Fic: Along the Wire (SGA/MCR) (Ronon Dex/Bob Bryar) PG13
Fandom(s): SGA/Bandlash: MCR
Title: Along the Wire
Pairing: Ronon Dex/Bob Bryar
Rating: PG13
Word Count: ~2300
A/N: secrethappiness asked: What are Bob and Ronon up to these days? If not them, maybe Gerard/Patrick, summer of 2006 when Patrick and Bob were living together. Um, I maybe wanted to play around with Bob/Ronon again. The Bob/Ronon story Pinn is referring to is Heavy Connection.
Summary: Bob might not remember why he decided to try to out-hardcore someone who was hit by a bus and remained conscious, but he's totally invested in it now. And if Ronon just thought about it, he'd see just how badass Bob totally is.
*
They don't get to see each other a lot. In fact, most of the time Bob can't even get a hold of Ronon.
There are emails, of course. They come every week, like clockwork. Literally like clockwork, actually; when Bob thinks to look he sees that all of Ronon's emails come on Fridays at around ten in the evening.
Sometimes Ronon says things that make no sense, that lead Bob to believe that Ronon might be smoking the good stuff. Like when he talks about seeing a tree that reminds him of Bob's eyes.
Other times, whole words are missing from the middle of sentences, paragraphs, and there are notations inserted at the top of the message that indicate they've been edited prior to Bob getting them. He mentions that to Ronon, and then it seems like Ronon is more careful, because nothing is electronically redacted afterwards.
So, yeah, they trade a lot of emails. Bob finds himself often sending pages and pages to Ronon, because in order to tell him about why the thing that Ray did was funny? Yeah, that needs context. And context sometimes involves Bob having to talk about My Chem prior to his joining it, or about his childhood, or about his days teching for The Used.
Every once in a while--without pattern or predictability--Ronon will randomly be at a show, even if it's just for a night.
And maybe Bob should take it less seriously. Probably he should, in fact. But he can't. Even though he and Ronon only had about nine days of near-daily contact, and now only a couple of months of intermittent correspondence, Bob is kind of hooked.
He blames it on Ronon's mouth. And the drumsticks. And the other random gifts that seem to often be waiting for Bob at places even Bob didn't know he'd be beforehand.
Ronon blames it on Bob's hands, which Bob thinks is totally unfair on the one hand...but on the other hand he's sort of proud and smug about it.
At any rate, Bob figures it makes sense, and if Gerard looks at him skeptically, then whatever, because Gerard married someone he only knew for three months and he doesn't have any room to talk, okay?
*
It's sort of Bob's fault, but not really.
Because he told Frank. Actually, he threatened Frank after the whole TRL thing, and Frank behaved himself after that, mostly.
So it's Frank's fault for doing it, but it's also Bob's fault for letting his guard down. For a while, he was taking precautions, but Frank was being good and the techs started getting a little ragged, and Bob finally just told them not to worry, not to bother.
And that's why half his fucking kit collapses--again--during a show when Frank gets too caught up in the moment and climbs on it. And that wouldn't have been a problem, except that Frank falls onto Bob and knocks him down, and Bob happens to slam his head against the stage when he lands.
*
Bob doesn't want to go to the hospital. In his mind, the only thing worse than hospitals are European hospitals, which makes no sense except that he's sort of been conditioned to think that non-US healthcare is sub-standard. But everyone insists and once everyone is in his face the only smart thing to do is cooperate.
He tries to draw the line at the MRI, but Brian is a total motherfucker.
"I will tie you down if I have to," he says with a grin that's only pleasant on the outside.
Bob sort of wants to remind Brian of all the times, way back when, he begged Bob to fuck him. Or of the time two months ago when Bob walked in on Brian and Matt going at it. He might even want to make a dig about Brian's predilection for getting his fuck buddies into My Chem.
But Brian brandishes a set of braided black rope, and Bob manfully keeps his mouth shut and lets the nurse take him for the MRI.
