his hands flew over the few buttons on the terminal. "I have created a program to cause random overloads in the power distribution grid. It will keep them busy while we find a way to get to that level." He moved away from the workstation and toward the door, drawing the weapon from his belt as he did. "We must work quickly. This way."

At the best of times, Ronon didn't like to play games of cat and mouse. He would have preferred a more direct approach than continuing to duck from shadow to shadow as they made their way upwards and toward the centre of the Hive. He understood the need for stealth, as Michael had said, at least until they had Teyla from the hands of the Wraith commander. After that he resolved not only to kill any and all Wraith that came their way, but also to find a way to rid them all of Michael. In spite of everything Teyla had said, he still believed that the Wraith-Human hybrid was somehow influencing her thoughts and feelings and, if she could be freed from such influence, she would return to her normal self and there would be nothing to stop her from coming back to Atlantis.

Interrupting Ronon's thoughts, Michael stopped suddenly and flattened himself against the wall, signalling to Ronon to be still. For just a second, Ronon was tempted to ignore him and move on anyway, until he heard the sound of movement from ahead. Still, for pure spite, he still gave it consideration. They were near to the commander's quarters. Michael had told him that a couple of junctions ago, so what harm could it do now that they were closer still?

Ronon was about to move when, beside him, Michael stiffened.

"Teyla!" he gasped softly, and Ronon thought he heard fear and urgency in his voice – perhaps pain. Ronon's impression was confirmed when barely a second later Michael, through clenched teeth, growled, "The second doorway. Go!"

Ronon needed no second bidding. He all but threw himself into the hallway, firing as he went even before he could see his targets. The Wraith warriors, five of them, all turned and began to return fire. He did not stop moving, coming toward them, even as he dodged from side to side to avoid the energy from their weapons. Soon he stood toe to toe with one of the warriors and, still firing at the others with his blaster, he snatched a knife from his sheath, and lashed out at the warrior directly ahead.

It was perhaps not the smartest, nor the quickest way to dispose of the Wraith warriors that stood between him and Teyla's safety, but it was infinitely more satisfying than just shooting them.

As Michael joined the fight, quickly taking out two of the warriors, the Wraith that Ronon battled abandoned his own weapon and came at Ronon with clawed hands leading. Ronon ducked under the warrior's wild swing and punched forward with the knife in his left hand. He didn't expect it to be easy so wasn't at all disappointed or worried when the warrior blocked the strike with a sweeping arc of his hand, pushing it aside even as he caught a hold of Ronon's wrists.

Undeterred, Ronon brought his head down, hard, against the bone covering on the Wraith's face, sending the warrior staggering backwards, and freeing himself from the grasp on his wrists. Instead of following through with a punch, Ronon shifted his weight onto his back foot and launched a powerful kick at the Wraith. The warrior, already off balance, was pushed further back, into one of the two other remaining soldiers that were beyond the entrance they needed to take, where Michael was already frantically working to access the locked doorway.

As Ronon moved to continue his attack against the Wraith, he saw that Michael was forced to duck aside from what he was doing in order to avoid another blast of energy from the Wraith guards.

"Keep working," Ronon yelled. "Just get us inside. I'll hold them off."

Michael's answer was to turn back to the panel and continue his attempt to get the lock to respond to his commands.

Ronon threw himself at the three Wraith, firing from the hip and taking out the one he had been fighting. As the Wraith warrior fell, as if mimicking Ronon's own actions, one of the others also fired and, with nowhere to go to dodge the blast, the energy caught Ronon square on.

He felt the crippling tingle beginning to spread through the muscles of his arms and legs, saw the already dimly lit hallway dim still further as his vision began to fail, but he would not allow himself to submit. Teyla was counting on him, and he refused to let Michael reach her alone.

He growled, gathering every ounce of strength within himself and began to push back the debilitating effects of the Wraith stunner. His hand twitched, and then moved to raise his weapon, to take aim at one of the Wraith, his finger locked in spasm as he fired, sending more than a single bolt of energy the Wraith's way, and down the corridor as the Wraith fell to his attack. He barely registered the second volley of bolts from Michael's weapon, or the strong grasp that grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him backwards in through the now open doorway.

