Stepping through the Gate, the first thing Ronon noticed was the air. It smelled clean in the way that air smells when it's been run through a filter, so clean that if he hadn't been told the city was on the ocean, he wouldn't have known. The whole place was too clean. It almost hurt to look at it, and Ronon wanted to smudge the walls, to track dirt across the shining floors. Make it more like a place people might live.
A pair of guards fell into step beside them as he walked with Sheppard through the cavernous room, and further back he could hear Teyla murmur to McKay, "I fear this will not go well if Doctor Weir is too blunt in her doubts," and McKay's answer, "Can you blame her? Anyway, Elizabeth has handled the S.G.C., the I.O.A., and Sheppard—I doubt she'll have trouble with one angry caveman. I'm going to check the database, see what I can find out about this Sateda." Then her lighter tread, and her velvet voice saying, "He is not a caveman, Rodney," as they departed.
He followed Sheppard up a set of gleaming stairs to a glass-fronted office. A dark-haired woman he supposed must be Weir was behind a desk, her skin pale as the paper lanterns that had hung over Melena's doorway on the night of their betrothal. He wondered what she had doubts about.
"Colonel Sheppard," she said as they entered.
"Doctor Weir. Allow me to introduce Specialist Ronon Dex," Sheppard said. "Ronon, Doctor Elizabeth Weir. She's in command of Atlantis."
"We don't usually approve of someone holding our people hostage," Weir began. "But I understand there were extenuating circumstances." And then she waited.
"The Wraith were tracking me," Ronon began, but Sheppard interrupted.
"That's okay, Ronon—I briefed her before we got back. She's aware of the situation."
But what did Weir want, then, an apology? He didn't even know why Sheppard had insisted he come back with them. He'd claimed it was to get the incision looked at, and that had seemed so obvious a lie that Ronon had thought maybe he was sincere, but now Weir was looking at him like he owed her something and Ronon just wanted out.
"I'd like to go back to Sateda, now," he said, "to my people. I've given Colonel Sheppard the Gate address."
"Please, sit down," Weir answered, non-sequitur. But Sheppard seated himself, and after a moment Ronon followed suit.
"You said you were a 'runner' for seven years," Weir began, "and that you became a runner after a Wraith tried to feed on you but couldn't."
Ronon's jaw clenched. "I didn't 'become' a Runner; they made me one. And I don't know what made him stop."
"But it may have been that he couldn't, for some reason, or they may have decided it was more worthwhile to release you with the tracking device."
Ronon shrugged. "Maybe. I never thought about it."
Weir's expression called him a liar, and he dug his nails into his palms. "In seven years," she said, "you never once thought about why they made you a runner instead of killing you?"
It was like when Kell would call him out to accuse him of some made-up charge, some excuse for punishment. Ronon's heart beat faster and his palms itched for something to grip. But he'd never backed down from Kell and he wouldn't back down for this pale, thin stranger. "For seven years," he said, meeting her gaze steadily, "I just cared about making sure they didn't get another chance."
Sheppard opened his mouth as if to speak, but Ronon kept going. "Do you understand what it means to battle the Wraith?" he asked, though he knew she didn't, and he knew he couldn't explain it to her. She would have to live it. But the words fell from him as if they'd been piled up behind his teeth just waiting for him to open his mouth.
"I didn't have time to wonder why they made me a Runner," he went on, his voice growing tight. "If I stayed in one place too long, more than a day, more than a few hours sometimes, I brought the Wraith there, and risked the lives of anyone near that Gate along with my own. I didn't sit around wondering about their reasons. I learned to survive, and then I learned to hunt them back."
"Why did you never return to Sateda, in those years?" Weir asked.
He stared at her. "The Wraith were hunting me," he repeated. Had she not understood even that much? Surely she wasn't stupid.
"They already knew Sateda's location," Weir said. "You wouldn't have been leading them anywhere they hadn't already been, and your doctors might have been able to remove—"
"They were hunting me," Ronon hissed, closing his fists. "Where I went, they followed. You think I'd knowingly bring them back to my home world?"
"Yet you brought them to other worlds," Weir said, a murmured accusation, and she leaned forward, folding her hands as he struggled not to strike her. "You must understand, Ronon, we know nothing about you, nothing about Sateda. Teyla says she's heard rumors of so-called 'runners', but even she admits she didn't believe them, and that she doesn't know why they would do such a thing."
"Because they're Wraith." Ronon's fingers were cold and his face hot, his heart racing. "What reason do they need? If you—If you're accusing me of something, then say it! Otherwise contact my people and let me go home."
"I'm not accusing you of anything," Weir said. "I'm trying to understand."
"What is there to understand?" His voice rose to a shout, and Weir's flinch made him want to push harder even as the guards raised their weapons. Sheppard's hand was on his arm but Ronon shook him off.
"I served Sateda, I served my regiment, I led my soldiers with honor." Her eyes flicked to Sheppard, but snapped back when he leaned closer. "The Wraith killed everyone I ever cared for," he said, quiet as a blade slitting skin, "and when they had done that, they took me, and they set me loose to be hunted like an animal. I made them regret that choice." And with his gaze he told her that she, too, could be made to regret.
"Well," Sheppard said. "So much for pleasantries. Elizabeth, if it's all right with you, I'm going to show Ronon to the guest lounge, and then we'll see what we can learn about Sateda."
Ronon was out the door before Weir could answer, and Sheppard hurried after him, the booted feet of the guards echoing against the too-clean walls.
"That could've gone better," Sheppard muttered, and Ronon growled an obscenity. "She's okay," Sheppard went on, "she just wants to be sure she doesn't let someone into the city who.... Well, you know."
"No, I don't know," Ronon spat, wheeling to face him. "Tell me. Someone who what? Who betrayed his own people? Who ran like a coward? Should I have gone back to Sateda, brought the Wraith there again as our people were rebuilding? Killed myself instead of the hundred Wraith they sent after me? That is the coward's way out, and if that is how your people face their enemies—"
"It isn't!" Sheppard shook his head, half-reaching for Ronon, and over Sheppard's shoulder Ronon saw the guards alert and ready, and past them, McKay, wide-eyed, watching from Weir's doorway. When had he returned? Teyla Emmagan wasn't with him.
"It isn't," Sheppard said again. "She doesn't. I probably just didn't explain it to her right, what you told me."
Ronon watched Sheppard for a long moment. What he had taken for strength now seemed yielding, and Ronon wanted to push until it gave, or held.
----
Outside Elizabeth's office, Rodney watched Sheppard follow Ronon towards the guest lounge. "What was that all about?" he asked.
"He took offense to some of my questions," Elizabeth answered. "What did you learn?"
"Not much," Rodney said, turning to face her. There was nothing to worry about. Ronon wouldn't be here long anyway, and Sheppard didn't go for the caveman type. He liked kids like Marty Addison, fresh-faced and not half as naive as he looked. That had been a close call. It would've ended badly, McKay was sure of it.
"I checked the Ancient's database and Sateda's a very populous planet with several large cities, each with a Gate. It's technologically advanced, relatively speaking, and it looks like there hadn't been a culling in a long time before the—battle, war, whatever it was when Ronon was captured."
"If he was captured."
Rodney blinked at her. "What—you think he's lying?"
Elizabeth sighed. "I don't know. Not really, but you have to admit, it does seem odd. And we only have his word for any of it."
"Well, his word and the transmitter Beckett took out of him."
"Well," Elizabeth said after a moment, "I don't suppose it matters a great deal—he doesn't have our Gate address, and whether he's telling the truth or not, he'll be on Sateda shortly and it won't be our problem." She pushed back from her desk and stood up. "Radio John and have him meet us in the Gate room; we'll dial the address Ronon gave us and see what we find."
"Just Sheppard?"
"For now."
----
John palmed open the door to the guest lounge and Ronon pushed past him. He waved the guards off and followed. When the door closed, Ronon spun around and backed him up against it, and John let him. He wasn't going to get into a shoving match that wouldn't end well for either of them.
"Why am I here, Sheppard?" Ronon asked, growl like velvet on gravel. "Why not let me dial Sateda and go home?"
"Well, for one thing," John answered, meeting Ronon's narrowed gaze, "Doctor Beckett just cut a three inch gash in your back to get that thing out of you. Didn't seem very responsible to just shove you through the Gate when you don't even know for sure what's on the other side."
"Whatever's happened there, it's my home—"
"And for another thing," John broke in, "we don't want your home world to think of us as the kind of people who'll carve a guy up and then just send him on his way. We want to make sure you're okay."
"'We'?" Ronon asked. "Weir accused me of cowardice, or worse. McKay thinks I'm an animal. Teyla Emmagan knows the injury isn't serious but she won't contradict you, so who is it," he asked, crowding closer, "who wants to make sure?"
The air in the room was crackling now with something that wasn't anger, and John smiled tightly. "Me," he answered at last. "I want to make sure you're okay."
"You can see I am," Ronon said. "You sure that's the reason?"
