(( Author's Note: Hello everyone! This is an idea that's been sitting around the past few weeks, ever since the airing of The Queen. It's likely going to be a fairly long story, with plenty of twists and turns -- so fasten your seatbelts! While primarily a Teyla fic, I adore all the characters in Atlantis, so your favorites are sure to have plenty of love. And, dear readers, all feedback is welcomed -- so, love it or hate it, please let me know what you think! ))

As a soldier, Teyla was used to burying feelings of self-doubt and apprehension when something needed to be done. As a mother, however, she was not able to dismiss these feelings as readily. Yes, the Athosians were taught not to fear death, but they also knew each day in the land of the living was a blessing. The Ancestors had been gracious in giving her the past few months with her son; it was a gift she was not eager to throw away.

Since Torren's birth, Teyla had wanted nothing more than to stay with him, to be there to see his first smile and coach him along his first steps. For him, she wanted to step out of her role as soldier and protect him. And there was the irony: to protect him, she would have to leave him.

It was a realization Teyla had come to accept in recent months. She reminded herself of it each time she grabbed a gun and strapped on her vest. On this particular mission, however… the thought gave her no comfort.

From the moment the team had left Todd's ship, protests had been flying about his proposition. The flight back to Atlantis had been a long and unpleasant one. Rodney described the idea as "crazy, absolutely crazy" and sought comfort in a muffin, Jennifer recited a long list of possible side effects from the Wraith conversion, John reminded her of past times Atlantis had worked with the Wraith, and Ronon… did what he always does when upset about something: skulking, shuffling, muttering.

That was only the beginning. Upon the team's arrival to Atlantis, Teyla had to broach the idea to Mr. Woolsey. The man was a great commander, to be sure, but he was not the easiest person to talk to. On a good day, it took a great deal of coaxing to convince him to try a new coffee creamer. Slightly larger issues, such as requesting permission to masquerade as a Wraith queen, were a bit more difficult to manage.

Once Woolsey and the others were convinced, the only person Teyla had left to convince was herself.

When Teyla awoke from her surgery, the first thing she was aware of was a strange prickling sensation running along her limbs. Her skin, now waxy and mottled, was made all the more sickly-looking by the crisp whiteness of the sheets around her. The palm of her right hand was now smooth, save for the feeding slit that ran diagonally across it. The slit burned and itched; Teyla could only imagine that it was a sign of hunger. Repressing a shudder, she curled her fingers into a fist and looked up just in time to see John, Rodney, and Ronon enter the room.

"How do I look?" she asked softly, too tired to force a smile. The voice she heard was raspy and hollow, so foreign but still her own.

Three faces stared at her with a cautious sort of horror written across them. Each tried to mask their revulsion, but it was painfully apparent.

Rodney was the first to speak. Stepping forward to her bedside, he gave his lopsided smile and ventured an overly bright, "Teyla! You don't look half-bad, actually. I mean, wow, Jennifer sure knows how to make a Wraith, huh?" His smile flickered briefly and he pressed a knuckle to his mouth, checking his flow of nervous words.

John nodded, his own smile a bit forced as his eyes flickered over Teyla. "Yeah, you look great," he said in his usual careless manner while crossing and uncrossing his arms. "Now just relax and take it easy for a few days, alright?"

Teyla nodded faintly and turned her eyes towards the dull gray ceiling. For all of their smiles and cheerful words, the others were clearly disturbed by the sight of her. It was amusing, in a way, that they thought they could hide that from her -- after five years, she could read those shifting glances and nervous movements from a mile off. "Where is--" she began haltingly, "--where is Todd?"

"With Keller," answered John, jabbing a thumb vaguely behind him. "The two have lots of things to work out -- you know, doctor-y things."

Rodney, who had been toying with a pilfered fruit cup, suddenly became slack-jawed and wide-eyed. "Oh!" he burst out with a sharp intake of breath, "I just remembered I was supposed to… to… to take this to Jennifer! Well, not this, but you know -- food -- she's been hard at work -- anyway, I think I should go."

"I should go with him," added John, a bit weakly. He started to turn, then stopped himself just short of the doorway. His eyes found Teyla's, and for a moment, he looked at her, truly looked at her. That one, unflinching moment seemed to linger, to drag on into the silence. Twice it seemed as though he was about to speak, but each time cut himself short. A moment later he abandoned his efforts and simply offered his uniquely Sheppard grin before exiting into the hallway.

Teyla settled back onto the overly-plump pillows and sighed softly, allowing the tension to drain from her body. It was strange that the brief encounter would unsettle her so, for she had known it would come. If anything, it had gone surprisingly well. Yet, Teyla could not shake the feeling that something was now irreconcilably different between herself and her team, something that went beyond a change in her appearance. It was more than cosmetic, more than an altered voice. She did not simply look like a Wraith, but she was a Wraith -- the burning in her hand reminded her of that.

"Hey."

Ronon's voice startled her from her thoughts. She glanced sharply to where he was standing, leaning casually against the opposite wall. "Ronon," she breathed with a faint smile, "I had forgotten you were here."

Ronon smiled wryly and approached the bed with two long, easy strides. He pulled up a chair -- a rather dingy olive green one that had seen better days -- and straddled it, his arms draped over the back. After a moment's pause, he asked abruptly, "Guess you're not up to sparring?"

Teyla laughed before she could stop herself. It burned her lungs and sounded horrible -- but the short, rasp of a chuckle she managed lifted her spirits more than she would have thought possible. Biting her dry lips to repress her laughter, she shook her head. "I am afraid not."

"Tomorrow, then?"

Teyla sent him a chiding look, the sort usually reserved for when he would try to get out of meditating together. "It is unlikely, but I will let you know."

For the next twenty minutes, they talked -- or rather, he talked and she listened. The man who most often communicated in monosyllabic grunts now regaled her with tales of Rodney's antics, Mr. Woolsey's blunders, and even stories of life on Sateda. There was nothing forced in his words, no hesitance in his eyes. He spoke to Teyla as though they were both strolling through a forest on a sunny day; there was nothing in his manner that suggested the woman before him was a Wraith.

The rhythm of his words and the low richness of his voice had a soothing quality about them, and soon Teyla was lulled into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It would be the last peaceful sleep for many weeks to come.