He stumbled to one knee as Michael let go, and might have succumbed to the residual effects of the Wraith stunner, but for a single sound that penetrated the numbness and confusion in his body.

Teyla whimpered.

"No… no…!" She sounded in pain, panicked. "Do no—! Let me go!"

Then she barely stifled a scream.

As Ronon fought to shake off the inability to move, he heard an enraged growling come from beside him. He forced his head to move and saw, as Michael flew toward the two struggling figures, that a massive Wraith had Teyla pinned to the wall of the chamber. She was struggling with the Wraith, making a valiant effort to defend herself, but even uninjured – and from the glimpses he could see of her during the struggle he could make out several long gashes over her body – she would have stood no chance to keep the Wraith at bay.

Michael reached the Wraith and dragged the creature away from Teyla. He already had a knife in his hand and even as he pulled the commander further away from Teyla, Michael lashed out, catching the Wraith a deep and vicious gash across his right arm, before punching forward again with the knife leading.

"Michael…" Teyla gasped, and held her place against the wall for just a moment before her strength began to fail and she slid almost gracefully toward the floor.

Anger and adrenaline flushed through Ronon and finally pushing aside the insidious fog that still hampered him, he hurried toward Teyla and caught her as she fell, cradling her in his strong embrace. She felt brittle and delicate in his arms, like eggshell that would crumble at the slightest touch.

Indecision threatened to stifle him as he ran his eyes over her. She was bleeding badly from a wound to her abdomen, and many other bloody scratches ran the length of her body, but worst of all, the commander had been in the process of feeding, and while she was not as bad as some he'd seen, he doubted she would survive.

"Teyla, hold on," he told her urgently, rocking her in his arms. Then he looked over to where the Wraith and former Wraith battled viciously in the centre of the room. Though he didn't want to distract Michael and risk the commander getting the upper hand, he had to alert him to Teyla's condition, hoping, perhaps, that there was something that the Wraith-Human hybrid could do.

Faster than was humanly possible the Wraith commander and Michael exchanged blow after blow. It was almost mesmerising to watch the way first one, and then the other would strike and counter-strike, would reel from a landing punch and then rolling with it, turn to take advantage of their opponents over-reaching stance.

Unbelievably, given that he had just fed, the Wraith commander was tiring. Ronon couldn't understand how, until the commander turned in an attempt to avoid a wild, swinging attack from the knife that Michael held in his left hand. It was then that Ronon saw the stream of blood that ran down over his hip, from one of the first wounds that Michael had inflicted as he'd pulled the Wraith away from Teyla.

As Ronon watched, Michael lunged forward again to grab the weakening Wraith by the front of his leather coat, and moving in close, rolled the off-balance Wraith over his hip and to the floor. He didn't stop there. He twisted his own body so that he came to one knee beside the Wraith, kneeling on the commander's outstretched feeding hand until he could drive the knifepoint through the Wraith's wrist.

Then, snarling, obviously oblivious to anything around him, Michael tore off the gloves and tossing them to the side slammed his own right hand against the Wraith commander's chest.

The Wraith howled in agony, and Michael threw back his head. He hissed and growled loudly.

In Ronon's arms, Teyla whimpered again and turned her head to press her face against his chest.

"He can't. He—" she began, before a sob broke her voice, and almost Ronon's heart, but as he watched in dark fascination, as disturbing as it was to see Michael taking what life was left to the Wraith commander, hope flared inside of Ronon. If Michael could do that, then it stood to reason that he could also do the opposite. He could save Teyla.

"Michael!" he called urgently. "Michael, stop. You—"

Michael's head snapped around to face him, his eyes wild and he hissed again as if resenting the interruption. Then instinct faded, and he breathed out Ronon's name, releasing the Wraith commander from his feeding grasp, and turning fully to face his unlikely ally.

"It's Teyla, she—" Ronon started, but as he spoke the ship beneath them bucked wildly, and around them the sound of several explosions barely preceded the shrill alarm that began to sound throughout the Hive.

Michael frowned as he fought to keep his balance and to reach Ronon and Teyla's side. Ronon read the confusion in his face and asked, "Not your doing?"

Michael shook his head as he came to his knees beside the two of them. "The overloads I programmed into the power distribution grid should have been minor. I did not wish to risk accidentally destroying the Hive while we were still aboard." Michael paused and then said more urgently than Ronon had ever heard from anyone, "Let me see her."

