Elizabeth Weir paced up and down her small office like a caged lion, tense and ready to spring at any time. She had to keep reminding herself that negotiations were not an option this time. The Wraith weren't best known for their willingness to talk.
It really was a case of survival of the fittest out here in the Pegasus Galaxy - and they had to do whatever was necessary to survive. When Carson had said he believed that he could isolate the Iratus bug gene, and possibly come up with a "cure" for the Wraith characteristics, she had barely hesitated. The thought of being able to bring the Wraith down to human level had been too much of an opportunity to pass up.
However, it would seem that, although the retrovirus suppressed the physical manifestation, no-one - not even she - had taken into account what would happen to the personality, the memories - the very being of the Wraith.
That had been the one fatal flaw. You might be able to take the man out of the Wraith, as it were, but they had been unable to take the Wraith out of the man. She leaned heavily against her desk, a brief respite from the pacing, before slapping a palm down in frustration, anger, bitterness, regret. She couldn't forgive herself for being so shortsighted, so centred on the wrong aspect of things.
She was so busy measuring the cost if they DIDN'T try this, that she ignored the potential cost of going ahead.
It had almost cost Teyla her life. It had cost Elizabeth herself her unshakeable belief that the Wraith were nothing other than pure evil. And Carson... what was it going to cost him? Only time would tell how this would affect the gentle Scottish doctor...
Only time would tell. For all of them.