He pretended to think about it. "Yeah," he said after a moment, "I'm pretty sure. Why? You have another explanation?"
Ronon licked his lips, glancing down at him, and John smirked.
"Tempting as that is," he said, "it isn't the reason I brought you here."
"Too bad," Ronon murmured. "Might've been fun."
John's dick shifted interestedly, but he ignored it while he tried to get his balance. He wanted to push back—push back hard—but the guy was a guest, even if he was behaving kind of like a jerk.
His comm beeped softly, but before he could answer it Ronon was sliding his knee between John's thighs.
"Could still be fun," Ronon whispered, warm breath on John's neck.
A really hot jerk.
His comm beeped again.
"Tell 'em to wait," Ronon breathed.
John scowled at him. "No, I don't think so." He touched his comm, his gaze fixed on Ronon's. "What?"
There was a startled pause, then Rodney said, "Elizabeth wants you in the Gate room. We're going to dial Sateda. Just you," he added quickly.
Ronon's hands were on his waist. John's scowl deepened. "Okay. Five minutes."
He looked at Ronon. "I've gotta go."
Ronon wasn't actually smiling, but John got the impression he was laughing on the inside.
----
Rodney was still lingering near the entrance to the Gate room, checking his watch about every thirty seconds. What the hell was keeping Sheppard so tied up with an angry barbarian caveman?
An angry barbarian caveman who'd already taken him hostage once today.
"Sheppard," Rodney said, thumbing his comm and starting towards the lounge.
"What is it, Rodney?"
"Sheppard, are you—hey!" he said, jerking back just before they collided. "You're here."
"Yeah, I'm here," Sheppard said. "Where'd you think I was?"
"I...thought you were on your way."
"Well, you were right," he said, looping his arm around Rodney's neck and steering him back into the Gate room.
"How's our visitor?" Rodney asked.
"He's kind of irritable, actually," Sheppard answered. "I don't think he liked Elizabeth's questions. What did you find out about Sateda?"
"Big, lots of people. Multiple cities with Gates—very advanced compared to what we've seen so far."
"You get the other Gate addresses?"
Rodney waved his handheld. "Right here."
"There you are," Elizabeth said, turning at their approach. "John, we're ready to dial the Gate."
"All right, let's do it."
The Gate activated with a rush of sound and energy and the communications team began broadcasting, but after several minutes the team lead shook her head. "Nothing."
Elizabeth nodded. "Understood. All right, send the M.A.L.P. through."
The squat machine jerked to life and rumbled towards the Gate, slipped through the event horizon like slipping into water. Rodney joined Sheppard and Elizabeth to watch as the video feed flickered and cleared.
After a long time, Rodney said quietly, "Oh.... Oh, no."
"Okay," Sheppard said, "bring it back and try one of the other Gates. Maybe one of the other cities...."
But it was the same in each one. Nothing was left except rubble and the bones of what was once a civilization.
Elizabeth lowered her gaze. "Rodney," she said, "go help Beckett with that transmitter. I want to know whether it's Wraith technology, whether it does more than transmit a location, and anything else you can learn about it."
"What do you mean 'whether'?" Sheppard asked, but Elizabeth ignored him.
"Colonel Sheppard, please get Ronon. He deserves to know as soon as possible."
"Elizabeth—"
"I'll have to insist on guards for him until we know more," she went on, "but he's welcome here for the time being, unless we learn something to suggest he's a threat. Rodney, let me know what you and Carson find out."
----
Ronon stared at the images, at the broken towers of his city and her desolate sky.
It was true, then, what he had feared, what he had denied for all those long years. Sateda was dead. All of it gone, all of his people, everything he'd hoped for. He'd known it, he realized now, all along. It was confirmation, not revelation, that stung his eyes and hollowed out his heart.
Behind him, he could hear the careful breaths these strangers took as they watched him, the soft shift of weight from one foot to the other, uncertain. He waited long moments for their useless sympathy, poised to give them his anger in return—what had they ever lost that could compare with this?—but it didn't come and he left without another word.
His guards kept a distance of ten paces, and when he passed the corridor that led back to the guest lounge, they didn't stop him. Through doors that opened onto the glittering ocean he found the silver sheen of sky, and the gleaming platform of the impossibly clean aerie that looked out over the city. Atlantis stretched in all directions—skyward, towards all horizons, down into the sea, so far down from this perch that Ronon could, if he wanted, step up onto the railing and tip forward, and he would have long moments to remember his home before death finally caught him.
It was no temptation. He looked at his hands where they gripped the railing and he saw his father's hands, calloused from working in stone and metal; his mother's dusky skin that turned to burnished gold in the long summers. Their blood beat in his heart, and he carried the memory of all that was Sateda.
And there were still the Wraith.
That night, Teyla found him on the southeast pier. He heard her soft footsteps, could smell the light fragrance of the fabric she wore, the almost imperceptible musk of her skin. The guards' footsteps retreated and she sat down beside him, close enough to touch if he stretched out his arm, and her skirt spread around her and covered her feet.
She didn't speak. The pier was ghostly in the pale wash of moonlight, and she watched the sky with him, and listened to the ocean lapping against the pier's massive bulk. It sounded far away. He wondered whether any of them ever swam in this ocean.
After a long time, he said, "Did they send you to talk to me?"
"No," she answered, and glanced at him. Her eyes were the color of the teksah trees that grew along the lane of his grandmother's house. "Would you like me to go?"
He shook his head. "I'm not used to so many people."
So many years always moving, sleeping far from any home, from any town. "It's nice not to be alone," he added at last, and thought of Sheppard backed up against the cool, smooth surface of the door, and that level gaze. "I'm not sure I know how to do that anymore. How to not be alone."
Teyla's wide mouth curved in a smile, and she looked down. "In Atlantis, it is always possible to find companionship or solitude. The difficulty is in knowing which you want."
They stayed there until late into the evening, and behind them the city was lit like dusk. His mind was filled with questions, but the grief in his heart blunted them, made them soft, and he ached too much to voice them.
When the rustle of her skirt told him she was about to stand, though, he realized he wanted her to stay, and he said abruptly, "Weir doesn't trust me."
She relaxed again, and spread her skirt back around her feet.
"She thought I was lying. About all of it."
"She is...cautious," Teyla said. "She must be. She is responsible for the safety of everyone in this city, but she does believe you now."
Ronon looked at her. "Why?"
She inclined her head. "Doctor McKay and Doctor Beckett examined the tracking device."
"And it's what I said it was."
"Yes," Teyla answered with a nod.
Ronon was quiet for a moment, then said, "I don't blame her. You have to be careful." If someone from Si'ejah had come to Ronon seeking sanctuary, with a homing beacon in his back and a wild story about Tenedrian hunters tracking him, Ronon would have had him bound and under guard before he'd finished speaking.
"They are good people," Teyla said. "If you stay here, you will see that. Their compassion, and their courage."
When she finally rose to her feet, she hesitated a moment, wordless, and he pushed to his feet as well and they fell into step beside each other. She was small next to him, but her shoulders were strong, and her stride nearly matched his.
He felt as if he should apologize to her for earlier, but he wasn't sorry. He would have killed her and Sheppard both to escape the Wraith, if it had come to that, but instead they had helped him, brought him here, offered him sanctuary. He was glad of it, but he didn't understand.
They reached the entrance and Teyla said, "Can you find your way from here, or shall I walk with you?"
"I can find my way," he said. It was on his tongue to say she could walk with him anyway, but he didn't. "If I get lost, I'm sure they'll help," he added. Behind her the guards were waiting, a respectful distance away.
"Very well," she said. "Colonel Sheppard, Doctor McKay, and I usually breakfast early, in the mess hall. You are welcome to join us."
He shook his head, remembered the press of Sheppard's stiffening cock against his thigh, and the smirk that said he was in charge even if it was Ronon who had him trapped there. "Thanks," he said. "I don't think so."
She nodded. "You are welcome there regardless."
"Thanks," he said again, and, "Good night."
"Good night," she said. "Rest well."
He watched her walk away, the V of her back, the swell of her hips, until she rounded the corner and the soft flare of her skirt disappeared after her.
That night he thought of her as he searched for sleep, and her skin, like his mother's, her eyes like teksah, warm and alive.
----
"So," John said to Teyla the next morning. "Is he coming to breakfast?"
Teyla shook her head. "I do not believe so. I told him he was welcome, but I believe he is still...unsettled by the number of people here."
"I can imagine. Rodney, what'd you and Beckett find out about the transmitter?"
McKay shrugged. "It's what he said it was. Wraith technology, does nothing but transmit his location. Not that different from Teyla's necklace. I mean it is different, obviously," he went on, spearing a sausage from John's plate and ignoring his indignant squawk. "Totally different in configuration and not keyed to the Ancient gene—"
"Also, surgically implanted in his back," John interrupted, "which makes it kind of different right away."
McKay gave him a withering glance. "As I just said, totally different in configuration."
