SLASH FIC: [Stargate: Atlantis] Perception (PG-13)
Author: Soraya
Title: Perception
Series: Scenes from a courtship
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Pre-Slash
Pairing: Beckett/Dex
Disclaimer: Not mine, Wright and Cooper own Stargate Atlantis etc.
Notes: Other stories in this series include: Hunter [G]
Summary: It's not always easy to maintain a good reputation
No matter how much time Ronon spends with these Earthers, there are certain facts he can't ignore. For one, as a people, they're crazy. They have weird customs, and they do strange things that make no sense. But he lives among them now, and he has learnt the hard way that pointing out their strangeness only leads to more strange behaviour.
So when he's summoned to the infirmary, along with almost every other grunt in the city, he goes along quietly. He says nothing about the sheets of brightly coloured paper Beckett waves at them or the way the some of the people there just seem to bounce on their heels with excitement. It's only when Beckett describes what he wants them to do with all that paper, and how afterwards the plan is to lure an unsuspecting McKay to the mess hall, where they all have to hide in dark corners before jumping out and screaming at him that Ronon feels the need to interrupt.
"On Sateda, a soldier would just shoot anyone, who tried to ambush him," he says, looking round the room to make sure he has everyone's attention. "Whatever the reason!"
He adds this final phrase casually, letting his gaze come to rest on Miko Kusanagi. In his home province, she is what they would have called a bush telegraph, and Ronon knows that within a few hours the whole of Atlantis will have heard this story. It should be enough to ensure that no one ever even thinks about arranging this sort of event for him. And already he can tell his plan is working because the people standing closest to him back away suddenly, giving him wary looks.
Then Beckett just ruins everything by laughing out loud, and he says, "Och! Away with you!" in a tone full of such warmth that Ronon actually forgets to be annoyed with him for spoiling his plan.
After that, he finds himself laden with several boxes of those brightly coloured pieces of paper while Beckett stands right in front of him, rolling his eyes and making vague get out of here motions with his hands.
***
On his way to the mess hall, Ronon wonders when Beckett stopped being shocked by the outlandish things he says. There was a time when all he had to do was say a few carefully chosen words for Beckett's jaw to drop and for those blue eyes to widen in amazement. Now, he gets nothing, not even a gasp or a frown.
Perhaps it's a sign that Beckett knows him far better than he lets on.
It doesn't bother him too much. He only wishes that Beckett wouldn't display these insights in public. Because the doctor is well liked and well respected, and Ronon is worried that his attitude might start to affect how other people see him.
***
The small scientist with the glasses is smiling when Ronon enters the mess hall. However, the moment he tries to put the boxes down, the man shouts, "Ne, ne, ne, blbec, copak to deláte?"
"But I'm only supposed to bring them here," Ronon tells him, not sure what those words mean, though he has a feeling none of them are flattering.
"Of course, of course," the man replies. Then the man just starts throwing more bright paper at him until the pile he's carrying is so high he can barely see over the top of it. "Listen, you are very tall, yes?"
Peering around the boxes, he glares down at this little scientist, wondering what his height has to do with anything.
"Then, you take these over to that wall and start working!"
Ronon just stands there, reeling with shock. First Beckett, and now this! Is no one afraid of him any more? He knows that glare would have sent this little man running a month ago. And suddenly it hits him that this is a very, very bad sign. Because if this man no longer thinks of him as dangerous, who knows how far the damage has spread! Soon, would there be Athosian children following him around the city, trying to plait his hair, or would--
"*Now*!" the scientist yells.
The tone reminds him so much of Task Master Jurin Cole that he obeys its command on reflex. Only after taking a few steps toward the wall does Ronon remember that this man isn't one of his Task Masters! He's not Sheppard, or even Weir; he can't give him orders!
Ronon turns round to tell him this. Then he takes one look at those narrowed eyes and he decides to go back to work. Some battles just aren't worth fighting, and besides, experience has taught him that the short ones always make the worst tyrants.
***
Predictably, McKay is not happy about the ambush celebration ritual. After the ambush, after McKay has finished screaming, "Oh my God, are you trying to give me a heart attack?" he storms over to a table at the back of the room where he spends most of the celebration scowling and not eating anything.
The last part is very strange, even for McKay, so Ronon looks round the room, trying to figure out what could have upset McKay so much that he would forget to eat. He knows it can't be the decorations; he worked very hard putting them up and plenty of other people are saying they look great. In the end, he goes over to sit with Sheppard, who hasn't left McKay's side all evening. "What's wrong with him?" he asks, jerking his head toward McKay.
