(no subject)
Title: Flash of the Blade
Rating: PG-13
By: Jenda Vis
Spoilers: Up through Reunion
Pairing: Sheppard/Dex
Genre: Drama, WIP
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: Sheppard can't figure Ronon out. Or his motives.
A/N: Okay, it's finally starting to come together. Though it's still twice as long as I thought it was going to be (I had delusions of being able to finish it in 4 chapters. D'oh!)
Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
Time dragged by slowly on Sanacra, with little to break up the days besides exercising in the yard behind the inn in the mornings, and working the fields in the afternoons.
Councilor Aval insisted on showing Ronon the highlights of the town and nearby countryside himself.
"There are mines off in those hills to the northeast," Aval explained, brushing a large insect from his sleeve, "which we abandoned once we no longer had the manpower- or need- to run them anymore". Ronon could see the glint of the river that had once sustained the mine's machinery, running past buildings falling to ruin off in the distance, bit from where he stood, could not see the mines themselves.
Household gardens teemed with life and color, all the way out to the river that ran between the western side of the settlement and the agricultural fields. Its water was clear and quick, even with several irrigation channels cutting into it, and ran south towards the grazing land.
They continued back into the center of town, to the square, where children chased each other across the plaza and in between market stalls. The square seemed too large, and Ronon said so, feeling awkward for pointing out what was surely obvious.
"It was built for a larger population than ours," Aval's response was cheerfully uninsulted. "But it serves its purpose. The extra space is convenient for the trading ships. Instead of landing on the outskirts of town and hauling their wares to market, they can land at market directly."
"When are they due to arrive?" Ronon asked, hoping the question seemed casual, not wanting to offend.
"Three months from now, almost to the day. A hundred and forty nine days from now. It is an event that you cannot miss. Our quiet little town really comes to life, then, with a noisy festival, sometimes lasting as long as ten days."
---
Since that first morning, Ronon kept a careful count of the days in his head, but allowed no trace of his awareness to be seen. He couldn't afford to advertise that it was important. Letting others know that he wanted something so much would only give them something to hold over him.
Itris and Atura were sitting at a boisterous table at the inn when Ronon returned from his twelfth day in the field- only one hundred and thirty seven days more- and waved him over to join the group.
It would be rude not to, Teyla scolded, in his head, and he found himself wishing that McKay could, for once, be his voice of social reason. It was too late to pretend he hadn't seen them, anyway, so he made his way over and sat down next to Atura, who had made space for him.
Dinner was the same stew and bread it had been all week, but the company had grown used to him, at least. After the first few meals, when he'd been discovered as a local celebrity, they no longer pressed him for stories and information beyond the point of comfort.
But even that had to end sometime.
"So, if I may be so bold as to ask," Mira, the innkeeper's wife, looked at him with a hint of embarrassment shading her aging features. "What happened on New Sanacra that caused you to come here?"
"My people were attacked," Ronon sighed, having expected the question for days now. "We'd been separated. An ally told me they'd retreated back through the gate. Ah. Ring. Told me to get through before the gate shut down. I could tell something was off, but I ran to join them. They weren't here when I arrived."
Ronon drank some more ale, pretended it didn't taste bitter. Forced himself, again, to believe that Sheppard and the others were alive. That they were okay, somewhere, even if they weren't here, with him. Even if they'd abandoned him.
"Who is this ally you speak of?" called Lunz, the burly equipment steward, from his seat at the opposite end of the table.
"Man named Sahlen. A healer."
"Sahlen! I remember him. It is good that he is still alive. How is he?"
"He has a family. Didn't get to know him that well." He shrugged, tore off some more bread and passed it over to Atura, who liked to shape it into small animals before eating.
"Doctor Sahlen was trying to find a cure for the sickness," Itris cut in to explain, leaning over her plate. "But when the time came, he was afraid that his son would become ill. He did promise to try to return."
"From what I can tell, it's unlikely. He told us that this was a dead world."
"Did he send you here on purpose?" Atura pranced another misshapen bread-animal through the air and into her mouth.
"I don't know." Ronon swallowed, forcing himself not to fidget. It was something he didn't like considering, since he could never come up with an answer. He looked back to Itris, and decided to change the subject. "So how did you cure the sickness?"
Itris nodded and swallowed before beginning. "It abated years ago, thank the gods. Once the bulk of our people left, our population was not so densely packed within the confines of the town. It seems most likely that the disease was thereby unable to spread so easily."
"That's good," Ronon agreed, looking down to his hands. He was pretty sure the bread-shark he was making would defeat anything Atura could come up with.
---
McKay was the last one to stumble through the gate, but Sheppard caught his arm, managing to keep him from falling, before looked up. "Everyone alright?"
"Yes sir," Lieutenant Brecker nodded, tying the bandage to Teyla's arm now that they were still for a moment, even though Keller was already crossing the floor towards them.
"Okay. Teyla, infirmary. Rodney?"
"I'm fine," McKay growled. "Need me at the debrief?"
"I got this one."
"Off to the labs to make sure we're not awash in raw sewage by midnight."
"Thanks," Sheppard sighed, leaving Brecker to follow Teyla towards the infirmary as he mounted the steps to Carter's office.
"How was he?" Carter asked, sitting down behind her desk.
"Brecker? He's doing a great job." John sat down. "Good call, pulling him from lab security."
"I figured someone who was already familiar with Doctor McKay's particular brand of insanity would be the best addition."
"Appreciate it."
"I'm glad someone does," Carter grimaced out towards the control room.
Sheppard cocked his head, scowling. "Why, has he said anything?"
"No. Just the rumor mill. There are a lot of disappointed people out there, John, who would have liked a chance to join your team."
"We didn't exactly have the time to run auditions, here. Lorne's just lucky I didn't grab Roth or Amundson. Would have made the most sense, really."
"I know. But I don't know where the chatter is coming from. I heard it from Zelenka, who isn't comfortable giving me names."
"You think I should follow up on it?"
"I don't see how, unless it escalates. If you make it an issue, it will become one. If business goes on as usual…"
"Everyone will be complaining about something else by the end of the week," Sheppard agreed.
"Possibly tonight, if McKay doesn't figure out the septic system."
"Don't get me started." Sheppard leaned back, feeling the stretch in the small of his back, and resettled. "I had to listen to three hours of his complaints and overqualifications already, today."