*
Somewhere around the sixth time Bob is woken up to answer questions about the date and the country he's in, he's not met with a stern-faced nurse but with Ronon.
Bob's groggy and sort of convinced he's imagining Ronon, but he goes with it. "Hey."
"Who am I?"
"Ronon."
"Where are you?"
Bob's lips twitch, because, seriously. On a good day he can't keep track of where they are when they're on tour, and this isn't a good day. He hasn't been able to give anyone a straight answer on that, despite the fact that he thinks Ray actually coached him on the right answer the second time he was woken up. "Fuck if I know. A hospital in Europe."
Ronon's lips twitch. "Good enough. Go back to sleep."
*
The next time Bob is woken up it's by a nurse, but Ronon is still in the room. He's in the corner, back straight so that he's at his full height, and he's glaring down at Frank, who's backed into the corner.
"--really, I swear, never again," Frank says. He's maybe a little pale and nervous looking, but Bob doesn't think much of it because his nurse is getting antsy about him not answering and Bob sort of needs to pass out again.
*
"...on fire and I kept playing."
Ronon stares at Bob, completely and totally unimpressed. Which. Is kind of weird. Most of the time, people tend to be really impressed by that story. Not that Bob usually tells it. People just hear the story and gawk and talk about how totally hardcore Bob is.
But Ronon's been surprising the fuck out of Bob since the day they met, so, yeah. He should have expected this...non reaction.
"That's stupid," Ronon says after a long pause.
Bob glares at him because, seriously. He might not remember why he decided to try to out-hardcore someone who was hit by a bus and remained conscious, but he's totally invested in it now. And if Ronon just thought about it, he'd see just how badass Bob totally is.
Ronon, however, continues to look at Bob in a way that makes him feel like a total fucking idiot.
"Hey--"
"Stupid," Ronon repeats, only now his expression isn't nearly as flat: his teeth are grinding and his hands are curled into fists.
Bob sucks in a breath and tries to think of something to say. He hasn't come up with anything by the time Ronon grabs his ankle and lifts his leg up. They're sitting in a booth in the bus and it's tight. Bob shouldn't be able to get his leg to bend like that, but Ronon's grip is inexorable. Also? He sets his other hand at the back of Bob's thigh and digs into the muscle so that there is no strain or pull when he settles Bob's leg on the table.
Ronon pushes the leg of Bob's pants up and stares at the burn scars. He's seen them before, of course, but it was always in the middle of sex. Or at the start of sex. Or, like, after sex. It's different, now, with Ronon looking at the scars when sex is the last thing on either of their minds.
And it's not like the scars are bad, really. They're a whiter shade of pale than the rest of Bob's skin, and they're mostly not all that noticeable. But Ronon is staring at them, touching them with one finger that doesn't hardly make any contact, and Bob is more aware of the marks than he has been since his skin was gone and his flesh raw and throbbing in time to his heart beat.
Ronon's finger touches down, suddenly and without warning, pressing hard and deep into Bob's leg. "Don't be stupid," Ronon says, gruff and growly.
Bob's known him long enough at this point to realize that it's not meanness but something else, something like fear, at the heart of Ronon's inflection.
Bob swallows and nods his head. "Okay." He reaches across the table, and he doesn't even get a chance to wince before Ronon's fingers press into the back of his thigh again, and Bob is able to complete the motion, is able to clamp a hand down on Ronon's shoulder. "Okay. Okay."
Ronon stares at him, hard and direct, and Bob doesn't want to see Ronon's jaw clench, or his hands fist, again, so he means what he says and he lets it show. Eventually Ronon exhales and nods in acknowledgement, his finger gentling on Bob's scars again. His eyes go to Bob's forehead, which is still stitched up, and Bob remembers suddenly how this started: Ronon being worried about Bob, and Bob trying to reassure him that he's tougher than Ronon thinks.
"That was Frank's stupidity, not mine," he says quietly. Ronon's eyes fall shut briefly before he nods again.
