Right Now
Title: Right Now
Rating: PG-13
By: Jenda Vis
Spoilers: Up through Broken Ties
Pairing: Sheppard/Dex
Genre: Angst, veering into AU
Warnings: Dubious unbetaed prose
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: Right now, things are a mess.
A/N: Just something I almost threw inside IATW that wouldn't leave me alone.
Right Now #1
Right Now #2
Right Now #3
Right Now #4
From time to time, Ty wonders what it would be like to see Ronon smiling and happy and in love. Imagines what she'll say when she sees it. Comes up with all sorts of brilliant things to say. Entire conversations that she should have been able to have.
Up until now, it's a lonely delusion, so she's never spoken of it.
Right now, though, Ronon, her son, is trying not to shirk away from her eyes, and she's puzzled for a moment. Can't figure out what he sees there that's so terrible.
Then she gets it.
She moves her eyes first, locking on their clutching hands. Lets it sink in. Decides that there's nothing to fear, here, but that she's the only one that knows that, because she hasn't said anything yet.
"That's." She looks up, sees John. He's not even looking at her, he's staring at Ronon's face, concerned, and that just seals it. "That's wonderful, Ronon." Smiles again- she's beaming already, but there's more. "Both of you," she adds, because John was there, holding hands with her son and staring at him like he'd take on a wraith for him, and one doddering old woman would be as nothing in comparison. Thinks about saying something along the lines of he's cute, Ronon. I don't blame you in the least, but doesn't.
They're not at the point of joking. Not yet.
She catches Ronon glancing away, chin tucking into his chest, and he's smiling and squinting over shining eyes. Like he started to do when he was nine and decided he was too old to act his age. John, too, decides to pretend not to notice, and looks back at her, looking like he has no idea what he's supposed to say.
Ty wonders how they do these things on Earth. Decides she can get away with nosy questioning for a moment or two.
"How long have you been with each other?"
"Little over a year, Satedan," John says, and somehow, that measurement, that small, insignificant detail, that he knows that time was different, there, tells her everything she needs to know. She's surprised that it makes her laugh, though.
Ronon's quirking her eyebrow at her, and looking just like his father, so she shakes her head. Shrugs it off.
"I. Ah. Didn't think you'd react like this," Ronon starts, instead of saying why don't you hate me or I was expecting to fight for this.
"If he did not love you, he would not have brought us together."
"Not what I meant."
"Ah. You mean. You're both men?"
"Yeah."
"I've thought for years that you were dead, Ronon. Everything else is nothing." She forces herself to stop there. It all sounds like it's coming out wrong. Like it's just something she's supposed to say. "You remember your uncle? Lej?"
"Yes. Also remember what happened to him," Ronon is trying to keep the accusation out of his voice.
"As do I. I tried to stop it, but the laws were the laws. I couldn't do anything."
"I remember," Ronon nods. Looks over at John for a second, and their eyes only meet for a moment, but they're having an entire conversation, there on the bench. Just long enough for Ty to notice the warmth of the sun on her skin, the pleasant breeze coming from all that ocean.
"I, ah," John begins, almost apologetically, like he doesn't think he's part of this conversation. Only takes eye contact and a grin to get him going, though. "Here, the laws are different. But we still can't really tell anyone. They'd send me back to Earth, so…"
"So I should not go around asking questions about it, or telling anyone?" It's just a guess, but John's stare is breaking into surprised laughter, and she thinks she has it right.
Ronon's stomach rumbles, Ty can hear it from here, so it must be time to go back inside for the midday meal.
---
Ty wakes from her nap and finds herself in the city of the Ancestors. Gets out of bed like it's no big deal, at least until she walks out into the hallway and sees all the people, here. It's overwhelming. She waves to a few of them. There are so many people so happy to meet her that it's getting embarrassing. She hasn't remembered half of their names, so she doesn't know who to ask for directions. It's just occurring to her that she might be getting herself lost.
"Don't worry about it," Ronon says. "McKay's been here for years and hasn't figured out the names of most of his own staff. They're used to it," and he leads her out of the mess hall and towards the balcony. She wants to see his quarters, but she doesn't press the issue, not yet, because the view out here. All that ocean and sunlight. It's amazing.
"Hello Missus Dex," one of the soldiers says. It's Major Lorne, the cute one. With the dimples. "How are you today?"
"Please, call me Ty. And I am fine, thank you. How are you?"
"I'm fine. Where are you off to?"