"I'll bet," Carter smirked conspiratorially, and Sheppard was instantly sure she'd assigned him the duty for her own personal amusement. "Okay. Well. Other than that, how was the mission? Teyla?"
"Got her arm grazed with a knife, bleeding a lot, but she says she's okay. Already down in the infirmary."
Carter nodded, leaning back in her chair and turning on the recorder. "Good," she said, waiting for him to begin the initial report.
"Okay, well. We got out to Dagan at about 0900 this morning…"
---
Ronon wiped the sweat from his brow with a gritty arm, and was beginning to tie the next bale off when he heard the noise.
A low roar, coming from the east. Squinting, he saw the vapor trail cutting through the sky in a landing trajectory.
If it was a trader vessel, it was two and a half months early. It's too soon, I need more time. The ship was too loud to be a dart, and too small, now that it was descending, to be a cruiser. Nevertheless, he wasn't the only one standing in the field calculating the distance to the nearest weapons cache, and no one said anything when he began to run for the bridge back to town.
Continuing eastward and leaving the settlement behind, he ran for ten minutes before the ship came into view. It had touched down in the grassland by the western river, and Ronon could smell the cooling metal already.
But by the time he drew near enough to call out, the engines were powering up again, less raucously than before, and it was taking off.
Ronon stumbled to a stop, and watched it go.
"They were fixing something," Atura's voice came from the edge of the tall reeds, and Ronon spun to look at her, irritated that he hadn't noticed her presence. "They're running late, the lady said."
"Yeah?" Ronon didn't bother hiding the aggravation in his voice.
"I told her maybe we could help, but the lady giving the orders said they couldn't stay on the ground for long." Atura frowned, glancing up at Ronon and reading the disappointment she found there. "She was mean. I don't think she would have let you go with them."
Ronon winced. For someone so young, her voice managed accusation and sympathy at the same time. Maybe Teyla was like this, when she was young. "How d'you know that's what I wanted?"
"When I said that traders came here with ships, you smiled." she pursed her lips, cocking her head up at him, a little sad. "Only you meant it, that time."
"Ah." Ronon shrugged, feeling strange and guilty, not liking her taking so much notice of him. "Maybe. Anyway." He sighed, found a tired grin for her, and shook his head. "What are you doing out here?"
"I was in my mother's garden," she pointed back to one of the patches not far from the city. "Ran out here when I saw the trails in the sky."
"Your mother is probably worried. You should come back with me."
"Fine," Atura grumbled, but began to walk. Ronon deliberately slowed his pace so she could keep up over the uneven terrain. "Is she angry?"
"Huh?"
"Is my mother angry?"
"Didn't see her, but I doubt it," Ronon shrugged. Woman seems reasonable enough.
"Good," Atura decided, and began to hum to herself as they continued onward, back towards the edge of the city, where half the populace seemed to be waiting like some curious wall that wouldn't extend out past the edge of the gardens.
"Tell you what," Ronon slowed. "It's safe now. Why don't you go on and tell everyone about it. I'm going to go take a walk for a while, but I'll come and listen to you tell them all about it at the inn tonight."
Atura was reluctant, raising confused eyes at him, so Ronon continued. "That is, if I can fight my way close enough to your table to hear what is sure to be the story of the year."
In an instant, Atura brightened, clearly excited to be the center of attention. "Okay!"
Ronon watched her scamper back towards the town, relieved that the talking was finally fucking over with. As soon as the townspeople began to converge on her, he turned away again, and let his feet lead him back towards the erstwhile landing site.
The ground was still warm from the ship's engines, and he found himself hoping bitterly that their repairs weren't enough to keep them airborne for very long.
He had to get out of here. This world was as nothing. Just toil and repetition and the risk of making connections that he didn't want to keep. There was no fight here, nothing past what he imagined while exercising behind the inn at sunrise. There was no purpose.
Keep cool, he forced himself to think, but he was thinking in Sheppard's terms, now, and as soon as he realized it, it ceased to help.
Because he was here and Sheppard was dead or somewhere and he didn't have the first clue what to do about it, and no chance to figure it out for another hundred and thirty three days. At least.
It should have meant that he had time But by the time he left this world, there might not be anything to return to.
And if there was, it might not want him back.
Ronon walked on, glancing up towards the boarded-over mine, nestled in the low hills. Considered exploring it, but he'd learned, long ago, that mines were usually abandoned for a reason, and he'd never learned to like close spaces, so he walked around the base of the hill to the other side.
Eventually, his feet found the riverbank, and he began to follow it southwards, ignoring the few buildings falling to ruin as much as he could. They were too much like him, right now, or he was too much like them. Stuck here, alone and without purpose, and with the beginnings of a headache gnawing at the base of his skull.
---
Teyla was released from the infirmary with seven stitches underneath a new bandage, and a worn look in her eyes, but she accepted John's presence as he walked her back to her quarters.
John watched with silent dismay as she set out two cups for the tea she was brewing, which would probably prove to be very relaxing, and would surely taste awful.
One day, when she was in a good mood, John would accuse her of being the recreational drug kingpin of Atlantis, but today wasn't the day for that. It was obvious that something unpleasant was on her mind.
He went first. "How are you doin'?"
"I am tired, John, but it will pass. I am frustrated, and I worry."
"About Ronon?"
"Not just about Ronon, though he is rarely far from my concern," Teyla admitted, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. "No. Unfortunately, my concerns of late have been more selfish in nature."
"What do you mean?"
"I do not wish to speak ill of Lieutenant Brecker in any way. He is a good man, strong and fast in the field, and he is respectful. I like him very much. But overhearing some of the others, as he escorted me to the infirmary..." Teyla trailed off, shaking her head in frustration. "It felt as if they saw Ronon as someone who was to be overcome for their own personal good. And while I wish I did not understand this concern about status among people, I believe that I do."
"You just wish that you didn't know it," John finished, taking the cup she offered with a nod as she busied herself with the pot. "Me too, for the record." He blew the steam off the top. "Hey," he continued, after a moment. "Can you tell me what was said? Who said it?"
"Amundson was there, as was Roth, but he looked uncomfortable with the words being exchanged. I do not believe he shares the sentiments of the others," she sighed, sitting back on the couch. "Amundson was very congratulatory, and the tall man from Major Tennant's team said 'good on you, glad you finally got your shot.'"