"It's his birthday," Sheppard replies, speaking in the low whisper he likes to use when he's sharing secrets.
Which makes even less sense because everyone knows it's McKay's birthday. That's why they're all there! Not to mention the 'Happy Birthday, Genius' banners he'd spent hours hanging all over the room. "I thought birthdays were supposed to be a good day on your world," Ronon says, totally puzzled now by this ritual.
"Normally, they are," Beckett confirms, joining them at the table. He's carrying two plates, each with a slice of cake, and he takes the seat Ronon automatically pulls out for him. "Oh, thank-you, Ronon!"
The smile Beckett gives him almost takes his breath away, but it's when Beckett hands him the larger slice of cake that Ronon fears how much he could come to care for this man. The feeling isn't new; these stirrings have been in his heart for several months now. Yet, he cannot seem to find a shape to define this emotion. Sometimes, when he searches for the boundaries to what feels and when he finds none, it leaves him wondering if there's anything Beckett could ask of him that he would refuse. Still, one thing clear is that Beckett isn't ready for what he wants from him. Which leaves him with few options but to accept the friendship Beckett offers him now. So he gives Beckett a smile of his own, then he digs in to the cake Beckett knows he likes so much.
"As I was saying, on someone's birthday we celebrate the anniversary of their birth," Beckett explains. "That means we treat them specially, give them gifts, so normally most people enjoy their birthdays." He leans across to lay a hand on McKay's shoulder, a gesture Ronon has seen him use several times as a way to comfort patients. "It's just, Rodney's fast approaching the big 4-0, aren't you, Rodney?"
If anything, McKay's expression turns even more sour. "I don't know what you're so happy about. You're no spring chicken either."
"True," Beckett concedes, drawing his hand back, still smiling. "But I can take comfort in the fact you are and will always be older than me!"
McKay doesn't seem to have an answer to that, so they all get to watch him scowl and fold his arms across his chest.
"Och, don't be like that, Rodney!" Beckett sighs before he pushes his own plate forward. "Okay, fine, I'll tell you what: you can have my slice of cake. After all, age before beauty!"
"For God's sake, Carson, will you shut up!" McKay snaps at him. "That isn't funny! It wasn't funny the last twenty times you said it and, what a surprise, it's not funny now!"
"Yeah, Carson, leave the old man alone," Sheppard adds, though he too appears to be laughing at McKay's expense.
For Ronon, hearing them joke like this leaves him feeling a twinge of something that's not quite anger and not quite envy at their easy disregard for old age. He forgets sometimes that, for all that they now fight a common enemy, the Wraith have never ravaged their world. They don't carry the pain of knowing that their families and friends have been culled in their prime, or that their once great cities are now nothing but dust and memories. Their people live on a world where children have a chance to grow old, not one where so many tiny bodies lie twisted and broken by the premature touch of age.
It's not that he begrudges them this innocence; he wouldn't wish that sort of knowledge on anyone. It's just, at times like these, when they laugh and they joke about the lives they take for granted, he hopes they'll never experience what it means to have all their foundations ripped away from them.
"When I was running from the Wraith, most of the worlds I travelled to valued old age," he tells them. "Guess that's because not many people in this galaxy live past thirty."
Ronon has to look away then because even he can hear how gruff his voice sounds. He's struck by a sudden wave of nostalgia for a home he knows is lost and gone forever. The emotion tries to claw its way out of his throat. But before he can get sucked into the swirl of what might have beens, Beckett's palm lands gently between his shoulder blades, rubbing in slow, small circles. The touch grounds him like nothing has in a long time. It reminds him that he's not alone any more, and it holds him there in the present until he can look again at his past from a safe distance.
"I remember when I turned forty," he says, thinking back to that day. Then he'd had nothing but pain and sweat and the stink of fear to hold onto. And even though that's not the life he leads any more, he knows a part of it will always cling to him wherever he goes. "Just be happy there are people here to enjoy this day with you," he adds, looking pointedly at McKay.
***
During the sudden lull in conversation, Ronon lets his eyes drift toward the slice of cake, which Beckett has effectively pushed into no man's land. McKay doesn't seem to want to claim it, and Beckett has clearly given it up, so it's fair game as far as he's concerned.
He's just about to grab the plate when McKay shrieks, "Wait a minute, you're *forty*?"
Ronon shakes his head. "No, that was a few years ago! I'm forty-six now," he announces, puffing his chest out with pride.
"You're forty-*six*?"