"I am trying to locate my son," she says, and the words seem so strange falling from her mouth so calmly, since they were ten years overdue.
"Probably in the gym, sparring. I'll walk you down there, if you'd like," he offers, turning the opposite direction down the hallway and managing not to point out how far off course she was.
She gets him talking, a little, about his home, and about art, and reminds herself to ask Ronon if he still paints.
They arrive at another heavy door, though, and as it opens, the thought is erased, startled from her mind.
Ronon is fighting with another soldier, throwing himself into the violence like there's nothing else worth considering. His eyes are feral, almost, but they're concentrated, gleaming as he tosses the soldier over his back.
She's almost moving forward, into the room, but she stops. Major Lorne isn't moving, and, to look at the grin on his face, he is not at all worried about any of this. Like he sees it every day.
He probably does.
She forces herself to watch, some more, to learn more about what she's seeing before taking action. Before going in there to calm him down. Because Ronon is a good fighter, has been ever since his second or third year of training, she knew this already.
But she's never seen it. Never watched him like she's watching him now, wild but careful. Rolling with every hit the soldier manages to make.
He fought for Sateda, until he couldn't any more. Then he fought, alone, against the wraith for years.
She knows that it's changed him. Sees glimpses. He's quieter, now. More watchful. Unafraid but wary, all at once.
"Shoots first and asks questions later, and it's saved our asses more than once," Doctor McKay said, shoveling bread into his mouth.
"This, I am aware of," Ty responded, remembering the feeling of being stunned, the disbelief on Ronon's face when he'd pulled the trigger. She smiled, though, deliberately softening the blow, not wanting Ronon to begin apologizing-at great heartfelt length- again.
He hasn't sung once, at least not in her presence, not since she's been here. Hasn't gotten all the notes wrong while humming to himself in the space between conversations. Ty suspects he hasn't in a long time.
"He fights well," she manages to say, because the soldier is back on his feet, manages to kick Ronon's knee out from under him, and Ronon's smiling almost proudly as he picks himself up from the mat, and there's laughter in the room as he starts talking to the soldiers. He's teaching them, and it's amazing, somehow, because he might not sing to everyone anymore, but he's not alone, either.
"Yes he does," Major Lorne nods, shrugs as he grins. "Been pushing himself pretty hard ever since the entire wraith worshipping thing."
"The what?"
---
Ronon looks up in time to see his mother hurrying from the room. Sees Major Lorne looking towards the door with a face shifting from puzzled to horrified. Doesn't know what's happened, but he needs to go after her. Now.
Wraps up the training session, leaves the soldiers to practice on their own, and he's heading towards Lorne. Doesn't even dry the sweat from his skin first.
"What's up?"
"I. Ah. I'm guessing your mom didn't know about the wraith fucking with your head," Lorne offers, pulling back with a grimace like he knows he fucked up. Hears him calling as he's striding through the door. Offering apologies.
Ronon hurries to the transporter, goes up the hallway to the guest quarters. Waves his hand, hears the chime, but she doesn't answer, and the silence is a punch in the gut.
Katie Brown is coming down the hall, and he can't to make a scene. Doesn't know what to do but he has to do something because it's all falling apart again. Now he knows. This is what will ruin everything-so he starts walking again.
Isn't sure where he's going until he's there. Until Kanaan's opening the door, face turning worried as he steps back to let him in. He glances back and sees Kanaan stepping towards the cradle, taking Torren with him to the far corner of the room, looking out the window with him. Trying to give them some privacy, because he's probably already figured that Ronon's not here to talk about their next hunting trip.
Teyla waves him to the floor next to her, sets the knives she was sharpening to the side.
"Ronon, what is the matter?"
"My mother. She knows the wraith had me."
"But you are better," Teyla insists. "Surely she must see it."
"Don't know. She's not opening her door. She ran from the room like she was afraid of me." Because she should be. Ashamed, too.
"I am truly sorry. Have you spoken to John about this?"
"Can't. Not now, he's meeting with Woolsey for another hour or so. I just." Didn't know where else to go. He shrugs the rest so he doesn't have to say it. I had to tell someone.
"You are welcome to stay here until he is finished."
This is stupid. "Thanks, but." He stands again, not really feeling any better. "Think I'm going to hang in my quarters for a while. If you see John?"
"I will inform him when I see him."
"Thanks." He nods, heads to the door again.