Teyla's mouth quirked into a thin smirk as she dropped the sarcastically masculine intonation. "Amundson, for his part, said that things were as they should be, with real military protecting the important visiting diplomats such as myself, rather than suspected murderers."
"Ah." John rubbed a hand across his eyes. "I don't know. The guy's an ass, but who knows. I'll to talk to Lorne about it."
"I would prefer that you did not."
"Teyla, if you're uncomfortable, and not to make light of my concern in that regard, but if people have a problem with Ronon or with you, then they have a problem with the way things are run around here. I have to keep it all on an even keel."
"They were not deliberately trying to cause insult," Teyla reasoned.
"That's as may be, but it was caused anyway, and I don't like it. I'm not going to have any of my people making anyone else feel unwelcome, much less convicting anyone of murder without any proof."
"I do not know all of your people well, John, but I do not believe that you can change their minds on these matter so easily."
It was irritating, hearing Teyla speaking so reasonably. It felt like she was backpedaling, and John was inwardly furious that any of his men could make her feel so uncomfortable. So much an outsider. Because if things were this bad for Teyla, then what were they like for Ronon?
"Maybe not, but they don't get to decide that one person is more disposable than another. It's not just rude, it will cause serious problems if I don't handle it, okay?"
John swallowed, taking a moment to think. "Look. Your name won't come up, if that counts for anything. But this bullshit can't continue." He sipped his tea, and found it less bitter than he'd expected. "Besides. Hopefully, sometime soon, I might have to order them out to help us get Ronon back, and I won't tolerate any hesitation on their part because of something they only think they know."
Teyla bowed her head, then, and raised it with a smile. "Thank you. I must admit, I am glad to hear these words, and that you have not yet given up hope on finding Ronon."
John shrugged, and looked into his tea. "Don't worry about it. You're my friend. You guys are one of us. And I miss him too."
¬---
Ronon cupped the water to his mouth and drank deeply, before splashing the rest over his face, letting it cool his skin as it soaked into the hair at his temples and ran down through his beard.
Leaning back on his heels, he looked out over the land. More hills, a few more trees. The sun reflecting too brightly off a distant lake as it drew nearer to the horizon.
It would get dark, soon, and Ronon knew, theoretically, that he should turn back. He just couldn't find the energy to find a reason to return.
No one- no one he cared about- waited for him back in the town. No one he missed, because maybe he hadn't been here long enough, or maybe he just didn't have the room for it.
He already missed Atlantis, and Teyla and Rodney. He probably missed John Sheppard far too much. But imagining that he was missed in turn felt pathetic, somehow. Assuming that someone was alive to miss him. Like he deserved it if they were, like they thought of him the way he thought of them.
He stood up, needing the movement to stem the tide of distracting and depressing thoughts. The former could kill him in an instant, the latter much more surely, and much more slowly.
Even with the false hope the day had brought, the traders would still come. By then, he might earn enough money to buy his way onboard, or maybe he could work for his passage. If those failed, he could steal into the ship, and hide until they landed again.
If that didn't work, he'd take an injured crewman's place, if he needed to. Take hostages if he didn't.
He wasn't entirely unwilling to kill, if it came down to it.
And that was the unwelcome thought that sped his pace once again. Downriver, away from the shame that the knowledge brought, the failure it meant.
He could never return to face John Sheppard having taken such an action, and he hated that he knew it, because it left him with no plan more real than hope. Hope was never enough.
He followed the river until he could look back and see no remnants of civilization.
Maybe it was penance, maybe he needed to have some illusory escape to set his mind back to rights, but his head was swimming, the ache creeping up behind his eyes, and for the first time he could remember, he needed to be alone.
Mostly, though, and more immediately, he needed to eat. The hunger was already beginning to claw fiercely at his gut.
Scanning the edge of the river, he soon found some wild cousins of the domesticated tubers grown in every garden. The leaves were thinner, and the roots tore a little when he lifted them from the ground, but they were plentiful enough, and tasted no different once rinsed off in the water.
He took his meal back towards the rocks on the outside of the river's oxbow, eating and staring up at the stars a while, pretending not to miss the small sting of brine as wind swept up over the pier. He thought he recognized some of the stars, but wasn't sure. McKay would know, just like he seemed to know everything.
"Ronon. Need you to come with me down to the labs." Sheppard's body followed his head into the gym. "Bring your gun."
"What's up?" Ronon asked, following John into the transporter. When they stepped out, John shrugged.
"I don't know. We'll have to ask Rodney," he said, and opened the door to the lab.
"Great, great. You're here. Ronon, I want you to hit this sequence of targets. Once with your gun set to stun, and then do it all over again once you've increased the setting to kill. Got that?"
"Ah. Sure." Ronon shrugged, glancing over at Sheppard for confirmation, maybe permission.
Sheppard stuck out his lower lip, similarly confused. "Do as the man says, Ronon."
"But." Ronon unholstered his gun, spun it once, before shaking his head and looking back to McKay. "I thought you said no gunfire was allowed in the labs?"
"Normally, no, it's a hanging offense. But this?" McKay waved an anxious hand around the room, gesturing over the equipment. "This is for science."
"Okay." It didn't make any kind of sense, but this was McKay's game, not his, so he took aim, and hit all twelve targets, once, then again. "That work?"
"Yes, yes, that's fine. I should have the data imported into the power grid in a few minutes."
"Why?" Sheppard asked, confused. "Care to clue the rest of the class in?"
"In the event that, say, Ronon zaps anything important in the, ah, highly unlikely event that he misses the invading enemy of the week, the charge from his weapon won't disrupt the power flow to the rest of the city."
"Because if we're being overrun, you want to make sure the lights are on?"
"No," McKay rolled his eyes. "I want to make sure I don't have an energy crisis to handle while I'm trying to make the adjustments to the system that will save us all."
"Of course," Sheppard nodded, sharing Ronon's puzzled look. "Makes perfect sense."
"I'm sure it doesn't, not to either of you Neanderthals. Now get out of my way. I have work to do, here."
"Come on, fellow caveman. Let's go bang some rocks together," Sheppard gestured out into the hallway.
"Bang rocks together?"