John wondered if he got that look on purpose or if it was just habit by now.
"But anyway," McKay went on, "I don't think he'll stay even if Elizabeth lets him. I mean think about it." He gestured with his fork, the stolen sausage waggling precariously. "Okay, sure, maybe there's no one left on Sateda, but he can go anywhere now, do anything he wants to. Don't you think he'd go looking for survivors?"
"Perhaps," said Teyla, but her tone was doubtful. "I found no reports of survivors, though of course it is impossible to be sure. In the chaos, some may have found hiding places, and escaped through the Stargate after the Wraith released it."
"Anyway, Rodney, how's he supposed to track them down?" John asked. "Even if there are any, they could be scattered all over the Pegasus galaxy by now. In fact," he added, thinking about it, "if he wants to find survivors, then staying here in Atlantis is probably his best bet. We've got the resources to help him."
"You just want him to stay because he's a great big hulking menace who can beat up your Marines," McKay said, making a half-hearted grab for the last sausage.
John smacked his hand away. "Who says he can? And anyway, what's wrong with that?"
"Nothing! I'm just saying," McKay insisted, "maybe he's got better things to do than hang around Atlantis. And what do you even know about him? That he'll take hostages? Oh, yes, that's something to recommend him."
"He was under threat," Teyla pointed out. "The Wraith—"
"Sure, yes, okay, the Wraith," McKay agreed, "but he couldn't just say, 'oh by the way, could you take this tracking thing out of my neck, please?'"
John snorted and McKay shot him a glare. "It's wonderful that you can be so cavalier about your own life, Colonel Sheppard, but not all of us feel quite as laissez-faire as you do when it comes to your continued survival."
John looked at him.
"Our continued survival," he amended quickly. "My," he said. "My continued survival."
John shook his head and went back to his breakfast. He didn't know if he wanted to belt the guy or kiss him, or both, but either would be way more trouble than it'd be worth.
Well, maybe not the kiss.
"Ronon had no reason to trust us," Teyla went on, ignoring the awkwardness, or not noticing it. "There was little time before the Wraith would find him."
"Why are you defending him?" McKay asked. "He could have killed you! He could've killed me!"
"But he did not," Teyla pointed out.
"That's why we've got the guards watching him," John said, "and it's why I'm not already asking him to join the team."
"Join the team?" blurted McKay. "Are you insane? Our team?"
"Yes, our team! Rodney, he's got no place else to go, and you saw how he took out Ford! He got the drop on me and Teyla both at once, and he saved your life."
"Sure, and then almost gutted me like a trout! You didn't see the look on his face! He was clearly considering it."
"Some days," John said, "so do I."
"Ha ha." McKay scowled. "I just think we should all be involved in decisions that affect the entire team this way."
John nodded. "And you will be. I'll say, 'all in favor of growing the team by one ninja berserker who can kill three Wraith in two seconds with one hand,' and you'll say 'aye.' And then I'll say 'all opposed,' and you'll realize that we need a ninja berserker, and you'll keep your mouth shut."
----
"You want to what?" Ronon asked.
"Show you the guns. The firing range, some of the weapons we use."
Ronon looked at him. John remembered the way he had cocked the P-90, and wondered if this was really necessary.
Then he looked again. Ronon was watching him through narrowed eyes, and he thought about how awesome it would be to have a ninja berserker on the team. A ninja berserker who was way hotter than someone who'd been on the run for seven years had a right to be, and who always looked like he was about a minute away from either killing something or—
Well, that wasn't a productive line of thought.
"They're not all as simple as the ones we had on that planet," he added, though it was arguably not exactly the truth. Guns were pretty simple no matter what.
It turned out Ronon thought so too, and John wondered if there was something perverted about just how hot it was watching Ronon handle them. He thought there probably was.
Then Ronon drew his own weapon and blew a head-sized hole in the target, and John forgot about being a pervert and started wondering how he could get hold of a couple hundred of those guns.
"So how's it work?" he asked, turning it over in his hands.
Ronon shrugged. "I didn't ask."
"Does it ever not work?"
"Not so far."
"Huh." John sighted down the barrel, but he didn't fire it, and Ronon held out his hand.
"Can I have it back?"
He handed it over reluctantly. "We gotta get some of those."
----
Ronon had been in Atlantis for three days before he decided that since Sheppard had assigned the same two men to be his guards every morning until dinner, he might as well find out their names.
He asked, and after a pause that might have been startled or might have been hesitant, one said, "Private Addison." He was the shorter of the two, fair haired and looking as young as Ronon had been when he joined the army. "Marty Addison. And this is Private Maxwell," he said, nodding to the other.
"John," said the private, and held out his hand. "But everyone calls me Max."
Ronon had seen this his first day on Atlantis, while following Sheppard to his commander's office, had seen a woman hold out her hand to a man and the man take it, grasp it for a moment. He'd assumed it was a pledge of some kind, but surely between strangers it couldn't be. Maybe Max was waiting for Ronon to hand him something, but Ronon had nothing to hand him. Nothing Max would know of, anyway.
So Ronon took the man's hand in his and grasped it briefly, and Max smiled. "Good to meet you. You go by Dex, or Ronon?"
"Either's fine," Ronon answered, then went on, "Listen, I don't like all this sitting around. There some place I could go and work off some steam?"
"Sure," Addison said. "Yeah, there's a gym on this level. You, uh, you need to grab anything? We can scrounge you up some sweat pants or something if you want."
"Nah, I'm good," Ronon answered. He didn't know what sweat pants were but they didn't sound like anything he wanted to put on.
"All right." Addison looked doubtful, but he didn't argue. "It's up this way."
When they got there, though, Teyla Emmagan was already there, moving through the forms of her art like liquid.
She stopped when they entered and looked as if she might speak, but then didn't.
"Sorry," Ronon said. "I can come back later."
"No, that is fine," she answered, and gestured him into the room. "I was waiting for Colonel Sheppard, but he is late."
"Sheppard?" Something lurched in Ronon's chest. He hadn't seen much of Sheppard since the day at the firing range, and it was only hearing his name that made him realize he wanted to.
She nodded. "He and I were to spar this morning."
"Oh."
There was a silence that stretched towards awkward, and then Teyla said, "Would you like to spar with me until he comes?"
Ronon cocked his head, considering her smaller size, the lean muscles, the way she had been moving when he first saw her as the door slid open. She would be a difficult opponent. "Sure," he said, "okay."
"You do not have to go easy on me," she added, turning to move to the center of the room and picking up her fighting sticks. Ronon smiled for the first time that day, and didn't wait for her to turn around. She was ready, though, as he'd expected, and the match was on.
Max and Addison moved around the edge of the room to watch from the other side, and Ronon was dimly aware of their occasional hiss of breath or murmured remark when he or Teyla landed a strike or avoided one. She was as good as he'd thought she would be, and the fighting sticks gave her an advantage. Still, she was small and lacked his upper body strength, and he found himself stopping short of his best.
He shouldn't have. When once he hesitated to strike, she swept his legs and he went down, and she was on him with her stick at his throat, pressing. Her thighs gripped him and there was a sheen of sweat on her skin. They were both breathing hard.
"I said," she reminded him, "that you did not have to go easy on me."
He grinned up at her. "Okay," he said. "Got it."
She smiled and rolled to her feet, then padded across the room to grab one of the other sticks, and tossed it to him. "Perhaps you will do better if you are armed as well."
He laughed, a real laugh for the first time since he got here—the first time in longer than he wanted to think about. It felt strange and good in his chest, and his smile felt real, felt like something new, something he hadn't known he'd forgotten and hadn't realized he'd missed. He was still smiling when Teyla came towards him, and they didn't stop again until Sheppard's arrival interrupted them.
----
Teyla watched Ronon stalk from the room, followed, as always, by his guards, then turned to face John.
"You okay?" he asked, and as usual she wasn't sure whether the possessive concern in his voice was more charming or irritating.
"I am fine," she answered. "I told him he did not have to go easy on me."
"You've gotta be careful what you say to this guy!"
"He would not have hurt me," she answered, and he stared at her like she'd just told him the sun rises under the ocean.
"Teyla, the minute you turned you turned your back, he picked you up by your throat and slammed you into the ground!"
"Yes. He will be an excellent training partner if he chooses to remain."
"Training? You call that training? I call it a cheap shot—you were distracted!"
"An enemy would not wait for my attention to return to the fight," she pointed out. "And if you had come in half an hour earlier, you would have found him on his back with my stick across his throat because he hesitated when he should have struck." She reached for a towel from the bench. "You have acted as though you believe him to be without honor, and you have shamed him in front of me and in front of Privates Addison and Maxwell."
"He was throwing a member of my team around like a rag doll," John retorted. "You expect me to just let him do it?" But he sounded less sure of himself, and he looked in the direction Ronon had gone.
Teyla sighed. "He was about to release me when you rebuked him—as any training partner would. Am I to understand that when you and I train, you do not do your best with me, for fear of my delicate femininity?"