"Ronon," Teyla calls, but she's picking up a knife again, holding it against the stone. "It will be alright. Do not worry."
"Okay," he says, nods again, like the motion alone will make it so, and leaves.
---
"Are you okay?" John barrels into the room to find Ronon hunched against the side of the bed, hair hanging over his face, his knees. Looking not okay.
Ronon hasn't looked up yet, not even when he must have heard the door opening, that's the unsettling part, but he shakes his head. At least he knows John's there.
John sits on the bed, carefully touches his leg against Ronon's side, in case he's wound too tight to allow the contact. He's not, leans against John like he wants it, at least a little, but he hasn't looked up, yet.
"She's afraid of me."
"We'll talk to her."
"She won't allow it. Wouldn't open her door. She won't leave her room."
"She already has. Woolsey and Keller are talking to her right now. They're on it."
"What if," Ronon doesn't finish, but John can fill in the blanks. What if she convinces them that you're a threat? What if she tells them about us? What if she's already left, and you never get to see her again?
John slides off the bed, down to the floor, puts an arm around Ronon's back, holds him close. Doesn't really have any other ideas. Ronon lifts his head and tilts the hair out of his face, though. His eyes are expressionless when they open, but he shakes his head and smirks mirthlessly.
John suppresses another yawn. It's early, yet, but if the arm sliding down to the floor is any indication, he actually is tired. Manages to shift once, winds up with his head on Ronon's thigh, Ronon's hand threading through the hair at the base of his neck, and figures he might as well sleep for a while.
---
"You should talk to your son," Mister Woolsey says, and it's the first confident statement she's heard from him all day. Doctor Keller is nodding along as well. "I believe he's the one to best answer your questions. We can send along a guard if it makes you feel better."
"Thank you," Ty bows her head and rises, mind still picking through the scattered information they've been throwing at it for the past while.
Major Lorne's called into the room, escorts her to Ronon's. This time, he doesn't talk about art. Doesn't say anything much at all, but his stance is apologetic.
They arrive at another closed door, and she realizes she's staring when Lorne asks, "Would you like me to go in there with you, ma'am?" Like she's afraid of what she's going to find inside.
And she is, she'll admit that much to herself. But she's really just pausing, because she's about to step through the door and see the home that her son has made for himself here, living in the Ancestral city of Atlantis, of all places. A place she never truly believed existed, not even when her father told her the stories.
It's all just a bit too much, but she's not going to show it.
"No, thank you. I will be fine."
"I'll be out here. Just shout if you need me, okay?"
"Thank you." Lorne is nodding to some soldiers as they pass, waits for a moment, and steps in front of her to wave his hand over the control. Apparently he's satisfied with what he sees inside the room, because he steps aside. He's grinning when he turns away.
Ronon is sitting on the floor, back against the bed, and cradling John's sleeping head in his lap. Has a hand on his throat, but it's showing none of the viciousness she'd seen earlier in the gym. Instead it's calming, protective, like it's frozen in mid-stroke over the side of John's neck.
Because Ronon's staring at her, and he's not moving. At all.
She steps into the room, spins to watch the door glide shut softly behind her. Ronon's shaking John awake gently when she turns back, his hand sliding down to his collar to do so.
She looks away, studies the painting on the wall. It's the brightest thing in an otherwise drab room, but it's familiar. Staring at it gives her a minute to rehearse her questions. Winds up making her reconsider them, too.
Because Colonel John Sheppard is the military leader of this city. He is responsible for the lives of all of his people, and he trusts Ronon enough to fall asleep with his hand on his throat.
It's more convincing than every defense that simpering Doctor had given her, every logical argument that Mister Woolsey had put forth.
Once John is sitting up on his own, blinking once and beginning to look like he wants to start an argument with her, she begins to speak.
"I am sorry about earlier. I overreacted."
"There's a lot of that going around this week," John says, grinning, and he's standing like he's decided two things. One, that things are going to be okay here, and two, that Ronon can handle them. He looks down at Ronon once, though, leans close, only he's not whispering anything to him, he's kissing him. Quickly, then pulling away, ducking his head sheepishly as he passes. His eyes, though, are still serious. Appraising.
Ronon stands too, winds up sitting on the bed. She takes the chair next to it.
"I didn't know. Earlier. That anyone could recover from being under the wraith's thrall."
"I didn't either. It's still." Ronon breaks off like he doesn't want to admit it. "It's getting easier, though."