"Ah. Yeah. Something cavemen did a long time ago to make tools."
"And cavemen are stupid?" Ronon asked, wondering what world they lived on. He hadn't heard of these people.
"McKay thinks so. I figure they only had rocks as tools, and still managed to survive. If that's what you've got on hand, it doesn't seem so stupid to me. I'd like to think that you or I would do the same."
Ronon bit his lip against the grin that threatened to break out, and turned it into another question. "What would McKay do?"
"Probably invent the chainsaw, at least. And the microwave the next day. Pretty sure he'd get eaten on the third, though." Sheppard scratched a hand across his stomach. "Speaking of which. I'm starved. Wanna go grab something to eat?"
"Sure. Should we get the others?"
"Nah. Just." Sheppard paused, glancing up towards the transporters. "It'll take too long," he finished, and it sounded kind of off, but Ronon's grin started to gain a foothold anyway, even if he didn't know exactly why.
---
Thirst was all Ronon knew upon waking, and when he stood, dizziness, and his eyes were too dry and scratchy to open completely, let alone focus.
He reeled a little too much as he made his way to the river, falling to his knees as he crouched alongside it. The water was shocking and cold on his hands and face, and it cut through him as he drank it down, but he was too thirsty, too warm, to care.
His hands were numb, he began to realize, but they caught him as the fell back to the ground, wretching until there was nothing left but muscles straining against the cramp in his gut.
He lay back down again, rolling over and squeezing his eyes shut against the throbbing in his head, curling himself against the air, only for a moment. He had to get up. Get more water. Had to find help.
But he was so damned tired.
----
John knew he probably missed Ronon too much, but he wasn't surprised by it. Most days.
There was a time. There were times that Ronon's eyes would hold his just that instant too long, or one of them would almost hesitate to leave the gym, or. Or a lot of things.
John didn't last as long as he did by not learning the signs, or recognizing the feelings. He only lasted as long as he did because he didn't act on them. Didn't talk about them. With anyone, almost ever. Never when he was within fifty miles of the nearest installation.
And he'd never been tempted, not really. Not enough. Not until that first insane year out here, when they were cut off from Earth and every day woke with the promise of impending disaster that they hadn't yet learned how to face.
Something had changed, though, somewhere along the line. Probably after flying a warhead on a suicide mission into a hive ship had been a reasonable plan. He'd played it off at the time, that it hadn't been any big deal, but alone in his quarters, in the quiet after the crisis, he'd allowed himself some honesty.
Because it sucked, really. All of it. Stepping back from so final an edge, unable to let anyone else in on the vertigo. Being so sure that dying for everyone was the right course, but not knowing who he was supposed to live for.
Simple honesty didn't change anything, though. Routine was routine, even if it included running for his life and protecting his people. He knew who his people were, and was starting to believe that he'd already met everyone who would ever mean anything to him.
Then there was a flash of sound in the dark, and Ronon Dex dropped unceremoniously into John's life.
John remembered watching Ronon's first wary steps, ducking into the puddlejumper, and thinking that someone, sometime, should have warned him about the man. He seemed too much a presence not to see him coming.
He was too much a presence to disappear so fucking completely.
But then again, he hadn't. Not on nights like this, when John could almost see him out of the corner of his eye, and lay awake for hours, trying to convince himself he wasn't seeing a ghost.
---
The afternoon wasn't shaping up to be any more pleasant than the morning, but soon, Sheppard hoped, he could retreat into his office, away from the chaos. Away from the hundred staring eyes tracked his progress at the front of the room.
"I'm not so far up the chain that I don't know what's happening on the ground, folks," he continued. "But any behavior similar to that which I've just described will not be tolerated. I am hereby ordering all team leaders to report any activity of this kind directly to me, and to ensure that each and every situation is handled properly."
Sheppard scanned the faces of the assembled soldiers once again, and shook his head. He hated addressing the troops- he'd probably never get the hang of it. Before two years ago, it hadn't been something he'd ever had to learn. And now? He was losing some of them, fast.
"So. In summary. Remember. In this galaxy, we are the visitors, and we treat each other, and our allies, with the same respect we expect from one another." He forced himself into a rakish grin. "Except for the wraith. Talk shit about them all you want. Dismissed."
The formation was broken, but, right along with it, so was the tension. Most of it, at least.
Lorne, who was approaching, still clearly bore the remnants of the fury he'd found when Sheppard had pulled him aside to discuss the situation with Amundson and Teyla. It had been the closest Lorne had come to losing his ever-present cool, and, deep down, Sheppard hated having to be the one to force it.
But now, on top of the rest, there was a tense focus to his movements, to his eyes. He wasted no time, just halted in front of Sheppard and said, "There's a message for you. On the screen. It's important."
---
Sheppard set his shoulders and turned to the screen, finding Ladon Radim's face looking back at him, as smug as ever.
"Greetings, Colonel Sheppard. It is good to see you."
"I doubt that very much," Sheppard grumbled. "What do you want?"
Something flickered across Radim's eyes, but the smile stayed firmly in place. "I have information about your Satedan friend, though I fear it may only be rumor."
"Ronon?" Sheppard forgot to keep the annoyance in his voice. "What about him?"
"We believe he is on Old Sanacra."
"How do you know?"
"Allies of the Genii recently touched base on the planet in order to make some repairs. The captain of the ship spoke with some derision of the presumptive nerve of one of the locals. It seemed interesting, and a few drinks later, her pilot told us of Ronon's rumored presence there. Beyond that, I have no information. If I understand correctly, there is no way to dial the gate from the ground, so unless he has access to a ship, it is unlikely that he's left."
"You trust your source?"
"As much as I trust anyone who tells tales after drinking," Radim shrugged.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I am in your debt for cementing my position here among my people. Also, if you were to discover that I was holding this information back, I would expect massive overreaction on your part. I am merely protecting my people's interests."
Sheppard couldn't argue the logic, even if every instinct told him to. "Well, thanks. I owe you one."
"In that case, I would appreciate it if you would not hold us personally responsible in the event that the information is inaccurate. Beyond that, no thanks is needed."
"Deal. But thanks, anyway."
The video link was shut down, and Sheppard was left staring at a blank screen for seven heartbeats. Then he turned on his heel and ran up the stairs to Carter's office.