He gaped at her.
"And if you want Ronon on the team," she went on, glancing meaningfully after him, "I believe you should speak with him before he decides that he truly is not welcome here."
----
Ronon lay sleepless on his pallet. The bed was too soft, and for his entire second day on Atlantis his back had hurt. On his second night he'd taken the blankets from it and spread them out on the floor, and that had been better. But sleep still came reluctantly, sometimes not creeping over him until it was nearly dawn, and then fleeing again with first light. Today he was trying to outsmart it, sleeping during the day, but it wasn't working.
He and Teyla would have gone for another hour if Sheppard hadn't stopped them.
He could still feel the heat of Sheppard's hand on his, fear and adrenaline in the prickle of sweat and his racing pulse. Humiliation had tangled with heat in Ronon's belly, and he had wanted to strike him, kiss him, bite his mouth to give him back the rebuke.
The humiliation had finally drained away—Sheppard was only looking out for his team, the way he should—but the heat remained, feeding on itself and the memory of that touch, the memory of Sheppard pressed against the door, Ronon's thigh between his. If he'd known how it would stay with him, he might not have done it.
He rolled over and took out the little notebook that Teyla had given him, and the pen. He'd asked her if there were paper and pen to be found on Atlantis—it didn't seem likely, not with everyone glued to computers or handhelds all day and night, but he had to ask. She'd gone to her quarters and had returned with this, a small leather-bound book with thin sheets that didn't tear easily. She said she'd gotten it from one of her trading partners and that she didn't need it, and she wouldn't accept anything for it in return. He'd been reluctant at first, but she had pressed it on him along with a slender pen with watery black ink that dried almost instantly.
My first week in the city of the Ancestors, he wrote now, and though seven years of running had done nothing for his handwriting, the curves and angles of the Satedan alphabet were still beautiful to his eyes.
It's the longest I've stayed in one place since I was captured by the Wraith. It feels like a month, and I still want to move, I still feel that thing in my back. I know it's gone, deactivated and kept somewhere in their doctor's lab, but I can't stop feeling like I have to leave, like I'm calling the Wraith to this place. I guess it might take more than a week for that to stop.
He shifted a little, sitting up and pushing back against the wall, and he touched the end of the pen to his mouth, remembering Sheppard, the anger in his voice, the heat in his slitted eyes.
Teyla said I should come spar with her again, he wrote. She says she told Sheppard it's okay, that I wasn't going to hurt her.
I wonder how she is with Sheppard, or if she is. Maybe they don't even join, in this place. Maybe he welcomes new team members with the hand clasp they use here, or with only a kiss.
He couldn't really imagine it, though. There were few better ways to bind a team together, and Sheppard was obviously a leader who put his team first. Ronon thought Teyla would be more likely to share McKay's bed than Sheppard's, though, and not only because Sheppard preferred his own sex. McKay would be one who would worship her, whereas Sheppard....
He doesn't respect her, he continued finally. He doesn't respect her strength. He doesn't know me, so I guess I understand that he thought...whatever it was he thought. But he looks after his team, and that's good. She doesn't need him to protect her, but I give him credit for doing it anyway. She
A bell chimed and Ronon looked around for the source of the sound, then remembered the door.
"Come," he said experimentally, and it slid open.
Sheppard was leaning in the doorway, smiling.
Ronon turned the notebook over and set it carefully on the floor beside him.
Sheppard came into the room. "You can sleep on the bed, you know," he offered. "We changed the sheets and everything."
Ronon shrugged and glanced away. Seven years of sleeping rough, on the ground, or in tree blinds, stone floors of caves—McKay had been right, in a way. "It makes my back hurt."
"Oh." Sheppard pulled out the chair from the unused desk and sat down. "But apart from that, you still liking Atlantis?"
This was the third time Sheppard had asked, and it never sounded like an idle question. Ronon wondered what he was really asking, and whether it was something new each time he asked.
"Yeah."
The city was driving him crazy. It was never quiet, but the sounds were the soft sounds of machinery or people, and even the sound of the wind brushing past the angular windows was different than what he knew. There were no animals in Atlantis, not even insects. No grass grew, no trees or plants except ones bound in pots. Ronon thought maybe that was why he hadn't been sleeping.
Sheppard was still looking at him, like he didn't think Ronon was finished talking.
"It's clean," Ronon added.
"You haven't seen McKay's quarters," Sheppard said, and he looked like he was telling a joke, so Ronon laughed. Sheppard's smile broadened from a smirk to a real smile.
Then his face turned serious. "Listen, about yesterday," he said. "I'm not really used to my team members going all out that way," and there was that little grin again, but this time Ronon couldn't tell what it meant. "And Teyla—"
"I wouldn't have hurt her," Ronon interrupted, and Sheppard started to say something else but Ronon added, "But it's good you look out for your people."
Sheppard closed his mouth again. He looked like he'd expected something else.
And maybe there was something in the way Sheppard was looking at him, or maybe it was just that he was so tired, but Ronon felt a sudden, aching loneliness, and the tug of companionship, of order, of family, that he hadn't had since Sateda.
"I had a team," he said at last. "We'd run an op. Quick strike against the Wraith—just hit 'em hard and get out. But two of Second Squad's tenji and their squad commander had been killed, shot down by Wraith darts, and Second Squad was falling apart." He was watching his hands. He wasn't used to how clean they were. "I handed command of my team over to Tyre and got 'em through the Gate. By the time I got back, our position had been over-run."
He took a breath. "I got a field promotion, command of Second Squad. Stopped second-guessing myself about it years ago. But I'd been their tenji since the team was formed."
It wasn't what he'd meant to say. He'd meant to say I had a team. I had a squad. I had people to take care of, someone to take orders from, people to take care of me. I miss it.
"It's been a long time," he said at last, "since I had anyone to look out for."
Sheppard was quiet for a long moment, and when Ronon looked up, he found Sheppard regarding him with an expression he couldn't read.
"Well," Sheppard said finally, and stood up. "If you join the team, you'll have a whole city full of them. Think about it."
Joining the team. Could it mean the same thing here as on Sateda? Surely not, or Sheppard wouldn't just blurt it out that way when he was already on his feet to walk out the door. But his voice stirred something in Ronon, a long-ago longing that made him think of taking Sheppard's hand now, pulling him down, covering him with his body, offering his own. Biting into him like seta fruit, juicy and dark. It would mean a home, Ronon thought, and belonging, belonging again to something more than his own survival.
Instead he said, "Okay. I'll think about it."
Sheppard nodded. "Good," he said. "Good. I'll see you later, then."
Ronon watched him leave, then dropped his hand to his prick and cupped it, the tips of his fingers curling around the head.
It had been so long since he'd felt desire for anyone, until coming to this place.
Every so often in the long months of those seven years, when he'd had the time and the Wraith hadn't found him yet, he'd bring himself off with quick, hard strokes just to do it, and it felt more like anger than release. And he never thought of Melena when he did it. He might remember hot nights with Seren, whose hands he knew like his own, and laughing in the morning at their bruises. Might recall Ara's taste or Rakai's clever tongue, or Hemi's strength, how Morika's shyness fell away, or Tyre's urgency and need.
But Melena's memory was of softness and laughter and healing, and it was a distraction he couldn't afford. He had refused it, refused to see her face in his mind, refused to remember her touch, prayed to the Ancestors from rote memorization for her and for everyone he'd lost, and had blocked his mind against the rest.
As his skills increased, as he killed more and more Wraith, memories had started to come back to him in his dreams. He would see her with the sunlight in her hair, laughing, reaching for him, and the sunlight would turn into the blast that had taken her. He would remember her hands, and the way she'd kiss his belly and laugh and make him laugh with her, and he would dream of the children they never had. He would see her beside him on the grass, and she would be telling him of all that had happened on Sateda while he had been away, and she would pull him to her and kiss him, and whisper, "Come home, come home," and he would wake with an ache in his chest that stayed with him until he was on his feet again and moving, running, running.
He didn't have to run anymore. Sheppard was offering him more than just a place to stay. He was offering him a new home, to be part of something again.
But before he could be part of something new, he had to let go of what had been. And he couldn't do that without saying goodbye to Sateda.
----
Sheppard went with him, along with a squad of Marines. Ronon had refused at first, but Sheppard had insisted and Ronon needed to go.
"You that eager to make sure I come back, Sheppard?" he'd asked.
"Rules are rules," Sheppard had said, and shrugged, but he hadn't answered the question.
They stepped through the Gate into the cool, still air of early spring, and the breath left Ronon's lungs like he'd been punched. The towers that had risen so high, shining as bright as any on Atlantis, were torn like paper, and only a crumbling, overgrown pathway was left of the wide boulevard that stretched away towards the Hall of Elders. Rusting bones of burned-out vehicles choked the boulevard, and of the Hall itself, little remained but the foundations. The pictures sent back by the probe had been a child's drawing compared to this reality.