"Good. Gods, I am sorry, though." And sometime soon, she'll ask him about it. But not right now.
"It's okay."
"I should have talked to you first. Not Mister Woolsey and that nervous doctor woman." This makes Ronon laugh, like she hoped it would, and she cast her eyes around the room again. "That painting," she nods towards it. "It's from the museum."
"Yeah. I." Ronon scratches at his hair, considering it. "I went back. A while ago. Retrieved some stuff."
"You looted our museum. As councilwoman, I should probably have you arrested."
"Pretty sure I could escape, since the jail's missing half it's walls."
"Then I suppose I will let the transgression slide with only a warning."
"Thanks."
The conversation hangs there, as obvious as the painting, for some time. Scans the room again, sees a vase on the table that makes her breath stop.
Ronon turns to follow her gaze, smiles when he finds out what's causing it. Reaches over to the nightstand to pick the vase up.
"Looted this too,' Ronon hands it over. "Wasn't much else left there, though. The house is gone."
"I figured as much," she turns the vase over in her hands, traces the leaves painted on the side of it. The back side of it is burned, marring the finish, but it's still in one piece.
She hands it back, but Ronon shakes his head. "Keep it. Just made sense to bring it back here. Otherwise, it was just silverware and pots and pans. I never liked the thing."
"Your instructor did." She turns it over, looks at the scrawl carved into the base. Ronon Dex. First Level.
"Yeah, well. Sheppard thought I brought it back from the museum with the other stuff, so that's what he thinks all Satedan pottery is supposed to look like that."
"It will look lovely on the mantle above the fireplace," she decides, because at this point, this is what traditional Satedan pottery looks like. Might be the only example of it in the galaxy.
The door chimes again, and John's standing in the hallway, asking if they're ready to eat, pretending like he's not checking up on them. Even Ty can see the tension falling from his face, probably at finding them both in one piece.
Ronon's grinning, either at the prospect of John, or the prospect of food, and he rises from the bed.
Ty's eyes are still focused on the blanket as she stands. Thinks about the box she has, sitting in the back of her closet back home. She hasn't touched it in years, but she thinks, when she returns, that she'll open it again. Pull out the blanket that she bought for her son's wedding, years ago.
It might brighten up the room a little.
The End.
Rating: PG-13
By: Jenda Vis
Spoilers: Up through Broken Ties
Pairing: Sheppard/Dex
Genre: Angst, veering into AU
Warnings: Dubious unbetaed prose
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: Right now, things are a mess.
A/N: Just something I almost threw inside IATW that wouldn't leave me alone.
Right Now #1
Right Now #2
Right Now #3
Right Now #4
From time to time, Ty wonders what it would be like to see Ronon smiling and happy and in love. Imagines what she'll say when she sees it. Comes up with all sorts of brilliant things to say. Entire conversations that she should have been able to have.
Up until now, it's a lonely delusion, so she's never spoken of it.
Right now, though, Ronon, her son, is trying not to shirk away from her eyes, and she's puzzled for a moment. Can't figure out what he sees there that's so terrible.
Then she gets it.
She moves her eyes first, locking on their clutching hands. Lets it sink in. Decides that there's nothing to fear, here, but that she's the only one that knows that, because she hasn't said anything yet.
"That's." She looks up, sees John. He's not even looking at her, he's staring at Ronon's face, concerned, and that just seals it. "That's wonderful, Ronon." Smiles again- she's beaming already, but there's more. "Both of you," she adds, because John was there, holding hands with her son and staring at him like he'd take on a wraith for him, and one doddering old woman would be as nothing in comparison. Thinks about saying something along the lines of he's cute, Ronon. I don't blame you in the least, but doesn't.
They're not at the point of joking. Not yet.
She catches Ronon glancing away, chin tucking into his chest, and he's smiling and squinting over shining eyes. Like he started to do when he was nine and decided he was too old to act his age. John, too, decides to pretend not to notice, and looks back at her, looking like he has no idea what he's supposed to say.
Ty wonders how they do these things on Earth. Decides she can get away with nosy questioning for a moment or two.
"How long have you been with each other?"
"Little over a year, Satedan," John says, and somehow, that measurement, that small, insignificant detail, that he knows that time was different, there, tells her everything she needs to know. She's surprised that it makes her laugh, though.
Ronon's quirking her eyebrow at her, and looking just like his father, so she shakes her head. Shrugs it off.