Chapter 5
Rating: PG-13
By: Jenda Vis
Spoilers: Up through Reunion
Pairing: Sheppard/Dex
Genre: Drama, WIP
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: Sheppard can't figure Ronon out. Or his motives.
A/N: Okay, it's finally starting to come together. Though it's still twice as long as I thought it was going to be (I had delusions of being able to finish it in 4 chapters. D'oh!)
Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
Time dragged by slowly on Sanacra, with little to break up the days besides exercising in the yard behind the inn in the mornings, and working the fields in the afternoons.
Councilor Aval insisted on showing Ronon the highlights of the town and nearby countryside himself.
"There are mines off in those hills to the northeast," Aval explained, brushing a large insect from his sleeve, "which we abandoned once we no longer had the manpower- or need- to run them anymore". Ronon could see the glint of the river that had once sustained the mine's machinery, running past buildings falling to ruin off in the distance, bit from where he stood, could not see the mines themselves.
Household gardens teemed with life and color, all the way out to the river that ran between the western side of the settlement and the agricultural fields. Its water was clear and quick, even with several irrigation channels cutting into it, and ran south towards the grazing land.
They continued back into the center of town, to the square, where children chased each other across the plaza and in between market stalls. The square seemed too large, and Ronon said so, feeling awkward for pointing out what was surely obvious.
"It was built for a larger population than ours," Aval's response was cheerfully uninsulted. "But it serves its purpose. The extra space is convenient for the trading ships. Instead of landing on the outskirts of town and hauling their wares to market, they can land at market directly."
"When are they due to arrive?" Ronon asked, hoping the question seemed casual, not wanting to offend.
"Three months from now, almost to the day. A hundred and forty nine days from now. It is an event that you cannot miss. Our quiet little town really comes to life, then, with a noisy festival, sometimes lasting as long as ten days."
---
Since that first morning, Ronon kept a careful count of the days in his head, but allowed no trace of his awareness to be seen. He couldn't afford to advertise that it was important. Letting others know that he wanted something so much would only give them something to hold over him.
Itris and Atura were sitting at a boisterous table at the inn when Ronon returned from his twelfth day in the field- only one hundred and thirty seven days more- and waved him over to join the group.
It would be rude not to, Teyla scolded, in his head, and he found himself wishing that McKay could, for once, be his voice of social reason. It was too late to pretend he hadn't seen them, anyway, so he made his way over and sat down next to Atura, who had made space for him.
Dinner was the same stew and bread it had been all week, but the company had grown used to him, at least. After the first few meals, when he'd been discovered as a local celebrity, they no longer pressed him for stories and information beyond the point of comfort.
But even that had to end sometime.
"So, if I may be so bold as to ask," Mira, the innkeeper's wife, looked at him with a hint of embarrassment shading her aging features. "What happened on New Sanacra that caused you to come here?"
"My people were attacked," Ronon sighed, having expected the question for days now. "We'd been separated. An ally told me they'd retreated back through the gate. Ah. Ring. Told me to get through before the gate shut down. I could tell something was off, but I ran to join them. They weren't here when I arrived."
Ronon drank some more ale, pretended it didn't taste bitter. Forced himself, again, to believe that Sheppard and the others were alive. That they were okay, somewhere, even if they weren't here, with him. Even if they'd abandoned him.
"Who is this ally you speak of?" called Lunz, the burly equipment steward, from his seat at the opposite end of the table.
"Man named Sahlen. A healer."
"Sahlen! I remember him. It is good that he is still alive. How is he?"
"He has a family. Didn't get to know him that well." He shrugged, tore off some more bread and passed it over to Atura, who liked to shape it into small animals before eating.
"Doctor Sahlen was trying to find a cure for the sickness," Itris cut in to explain, leaning over her plate. "But when the time came, he was afraid that his son would become ill. He did promise to try to return."
"From what I can tell, it's unlikely. He told us that this was a dead world."
"Did he send you here on purpose?" Atura pranced another misshapen bread-animal through the air and into her mouth.
"I don't know." Ronon swallowed, forcing himself not to fidget. It was something he didn't like considering, since he could never come up with an answer. He looked back to Itris, and decided to change the subject. "So how did you cure the sickness?"
Itris nodded and swallowed before beginning. "It abated years ago, thank the gods. Once the bulk of our people left, our population was not so densely packed within the confines of the town. It seems most likely that the disease was thereby unable to spread so easily."
"That's good," Ronon agreed, looking down to his hands. He was pretty sure the bread-shark he was making would defeat anything Atura could come up with.
---
McKay was the last one to stumble through the gate, but Sheppard caught his arm, managing to keep him from falling, before looked up. "Everyone alright?"
"Yes sir," Lieutenant Brecker nodded, tying the bandage to Teyla's arm now that they were still for a moment, even though Keller was already crossing the floor towards them.
"Okay. Teyla, infirmary. Rodney?"
"I'm fine," McKay growled. "Need me at the debrief?"
"I got this one."
"Off to the labs to make sure we're not awash in raw sewage by midnight."
"Thanks," Sheppard sighed, leaving Brecker to follow Teyla towards the infirmary as he mounted the steps to Carter's office.
"How was he?" Carter asked, sitting down behind her desk.
"Brecker? He's doing a great job." John sat down. "Good call, pulling him from lab security."
"I figured someone who was already familiar with Doctor McKay's particular brand of insanity would be the best addition."
"Appreciate it."
"I'm glad someone does," Carter grimaced out towards the control room.
Sheppard cocked his head, scowling. "Why, has he said anything?"
"No. Just the rumor mill. There are a lot of disappointed people out there, John, who would have liked a chance to join your team."
"We didn't exactly have the time to run auditions, here. Lorne's just lucky I didn't grab Roth or Amundson. Would have made the most sense, really."
"I know. But I don't know where the chatter is coming from. I heard it from Zelenka, who isn't comfortable giving me names."
"You think I should follow up on it?"
"I don't see how, unless it escalates. If you make it an issue, it will become one. If business goes on as usual…"
"Everyone will be complaining about something else by the end of the week," Sheppard agreed.
"Possibly tonight, if McKay doesn't figure out the septic system."
"Don't get me started." Sheppard leaned back, feeling the stretch in the small of his back, and resettled. "I had to listen to three hours of his complaints and overqualifications already, today."