*
If there was a memo, Bob missed it. Like, seriously, seriously missed it. And if there wasn't a memo, there damn well should have been. Because Ronon doesn't talk much about what he does for a living, but he talks about his team and Bob's not stupid. He knows Ronon's on the line--he might not know what line, but he knows there's a line and Ronon is on it, is digging his heels into it and baring his teeth at whoever's on the other side--and he knows that Ronon's team is more than just three people he works with. He knows that Ronon's team is probably more than Bob's band.
So there should have been a fucking memo, or even a fucking email--Bob would have settled for that; hell, he would have settled for a text message--from Ronon announcing the fact that his team was going to show up for Bob's first show after the head cracking incident.
But there isn't, and so Bob runs into Ronon and three strangers--one of whom he recognizes from the ER where he and Ronon first met--backstage after the show.
Bob long ago gave up figuring out how the fuck Ronon gets to him, and he's too tired from the tour and the latest show to even try to come up with insane theories about how Ronon's team has gotten backstage without any kind of passes whatsoever. Bob just knows that security needs to be more on the ball so that Bob can have, like, warning that he's about to meet the fucking in laws.
Frank goes on tiptoes and curls an arm around Bob's shoulders. The fucker is laughing, of course, and Bob is too much of a mess of post-show adrenaline and pre-meeting nerves to want to hear anything Frank has to say. "Bob--"
"Shut up."
"But--"
Bob turns his head slightly and stares down at Frank. "I will tell Jamia that the merch girl grabbed for your dick."
Frank's mouth drops open. "That's not fucking cool, man. What did the merch girl ever do to you?" Bob narrows his eyes, and Frank backs off because he's not stupid and because Jamia is probably more hardcore in her own way than even Ronon. "Fine, you prick. Good luck."
Frank punches Bob's back and stalks off to hang all over Gerard, who's standing with Ray and Matt, all of them staring from Bob to Ronon and his people.
"Fucking great," Bob hisses and then takes a breath and marches forward.
*
The thing is, Ronon's also provided context during the course of emails. So Bob knows that Sheppard's sharper than his surface is shiny, and that McKay rambles every last thought in his head, and that Teyla's reactions are better read in the slant of her mouth than by her words.
Bob does his best to pay attention during the dinner in the lobby of his hotel, to not come off like the rockstar asshole people sometimes assume he--or the others--are.
He's not sure what, if anything, Ronon's people know about him. Ronon isn't much of a talker, the need for context in emails aside, and Bob wouldn't be surprised if they didn't know a damn thing about Bob.
But they're pleasant, mostly, and even if McKay is a little too ham-handed in his vetting, it's not one of the worst vetting's Bob's ever had to sit through. Ronon seems unconcerned and totally at ease throughout the entire meal, and Bob's still debating whether that's good or shitty when Teyla gives Bob a pointed smile when he unsuccessfully tries to hide his third yawn.
"We have kept you up. You should perhaps get some rest," she says smoothly. Bob's not sure what she has against contractions and he's not going to ask. Especially not when all it takes is an arched brow to get McKay and Sheppard to fall in line with her wishes. "John. Is there not something you need to tell Ronon?"
Sheppard blinks at her, then cuts a quick glance in Bob's direction before looking at Ronon. "Two weeks leave. Stay accessible."
Ronon stares at Sheppard and Bob watches as a whole conversation is had in the space of three seconds, with nothing but their eyes, before Ronon grins.
*
Later, in Bob's hotel room, he leans over Ronon, who's sweaty and slightly out of breath. "You know," he gasps, because he's really out of breath, "the tour's over in, like, five days."
Ronon makes a questioning noise. "Are you going back to Chicago?" he asks, his pronunciation of the city name careful and seemingly practiced.
Bob nods. "Yeah, yeah, I am." Ronon just looks at him. "You should--I mean, you could come with me."
Ronon's smile is broad and makes him look like his age. "I will." He pauses, considering. "I've never been on a plane."
Bob buries his face against Ronon's bare chest and laughs, because he really doesn't think he wants to ever know how the hell Ronon's been getting to him.