Something moved in the weeds far ahead and Sheppard and the squad were suddenly alert, weapons raised.
"It's a just a se'hret," Ronon said. "It's harmless." A flash of brown as the creature streaked across the boulevard into the ruins of the Museum of Medical Technology.
"What is it?" Sheppard asked.
"A small mammal," Ronon said, sketching a space in the air. "Carnivore, keeps pests away. Some people kept them as pets, but there were a lot of wild ones too." He paused, then started down the steps towards the boulevard. "I guess they're all wild now."
----
"Seren Gotar," Ronon said, nodding to a portrait that leaned, lopsided, against a crumbling wall. Only Sheppard had come with him this far, through the ruins of the city to this museum. "He was the commander of the Satedan army when we drove the Wraith back two hundred years before I was born." He brushed his hand over the frame as he passed it. "My taiji was named for him."
"Taiji?" Sheppard asked, but Ronon ignored it, and Sheppard didn't ask again.
Little was left in the room beyond, but past that, and through a wide doorway into the ruined Hall of Heroes, Ronon found it, still hanging at the far end and sheltered by a rotunda that had miraculously survived. He stopped at the foot of the dais, looking up at it.
Behind him, Sheppard's steps were careful, the measured tread of someone who's conscious of the silence and doesn't want to break it.
He reached Ronon and stopped. "What is it?" he asked at last.
"The Satedan victory over Vetariss," Ronon answered. "It was painted when my mother was a child, by her grandmother."
Sheppard was quiet for a moment, then said, "So, the people in the painting. Are they...relatives?"
Ronon shook his head. "They represent the pillars of victory: honor, loyalty, unity."
After a moment he walked up the steps and reached for the painting, carefully lifting it down. The wall behind it was white, and Ronon wondered how long it would take him to clean off the ash and dirt from the canvas.
He handed it to Sheppard. "Take that back to the Gate for me?" he asked. "There are some things I have to do alone."
Sheppard hesitated, but then nodded. "Sure." He held the painting awkwardly, like a child he hadn't expected to be thrust into his arms. "Don't be too long. And," he nodded to Ronon's radio, "keep in touch."
Ronon nodded, and Sheppard headed back the way they'd come. Ronon went in the opposite direction, through the small exit at the back of the hall and out into an open courtyard that smelled of yargrass and rain. Through the broken gate and into the sun-dappled boulevard, Ronon jog-trotted past rows of shattered buildings, past the park where parents had brought their children on summer mornings, and to the vast and overgrown gardens where the dead were put to rest. He flicked off the radio as he entered. He didn't want to be interrupted here.
The plot where Seren's ashes had been laid was near the center of the garden beneath a flowering t'hathe tree, and when Ronon reached it, he knelt in front of the mossy stone marker.
"I have no wine," he murmured. "I have no bread. I have no fruit to bring you, Seren, but I know you won't mind." He lay his hands on his knees, palms up as if waiting for Seren's touch. "I haven't decided what to do," he went on. "But I know I can't stay alone. I need to be more than the last survivor of Sateda."
He could hear Seren laughing at him, his voice like absolution. There's more to you, Ronon, he had said. There's always more to you than anyone knows, even you.
Ronon reached for his thermos of water and quickly unscrewed the lid. "From death, life," he murmured, pouring it over the grasses that grew thick around Seren's marker. "I will see you again one day, Seren." He tipped his head back, and let the sunlight dapple his closed eyes. The t'hathe smelled sweet and green.
The breeze picked up, brushing Ronon's skin and catching at the laces of his coat, and finally he capped the empty thermos and got to his feet.
He scaled the crumbling wall of the garden easily, dropping to the ground beyond and making his way between the buildings until they turned to the wrecks of houses and, finally, the neighborhood where he'd made a home with Melena.
Their house still stood, faded from sun and bent with neglect. The windows were unshuttered, only shards of glass remaining in their frames. She hadn't known, leaving that morning, that she would never come back to shutter the windows, to gather up their belongings and close the house. Ronon placed his hand flat against the wooden front door, its red paint peeling. It was hot from the sun, and he left his hand there until his palm stung, then finally pushed it open.
Inside, the dust kicked up by his entry glinted in the sunlight that shone in through the broken windows. Furniture was overturned, some of it smashed. Wraith, he supposed, or looters before the Wraith caught them. He moved through the house like through a ghost landscape, with the echoes of the past in his ears.
"Do you think it's big enough, though?" Melena stood in the center of the room and gazed around critically, and Ronon laughed.
"Melena, it's huge. It's three times the size of my place, and we haven't been tripping over each other, have we?"
"That's because you always have your arms around me," she answered with a smile, and reached for him. He pulled her close and kissed her cheek.
"Doesn't matter how big a place we get, then," he murmured. "I always will."
In the end, he hadn't even convinced her to take his hand.
At least she had been saved the horror of the final culling, those last days of terror and helplessness. If she wouldn't leave, maybe it was better that she'd died in the blast. She never had to see what Sateda became.
Dust was thick in the room that had once been their bedroom. Like all the other rooms the glass was out of the windows, and there was an animal scent; something had been living here. Probably someone's pet that couldn't get back into its own house, or didn't have a house to go back to.
He touched the wood of the dresser where Melena would sit in the evening to brush her hair, traced his finger through the grime that coated the big square mirror. He could still see her, the blue nightgown she wore, the bone-handled brush. "Why wouldn't you come," he murmured, but he knew the answer. He'd known it then. The answer had been all around them, had been in the eyes of the doctors, had been in the child he'd carried in his arms. Melena had asked, What about her? so he'd picked her up to bring her, knowing even as he held her that it wouldn't be enough.
Melena had always laughed at him. So literal, Ronon. Are artists supposed to be so literal? He used to tease her with it.
A board squeaked when Ronon started towards the bed, and from a drift of leaves beneath the nearest window came a soft mewling cry.
He turned, and looked more carefully, and saw that it wasn't only leaves. Something had made a nest beneath them of fabric and twigs; the leaves were only camouflage. They moved, and Ronon crouched beside them, and carefully lifted off the top layer.
Inside the nest, a se'hret kit blinked up at him with eyes the color of silver coins, and hissed. Its fangs were no longer than the tip of Ronon's thumbnail. The body of another kit was in the nest, dead two days, maybe three. The surviving kit was only a few weeks old, barely old enough to be weaned and much too young to survive by itself.
The mother wasn't coming back, that much was obvious. If she still lived, she would have removed the dead kit and taken it someplace far from here. It wouldn't be long before this kit died as well, died of dehydration, or was killed by another animal. Its tiny life would be only a few more days of loneliness, fear, and hunger, huddled against the body of its litter-mate.
He watched it for long minutes. Its dirty coat was putty-colored like the clay by the river, and the tips of its ears and tail were black. He stroked a finger down its back and it tried to bite his wrist, but not with any great enthusiasm. It was so hungry already. It couldn't survive here, and Sheppard would never allow an animal into the city, especially not a lost, filthy, matted kit that could carry who knew what diseases.
He would be doing it a favor to snap its neck now, and save it the days.
The kit mewled again, and Ronon lifted it from the nest.
----
The sun was low on the horizon, making shadows long and cool, by the time Ronon approached the Stargate, and the active Gate rippled like water. "Where've you been?" called Sheppard. "We were starting to worry."
Ronon shrugged and shouldered his bag. It clinked with the things he carried, mementos of a lifetime ago. "Took a little longer than I thought."
"You weren't answering your radio."
"Yeah, I turned it off." He ignored the set line of Sheppard's mouth and headed towards the Gate. "You coming?"
"Ronon!" Sheppard's tone was sharp, and Ronon turned abruptly, the muscles in his face trying to pull into a snarl. "When I tell you to keep in touch," Sheppard said, "that means no turning off your radio. At least not without radioing in to tell someone."
The Marines were suddenly alert, even Max and Addison, and that stopped Ronon from crowding into Sheppard's space, using his size and height for the advantage they gave. The snarl showed, though. "This mean I'm part of your team now, you giving me orders? 'Cause I don't remember saying yes."
Sheppard's eyes went flint-hard. "When we're off-world," he said, standing his ground, "this becomes a military operation, and civilian or soldier, you'll follow my orders."
"Fine," Ronon growled, but the change was like a hand on his back, was like being told yes, I'm stronger than you are, you'll do what I say. "Permission to return through the Stargate, sir?" But the anger was already beginning to drain away.
There was a pause, and Sheppard's eyes went from hard to just irritated. "Permission granted."
Ronon didn't wait for the rest of the team, and he could hear his guards scrambling to catch up until Sheppard called after them, "Leave it! Leave it, he's fine."
He strode through the Gate and headed for his quarters, grateful that at least for now the guards were off his back, and maybe for good. The guys themselves were okay, and handy guides when he wanted to find something, or know about something. But it was tiring to have them always there.
The door hissed shut behind him and he dropped his bag on the bed, then carefully unlaced his coat.