"I'll bet," Carter smirked conspiratorially, and Sheppard was instantly sure she'd assigned him the duty for her own personal amusement. "Okay. Well. Other than that, how was the mission? Teyla?"
"Got her arm grazed with a knife, bleeding a lot, but she says she's okay. Already down in the infirmary."
Carter nodded, leaning back in her chair and turning on the recorder. "Good," she said, waiting for him to begin the initial report.
"Okay, well. We got out to Dagan at about 0900 this morning…"
---
Ronon wiped the sweat from his brow with a gritty arm, and was beginning to tie the next bale off when he heard the noise.
A low roar, coming from the east. Squinting, he saw the vapor trail cutting through the sky in a landing trajectory.
If it was a trader vessel, it was two and a half months early. It's too soon, I need more time. The ship was too loud to be a dart, and too small, now that it was descending, to be a cruiser. Nevertheless, he wasn't the only one standing in the field calculating the distance to the nearest weapons cache, and no one said anything when he began to run for the bridge back to town.
Continuing eastward and leaving the settlement behind, he ran for ten minutes before the ship came into view. It had touched down in the grassland by the western river, and Ronon could smell the cooling metal already.
But by the time he drew near enough to call out, the engines were powering up again, less raucously than before, and it was taking off.
Ronon stumbled to a stop, and watched it go.
"They were fixing something," Atura's voice came from the edge of the tall reeds, and Ronon spun to look at her, irritated that he hadn't noticed her presence. "They're running late, the lady said."
"Yeah?" Ronon didn't bother hiding the aggravation in his voice.
"I told her maybe we could help, but the lady giving the orders said they couldn't stay on the ground for long." Atura frowned, glancing up at Ronon and reading the disappointment she found there. "She was mean. I don't think she would have let you go with them."
Ronon winced. For someone so young, her voice managed accusation and sympathy at the same time. Maybe Teyla was like this, when she was young. "How d'you know that's what I wanted?"
"When I said that traders came here with ships, you smiled." she pursed her lips, cocking her head up at him, a little sad. "Only you meant it, that time."
"Ah." Ronon shrugged, feeling strange and guilty, not liking her taking so much notice of him. "Maybe. Anyway." He sighed, found a tired grin for her, and shook his head. "What are you doing out here?"
"I was in my mother's garden," she pointed back to one of the patches not far from the city. "Ran out here when I saw the trails in the sky."
"Your mother is probably worried. You should come back with me."
"Fine," Atura grumbled, but began to walk. Ronon deliberately slowed his pace so she could keep up over the uneven terrain. "Is she angry?"
"Huh?"
"Is my mother angry?"
"Didn't see her, but I doubt it," Ronon shrugged. Woman seems reasonable enough.
"Good," Atura decided, and began to hum to herself as they continued onward, back towards the edge of the city, where half the populace seemed to be waiting like some curious wall that wouldn't extend out past the edge of the gardens.
"Tell you what," Ronon slowed. "It's safe now. Why don't you go on and tell everyone about it. I'm going to go take a walk for a while, but I'll come and listen to you tell them all about it at the inn tonight."
Atura was reluctant, raising confused eyes at him, so Ronon continued. "That is, if I can fight my way close enough to your table to hear what is sure to be the story of the year."
In an instant, Atura brightened, clearly excited to be the center of attention. "Okay!"
Ronon watched her scamper back towards the town, relieved that the talking was finally fucking over with. As soon as the townspeople began to converge on her, he turned away again, and let his feet lead him back towards the erstwhile landing site.
The ground was still warm from the ship's engines, and he found himself hoping bitterly that their repairs weren't enough to keep them airborne for very long.
He had to get out of here. This world was as nothing. Just toil and repetition and the risk of making connections that he didn't want to keep. There was no fight here, nothing past what he imagined while exercising behind the inn at sunrise. There was no purpose.
Keep cool, he forced himself to think, but he was thinking in Sheppard's terms, now, and as soon as he realized it, it ceased to help.
Because he was here and Sheppard was dead or somewhere and he didn't have the first clue what to do about it, and no chance to figure it out for another hundred and thirty three days. At least.
It should have meant that he had time But by the time he left this world, there might not be anything to return to.
And if there was, it might not want him back.
Ronon walked on, glancing up towards the boarded-over mine, nestled in the low hills. Considered exploring it, but he'd learned, long ago, that mines were usually abandoned for a reason, and he'd never learned to like close spaces, so he walked around the base of the hill to the other side.
Eventually, his feet found the riverbank, and he began to follow it southwards, ignoring the few buildings falling to ruin as much as he could. They were too much like him, right now, or he was too much like them. Stuck here, alone and without purpose, and with the beginnings of a headache gnawing at the base of his skull.
---
Teyla was released from the infirmary with seven stitches underneath a new bandage, and a worn look in her eyes, but she accepted John's presence as he walked her back to her quarters.
John watched with silent dismay as she set out two cups for the tea she was brewing, which would probably prove to be very relaxing, and would surely taste awful.
One day, when she was in a good mood, John would accuse her of being the recreational drug kingpin of Atlantis, but today wasn't the day for that. It was obvious that something unpleasant was on her mind.
He went first. "How are you doin'?"
"I am tired, John, but it will pass. I am frustrated, and I worry."
"About Ronon?"
"Not just about Ronon, though he is rarely far from my concern," Teyla admitted, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. "No. Unfortunately, my concerns of late have been more selfish in nature."
"What do you mean?"
"I do not wish to speak ill of Lieutenant Brecker in any way. He is a good man, strong and fast in the field, and he is respectful. I like him very much. But overhearing some of the others, as he escorted me to the infirmary..." Teyla trailed off, shaking her head in frustration. "It felt as if they saw Ronon as someone who was to be overcome for their own personal good. And while I wish I did not understand this concern about status among people, I believe that I do."
"You just wish that you didn't know it," John finished, taking the cup she offered with a nod as she busied herself with the pot. "Me too, for the record." He blew the steam off the top. "Hey," he continued, after a moment. "Can you tell me what was said? Who said it?"
"Amundson was there, as was Roth, but he looked uncomfortable with the words being exchanged. I do not believe he shares the sentiments of the others," she sighed, sitting back on the couch. "Amundson was very congratulatory, and the tall man from Major Tennant's team said 'good on you, glad you finally got your shot.'"