Teyla shrank away from Michael, further into Ronon's embrace as Michael reached for her. He froze, tilted his head to one side, looking equally as gently on Teyla as his voice had been urgent a moment before.

"Michael?" she looked at him as though she barely recognised him and reached out a trembling hand to brush her fingertips beside the grooves on his cheek. Michael closed his eyes and breathed out as her fingers grazed his skin.

Ronon's heart lurched, and he fought to keep his anger and resentment from launching him into Michael as he wished; to keep in his mind that until the Half-Wraith had done what he could to heal Teyla, then he had to keep his hands off him.

"I will not harm you, Teyla," Michael's voice was barely above a whisper. "You know that."

"But you—"

He shook his head and she stopped speaking, allowing him to take her fingers away from where they rested against his cheek.

"There is no time." He barely turned his head to indicate the shift in focus of his conversation, to show that he was including Ronon. "The others are coming."

As if to prove his words as true, the Hive lurched again beneath them as more explosions went off deep inside the ship. In shifting, Teyla cried out in pain and tightened her grip on Michael's hand. Ronon could see the white of her knuckles.

"Let me take her," Michael said to him, but he shook his head.

"You do what you have to do, but I'm not letting go of her," he growled.

"Ronon, I—" Teyla whispered, opening her eyes again. "It is all right. He will not hurt me."

Reluctantly, Ronon allowed Michael to take Teyla into his embrace. He watched as his friend sighed softly and laid her head against Michael's left shoulder and then looked up into the hybrid's eyes, a sad expression on her face.

"I am sorry, Michael," she whispered softly.

Michael almost smiled, and shook his head. "It was not of your doing, and easily solved. You need not trouble yourself over it. Only rest – let me do this for you."

Teyla swallowed hard, but nodded and Michael almost reverently, Ronon thought, moved aside the torn fabric from the top of her chest, and gently laid his hand against her skin. Teyla gave a soft, gasping cry, and her open eyes locked with Michael's.

Ronon could not miss the look of rapture that passed between the two of them as, in front of him, Teyla's wounds began to knit, her puckered, aged flesh began to smooth and regress toward the blossom of her youth. He knew then, that in all likelihood, he had lost her just as surely as if she had passed from her injuries.

"—non, this is Sheppard, please respond."

The sudden crackle of his radio, that resolved itself into John Sheppard's urgent call, made Ronon jump, and pulled him from his sorrowing thoughts. This was not over yet.

"Sheppard," he said as he keyed his radio. "We're aboard the Hive. I've got Teyla!"

"What?" Sheppard's voice sounded panicked. "Ronon, you've got to get the hell out of there."

"What's going on?"

"We've got the Daedalus inbound, with orders to employ any and all measures to take out that Hive. ETA – fifteen minutes."

Ronon reached out to lay a hand on Michael's arm, interrupting the communion.

"We gotta go," he said.

"But—"

"There's no more time," he growled. "In ten minutes this place is going to be a fireball around us if we don't get the hell out."

"Sheppard," Michael snarled, and shifted his arms around the still disoriented Teyla, to carry her as he got to his feet, ready to follow Ronon.

Ronon pulled his gun and began to lead the way, keying his mic as he did. "Sheppard, we're on our way out. Where are you?"

"In a cloaked jumper, outside the rear Dart bay doors." Sheppard answered. "You've got… seven minutes, that'll barely give us enough time to get clear."

"We'll be there," Ronon yelled and, turning to Michael, said, "Rear Dart bay."

"Left," Michael answered, flattening himself against the wall, making of himself a shield between the open, and the precious bundle in his arms as Ronon opened the door to the commander's quarters.

The corridor outside was clear. Between the minor explosions caused by Michael's overload protocol, and the explosions that must have been left over from Sheppard's arrival on the scene, many of the Wraith were too busy to intercept them. Ronon knew it would not last, but used the advantage to speed them toward their point of escape.

With each step he took, however, back to back with Michael and firing as they progressed, to keep the Wraith that were now coming against them at bay, his resentment grew. How could he allow the most dangerous individual the Pegasus galaxy had seen in many a year to simply walk away with one of the most gentle? He had to do something; had to open Teyla's eyes to the truth of what Michael truly was.

