[nano] Stained Glass Masquerade
Nov. 2nd, 2007 08:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeWord Count: 2,477
Sheppard didn't look happy about Heightmeyer's decision to turn Michael loose from the infirmary. Under the circumstances, Teyla could understand. Although their brief meeting had gone rather well by what she had envisioned, that didn't mean he wouldn't suddenly regain his memories and run loose through Atlantis. And she didn't know what he'd do then.
Still. "Do you want me to introduce him to his quarters?" It was, she realized afterwards, a strange way of putting it. Everything about this was strange; she was introducing an amnesiac former Wraith to his new identity as Lt. Michael Kenmore.
Sheppard thought about that for a moment. "Might as well, you seemed to get along with him pretty well." Not, it seemed, that Sheppard was happy about that.
Teyla nodded. "He is a stranger in what should be his home, it is not hard to imagine what he must be feeling right now." That was the wrong thing to say. Sheppard stiffened.
"He's an amnesiac Wraith. There's not much there to feel sorry for."
Teyla just shook her head and started walking down the corridor, with no reaction when John fell into step next to her. "If we think of him as Wraith, we will treat him as a Wraith, and then the experiment will be subverted by our own reactions."
"Maybe it should be," John muttered, and shook his head when she gave him a look for it. "I'm not saying we should scrap the whole plan, I'm just saying, once you see him start getting up and walking around Atlantis it starts looking like a worse and worse idea."
There wasn't much that Teyla could say to refute that, so she didn't try. "We have come this far, it does not seem to me that it would be a good idea to simply stop here. Or to continue with any less care than we have taken up to this point."
"You've been talking with Beckett again, haven't you?" But Sheppard smiled when he turned to look at her, stopping at an intersection, and she smiled slightly back.
"I think that it would be worth our while to continue, at least a little while longer."
Sheppard nodded. "All right. But be careful," he added, turning and heading down a different corridor. "We still can't be sure that he's safe."
Teyla watched him go until he had rounded the corner and was out of sight, and then continued on to Michael Kenmore's quarters. Of course he wasn't safe, she reminded herself, nothing about this was safe. That didn't mean that she had to treat the man as though he would explode or break if she handled him improperly.
There were guards on duty at his quarters already. Unnecessary, she thought, but she nodded to them anyway and went in.
The quarters were plain and devoid of most things that a man from Earth, at least in Teyla's experience, would have. No personal touches, no little things from home. Even she had little things from home in her quarters, and her home had been destroyed time and time again. She drew up details from his imaginary background.
"What sort of a thing would a man from Texas carry with him to a distant outpost?" she asked, poking her head out of the door.
"Er," the man looked to his fellow, who shrugged. "I don't know, a whiskey bottle?"
Teyla didn't like the thought of giving him alcohol. In addition to which, the good soldier Michael was supposed to be would not have whiskey simply standing around. "Some sort of toy or personal item, something..."
"If he was from ranch country, he might have a cowboy hat."
"Would you get me one, please?"
It seemed like a silly thing to do, and clearly neither of the guards knew what she intended by that, but it made her feel better. A little thing to give Michael the idea that he was a person, and not simply a soldier with a name and number and nothing else about him. A little bit of a personality to build off of. To...
No. Not remember. The only person he would remember being was a person they didn't want him to become again.
She resumed her circuit of the room, fingertips brushing over each surface. There was, at least, a picture of his so-called parents there. By the bed, where it probably belonged. No picture of any other loved ones, but he wouldn't be the first person to have no siblings and no lovers he wanted to remember. Perhaps Michael Kenmore had been a religious man. She would have to ask Sheppard or Beckett about any particular faith they might have knowledge of.
And then the young man was back with a cowboy hat, a large tan thing that looked somewhat ridiculous. "Thank you," she smiled at him.
There was very little time left. She would have to make do with what was there, or whatever else she could think of that could be gotten in a hurry. Perhaps some dishes; Sheppard and McKay, she thought, both often took their meals late in their quarters when there was no one to share the mess hall with and they had been working into the small hours of the night. She fetched those few items, had just enough time to set them somewhat haphazardly in the rooms, and then it was off to fetch Michael "home."
Sheppard walked her to the infirmary. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, looking at her with something between guarded concern and curiosity.
"I am sure that I am the …" Only one suited? Only one qualified? She wasn't sure how to explain the certainty she felt, and gave up on trying after a moment. "Best person for the job."
"All right," Sheppard shrugged, and opened the door in such a way that Michael would have barely caught a glimpse of him as he stepped to one side and most of the way behind one of the soldiers.
Michael looked up as she entered, smiling. She had never seen a Wraith smile before with anything other than deadly glee upon feeding. And he was human. And his smile was full of warmth and life, things she had never before associated with the Wraith. It was far too easy to relax.
