Hope That Holds.

I have to wonder whether this was the fic that "Thirteen O'Clock," prefaced, because if it is, it becomes that much more painful. I loved your Teyla, serene and thoughtful, until her people are threatened, at which point she embraces the "burn it down (literally), and salt the earth" ethos. Your Ronan has become canon Ronan (in my head), and your Teyla might become my canon Teyla. Wonderful take no prisoner storytelling.