As they reached the Dart bay, within sight of the exit, Ronon turned and, risking hurt to Teyla, smashed his forearm against the small of Michael's back. Ronon could feel Michael's balance falter and he thought that the Wraith-Human hybrid had not been expecting such an attack, but Michael came, quite controlled, to one knee. He set Teyla down on the floor of the Dart bay, and without a moment's hesitation, came up to face Ronon, both of them with their weapons pointing in the other's direction.

"You disappoint me, Ronon—" he started.

"I'll kill you!" Ronon snarled, tipping his blaster onto one side and tightening his grip, his finger twitching against the trigger.

"—you, of all people, should know the power of the Gift of Life, even when insincerely given. When given as we have," he gestured toward Teyla, "in a true and honest fashion—"

"You son of a bitch!" Ronon yelled in Michael's face. "You think you can take her away from us?"

"You are allowing your jealousy to blind you," Michael retorted calmly.

"She's my friend," Ronon implored. "I just want her to see the truth of what you are!"

"What I am," Michael tilted his head. "What you and your friends made of me."

"Save it, Michael." Ronon snarled, "You may have won her sympathy with that tired old crap, but I know better. You're a monster, no matter how you package it; present yourself. You're a monster. You always have been, and always will be."

"Really," Michael taunted him as they continued to circle each other.

"They might not see it because they don't want to see it, but—"

"And you do, I suppose."

"I know the only way any of them are going to have peace is if you're dead." Ronon spat.

"Come then," Michael snarled at him, and threw aside the blaster in his hand to pull a knife from his belt. "Let's finish it!"

Ronon holstered his weapon and snatched up his own knife, barely pausing before he lunged at Michael in a flurry of test strikes. Michael's quick reactions blocked each of them, before he threw off the big Satedan warrior and the both of them crouched slightly as they continued to circle each other.

"You think she will thank you if you kill me?" Michael threw the words at him with a jerk of his head toward Teyla.

"She'll understand," Ronon grumbled, shifting the knife from hand to hand, "once your influence fades from her mind."

"So sure of yourself," Michael answered and came on in a sudden, blurring attack. He struck first high, then low, his lunges never coming twice in the same direction, and Ronon struggled to make the blocks in time, and to dodge those that almost slipped past his guard.

"You're good," Michael purred as they fought, "but you're not good enough. I'm stronger than you – faster than you…"

He dodged first one way and then the other as Ronon struck out angrily with his blade in one hand and his closed fist, both attempting to connect with Michael; to take him down.

"…your time is ending, Ronon Dex. You and the other Atlanteans no longer understand the galaxy in which you think to play a part."

Neither of them saw Teyla barely rouse herself and reach toward them weakly… softly, almost inaudibly, calling to both of them.

"Michael… Ronon… please stop." she whispered.

Michael pulled back, putting some distance between them, guarding but no longer on the attack. Ronon frowned, growling, and regardless – unwilling to let his enemy go – swung ahead of him again, slicing a deep gash across the front of Michael's chest.

"Michael!" Teyla gasped, and enraged by her concern, caught in the net of his own irrationality, Ronon lunged forward, with his knife leading, meaning to drive the point of the blade deep into Michael's heart.

At first he thought that Michael had punched him in the gut, winded him badly, but then, as the white hot lance travelled from the middle of his belly into the deepest part of his brain, he knew it was more than that. He tasted blood in his mouth, and glancing down, saw that he had, in trying to reach Michael with his own knife, all but walked onto the Wraith-Human hybrid's blade.

Though smaller than he, Michael supported Ronon's weight as the Satedan's strength began to falter and his legs folded under him.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Michael asked, his voice a rasping, but sincere whisper, before he let go of him, let him fall to the ground, the knife still there in his belly.

Michael moved to Teyla's side again, speaking earnestly with her in words that Ronon could not hear for the rushing of blood in his ears. Then Michael lifted her into his arms again, and carried her toward one of the ships in the bay.

Ronon gasped for breath, fought to raise his hand, to find his earpiece and activate his radio.

"She—Sh—help!" he managed, and as his vision started to fade, he watched as the Wraith scout ship lifted off from the floor of the Dart bay, and almost dipped its wing in salute as it powered away from the Hive.