This time the shriek is even louder. It comes from Sheppard, who has always been a competitive kind of guy. Ronon wonders if the idea that an old man is routinely beating him will make Sheppard try harder in their sparring sessions. Teyla often mentions how much Sheppard hates being thrashed by a woman when they spar together, so he thinks it's a safe bet.
"I guess people must age fast on your world, huh?" Ronon looks from Sheppard to McKay, idly stroking his beard. "Always thought you were at least fifty-five, McKay," he says.
"What?"
Beside him, Beckett groans like he's in severe pain, and from the corner of his eye Ronon can see him drop his head in his hands.
"I don't look fifty-five!" McKay argues, sounding beyond offended.
Ronon simply shrugs his shoulders. "Just calling things as I see them!"
By then Sheppard's eyes are bulging in their sockets, and McKay is practically foaming at the mouth he's so angry. "I do not look anywhere near fifty-five," he insists.
Ronon decides not to say anything. He ignores McKay's yelling, as well as the way Beckett keeps kicking him under the table, and he concentrates on eating his dessert.
***
After Sheppard finally manages to drag McKay away, when it's just him and Beckett and the muted sounds of McKay's birthday celebration, Ronon can't help noticing how Beckett still hasn't stopped glaring at him.
"What?" he asks around a mouthful of cake.
But Beckett isn't having any of it. "Don't try that innocent look with me, lad," he snaps. "You do realize he'll be at my infirmary for weeks now, wanting every test under the sun, wanting to know why he's apparently ageing faster than everyone else?"
"Sorry about that, Doc!"
"No, you're not!" Beckett scowls, clearly exasperated with him. "And don't think I'm falling for that codswallop about your age either! I know exactly how old you are! Forty-six," he scoffs, shaking his head. "Twelve is more like it, you cheeky little bugger!"
As usual Ronon has no idea what most of those words mean, but he's too busy watching Beckett rant to care. As he sees the flush creep up Beckett's throat and the way the fire finally ignites in those blue eyes, he begins to understand why Sheppard enjoys teasing McKay so much. And silently, Ronon agrees that Beckett's right: he's not sorry at all.
The End.
Additional Notes: Czech phrases were taken from the Online Translation Guide
"Ne, ne, ne, blbec, copak to deláte?" = "No, no, no, idiot, what are you doing?"
Title: Perception
Series: Scenes from a courtship
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Pre-Slash
Pairing: Beckett/Dex
Disclaimer: Not mine, Wright and Cooper own Stargate Atlantis etc.
Notes: Other stories in this series include: Hunter [G]
Summary: It's not always easy to maintain a good reputation
No matter how much time Ronon spends with these Earthers, there are certain facts he can't ignore. For one, as a people, they're crazy. They have weird customs, and they do strange things that make no sense. But he lives among them now, and he has learnt the hard way that pointing out their strangeness only leads to more strange behaviour.
So when he's summoned to the infirmary, along with almost every other grunt in the city, he goes along quietly. He says nothing about the sheets of brightly coloured paper Beckett waves at them or the way the some of the people there just seem to bounce on their heels with excitement. It's only when Beckett describes what he wants them to do with all that paper, and how afterwards the plan is to lure an unsuspecting McKay to the mess hall, where they all have to hide in dark corners before jumping out and screaming at him that Ronon feels the need to interrupt.
"On Sateda, a soldier would just shoot anyone, who tried to ambush him," he says, looking round the room to make sure he has everyone's attention. "Whatever the reason!"
He adds this final phrase casually, letting his gaze come to rest on Miko Kusanagi. In his home province, she is what they would have called a bush telegraph, and Ronon knows that within a few hours the whole of Atlantis will have heard this story. It should be enough to ensure that no one ever even thinks about arranging this sort of event for him. And already he can tell his plan is working because the people standing closest to him back away suddenly, giving him wary looks.
Then Beckett just ruins everything by laughing out loud, and he says, "Och! Away with you!" in a tone full of such warmth that Ronon actually forgets to be annoyed with him for spoiling his plan.
After that, he finds himself laden with several boxes of those brightly coloured pieces of paper while Beckett stands right in front of him, rolling his eyes and making vague get out of here motions with his hands.
***
On his way to the mess hall, Ronon wonders when Beckett stopped being shocked by the outlandish things he says. There was a time when all he had to do was say a few carefully chosen words for Beckett's jaw to drop and for those blue eyes to widen in amazement. Now, he gets nothing, not even a gasp or a frown.
Perhaps it's a sign that Beckett knows him far better than he lets on.