Teyla's mouth quirked into a thin smirk as she dropped the sarcastically masculine intonation. "Amundson, for his part, said that things were as they should be, with real military protecting the important visiting diplomats such as myself, rather than suspected murderers."
"Ah." John rubbed a hand across his eyes. "I don't know. The guy's an ass, but who knows. I'll to talk to Lorne about it."
"I would prefer that you did not."
"Teyla, if you're uncomfortable, and not to make light of my concern in that regard, but if people have a problem with Ronon or with you, then they have a problem with the way things are run around here. I have to keep it all on an even keel."
"They were not deliberately trying to cause insult," Teyla reasoned.
"That's as may be, but it was caused anyway, and I don't like it. I'm not going to have any of my people making anyone else feel unwelcome, much less convicting anyone of murder without any proof."
"I do not know all of your people well, John, but I do not believe that you can change their minds on these matter so easily."
It was irritating, hearing Teyla speaking so reasonably. It felt like she was backpedaling, and John was inwardly furious that any of his men could make her feel so uncomfortable. So much an outsider. Because if things were this bad for Teyla, then what were they like for Ronon?
"Maybe not, but they don't get to decide that one person is more disposable than another. It's not just rude, it will cause serious problems if I don't handle it, okay?"
John swallowed, taking a moment to think. "Look. Your name won't come up, if that counts for anything. But this bullshit can't continue." He sipped his tea, and found it less bitter than he'd expected. "Besides. Hopefully, sometime soon, I might have to order them out to help us get Ronon back, and I won't tolerate any hesitation on their part because of something they only think they know."
Teyla bowed her head, then, and raised it with a smile. "Thank you. I must admit, I am glad to hear these words, and that you have not yet given up hope on finding Ronon."
John shrugged, and looked into his tea. "Don't worry about it. You're my friend. You guys are one of us. And I miss him too."
¬---
Ronon cupped the water to his mouth and drank deeply, before splashing the rest over his face, letting it cool his skin as it soaked into the hair at his temples and ran down through his beard.
Leaning back on his heels, he looked out over the land. More hills, a few more trees. The sun reflecting too brightly off a distant lake as it drew nearer to the horizon.
It would get dark, soon, and Ronon knew, theoretically, that he should turn back. He just couldn't find the energy to find a reason to return.
No one- no one he cared about- waited for him back in the town. No one he missed, because maybe he hadn't been here long enough, or maybe he just didn't have the room for it.
He already missed Atlantis, and Teyla and Rodney. He probably missed John Sheppard far too much. But imagining that he was missed in turn felt pathetic, somehow. Assuming that someone was alive to miss him. Like he deserved it if they were, like they thought of him the way he thought of them.
He stood up, needing the movement to stem the tide of distracting and depressing thoughts. The former could kill him in an instant, the latter much more surely, and much more slowly.
Even with the false hope the day had brought, the traders would still come. By then, he might earn enough money to buy his way onboard, or maybe he could work for his passage. If those failed, he could steal into the ship, and hide until they landed again.
If that didn't work, he'd take an injured crewman's place, if he needed to. Take hostages if he didn't.
He wasn't entirely unwilling to kill, if it came down to it.
And that was the unwelcome thought that sped his pace once again. Downriver, away from the shame that the knowledge brought, the failure it meant.
He could never return to face John Sheppard having taken such an action, and he hated that he knew it, because it left him with no plan more real than hope. Hope was never enough.
He followed the river until he could look back and see no remnants of civilization.
Maybe it was penance, maybe he needed to have some illusory escape to set his mind back to rights, but his head was swimming, the ache creeping up behind his eyes, and for the first time he could remember, he needed to be alone.
Mostly, though, and more immediately, he needed to eat. The hunger was already beginning to claw fiercely at his gut.
Scanning the edge of the river, he soon found some wild cousins of the domesticated tubers grown in every garden. The leaves were thinner, and the roots tore a little when he lifted them from the ground, but they were plentiful enough, and tasted no different once rinsed off in the water.
He took his meal back towards the rocks on the outside of the river's oxbow, eating and staring up at the stars a while, pretending not to miss the small sting of brine as wind swept up over the pier. He thought he recognized some of the stars, but wasn't sure. McKay would know, just like he seemed to know everything.
"Ronon. Need you to come with me down to the labs." Sheppard's body followed his head into the gym. "Bring your gun."
"What's up?" Ronon asked, following John into the transporter. When they stepped out, John shrugged.
"I don't know. We'll have to ask Rodney," he said, and opened the door to the lab.
"Great, great. You're here. Ronon, I want you to hit this sequence of targets. Once with your gun set to stun, and then do it all over again once you've increased the setting to kill. Got that?"
"Ah. Sure." Ronon shrugged, glancing over at Sheppard for confirmation, maybe permission.
Sheppard stuck out his lower lip, similarly confused. "Do as the man says, Ronon."
"But." Ronon unholstered his gun, spun it once, before shaking his head and looking back to McKay. "I thought you said no gunfire was allowed in the labs?"
"Normally, no, it's a hanging offense. But this?" McKay waved an anxious hand around the room, gesturing over the equipment. "This is for science."
"Okay." It didn't make any kind of sense, but this was McKay's game, not his, so he took aim, and hit all twelve targets, once, then again. "That work?"
"Yes, yes, that's fine. I should have the data imported into the power grid in a few minutes."
"Why?" Sheppard asked, confused. "Care to clue the rest of the class in?"
"In the event that, say, Ronon zaps anything important in the, ah, highly unlikely event that he misses the invading enemy of the week, the charge from his weapon won't disrupt the power flow to the rest of the city."
"Because if we're being overrun, you want to make sure the lights are on?"
"No," McKay rolled his eyes. "I want to make sure I don't have an energy crisis to handle while I'm trying to make the adjustments to the system that will save us all."
"Of course," Sheppard nodded, sharing Ronon's puzzled look. "Makes perfect sense."
"I'm sure it doesn't, not to either of you Neanderthals. Now get out of my way. I have work to do, here."
"Come on, fellow caveman. Let's go bang some rocks together," Sheppard gestured out into the hallway.
"Bang rocks together?"