He reached in, into one of the dozen soft pockets, and gathered up the warm ball of matted, putty-colored fur that had been nestled near his heartbeat. It mewled as he drew it out, and blinked open eyes the color of coins, and it clung with its tiny needle claws to his hand.
----
One thing about liking the food here, the people who worked in the mess liked Ronon.
"Hey, Dex," Fuller called when he saw Ronon coming. "Making some of that stew you like for tonight—don't be late or it'll all get gone."
Ronon grinned. "You'll save me some," he said, and Fuller laughed.
"Yeah, you know I will." The chef's knife in his practiced hands was a blur as he chopped carrots for the stew. "How's it going?"
"Pretty good," Ronon answered. "Listen, I wanted a favor."
"Yeah?" Fuller glanced up. "Shoot."
"I need some meat. Not much," he said at Fuller's startled expression, "just, maybe one of those birds, the uh..."
"Chicken?" Fuller asked. "You want a whole chicken?"
"No! No...well, not all at once," Ronon said. "And maybe a little space in one of the cooling units."
Fuller stopped chopping and turned to look at him. "Ronon, we not feeding you enough? Or—oh, hey," he said, and grinned, "if you've got a hot date, hey, I can hook you up with the best meal you ever had if you gimme a day or two notice."
Ronon shook his head. "No, it's nothing like that."
And as much as he liked Fuller, he wasn't going to tell him about the se'hret.
"I just need it," he said instead.
After a moment Fuller nodded. "Okay," he said. "Sure. How soon?"
Ronon crinkled his nose. "Um. Now would be good."
Fuller stared at him for a second, then laughed. "Okay, all right, for you, Dex, only for you. But when they do inventory, you gotta help me come up with an excuse why we're a chicken short."
Ronon didn't tell him that a se'hret would eat a lot of chickens before it was old enough to hunt for itself.
----
"When I was a boy there hadn't been a culling in almost two hundred years," Ronon said. He reached for one of the small, yeasty dinner rolls and put it in his pocket, then took another and tore it in half. "We knew other planets still suffered, but many on Sateda believed that the Wraith were done with us, that we'd grown too powerful, our military too strong, or even that they'd forgotten about us."
"Hey, uh, pass the—yeah," McKay said, "that," as Ronon reached for the butter and passed it across.
"A lot of people thought the Wraith were never coming back, but my father wasn't one of them," Ronon went on. "He didn't think we could survive them. He wanted me to be a teacher or a doctor like him and my mother, so I could run if they came. He said, 'Ronon, you're a smart boy. You could have a good life, on Sateda or anywhere. Don't throw it away.'"
"I take it you didn't listen," Sheppard said, and Ronon snorted a laugh.
"I told him that if the Wraith came, I wasn't going to run. I was going to fight them, I was going to be on the front lines, defending Sateda."
A long moment passed with only the soft clink of tableware, and then Ronon went on, "My ma said I should join if I wanted to, that not everyone wanted to make a life out of scraps of metal and art theory like Da did."
Teyla was carefully trimming the stems from the broccoli on her plate and setting the florets aside. "Had you always wanted to be a soldier?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No, I joined late, but I made up for it. By the time I was seventeen Seren Tenn had become my taiji, and we lasted three years before Seren died. Guao sickness," he said, and Teyla drew a soft breath. "After that I was tenji for my team, then squad commander and specialist."
Sheppard's eyebrows drew together. "I think 'specialist' is a higher rank in the Satedan military than the U.S."
"It's not really a rank by itself," Ronon explained. "When we met, if I'd had a squad to command I would've said I was squad commander, but since it was just me, my rank reverted to specialist."
"Then what's taiji, and tenji?" Sheppard asked.
Ronon glanced at him, wondering how much he could say, how much would be too much. He didn't know Earth customs yet, not enough to be sure, but he'd figured out they didn't have anything like this.
"Tenji's kinda like a big brother," he began at last. "Or a big sister. Keep the team together, keep 'em safe, monitor their training. Knock 'em around when they need it," he said, and grinned. "Taiji," he said thoughtfully, "that's a little harder to explain. Like a mentor and a commanding officer both, I guess, but more than that."
You are mine, Ronon Dex, and the touch of Seren's palms on his. The beat of your heart is mine, the draw of your breath is mine.
No, he didn't want to explain that to these people, not yet.
"When I was a kid, though, I thought I wanted to be a sculptor like Da, and teach," he went on, "but I was better at painting. I liked the way the paint felt." He could still feel it sometimes, if he thought about it, cool and smooth like the cream on a marriage cake. "I kept it up even after I joined the army. I haven't done it since the Wraith came, though."
"So, it runs in your family," Sheppard said. "The painting thing."
Ronon looked at him.
"The painting," Sheppard said again. "The one you said your mother's grandmother painted. Of the victory over Vetariss."
"You remembered that," Ronon said.
"Well, yeah," Sheppard answered. "Not every day I find out one of my team members has a famous artist in his family."
"Your great-grandmother was a painter?" McKay asked.
"Yeah," Ronon said, tearing off another piece of the roll. "She was pretty well-known. She died before I was born, though."
"That's the painting Ronon brought back from Sateda last month," Sheppard said. "Of the three Satedan soldiers—"
"On the battlefield, yes, I remember." McKay turned to Ronon again. "She had a—uh, a very dramatic style," he said. "Very militaristic."
Ronon shrugged. "She was a commander in the Satedan army when she painted it."
"Really." McKay's voice had that flat tone that meant he was processing new information and trying to fit it into his understanding of how things work.
"Why? Don't the women on your planet paint?"
"Well, sure," McKay said, "yeah, of course they do. Just...not Frank Frazetta paintings, as a general rule. All it needs is a couple of polar bears."
"Rodney!" Sheppard glared at him and McKay's eyes went wide.
"What?" he said. "It does!"
"Who's Frank Frazetta?" asked Ronon.
"An Earth artist," McKay answered. "Tended towards muscle-bound men and well-endowed women wearing very little clothing."
Teyla's eyebrows rose.
"Sounds good," Ronon said, and shot her a sideways grin. Her mouth crooked and she kicked him under the table, but not very hard.
"Ow," he said, and made a show of rubbing his ankle. "Anyway, how do you know I was thinking about the women," he added with another grin, and Teyla cocked her eyebrow again and the smile she gave him was sly, and said she wondered if he was teasing.
When he looked up, though, there was an expression on Sheppard's face like he wanted to say something but the words were caught in his throat, and then he looked away and started arguing with McKay about whether it was polite to compare Ronon's painting to the one with the polar bears. And Ronon thought for a while about how it was that Sheppard remembered the name of Vetariss, and that Ronon's mother's grandmother had painted the victory, and that he thought it was worth arguing with McKay over if he thought McKay had insulted it.
Teyla took up her little cache of broccoli florets and carefully deposited them on McKay's plate. McKay gave her a distracted "Thank you," and then went back to arguing with Sheppard.
Ronon turned to Teyla and said, "Why do you do that?"
She shrugged, spearing one of the broccoli stems. "I do not like the way they feel in my mouth, but Rodney has a preference for them. Why do you put dinner rolls in your pocket?"
Ronon blinked, then looked down at his pocket. He hadn't even realized he'd done it, though thinking about it, he remembered clearly. "I don't know," he said. "I guess 'cause you never know when you'll get a chance to eat again."
Teyla paused in what she was doing, and for a moment Ronon felt embarrassed, but then she smiled. "That is very pragmatic."
McKay and Sheppard kept arguing. It was interesting enough, but Ronon was starting to get anxious that the se'hret would begin crying if she didn't eat soon, and that was all he needed, for someone passing to hear the animal wailing in his quarters. He pushed away from the table and picked up his tray.
Sheppard looked up. "You leaving?" he asked, but since Ronon obviously was, he went on, "We're watching movies tonight, McKay's quarters. You should come."
Ronon hesitated, and Sheppard added, "Teyla's coming too. Aren't you, Teyla?"
"Yes," said Teyla, and looked up at Ronon. "Colonel Sheppard told me that the movie tonight is about those who have passed into the next world returning to this one, and the social and political breakdown that occurs as a result."
McKay snorted, laughing around his mouthful of broccoli florets, and Teyla looked at him.
"Uh. Yeah," Sheppard said doubtfully, "something like that."
"It is called, 'Dawn of the Dead'," Teyla added.
"Sounds kinda dry," Ronon said, and McKay choked on a laugh and started coughing, and Teyla thumped him helpfully on the back a few times.
Sheppard waved his hands. "Zombies! That is so not dry. C'mon, Ronon, it'll be like a whole big team thing. And if it's gonna be a whole big team thing, we have to have the whole team there."
Ronon thought about that. He still didn't remember saying yes, but maybe this was Sheppard asking again.
They didn't join here, he'd learned, at least not that anyone would admit. Teyla had looked startled when he'd asked her about it, and then had said in a hushed voice that he should not approach Colonel Sheppard about such a thing.