It doesn't bother him too much. He only wishes that Beckett wouldn't display these insights in public. Because the doctor is well liked and well respected, and Ronon is worried that his attitude might start to affect how other people see him.
***
The small scientist with the glasses is smiling when Ronon enters the mess hall. However, the moment he tries to put the boxes down, the man shouts, "Ne, ne, ne, blbec, copak to deláte?"
"But I'm only supposed to bring them here," Ronon tells him, not sure what those words mean, though he has a feeling none of them are flattering.
"Of course, of course," the man replies. Then the man just starts throwing more bright paper at him until the pile he's carrying is so high he can barely see over the top of it. "Listen, you are very tall, yes?"
Peering around the boxes, he glares down at this little scientist, wondering what his height has to do with anything.
"Then, you take these over to that wall and start working!"
Ronon just stands there, reeling with shock. First Beckett, and now this! Is no one afraid of him any more? He knows that glare would have sent this little man running a month ago. And suddenly it hits him that this is a very, very bad sign. Because if this man no longer thinks of him as dangerous, who knows how far the damage has spread! Soon, would there be Athosian children following him around the city, trying to plait his hair, or would--
"*Now*!" the scientist yells.
The tone reminds him so much of Task Master Jurin Cole that he obeys its command on reflex. Only after taking a few steps toward the wall does Ronon remember that this man isn't one of his Task Masters! He's not Sheppard, or even Weir; he can't give him orders!
Ronon turns round to tell him this. Then he takes one look at those narrowed eyes and he decides to go back to work. Some battles just aren't worth fighting, and besides, experience has taught him that the short ones always make the worst tyrants.
***
Predictably, McKay is not happy about the ambush celebration ritual. After the ambush, after McKay has finished screaming, "Oh my God, are you trying to give me a heart attack?" he storms over to a table at the back of the room where he spends most of the celebration scowling and not eating anything.
The last part is very strange, even for McKay, so Ronon looks round the room, trying to figure out what could have upset McKay so much that he would forget to eat. He knows it can't be the decorations; he worked very hard putting them up and plenty of other people are saying they look great. In the end, he goes over to sit with Sheppard, who hasn't left McKay's side all evening. "What's wrong with him?" he asks, jerking his head toward McKay.
"It's his birthday," Sheppard replies, speaking in the low whisper he likes to use when he's sharing secrets.
Which makes even less sense because everyone knows it's McKay's birthday. That's why they're all there! Not to mention the 'Happy Birthday, Genius' banners he'd spent hours hanging all over the room. "I thought birthdays were supposed to be a good day on your world," Ronon says, totally puzzled now by this ritual.
"Normally, they are," Beckett confirms, joining them at the table. He's carrying two plates, each with a slice of cake, and he takes the seat Ronon automatically pulls out for him. "Oh, thank-you, Ronon!"
The smile Beckett gives him almost takes his breath away, but it's when Beckett hands him the larger slice of cake that Ronon fears how much he could come to care for this man. The feeling isn't new; these stirrings have been in his heart for several months now. Yet, he cannot seem to find a shape to define this emotion. Sometimes, when he searches for the boundaries to what feels and when he finds none, it leaves him wondering if there's anything Beckett could ask of him that he would refuse. Still, one thing clear is that Beckett isn't ready for what he wants from him. Which leaves him with few options but to accept the friendship Beckett offers him now. So he gives Beckett a smile of his own, then he digs in to the cake Beckett knows he likes so much.
"As I was saying, on someone's birthday we celebrate the anniversary of their birth," Beckett explains. "That means we treat them specially, give them gifts, so normally most people enjoy their birthdays." He leans across to lay a hand on McKay's shoulder, a gesture Ronon has seen him use several times as a way to comfort patients. "It's just, Rodney's fast approaching the big 4-0, aren't you, Rodney?"
If anything, McKay's expression turns even more sour. "I don't know what you're so happy about. You're no spring chicken either."
"True," Beckett concedes, drawing his hand back, still smiling. "But I can take comfort in the fact you are and will always be older than me!"
McKay doesn't seem to have an answer to that, so they all get to watch him scowl and fold his arms across his chest.
"Och, don't be like that, Rodney!" Beckett sighs before he pushes his own plate forward. "Okay, fine, I'll tell you what: you can have my slice of cake. After all, age before beauty!"
"For God's sake, Carson, will you shut up!" McKay snaps at him. "That isn't funny! It wasn't funny the last twenty times you said it and, what a surprise, it's not funny now!"