He settles, instead, for saying, "Okay, good. I'll show you my hometown."
*
.End
Title: Along the Wire
Pairing: Ronon Dex/Bob Bryar
Rating: PG13
Word Count: ~2300
A/N: secrethappiness asked: What are Bob and Ronon up to these days? If not them, maybe Gerard/Patrick, summer of 2006 when Patrick and Bob were living together. Um, I maybe wanted to play around with Bob/Ronon again. The Bob/Ronon story Pinn is referring to is Heavy Connection.
Summary: Bob might not remember why he decided to try to out-hardcore someone who was hit by a bus and remained conscious, but he's totally invested in it now. And if Ronon just thought about it, he'd see just how badass Bob totally is.
*
They don't get to see each other a lot. In fact, most of the time Bob can't even get a hold of Ronon.
There are emails, of course. They come every week, like clockwork. Literally like clockwork, actually; when Bob thinks to look he sees that all of Ronon's emails come on Fridays at around ten in the evening.
Sometimes Ronon says things that make no sense, that lead Bob to believe that Ronon might be smoking the good stuff. Like when he talks about seeing a tree that reminds him of Bob's eyes.
Other times, whole words are missing from the middle of sentences, paragraphs, and there are notations inserted at the top of the message that indicate they've been edited prior to Bob getting them. He mentions that to Ronon, and then it seems like Ronon is more careful, because nothing is electronically redacted afterwards.
So, yeah, they trade a lot of emails. Bob finds himself often sending pages and pages to Ronon, because in order to tell him about why the thing that Ray did was funny? Yeah, that needs context. And context sometimes involves Bob having to talk about My Chem prior to his joining it, or about his childhood, or about his days teching for The Used.
Every once in a while--without pattern or predictability--Ronon will randomly be at a show, even if it's just for a night.
And maybe Bob should take it less seriously. Probably he should, in fact. But he can't. Even though he and Ronon only had about nine days of near-daily contact, and now only a couple of months of intermittent correspondence, Bob is kind of hooked.
He blames it on Ronon's mouth. And the drumsticks. And the other random gifts that seem to often be waiting for Bob at places even Bob didn't know he'd be beforehand.
Ronon blames it on Bob's hands, which Bob thinks is totally unfair on the one hand...but on the other hand he's sort of proud and smug about it.
At any rate, Bob figures it makes sense, and if Gerard looks at him skeptically, then whatever, because Gerard married someone he only knew for three months and he doesn't have any room to talk, okay?
*
It's sort of Bob's fault, but not really.
Because he told Frank. Actually, he threatened Frank after the whole TRL thing, and Frank behaved himself after that, mostly.
So it's Frank's fault for doing it, but it's also Bob's fault for letting his guard down. For a while, he was taking precautions, but Frank was being good and the techs started getting a little ragged, and Bob finally just told them not to worry, not to bother.
And that's why half his fucking kit collapses--again--during a show when Frank gets too caught up in the moment and climbs on it. And that wouldn't have been a problem, except that Frank falls onto Bob and knocks him down, and Bob happens to slam his head against the stage when he lands.
*
Bob doesn't want to go to the hospital. In his mind, the only thing worse than hospitals are European hospitals, which makes no sense except that he's sort of been conditioned to think that non-US healthcare is sub-standard. But everyone insists and once everyone is in his face the only smart thing to do is cooperate.
He tries to draw the line at the MRI, but Brian is a total motherfucker.
"I will tie you down if I have to," he says with a grin that's only pleasant on the outside.
Bob sort of wants to remind Brian of all the times, way back when, he begged Bob to fuck him. Or of the time two months ago when Bob walked in on Brian and Matt going at it. He might even want to make a dig about Brian's predilection for getting his fuck buddies into My Chem.
But Brian brandishes a set of braided black rope, and Bob manfully keeps his mouth shut and lets the nurse take him for the MRI.
*
Somewhere around the sixth time Bob is woken up to answer questions about the date and the country he's in, he's not met with a stern-faced nurse but with Ronon.