"Dr. Beckett has pronounced you fit to return to your quarters," she explained. Even though Beckett had probably told him, himself. "But since you…" And she hesitated, not sure how to say it.
"I don't remember where I lived, if that's what you mean."
If the amnesia worried him, she would never have known it from that shrug and easy smile. He even had kind eyes, a gentle expression, but she could take the time to be confused about it later. Startlement was not the way she would respond to a fellow soldier in distress.
"I thought I would offer to accompany you to your quarters."
"Of course," he accepted, gratefully, and slid down from the bed.
It was easier to pretend she was only a little bothered by the guards, instead of by the man who walked by her side. She led him to the door, smiled politely at the guards as they took up their posts outside, and showed him in. "These are your quarters."
He looked around, finding everything unfamiliar. Of course he would, it was the first time he had been in this room, no matter how many nights Lieutenant Michael Kenmore had spent in that bed. Teyla wondered for a moment what they would have done if amnesia hadn't been a side effect.
And now he was looking at her questioningly. She took the ridiculous thing from him with a tiny smile. "It is a cowboy hat. You come from a place called Texas."
"Texas." He repeated it after her, his mouth shaping and tasting the sounds of the name. "Huh."
Texas was as alien to her as it was to him, but at least he knew that. She wasn't from Earth; it was safer for her to give him what she knew of his background, less likely to be contradicted. Was that a part of Weir's plan, she thought suddenly, with something like a chill.
Never mind; he had picked up a photograph of two elderly people Sheppard had decided looked like his parents. He frowned at it, trying to pull nonexistent memories out of a ravaged mind, then looked at her.
"They are your parents," she explained. It didn't seem to explain anything at all.
Michael frowned, setting the picture back, and Teyla thought that of all the things he had failed to remember or recognize, that this bothered him the most. Was he simply taking his reaction from her own, her own troubled family history? She thought not; she thought that there was something instinctive inside of him that sought out familial bonds. Which meant that it was something of the Wraith, which meant that she didn't want to think about it right now.
"You will remember them," she found herself saying, one hand resting lightly on his arm. "In time."
"You think so?" He looked so skeptical, so worried. Even afraid.
Teyla nodded. "I do." And it was a lie that closed off her throat, sealed her mouth into an awkward smile, so that there was nothing for it after a few more minutes but to make an excuse and beat a hasty retreat. She tried not to look at his reflection in the glass as she left, standing in the middle of a strange and lonely, empty room.
Sheppard didn't look happy about Heightmeyer's decision to turn Michael loose from the infirmary. Under the circumstances, Teyla could understand. Although their brief meeting had gone rather well by what she had envisioned, that didn't mean he wouldn't suddenly regain his memories and run loose through Atlantis. And she didn't know what he'd do then.
Still. "Do you want me to introduce him to his quarters?" It was, she realized afterwards, a strange way of putting it. Everything about this was strange; she was introducing an amnesiac former Wraith to his new identity as Lt. Michael Kenmore.
Sheppard thought about that for a moment. "Might as well, you seemed to get along with him pretty well." Not, it seemed, that Sheppard was happy about that.
Teyla nodded. "He is a stranger in what should be his home, it is not hard to imagine what he must be feeling right now." That was the wrong thing to say. Sheppard stiffened.
"He's an amnesiac Wraith. There's not much there to feel sorry for."
Teyla just shook her head and started walking down the corridor, with no reaction when John fell into step next to her. "If we think of him as Wraith, we will treat him as a Wraith, and then the experiment will be subverted by our own reactions."
"Maybe it should be," John muttered, and shook his head when she gave him a look for it. "I'm not saying we should scrap the whole plan, I'm just saying, once you see him start getting up and walking around Atlantis it starts looking like a worse and worse idea."
There wasn't much that Teyla could say to refute that, so she didn't try. "We have come this far, it does not seem to me that it would be a good idea to simply stop here. Or to continue with any less care than we have taken up to this point."
"You've been talking with Beckett again, haven't you?" But Sheppard smiled when he turned to look at her, stopping at an intersection, and she smiled slightly back.
"I think that it would be worth our while to continue, at least a little while longer."
Sheppard nodded. "All right. But be careful," he added, turning and heading down a different corridor. "We still can't be sure that he's safe."
Teyla watched him go until he had rounded the corner and was out of sight, and then continued on to Michael Kenmore's quarters. Of course he wasn't safe, she reminded herself, nothing about this was safe. That didn't mean that she had to treat the man as though he would explode or break if she handled him improperly.
There were guards on duty at his quarters already. Unnecessary, she thought, but she nodded to them anyway and went in.
The quarters were plain and devoid of most things that a man from Earth, at least in Teyla's experience, would have. No personal touches, no little things from home. Even she had little things from home in her quarters, and her home had been destroyed time and time again. She drew up details from his imaginary background.
