Written for the You Must've Been Kissin' a Fool ficlet-athon.

Little White Lies

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She makes first contact with the inhabitants of M4X-290; it has long been acknowledged that John's diplomatic stratagems are of the inelegant variety.

Rodney and Ronon are encouraged to sit back and look friendly.

Or not threatening.

Whichever comes easiest.

Trade is established; Rodney begins to evaluate their level of technological advancement, Ronon and Sheppard scout the perimeters of the town.

Teyla leaves the town, the team, and treks to the forest surrounding the settlement.

Dr Brown requires samples of the soil and plant-life on M4X-290.

Dr Brown asked Rodney to take the samples.

Rodney said 'yes' and promptly passed the job onto Teyla who 'wouldn't be doing anything useful anyway'.

Sometimes she feels positively acrimonious towards her colleagues.

The sun is high in the sky, the breeze is cool and there is blessed silence all around her.

Perhaps it is not a bad day for picking flowers.

She basks in the sunlight, in her solitude and begins to think that she should thank Rodney for giving her this task.

But then something cold creeps across her thoughts.

She shivers and straightens up to survey her surroundings.

It laps against her mind again; icy, cruel and enticing.

She has never told the others of this; of the call of the Wraith, of the pull they exert upon her. A part of her belongs to them and it resonates within her now.

She aches; her breath sharp; her skin prickling.

It is near.

She begins to un-holster her weapon.

It is approaching.

She is about to contact John when she realises something:

It is familiar.

Realisation causes hesitation.

Hesitation opens an opportunity; a window – for him.

She is flat on her back, trapped between the mossy earth below and the heavy body above.

Her weapon is out of reach.

'Teyla,' he says; her name a discordant note.

'Michael,' she hisses and struggles for the sake of struggling.

A finger drawn against her cheek, 'I could sense you.'

She does not know how to respond to that so instead she tries to reason, to bargain; to buy time, 'We can help you, Michael. You could belong somewhere, belong with –'

'You?' he finishes, his face drawing near to hers, 'belong with you?'

'People; belong with people,' she corrects as his mouth drifts to her neck.

He bites and she screams, jerking against his grip.

'Do not lie,' his anger is the clashing of chords and she opens her eyes to see his pale mouth stained with crimson.

'I don't,' she snarls; she wonders at her anger at the alleged fabrication.

'But you do,' his voice softens, and he leans closer; draws his tongue against her lips.

She can taste her own blood.

'I think you lie all the time, my Athosian.'

The wraith-song is echoing in her head and she feels as though she will be pulled inside out.

She grits her teeth and meets his gaze; yellow-eyes narrowed in contemplation.

'An experiment,' he tells her, his mouth ghosting over her features.

He kisses her, hard, punishing, merciless as his sharp teeth scrape against the soft flesh of her lips. She whimpers, attempting to twist away but he continues, and the song reaches a zenith, tearing at her thoughts.

And when it...her...something...breaks, she kisses him back.

She is unconscious when Ronon finds her.

---

Later, when she is being debriefed by Weir, she will have amnesia.

She will not recall who attacked her.

She will have no memory of receiving a neck-wound.

She will not know why her lip is torn and bloody.

She will not know any of these things.

And it will be a lie.