Bob's groggy and sort of convinced he's imagining Ronon, but he goes with it. "Hey."
"Who am I?"
"Ronon."
"Where are you?"
Bob's lips twitch, because, seriously. On a good day he can't keep track of where they are when they're on tour, and this isn't a good day. He hasn't been able to give anyone a straight answer on that, despite the fact that he thinks Ray actually coached him on the right answer the second time he was woken up. "Fuck if I know. A hospital in Europe."
Ronon's lips twitch. "Good enough. Go back to sleep."
*
The next time Bob is woken up it's by a nurse, but Ronon is still in the room. He's in the corner, back straight so that he's at his full height, and he's glaring down at Frank, who's backed into the corner.
"--really, I swear, never again," Frank says. He's maybe a little pale and nervous looking, but Bob doesn't think much of it because his nurse is getting antsy about him not answering and Bob sort of needs to pass out again.
*
"...on fire and I kept playing."
Ronon stares at Bob, completely and totally unimpressed. Which. Is kind of weird. Most of the time, people tend to be really impressed by that story. Not that Bob usually tells it. People just hear the story and gawk and talk about how totally hardcore Bob is.
But Ronon's been surprising the fuck out of Bob since the day they met, so, yeah. He should have expected this...non reaction.
"That's stupid," Ronon says after a long pause.
Bob glares at him because, seriously. He might not remember why he decided to try to out-hardcore someone who was hit by a bus and remained conscious, but he's totally invested in it now. And if Ronon just thought about it, he'd see just how badass Bob totally is.
Ronon, however, continues to look at Bob in a way that makes him feel like a total fucking idiot.
"Hey--"
"Stupid," Ronon repeats, only now his expression isn't nearly as flat: his teeth are grinding and his hands are curled into fists.
Bob sucks in a breath and tries to think of something to say. He hasn't come up with anything by the time Ronon grabs his ankle and lifts his leg up. They're sitting in a booth in the bus and it's tight. Bob shouldn't be able to get his leg to bend like that, but Ronon's grip is inexorable. Also? He sets his other hand at the back of Bob's thigh and digs into the muscle so that there is no strain or pull when he settles Bob's leg on the table.
Ronon pushes the leg of Bob's pants up and stares at the burn scars. He's seen them before, of course, but it was always in the middle of sex. Or at the start of sex. Or, like, after sex. It's different, now, with Ronon looking at the scars when sex is the last thing on either of their minds.
And it's not like the scars are bad, really. They're a whiter shade of pale than the rest of Bob's skin, and they're mostly not all that noticeable. But Ronon is staring at them, touching them with one finger that doesn't hardly make any contact, and Bob is more aware of the marks than he has been since his skin was gone and his flesh raw and throbbing in time to his heart beat.
Ronon's finger touches down, suddenly and without warning, pressing hard and deep into Bob's leg. "Don't be stupid," Ronon says, gruff and growly.
Bob's known him long enough at this point to realize that it's not meanness but something else, something like fear, at the heart of Ronon's inflection.
Bob swallows and nods his head. "Okay." He reaches across the table, and he doesn't even get a chance to wince before Ronon's fingers press into the back of his thigh again, and Bob is able to complete the motion, is able to clamp a hand down on Ronon's shoulder. "Okay. Okay."
Ronon stares at him, hard and direct, and Bob doesn't want to see Ronon's jaw clench, or his hands fist, again, so he means what he says and he lets it show. Eventually Ronon exhales and nods in acknowledgement, his finger gentling on Bob's scars again. His eyes go to Bob's forehead, which is still stitched up, and Bob remembers suddenly how this started: Ronon being worried about Bob, and Bob trying to reassure him that he's tougher than Ronon thinks.
"That was Frank's stupidity, not mine," he says quietly. Ronon's eyes fall shut briefly before he nods again.