"What sort of a thing would a man from Texas carry with him to a distant outpost?" she asked, poking her head out of the door.
"Er," the man looked to his fellow, who shrugged. "I don't know, a whiskey bottle?"
Teyla didn't like the thought of giving him alcohol. In addition to which, the good soldier Michael was supposed to be would not have whiskey simply standing around. "Some sort of toy or personal item, something..."
"If he was from ranch country, he might have a cowboy hat."
"Would you get me one, please?"
It seemed like a silly thing to do, and clearly neither of the guards knew what she intended by that, but it made her feel better. A little thing to give Michael the idea that he was a person, and not simply a soldier with a name and number and nothing else about him. A little bit of a personality to build off of. To...
No. Not remember. The only person he would remember being was a person they didn't want him to become again.
She resumed her circuit of the room, fingertips brushing over each surface. There was, at least, a picture of his so-called parents there. By the bed, where it probably belonged. No picture of any other loved ones, but he wouldn't be the first person to have no siblings and no lovers he wanted to remember. Perhaps Michael Kenmore had been a religious man. She would have to ask Sheppard or Beckett about any particular faith they might have knowledge of.
And then the young man was back with a cowboy hat, a large tan thing that looked somewhat ridiculous. "Thank you," she smiled at him.
There was very little time left. She would have to make do with what was there, or whatever else she could think of that could be gotten in a hurry. Perhaps some dishes; Sheppard and McKay, she thought, both often took their meals late in their quarters when there was no one to share the mess hall with and they had been working into the small hours of the night. She fetched those few items, had just enough time to set them somewhat haphazardly in the rooms, and then it was off to fetch Michael "home."
Sheppard walked her to the infirmary. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, looking at her with something between guarded concern and curiosity.
"I am sure that I am the …" Only one suited? Only one qualified? She wasn't sure how to explain the certainty she felt, and gave up on trying after a moment. "Best person for the job."
"All right," Sheppard shrugged, and opened the door in such a way that Michael would have barely caught a glimpse of him as he stepped to one side and most of the way behind one of the soldiers.
Michael looked up as she entered, smiling. She had never seen a Wraith smile before with anything other than deadly glee upon feeding. And he was human. And his smile was full of warmth and life, things she had never before associated with the Wraith. It was far too easy to relax.
"Dr. Beckett has pronounced you fit to return to your quarters," she explained. Even though Beckett had probably told him, himself. "But since you…" And she hesitated, not sure how to say it.
"I don't remember where I lived, if that's what you mean."
If the amnesia worried him, she would never have known it from that shrug and easy smile. He even had kind eyes, a gentle expression, but she could take the time to be confused about it later. Startlement was not the way she would respond to a fellow soldier in distress.
"I thought I would offer to accompany you to your quarters."
"Of course," he accepted, gratefully, and slid down from the bed.
It was easier to pretend she was only a little bothered by the guards, instead of by the man who walked by her side. She led him to the door, smiled politely at the guards as they took up their posts outside, and showed him in. "These are your quarters."
He looked around, finding everything unfamiliar. Of course he would, it was the first time he had been in this room, no matter how many nights Lieutenant Michael Kenmore had spent in that bed. Teyla wondered for a moment what they would have done if amnesia hadn't been a side effect.
And now he was looking at her questioningly. She took the ridiculous thing from him with a tiny smile. "It is a cowboy hat. You come from a place called Texas."
"Texas." He repeated it after her, his mouth shaping and tasting the sounds of the name. "Huh."
Texas was as alien to her as it was to him, but at least he knew that. She wasn't from Earth; it was safer for her to give him what she knew of his background, less likely to be contradicted. Was that a part of Weir's plan, she thought suddenly, with something like a chill.
Never mind; he had picked up a photograph of two elderly people Sheppard had decided looked like his parents. He frowned at it, trying to pull nonexistent memories out of a ravaged mind, then looked at her.
"They are your parents," she explained. It didn't seem to explain anything at all.
Michael frowned, setting the picture back, and Teyla thought that of all the things he had failed to remember or recognize, that this bothered him the most. Was he simply taking his reaction from her own, her own troubled family history? She thought not; she thought that there was something instinctive inside of him that sought out familial bonds. Which meant that it was something of the Wraith, which meant that she didn't want to think about it right now.
"You will remember them," she found herself saying, one hand resting lightly on his arm. "In time."
"You think so?" He looked so skeptical, so worried. Even afraid.
Teyla nodded. "I do." And it was a lie that closed off her throat, sealed her mouth into an awkward smile, so that there was nothing for it after a few more minutes but to make an excuse and beat a hasty retreat. She tried not to look at his reflection in the glass as she left, standing in the middle of a strange and lonely, empty room.