"I. Ah. Didn't think you'd react like this," Ronon starts, instead of saying why don't you hate me or I was expecting to fight for this.
"If he did not love you, he would not have brought us together."
"Not what I meant."
"Ah. You mean. You're both men?"
"Yeah."
"I've thought for years that you were dead, Ronon. Everything else is nothing." She forces herself to stop there. It all sounds like it's coming out wrong. Like it's just something she's supposed to say. "You remember your uncle? Lej?"
"Yes. Also remember what happened to him," Ronon is trying to keep the accusation out of his voice.
"As do I. I tried to stop it, but the laws were the laws. I couldn't do anything."
"I remember," Ronon nods. Looks over at John for a second, and their eyes only meet for a moment, but they're having an entire conversation, there on the bench. Just long enough for Ty to notice the warmth of the sun on her skin, the pleasant breeze coming from all that ocean.
"I, ah," John begins, almost apologetically, like he doesn't think he's part of this conversation. Only takes eye contact and a grin to get him going, though. "Here, the laws are different. But we still can't really tell anyone. They'd send me back to Earth, so…"
"So I should not go around asking questions about it, or telling anyone?" It's just a guess, but John's stare is breaking into surprised laughter, and she thinks she has it right.
Ronon's stomach rumbles, Ty can hear it from here, so it must be time to go back inside for the midday meal.
---
Ty wakes from her nap and finds herself in the city of the Ancestors. Gets out of bed like it's no big deal, at least until she walks out into the hallway and sees all the people, here. It's overwhelming. She waves to a few of them. There are so many people so happy to meet her that it's getting embarrassing. She hasn't remembered half of their names, so she doesn't know who to ask for directions. It's just occurring to her that she might be getting herself lost.
"Don't worry about it," Ronon says. "McKay's been here for years and hasn't figured out the names of most of his own staff. They're used to it," and he leads her out of the mess hall and towards the balcony. She wants to see his quarters, but she doesn't press the issue, not yet, because the view out here. All that ocean and sunlight. It's amazing.
"Hello Missus Dex," one of the soldiers says. It's Major Lorne, the cute one. With the dimples. "How are you today?"
"Please, call me Ty. And I am fine, thank you. How are you?"
"I'm fine. Where are you off to?"
"I am trying to locate my son," she says, and the words seem so strange falling from her mouth so calmly, since they were ten years overdue.
"Probably in the gym, sparring. I'll walk you down there, if you'd like," he offers, turning the opposite direction down the hallway and managing not to point out how far off course she was.
She gets him talking, a little, about his home, and about art, and reminds herself to ask Ronon if he still paints.
They arrive at another heavy door, though, and as it opens, the thought is erased, startled from her mind.
Ronon is fighting with another soldier, throwing himself into the violence like there's nothing else worth considering. His eyes are feral, almost, but they're concentrated, gleaming as he tosses the soldier over his back.
She's almost moving forward, into the room, but she stops. Major Lorne isn't moving, and, to look at the grin on his face, he is not at all worried about any of this. Like he sees it every day.
He probably does.
She forces herself to watch, some more, to learn more about what she's seeing before taking action. Before going in there to calm him down. Because Ronon is a good fighter, has been ever since his second or third year of training, she knew this already.
But she's never seen it. Never watched him like she's watching him now, wild but careful. Rolling with every hit the soldier manages to make.
He fought for Sateda, until he couldn't any more. Then he fought, alone, against the wraith for years.
She knows that it's changed him. Sees glimpses. He's quieter, now. More watchful. Unafraid but wary, all at once.
"Shoots first and asks questions later, and it's saved our asses more than once," Doctor McKay said, shoveling bread into his mouth.
"This, I am aware of," Ty responded, remembering the feeling of being stunned, the disbelief on Ronon's face when he'd pulled the trigger. She smiled, though, deliberately softening the blow, not wanting Ronon to begin apologizing-at great heartfelt length- again.
He hasn't sung once, at least not in her presence, not since she's been here. Hasn't gotten all the notes wrong while humming to himself in the space between conversations. Ty suspects he hasn't in a long time.
"He fights well," she manages to say, because the soldier is back on his feet, manages to kick Ronon's knee out from under him, and Ronon's smiling almost proudly as he picks himself up from the mat, and there's laughter in the room as he starts talking to the soldiers. He's teaching them, and it's amazing, somehow, because he might not sing to everyone anymore, but he's not alone, either.