But even so, a team...it would be better than being alone.
Finally he nodded. "Okay," he said, answering both questions. "Thanks."
----
Once he'd joined the team, though, Ronon started to feel awkward about keeping the se'hret a secret.
He went to Sheppard's quarters one night, long after dinner. Sheppard answered the door with rumpled hair, and Ronon couldn't tell if he was dressed for bed or not. Loose pants, barefoot, a white tee-shirt that stretched snug enough across his chest to make Ronon wish it were a little more snug or else not there at all.
"Ronon," Sheppard said, and he sounded surprised, and his voice was rough with sleep.
"Are you busy?" Ronon asked. "I can come back later."
"No, no, now's fine." He stood aside so Ronon could enter.
Ronon hesitated on the threshold. "Actually, could you come with me? I think it'll be easier to show you."
Sheppard scrubbed his hand through his hair. It only made it stand more on end. "Okay," he said. "Sure."
Ronon's quarters were three corridors over, and they fell into step beside each other.
"Is something wrong?" Sheppard asked.
"No."
He could feel Sheppard watching him uncomfortably, though, so he added, "Everything's fine. It's just that now if I'm on the team, I thought you should know about something."
"Know about what?" Sheppard's eyes had gone a little narrow. "Listen, Ronon," he said, "if this is about—listen," he said, and stopped, and Ronon stopped too and turned to face him. "I don't know how things were in the Satedan military, but in the U.S. military, there's this rule—'don't ask, don't tell.'"
Ronon frowned. "Don't ask, don't tell what?"
Sheppard looked nervous. Ronon wasn't sure he'd ever seen Sheppard look nervous, though, so maybe that wasn't it at all.
"You know," he said. "Like, if I have a secret, I don't tell you about it, but you don't ask me about it either."
Ronon's frown deepened. "You're supposed to keep secrets from your commanding officers?" That could simplify things, but Ronon tried to imagine keeping a secret of any size from Seren or Kell, or one of his team keeping a secret from him, and he didn't like the idea that this was something Earth military did as a matter of policy. It could only lead to trouble.
Sheppard shook his head, gesturing. "Not every secret," he said, "I mean, not the ones that matter, not. Just about this one thing."
In the hallway's warm light it was hard to tell, but Ronon thought it looked like Sheppard was getting red in the face, just a little. He wished Sheppard had brought this up before Ronon had said yes. "What one thing?" he asked. "And if it doesn't matter, why's it have to be a secret?"
Sheppard scratched the back of his neck. He was definitely red-faced. "It's gotta be a secret 'cause that's what the damn politicians decided," he said, and he didn't sound happy about it. "And it's, uh.... It's about who you have relationships with," he managed at last. "Intimate relationships."
"Intimate relationships," Ronon repeated. Sheppard couldn't mean what it sounded like.
"It's simple, really, when you get down to it," Sheppard said. "The U.S. military doesn't care if ... if the guy soldiers like other guys, or the women soldiers like other women. They just don't want to know about it."
"That doesn't make sense," Ronon said. "You and McKay like each other, and Beckett, Teyla and Doctor Weir are friends—"
"Not that kind of 'like,'" Sheppard interrupted. "The kind of 'like' where you walk home in the morning with your shirt inside out and then have to call and apologize for leaving your boxers on his bathroom floor."
"Oh," Ronon said. The shirt thing seemed strange, but the part about the boxers was clear enough. "You mean joining."
Sheppard looked at him blankly.
"Sex," Ronon said. He wondered why Earth people used the same word for joining and for gender. "You're not supposed to say anything about it if you're having sex with someone."
Sheppard groaned and leaned against the wall, thumped his head against it. "No, it's—okay, it's a little more complicated than that. Okay," he said. "That thing you said at dinner before the zombie movie, about maybe you were thinking of the guys when you thought about people not wearing very much? Not the women? That's what you can't tell me. Or anyone in the military."
Ronon blinked. He already knew that about Sheppard—had Sheppard forgotten, or was he just pretending not to know? Or pretending it hadn't happened. And anyone who'd known McKay and Sheppard for more than a week had to have noticed that Sheppard wanted to have sex with McKay, and that McKay couldn't decide if he wanted to or not. Maybe that was why McKay couldn't decide—worried about his career, or about Sheppard's.
And maybe that was why Sheppard had never again mentioned what had happened that first day, had never made any overtures, hadn't seemed to notice the few that Ronon had made.
Was it considered too personal for others to know? Given the conversations he'd heard in the mess, he didn't think much was too personal among Earth people. So it was shame, then, he supposed. Shame for joining, for binding yourself to another person, just because of what their gender was. It seemed stupid beyond belief to Ronon. His team, his taiji, he tried to imagine being ashamed for what they had, for the strength they gave each other. The idea of it shook him, and he wondered if he'd made the right decision.
This would take some thinking about. Maybe Teyla would know more.
"Okay," he said at last. "But that's not what I was going to tell you."
Sheppard looked at him again. "Oh."
There was a pause.
"So, you want to come with me now?" Ronon asked.
"Oh! Yeah, sure," Sheppard answered, and they started for Ronon's quarters again.
"Uh, sorry about that," Sheppard said after a moment.
"Sorry about what?"
"You know." Sheppard waved his hand. "Thinking you might... you know. Be into guys."
Ronon glanced at him sideways. "Sheppard. You just said we couldn't talk about that."
Sheppard cut his eyes up at Ronon. "Right," he said. "Right. Well, I mean you could tell me if you're not."
"What'd you think I was gonna show you?" Ronon asked. If Sheppard was determined to ignore what he already knew about Ronon, Ronon might as well let him.
But the whole thing was weird.
"You—oh! Uh, I'm not—I—I don't know," Sheppard stammered, "I guess I just—well hell, Ronon, it's after midnight, you woke me up!"
"Oh." Was it that late? He hadn't realized. "I didn't mean to."
Sheppard sighed. "That's okay."
"Maybe you can take a nap tomorrow or something."
"Yeah," Sheppard said, and laughed a little. "Yeah."
They reached Ronon's quarters and Ronon palmed the door open, and Sheppard followed him in.
"So, what is it you wanted—"
The se'hret trilled, and leapt up onto the bed.
Sheppard stopped. The se'hret looked at him with silvery eyes, her round black pupils narrowed in the bright light. Her coat was no longer the pure putty color of when he'd found her, but was tipped with soft silver grey now, blurring her edges like fog.
"What the hell is that," Sheppard asked, "and what's it doing here? And this had better be the thing you wanted to talk to me about."
"It is," Ronon said. "She's a se'hret—her name's Zephyr. I found her in an abandoned nest the day we went back to Sateda."
Sheppard looked at her. "You found her."
"Uh-huh. She was about three weeks old, maybe four, and I guess her mother had been killed. Her litter-mate was already dead."
"And you just thought it'd be great idea to sneak a wild animal into Atlantis to keep for a pet?"
"Not really," Ronon said. The se'hret trilled, and Ronon sat down beside her and stroked her back. "I was going to snap her neck, save her from three days dying of dehydration or worse, but when I picked her up...."
He remembered the tiny, fast heartbeat thrumming against his fingers, and the little mewling cry. Miniature claws catching on the whorls of his thumbprint.
"I just didn't."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sheppard asked, finally turning to Ronon.
"I figured you'd tell me to leave her there. Anyway, she wasn't wild," he added, "not really. She was too little to be wild. The nest was inside—inside my house," he explained, not yet ready to tell about Melena. "I figure the mother was one of the domesticated ones, so this one's probably not even one generation wild. Se'hrets don't breed until they're six years old, and I don't think a wild one would've been living in a house yet, even one that had been standing empty."
"So you're an expert on animal behavior now, too?" Sheppard said with a scowl, and Ronon was about to snap out a sharp retort—he was the last living expert on everything Satedan—but then Sheppard was stretching out his hand towards the se'hret and Ronon didn't want to startle her.
Sheppard held still as Zephyr sniffed at his fingers, her gaze flicking from his hand to his face like she was judging whether or not he was a threat. "Does she bite?" he asked.
"Not unless you're trying to take her dinner away."
Sheppard looked at him.
"That was a joke."
"Huh." He took a step forward. "She's pretty. She looks sort of like a fox crossed with a cat."
Ronon knew what cats were—he'd seen pictures of McKay's, and it had made him re-think some of his assumptions. He hadn't figured McKay for someone who'd keep pets at all, much less the kind that could hurt him if they wanted to, even just a little. "What's a fox?" he asked.
Sheppard thought a moment. "It's actually sort of like a cat," he said. "Crossed with a dog."
"So...a se'hret is like a cat crossed with a cat crossed with a dog?" Dogs, he knew. Seemed like every planet had dogs.
Sheppard looked at her. Her large ears pricked forward. "Yeah," he said. "That sounds about right. Does anyone else know about her?"
Ronon shook his head. "I think Fuller suspects something, but he's never asked."
