This story is based on the premise that Teyla had given into Michael's demands in 5x14 The Prodigal, but Michael wasn't stopped. He shuts down the self-destruct; she and Torren are taken to live at his half-wraith facility.

She is miserable. But Torren is safe – that, after all, is what matters.

Her skin, her hair, her eyes, her every move is dull and listless in the sickly light of the shadowy facility. The half-grown, half-manufactured architecture has a ghostly quality that still makes her jump, even after all these months, as if some kind of spectral evil lurks behind the darkest corners. In some strange way, that is true. But the phantom villains in her mind aren't just illusions or twisted fantasies. Michael's half-wraith followers sometimes roam the facilities, running errands for their master or – perhaps, she likes to joke on the better days – just practicing their evil glares.

During the day she walks the facility. She never strays far – it is large and, frankly, rather intimidating – although on occasion she contemplates running away.

During the night she sleeps, or tries to, with Torren at her side. He has grown a great deail since they left Atlantis and is now her only source of comfort.

She likes to think that there is hope. Perhaps Michael would fail, perhaps her friends would come for her. But she elected this fate of her own accord – she chastises herself for dwelling on her past decisions. She chose to sacrifice her life as she knew it to save her son. She is a mother first and foremost; this much she made clear even while on Atlantis. She could fight the wraith and work to save the galaxy, but every night she returned to her son and husband.

Husband. A small sigh escapes her lips. She often wonders what has become of Kanaan. Of course he would still be in Atlantis. But does he think of her? Does he pine for his son just as she does daily? At least, she thinks, she is allowed to be with Torren. Michael has been generous, all things considered. He does use Torren for his experiments, but only takes blood or other samples, or examines his physical features just as Dr. Keller would have done. He is never hurt, and she is always allowed to watch and stay with him while Michael works. She supposes she should be thankful – things could have been much worse. He is gentle with her son and forgiving of her mistrust, but she fears the consequences of resisting.

"Teyla, my dear." The voice echoes behind her, human enough that it could have been a deep growl, but the wraith-like quality still permeates his every word. She has grown accustomed to find him suddenly in the room with her without having heard him enter.

He continues. "How are you tonight?"

Every night he comes into their room to ask her this. She rarely speaks to him other than her answer. "Well enough," she says through tense lips. She remains perfectly still, rigid, waiting for him to leave. Torren lays on the bed beside her; she keeps one hand curled possessively around his shoulder.

But tonight, he doesn't leave just yet. Instead, Michael walks forward and stands beside her, stationary for a moment, before leaning down slowly but deliberately, as if he has planned every move. She tenses at his proximity, and he gives her a moment before placing one delicate kiss on her cheek.

She almost thinks she sees pain in his yellow eyes as he pulls away.

She waits until Michael's footsteps fade away before laying her son to rest for the night and curling up beside him, preparing for another day.

Yes, she decides. There is still hope.