"Yes he does," Major Lorne nods, shrugs as he grins. "Been pushing himself pretty hard ever since the entire wraith worshipping thing."
"The what?"
---
Ronon looks up in time to see his mother hurrying from the room. Sees Major Lorne looking towards the door with a face shifting from puzzled to horrified. Doesn't know what's happened, but he needs to go after her. Now.
Wraps up the training session, leaves the soldiers to practice on their own, and he's heading towards Lorne. Doesn't even dry the sweat from his skin first.
"What's up?"
"I. Ah. I'm guessing your mom didn't know about the wraith fucking with your head," Lorne offers, pulling back with a grimace like he knows he fucked up. Hears him calling as he's striding through the door. Offering apologies.
Ronon hurries to the transporter, goes up the hallway to the guest quarters. Waves his hand, hears the chime, but she doesn't answer, and the silence is a punch in the gut.
Katie Brown is coming down the hall, and he can't to make a scene. Doesn't know what to do but he has to do something because it's all falling apart again. Now he knows. This is what will ruin everything-so he starts walking again.
Isn't sure where he's going until he's there. Until Kanaan's opening the door, face turning worried as he steps back to let him in. He glances back and sees Kanaan stepping towards the cradle, taking Torren with him to the far corner of the room, looking out the window with him. Trying to give them some privacy, because he's probably already figured that Ronon's not here to talk about their next hunting trip.
Teyla waves him to the floor next to her, sets the knives she was sharpening to the side.
"Ronon, what is the matter?"
"My mother. She knows the wraith had me."
"But you are better," Teyla insists. "Surely she must see it."
"Don't know. She's not opening her door. She ran from the room like she was afraid of me." Because she should be. Ashamed, too.
"I am truly sorry. Have you spoken to John about this?"
"Can't. Not now, he's meeting with Woolsey for another hour or so. I just." Didn't know where else to go. He shrugs the rest so he doesn't have to say it. I had to tell someone.
"You are welcome to stay here until he is finished."
This is stupid. "Thanks, but." He stands again, not really feeling any better. "Think I'm going to hang in my quarters for a while. If you see John?"
"I will inform him when I see him."
"Thanks." He nods, heads to the door again.
"Ronon," Teyla calls, but she's picking up a knife again, holding it against the stone. "It will be alright. Do not worry."
"Okay," he says, nods again, like the motion alone will make it so, and leaves.
---
"Are you okay?" John barrels into the room to find Ronon hunched against the side of the bed, hair hanging over his face, his knees. Looking not okay.
Ronon hasn't looked up yet, not even when he must have heard the door opening, that's the unsettling part, but he shakes his head. At least he knows John's there.
John sits on the bed, carefully touches his leg against Ronon's side, in case he's wound too tight to allow the contact. He's not, leans against John like he wants it, at least a little, but he hasn't looked up, yet.
"She's afraid of me."
"We'll talk to her."
"She won't allow it. Wouldn't open her door. She won't leave her room."
"She already has. Woolsey and Keller are talking to her right now. They're on it."
"What if," Ronon doesn't finish, but John can fill in the blanks. What if she convinces them that you're a threat? What if she tells them about us? What if she's already left, and you never get to see her again?
John slides off the bed, down to the floor, puts an arm around Ronon's back, holds him close. Doesn't really have any other ideas. Ronon lifts his head and tilts the hair out of his face, though. His eyes are expressionless when they open, but he shakes his head and smirks mirthlessly.
John suppresses another yawn. It's early, yet, but if the arm sliding down to the floor is any indication, he actually is tired. Manages to shift once, winds up with his head on Ronon's thigh, Ronon's hand threading through the hair at the base of his neck, and figures he might as well sleep for a while.
---
"You should talk to your son," Mister Woolsey says, and it's the first confident statement she's heard from him all day. Doctor Keller is nodding along as well. "I believe he's the one to best answer your questions. We can send along a guard if it makes you feel better."
"Thank you," Ty bows her head and rises, mind still picking through the scattered information they've been throwing at it for the past while.
Major Lorne's called into the room, escorts her to Ronon's. This time, he doesn't talk about art. Doesn't say anything much at all, but his stance is apologetic.
They arrive at another closed door, and she realizes she's staring when Lorne asks, "Would you like me to go in there with you, ma'am?" Like she's afraid of what she's going to find inside.