Sheppard held out his hand again and the se'hret butted up under his palm. "Why 'Zephyr'?" he asked, and stroked her back cautiously.
"Well," Ronon said, "I thought since she was going to be living among Earth people, maybe I should give her an Earth name. I looked through some of the databases, and I liked Zephyr, because of how soft she is. It's one of those words that sounds like what it means." He touched Zephyr's hind foot and she twitched it and nuzzled Sheppard's palm. "And also I just thought it sounded nice. Kind kind of exotic."
Sheppard smiled a little. "I think 'se'hret' sounds kind of exotic."
Ronon wondered what he'd do if Sheppard said he had to get rid of her. Maybe the Athosians could make room for her. He could visit her then, if one of Teyla's friends could be convinced to adopt her.
He didn't like the idea. He didn't like the idea of not having her around. He'd finally started sleeping through the night, with Zephyr curled up against his knees, the soft sound of her breathing.
"Try rubbing her ears," he said. "She likes that."
----
Walking to Elizabeth's office, John couldn't decide whether having a secret alien pet that hadn't so much as glimpsed the inside of a quarantine was a better or worse secret than if Ronon had admitted to being secretly gay.
Probably a worse one. John was living proof that being gay wasn't that hard a secret to keep if people didn't want to know. At least on Atlantis.
Elizabeth looked up from her monitor when he tapped on the frame of her open door. "John," she said, "come in. What did you want to see me about?"
He shut the door and sat down across from her. "The new guy," he said. "Ronon."
She leaned back and folded her hands. "Is there a problem?"
"No! No," John John said, "no, well, not a problem with Ronon. Ronon's great. A little rough around the edges, maybe, but he's great. He'll be coming on our next mission."
"Then what is it?"
"You remember when we went back to Sateda with him?"
She nodded. "And I have your plan in my queue," she said. "It looks good, but we should definitely send an archaeological team along with science teams to see what they can salvage culturally from the city."
"That'd be great, definitely. But that's not really why I'm here."
It took a little while to explain to her about the se'hret, and why Ronon had kept it, and why he'd kept it secret. John was relieved, though, to see her expression change from 'Doctor Weir, commander of the Atlantis base,' to 'Elizabeth, who likes puppies and kittens and has a soft spot for injured creatures of any kind, including hulking soldiers whose civilizations have been destroyed.' By the time he was done telling her about Zephyr, she'd stopped talking in terms of quarantine and relocation back to Sateda, and had started talking in terms of wanting Beckett to have a look at the animal before making any kind of decision.
"After all, Ronon's had it for almost two months and he hasn't gotten sick."
"Nevertheless," Elizabeth said, and he could hear 'Doctor Weir, commander of the Atlantis base' trying to muscle her way in past the love of puppies. "There are reasons we have these protocols. We don't know what diseases it might have that would affect us without affecting someone from this galaxy."
That part, though, didn't seem to interest her as much as the other question—one John had been turning over as well.
"John," she said, her eyebrows drawn together in that expression he'd come to recognize not as the disapprobation it first looked like, but as the inquisitiveness that gotten her here in the first place. "Why do you think Ronon would want a pet?"
He shrugged. "Why not?"
She huffed a breath, spreading her hands. "Seven years of running from the Wraith, never staying in one place for more than a day, never having a home. And now, within two months of arriving on Atlantis, he's smuggling in pets? And forgive me, John, but honestly," she added, "does he seem the type to...coo over baby animals? To feel such compassion for an orphaned stray that he'd risk his first home in seven years to care for it?"
"Maybe it's because it's Satedan?" he offered. "You know. Another survivor, like him? Anyway," he went on, "does it really matter why? He did, it's here, we deal with it."
She paused, then nodded. "Of course. After all, there's no reason he shouldn't want a pet."
"Exactly. Who doesn't like animals?"
But Beckett, when Elizabeth called him to her office, was less than enthusiastic.
"I'm a doctor, not a veterinarian!" he sputtered, and John grinned and patted his shoulder.
"Just think of it like a little furry alien."
Beckett looked at him. "That's what it is," he pointed out. "A wee furry alien pet."
"Doctor Beckett, we don't have a veterinarian," said Elizabeth. "So either you can examine it to the best of your considerable abilities, or we can explain to Ronon that he has to get rid of her."
Beckett's eyes grew wide. "Oh, now, Doctor Weir, that's not playin' fair. He's lost everything already, I can't tell him he's to give this up as well."
"I promise not to let him hurt you," said John, and Beckett scowled.
"That's not the point! The point—"
"—is that you are more than capable of running a few tests on an alien animal to see if it poses a biological threat to us," Elizabeth interrupted. "Now, will you please do it?"
----
"Sheppard, did you hear?" McKay asked, trotting to catch up. "Ronon's got some kind of animal or something. He's taken it to sick bay."
"I heard," John said, and eyed McKay. "But how'd you hear?"
"How could I not? Everyone in Atlantis knows by now—apparently you could hear it two levels away when he was taking it down there."
John rolled his eyes. "That's an exaggeration."
"I wonder where he got it," McKay said. "He hasn't even been off Atlantis except for Sateda and that one trip with Teyla to the mainland, and I'm sure she would have mentioned it if he'd picked up a stray Athosian cat or something."
"It was on Sateda," John said. "He found it in the house where he used to live."
"What, you mean like a—a feral cat or something? Wait, how long have you known?"
"Just since last night."
"Last night? What were you—"
He could practically see McKay turning over the possibilities.
"He came to my quarters to tell me," he said, cutting McKay off before he got too far down the wrong road. Sure, Rodney was straight, but that didn't mean he couldn't be kind of an asshole if he thought John was getting too interested in someone else.
It was flattering, but very damned frustrating.
"He didn't think he should keep it a secret," he went on, "now that he's officially a member of the team."
McKay blinked. "He is? When did that happen?"
For a genius, John thought, McKay could be remarkably dense. "C'mon," he said, clapping McKay on the shoulder. "Let's go see how Beckett's doing with Ronon's cat."
"Not that I mind, even if he did almost—Wait, it really is a cat?"
John sighed. "No, it's not really a cat. Come on."
When they reached sick bay, they found Ronon holding Zephyr down by her scruff while Beckett drew blood. Zephyr's angry screeching was like the cry of a hawk and all her fur was on end.
"Okay," John said, "maybe it wasn't an exaggeration."
"There." Beckett withdrew the needle and Ronon—still scruffing her—tried to stroke Zephyr's fur back into order, without much success.
"You big baby," he murmured to her. "That didn't even hurt."
The screech was down to a growling whine, and her coat was so ruffled she looked like she'd put it on backwards. McKay stared at the animal. "What is it?"
"A se'hret," Ronon answered.
"Her name's Zephyr," added John helpfully.
McKay snorted. "Oh, that fits."
"Hey!" Ronon glared at him. "She hasn't been outside my quarters since she got here, and first thing, someone's sticking her with needles. See how you like it."
"Okay," Beckett said, labeling the vial of blood. "I'll run some tests, but she appears to be in good health. You can take her back now."
"Thanks, Doc," Ronon said, reaching with one hand for his coat that was draped over a chair and then bundling it around Zephyr and scooping her up. She went quiet then, and Ronon held her cradled against his chest.
It occurred to John that maybe he'd missed something important about Ronon. Something different from what he expected. That maybe when he looked at him, there was a whole other Ronon he hadn't been seeing.
He and McKay fell into step beside Ronon and the three of them headed back towards the crew quarters. McKay was on Ronon's other side, trying to peek into the coat.
"Hey, maybe we should have the next movie night at your place," John said. "So she can...you know. Start getting used to having other people around."
Ronon grinned. "You mean having the team around."
"Well, yeah," John said, and grinned back. "Yeah. Having the team around."
"Okay," said Ronon. "But I get to pick the movie."
"Who's a pretty girl?" Rodney cooed to Ronon's coat. "Who's a pretty girl?" and Ronon drew back the collar, just enough for Rodney to see the top of Zephyr's head where she was tucked against Ronon's chest. Zephyr growled faintly. "There she is," Rodney murmured, and smiled. "There's a pretty girl."
Summary: Ronon has known all his life that the three pillars of victory are honor, loyalty, and unity. He's been a member of Sheppard's team for two years when the team to which he owes his first loyalty finds him again, during a time when Ronon must question whether his loyalty to Atlantis is returned. Torn, he chooses the team he believes needs him the most, but the price is more than just the home he's come to love, and the reward may be betrayal and death, or worse.
Categories: Bitextual, Slash Pairings > Ronon Dex/Sheppard
Characters: John Sheppard, Other, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Challenge, Drama, Episode Related, Team
Warnings: Adult themes, May squick
Chapters: 4 [Table of Contents]
Series: None
Word count: 53419; Completed: Yes
Characters: John Sheppard, Other, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Challenge, Drama, Episode Related, Team
Warnings: Adult themes, May squick
Chapters: 4 [Table of Contents]
Series: None
Word count: 53419; Completed: Yes