"Yeah, Carson, leave the old man alone," Sheppard adds, though he too appears to be laughing at McKay's expense.
For Ronon, hearing them joke like this leaves him feeling a twinge of something that's not quite anger and not quite envy at their easy disregard for old age. He forgets sometimes that, for all that they now fight a common enemy, the Wraith have never ravaged their world. They don't carry the pain of knowing that their families and friends have been culled in their prime, or that their once great cities are now nothing but dust and memories. Their people live on a world where children have a chance to grow old, not one where so many tiny bodies lie twisted and broken by the premature touch of age.
It's not that he begrudges them this innocence; he wouldn't wish that sort of knowledge on anyone. It's just, at times like these, when they laugh and they joke about the lives they take for granted, he hopes they'll never experience what it means to have all their foundations ripped away from them.
"When I was running from the Wraith, most of the worlds I travelled to valued old age," he tells them. "Guess that's because not many people in this galaxy live past thirty."
Ronon has to look away then because even he can hear how gruff his voice sounds. He's struck by a sudden wave of nostalgia for a home he knows is lost and gone forever. The emotion tries to claw its way out of his throat. But before he can get sucked into the swirl of what might have beens, Beckett's palm lands gently between his shoulder blades, rubbing in slow, small circles. The touch grounds him like nothing has in a long time. It reminds him that he's not alone any more, and it holds him there in the present until he can look again at his past from a safe distance.
"I remember when I turned forty," he says, thinking back to that day. Then he'd had nothing but pain and sweat and the stink of fear to hold onto. And even though that's not the life he leads any more, he knows a part of it will always cling to him wherever he goes. "Just be happy there are people here to enjoy this day with you," he adds, looking pointedly at McKay.
***
During the sudden lull in conversation, Ronon lets his eyes drift toward the slice of cake, which Beckett has effectively pushed into no man's land. McKay doesn't seem to want to claim it, and Beckett has clearly given it up, so it's fair game as far as he's concerned.
He's just about to grab the plate when McKay shrieks, "Wait a minute, you're *forty*?"
Ronon shakes his head. "No, that was a few years ago! I'm forty-six now," he announces, puffing his chest out with pride.
"You're forty-*six*?"
This time the shriek is even louder. It comes from Sheppard, who has always been a competitive kind of guy. Ronon wonders if the idea that an old man is routinely beating him will make Sheppard try harder in their sparring sessions. Teyla often mentions how much Sheppard hates being thrashed by a woman when they spar together, so he thinks it's a safe bet.
"I guess people must age fast on your world, huh?" Ronon looks from Sheppard to McKay, idly stroking his beard. "Always thought you were at least fifty-five, McKay," he says.
"What?"
Beside him, Beckett groans like he's in severe pain, and from the corner of his eye Ronon can see him drop his head in his hands.
"I don't look fifty-five!" McKay argues, sounding beyond offended.
Ronon simply shrugs his shoulders. "Just calling things as I see them!"
By then Sheppard's eyes are bulging in their sockets, and McKay is practically foaming at the mouth he's so angry. "I do not look anywhere near fifty-five," he insists.
Ronon decides not to say anything. He ignores McKay's yelling, as well as the way Beckett keeps kicking him under the table, and he concentrates on eating his dessert.
***
After Sheppard finally manages to drag McKay away, when it's just him and Beckett and the muted sounds of McKay's birthday celebration, Ronon can't help noticing how Beckett still hasn't stopped glaring at him.
"What?" he asks around a mouthful of cake.
But Beckett isn't having any of it. "Don't try that innocent look with me, lad," he snaps. "You do realize he'll be at my infirmary for weeks now, wanting every test under the sun, wanting to know why he's apparently ageing faster than everyone else?"
"Sorry about that, Doc!"
"No, you're not!" Beckett scowls, clearly exasperated with him. "And don't think I'm falling for that codswallop about your age either! I know exactly how old you are! Forty-six," he scoffs, shaking his head. "Twelve is more like it, you cheeky little bugger!"
As usual Ronon has no idea what most of those words mean, but he's too busy watching Beckett rant to care. As he sees the flush creep up Beckett's throat and the way the fire finally ignites in those blue eyes, he begins to understand why Sheppard enjoys teasing McKay so much. And silently, Ronon agrees that Beckett's right: he's not sorry at all.
The End.
Additional Notes: Czech phrases were taken from the Online Translation Guide
"Ne, ne, ne, blbec, copak to deláte?" = "No, no, no, idiot, what are you doing?"