*
If there was a memo, Bob missed it. Like, seriously, seriously missed it. And if there wasn't a memo, there damn well should have been. Because Ronon doesn't talk much about what he does for a living, but he talks about his team and Bob's not stupid. He knows Ronon's on the line--he might not know what line, but he knows there's a line and Ronon is on it, is digging his heels into it and baring his teeth at whoever's on the other side--and he knows that Ronon's team is more than just three people he works with. He knows that Ronon's team is probably more than Bob's band.
So there should have been a fucking memo, or even a fucking email--Bob would have settled for that; hell, he would have settled for a text message--from Ronon announcing the fact that his team was going to show up for Bob's first show after the head cracking incident.
But there isn't, and so Bob runs into Ronon and three strangers--one of whom he recognizes from the ER where he and Ronon first met--backstage after the show.
Bob long ago gave up figuring out how the fuck Ronon gets to him, and he's too tired from the tour and the latest show to even try to come up with insane theories about how Ronon's team has gotten backstage without any kind of passes whatsoever. Bob just knows that security needs to be more on the ball so that Bob can have, like, warning that he's about to meet the fucking in laws.
Frank goes on tiptoes and curls an arm around Bob's shoulders. The fucker is laughing, of course, and Bob is too much of a mess of post-show adrenaline and pre-meeting nerves to want to hear anything Frank has to say. "Bob--"
"Shut up."
"But--"
Bob turns his head slightly and stares down at Frank. "I will tell Jamia that the merch girl grabbed for your dick."
Frank's mouth drops open. "That's not fucking cool, man. What did the merch girl ever do to you?" Bob narrows his eyes, and Frank backs off because he's not stupid and because Jamia is probably more hardcore in her own way than even Ronon. "Fine, you prick. Good luck."
Frank punches Bob's back and stalks off to hang all over Gerard, who's standing with Ray and Matt, all of them staring from Bob to Ronon and his people.
"Fucking great," Bob hisses and then takes a breath and marches forward.
*
The thing is, Ronon's also provided context during the course of emails. So Bob knows that Sheppard's sharper than his surface is shiny, and that McKay rambles every last thought in his head, and that Teyla's reactions are better read in the slant of her mouth than by her words.
Bob does his best to pay attention during the dinner in the lobby of his hotel, to not come off like the rockstar asshole people sometimes assume he--or the others--are.
He's not sure what, if anything, Ronon's people know about him. Ronon isn't much of a talker, the need for context in emails aside, and Bob wouldn't be surprised if they didn't know a damn thing about Bob.
But they're pleasant, mostly, and even if McKay is a little too ham-handed in his vetting, it's not one of the worst vetting's Bob's ever had to sit through. Ronon seems unconcerned and totally at ease throughout the entire meal, and Bob's still debating whether that's good or shitty when Teyla gives Bob a pointed smile when he unsuccessfully tries to hide his third yawn.
"We have kept you up. You should perhaps get some rest," she says smoothly. Bob's not sure what she has against contractions and he's not going to ask. Especially not when all it takes is an arched brow to get McKay and Sheppard to fall in line with her wishes. "John. Is there not something you need to tell Ronon?"
Sheppard blinks at her, then cuts a quick glance in Bob's direction before looking at Ronon. "Two weeks leave. Stay accessible."
Ronon stares at Sheppard and Bob watches as a whole conversation is had in the space of three seconds, with nothing but their eyes, before Ronon grins.
*
Later, in Bob's hotel room, he leans over Ronon, who's sweaty and slightly out of breath. "You know," he gasps, because he's really out of breath, "the tour's over in, like, five days."
Ronon makes a questioning noise. "Are you going back to Chicago?" he asks, his pronunciation of the city name careful and seemingly practiced.
Bob nods. "Yeah, yeah, I am." Ronon just looks at him. "You should--I mean, you could come with me."
Ronon's smile is broad and makes him look like his age. "I will." He pauses, considering. "I've never been on a plane."
Bob buries his face against Ronon's bare chest and laughs, because he really doesn't think he wants to ever know how the hell Ronon's been getting to him.
He settles, instead, for saying, "Okay, good. I'll show you my hometown."
*
.End