If she closed her eyes, she could almost fool herself into believing that he was human.
Merely a silent observer in the glassed room above his private room in the infirmary, Teyla had nursed her objections in the back of her mind. Dr. Weir and John Sheppard had heard them once, and she wasn't inclined to repeating herself, particularly when she knew she'd been perfectly clear the first time round. Her friends had enough objections, minute by minute, from Ronon, who was roaming the hallways of Atlantis like a caged animal.
Nothing about this experiment sat right with her.
His hand was smooth, enclosed in her own.
She hadn't expected sympathy. It welled up in her chest the moment Michael had asked if they were friends. Such an innocent question from a supposedly tame enemy, and one that she had been ill-prepared for, but her gut-reaction was to say 'yes' and go on from there. The problem, she realised later on, was that one tiny lie that compassion had created would spiral down in a continuing trend of lies that left a bitter taste in her mouth.
That wasn't who she was.
And he wasn't who he thought he was.
He smiled, and it lit up his whole face. Despite lapses in his memories, she knew he was trying to piece together the fabricated threads that they fed him. She wished she could tell the truth; she wished it wasn't so horrible.
She wished it wasn't a lie.
When the truth came out she didn't know which feeling overwhelmed her more: the frustration that he knew, or the guilt she felt for not telling him the truth sooner. She couldn't fault him his anger.
She wouldn't fault him that.
The lies, after the initial one, had been deliberate, and he had every right to feel betrayed and angry. There was rage in his eyes, deep-seated and terrifying despite his human facade. The fierceness was in stark contrast with his beautiful features, and she could barely come up with the points to Atlantis administrations reasons for doing what they had while she looked at him and knew that they'd been wrong.
What they'd done couldn't be undone.
She couldn't pretend he was human, no matter how much she tried to force herself to remember the sweet eagerness in his eyes that first day in the infirmary. She remembered fire and rage and the very real alien way that he looked at her.
She still couldn't believe that he would have really killed her.
She wouldn't give him another chance.
What memories she had she tried to forget, but they sat just below the surface, simmering in the back of her mind.
Michael was out there, and sooner or later she would have to face what she'd been party to.