"Ah. Yeah. Something cavemen did a long time ago to make tools."
"And cavemen are stupid?" Ronon asked, wondering what world they lived on. He hadn't heard of these people.
"McKay thinks so. I figure they only had rocks as tools, and still managed to survive. If that's what you've got on hand, it doesn't seem so stupid to me. I'd like to think that you or I would do the same."
Ronon bit his lip against the grin that threatened to break out, and turned it into another question. "What would McKay do?"
"Probably invent the chainsaw, at least. And the microwave the next day. Pretty sure he'd get eaten on the third, though." Sheppard scratched a hand across his stomach. "Speaking of which. I'm starved. Wanna go grab something to eat?"
"Sure. Should we get the others?"
"Nah. Just." Sheppard paused, glancing up towards the transporters. "It'll take too long," he finished, and it sounded kind of off, but Ronon's grin started to gain a foothold anyway, even if he didn't know exactly why.
---
Thirst was all Ronon knew upon waking, and when he stood, dizziness, and his eyes were too dry and scratchy to open completely, let alone focus.
He reeled a little too much as he made his way to the river, falling to his knees as he crouched alongside it. The water was shocking and cold on his hands and face, and it cut through him as he drank it down, but he was too thirsty, too warm, to care.
His hands were numb, he began to realize, but they caught him as the fell back to the ground, wretching until there was nothing left but muscles straining against the cramp in his gut.
He lay back down again, rolling over and squeezing his eyes shut against the throbbing in his head, curling himself against the air, only for a moment. He had to get up. Get more water. Had to find help.
But he was so damned tired.
----
John knew he probably missed Ronon too much, but he wasn't surprised by it. Most days.
There was a time. There were times that Ronon's eyes would hold his just that instant too long, or one of them would almost hesitate to leave the gym, or. Or a lot of things.
John didn't last as long as he did by not learning the signs, or recognizing the feelings. He only lasted as long as he did because he didn't act on them. Didn't talk about them. With anyone, almost ever. Never when he was within fifty miles of the nearest installation.
And he'd never been tempted, not really. Not enough. Not until that first insane year out here, when they were cut off from Earth and every day woke with the promise of impending disaster that they hadn't yet learned how to face.
Something had changed, though, somewhere along the line. Probably after flying a warhead on a suicide mission into a hive ship had been a reasonable plan. He'd played it off at the time, that it hadn't been any big deal, but alone in his quarters, in the quiet after the crisis, he'd allowed himself some honesty.
Because it sucked, really. All of it. Stepping back from so final an edge, unable to let anyone else in on the vertigo. Being so sure that dying for everyone was the right course, but not knowing who he was supposed to live for.
Simple honesty didn't change anything, though. Routine was routine, even if it included running for his life and protecting his people. He knew who his people were, and was starting to believe that he'd already met everyone who would ever mean anything to him.
Then there was a flash of sound in the dark, and Ronon Dex dropped unceremoniously into John's life.
John remembered watching Ronon's first wary steps, ducking into the puddlejumper, and thinking that someone, sometime, should have warned him about the man. He seemed too much a presence not to see him coming.
He was too much a presence to disappear so fucking completely.
But then again, he hadn't. Not on nights like this, when John could almost see him out of the corner of his eye, and lay awake for hours, trying to convince himself he wasn't seeing a ghost.
---
The afternoon wasn't shaping up to be any more pleasant than the morning, but soon, Sheppard hoped, he could retreat into his office, away from the chaos. Away from the hundred staring eyes tracked his progress at the front of the room.
"I'm not so far up the chain that I don't know what's happening on the ground, folks," he continued. "But any behavior similar to that which I've just described will not be tolerated. I am hereby ordering all team leaders to report any activity of this kind directly to me, and to ensure that each and every situation is handled properly."
Sheppard scanned the faces of the assembled soldiers once again, and shook his head. He hated addressing the troops- he'd probably never get the hang of it. Before two years ago, it hadn't been something he'd ever had to learn. And now? He was losing some of them, fast.
"So. In summary. Remember. In this galaxy, we are the visitors, and we treat each other, and our allies, with the same respect we expect from one another." He forced himself into a rakish grin. "Except for the wraith. Talk shit about them all you want. Dismissed."
The formation was broken, but, right along with it, so was the tension. Most of it, at least.
Lorne, who was approaching, still clearly bore the remnants of the fury he'd found when Sheppard had pulled him aside to discuss the situation with Amundson and Teyla. It had been the closest Lorne had come to losing his ever-present cool, and, deep down, Sheppard hated having to be the one to force it.
But now, on top of the rest, there was a tense focus to his movements, to his eyes. He wasted no time, just halted in front of Sheppard and said, "There's a message for you. On the screen. It's important."
---
Sheppard set his shoulders and turned to the screen, finding Ladon Radim's face looking back at him, as smug as ever.
"Greetings, Colonel Sheppard. It is good to see you."
"I doubt that very much," Sheppard grumbled. "What do you want?"
Something flickered across Radim's eyes, but the smile stayed firmly in place. "I have information about your Satedan friend, though I fear it may only be rumor."
"Ronon?" Sheppard forgot to keep the annoyance in his voice. "What about him?"
"We believe he is on Old Sanacra."
"How do you know?"
"Allies of the Genii recently touched base on the planet in order to make some repairs. The captain of the ship spoke with some derision of the presumptive nerve of one of the locals. It seemed interesting, and a few drinks later, her pilot told us of Ronon's rumored presence there. Beyond that, I have no information. If I understand correctly, there is no way to dial the gate from the ground, so unless he has access to a ship, it is unlikely that he's left."
"You trust your source?"
"As much as I trust anyone who tells tales after drinking," Radim shrugged.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I am in your debt for cementing my position here among my people. Also, if you were to discover that I was holding this information back, I would expect massive overreaction on your part. I am merely protecting my people's interests."
Sheppard couldn't argue the logic, even if every instinct told him to. "Well, thanks. I owe you one."
"In that case, I would appreciate it if you would not hold us personally responsible in the event that the information is inaccurate. Beyond that, no thanks is needed."
"Deal. But thanks, anyway."
The video link was shut down, and Sheppard was left staring at a blank screen for seven heartbeats. Then he turned on his heel and ran up the stairs to Carter's office.
Chapter 5