And she is, she'll admit that much to herself. But she's really just pausing, because she's about to step through the door and see the home that her son has made for himself here, living in the Ancestral city of Atlantis, of all places. A place she never truly believed existed, not even when her father told her the stories.
It's all just a bit too much, but she's not going to show it.
"No, thank you. I will be fine."
"I'll be out here. Just shout if you need me, okay?"
"Thank you." Lorne is nodding to some soldiers as they pass, waits for a moment, and steps in front of her to wave his hand over the control. Apparently he's satisfied with what he sees inside the room, because he steps aside. He's grinning when he turns away.
Ronon is sitting on the floor, back against the bed, and cradling John's sleeping head in his lap. Has a hand on his throat, but it's showing none of the viciousness she'd seen earlier in the gym. Instead it's calming, protective, like it's frozen in mid-stroke over the side of John's neck.
Because Ronon's staring at her, and he's not moving. At all.
She steps into the room, spins to watch the door glide shut softly behind her. Ronon's shaking John awake gently when she turns back, his hand sliding down to his collar to do so.
She looks away, studies the painting on the wall. It's the brightest thing in an otherwise drab room, but it's familiar. Staring at it gives her a minute to rehearse her questions. Winds up making her reconsider them, too.
Because Colonel John Sheppard is the military leader of this city. He is responsible for the lives of all of his people, and he trusts Ronon enough to fall asleep with his hand on his throat.
It's more convincing than every defense that simpering Doctor had given her, every logical argument that Mister Woolsey had put forth.
Once John is sitting up on his own, blinking once and beginning to look like he wants to start an argument with her, she begins to speak.
"I am sorry about earlier. I overreacted."
"There's a lot of that going around this week," John says, grinning, and he's standing like he's decided two things. One, that things are going to be okay here, and two, that Ronon can handle them. He looks down at Ronon once, though, leans close, only he's not whispering anything to him, he's kissing him. Quickly, then pulling away, ducking his head sheepishly as he passes. His eyes, though, are still serious. Appraising.
Ronon stands too, winds up sitting on the bed. She takes the chair next to it.
"I didn't know. Earlier. That anyone could recover from being under the wraith's thrall."
"I didn't either. It's still." Ronon breaks off like he doesn't want to admit it. "It's getting easier, though."
"Good. Gods, I am sorry, though." And sometime soon, she'll ask him about it. But not right now.
"It's okay."
"I should have talked to you first. Not Mister Woolsey and that nervous doctor woman." This makes Ronon laugh, like she hoped it would, and she cast her eyes around the room again. "That painting," she nods towards it. "It's from the museum."
"Yeah. I." Ronon scratches at his hair, considering it. "I went back. A while ago. Retrieved some stuff."
"You looted our museum. As councilwoman, I should probably have you arrested."
"Pretty sure I could escape, since the jail's missing half it's walls."
"Then I suppose I will let the transgression slide with only a warning."
"Thanks."
The conversation hangs there, as obvious as the painting, for some time. Scans the room again, sees a vase on the table that makes her breath stop.
Ronon turns to follow her gaze, smiles when he finds out what's causing it. Reaches over to the nightstand to pick the vase up.
"Looted this too,' Ronon hands it over. "Wasn't much else left there, though. The house is gone."
"I figured as much," she turns the vase over in her hands, traces the leaves painted on the side of it. The back side of it is burned, marring the finish, but it's still in one piece.
She hands it back, but Ronon shakes his head. "Keep it. Just made sense to bring it back here. Otherwise, it was just silverware and pots and pans. I never liked the thing."
"Your instructor did." She turns it over, looks at the scrawl carved into the base. Ronon Dex. First Level.
"Yeah, well. Sheppard thought I brought it back from the museum with the other stuff, so that's what he thinks all Satedan pottery is supposed to look like that."
"It will look lovely on the mantle above the fireplace," she decides, because at this point, this is what traditional Satedan pottery looks like. Might be the only example of it in the galaxy.
The door chimes again, and John's standing in the hallway, asking if they're ready to eat, pretending like he's not checking up on them. Even Ty can see the tension falling from his face, probably at finding them both in one piece.
Ronon's grinning, either at the prospect of John, or the prospect of food, and he rises from the bed.
Ty's eyes are still focused on the blanket as she stands. Thinks about the box she has, sitting in the back of her closet back home. She hasn't touched it in years, but she thinks, when she returns, that she'll open it again. Pull out the blanket that she bought for her son's wedding, years ago.
It might brighten up the room a little.
The End.