SGA-fic: Keep on Moving (R)
Title: Keep on Moving
Author: Zinnith
Rating: R
Pairing: Ronon/Radek
Word count: 6900
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Spoilers: Runner and Sateda
Acknowledgements: Huge thanks to
the_cephalopod for beta reading and assuring me that this didn’t suck. Equally huge thanks to
tagetes and
lavvyan for helping out with the Czech. You’re the best!
Notes: Written for the
sga_santa exchange.
busaikko wanted Wraith-fic with a side of Ronon/Zelenka romantic comedy, with a killer ending. I’m afraid this is more dark-ish Ronon/Zelenka fic with a side of Wraith and not much comedy at all, but I hope you’ll like it anyway!
Summary: Ronon isn't alone this time around.
He’s freezing. Everything hurts. He’s lying on something hard and cold, with a sharp ridge digging into his back. There’s a smell of sulphur in the air and someone’s shaking him. It doesn’t make him feel any better.
Then the buzzing in his ears recede and he hears a low frantic voice repeating the same words over and over, “Prosím, buď naživu.”
That’s when it all comes racing back. Teyla and McKay’s backs, running towards the ‘jumper. The Wraith. The sub-space tracking device adding to all his other aches and pains.
He forces his eyes open and is greeted by the pale, terrified face of Radek Zeleka. The little scientist has a dark smudge of something streaking one unshaven cheek and a purplish bruise on his forehead right under the wispy hairline. He’s holding himself awkwardly, like every movement hurts. Of course it does. Getting a tracker implanted is a literal pain in the neck.
Ronon clears his throat and manages a few hoarse words.
“This is not good.”
Zelenka’s tired eyes shine with relief. “You have a gift for stating the obvious, my friend,” he says, mouth twisting into a sardonic smile.
Ronon makes an effort to get up from the ground. It makes his back and his chest protest loudly, damn, that’s a couple of broken ribs at least. Zelenka keeps a concerned grip on his elbow and somehow, he manages to get to his feet, swaying slightly.
They’re standing in the middle of a barren wasteland, rocky and rough. There’s a smoking fissure nearby and the air stings in Ronon’s eyes, makes them tear up. He can’t remember ever having been here before. The Wraith must’ve known that, putting them down on this world. Ronon only hopes it has a Stargate, or this hunt won’t last long, especially now that he isn’t alone.
Things would be easier if he were, but for some reason he can’t make himself feel sorry.
He takes a few unsteady steps away from the fissure. “Let’s go,” he tells Zelenka. “We gotta find the ‘Gate.”
* * *
They have no equipment other than the clothes they’re wearing. No weapons, no food, nothing. Ronon tries to tuck the pain away, push it back into that place in his mind where it’ll just lie floating without bothering him. Being up and moving helps, even though every breath feels like crushed glass in his chest. He’s done this before. He can do it again.
Zelenka is relatively uninjured, just a few cuts and bruises. His most serious injury is the ugly incision from the tracking device. He lets Ronon lead the way through the rocky landscape, following a few steps behind without a word of complaint.
They walk in silence. Ronon tries to wrap his head around the situation. For a start they need water. Then weapons, food and shelter, in that order. He’s not sure how long it’s been since the Wraith put them down on this world, his internal clock says a couple of hours at he most, but that means the hunt is already on. They need to find a way off the planet. If they’re lucky, this Hive want to get as much sport as possible out of their new runners, but if there’s no ‘Gate... Ronon doesn’t want to think about that right now. First things first.
There are puddles of water here and there, but it smells rancid and can’t be used for drinking water. Zelenka says the planet must have extensive volcanic activity, something Ronon is capable of figuring out for himself. The mountains at the horizon are pouring out smoke and there’s a thick cloud of ash blocking out the sunlight. Now and then, the ground shakes.
They need to get out of here. The air is hard to breathe, grates at the lungs like acid. Even without the Wraith hunters, they won’t survive long on this world. If they’d had one of those scanners McKay always carries around, finding the ‘Gate would be easy. Ronon pushes that thought away as well. Atlantis has made him soft and lazy. He didn’t have any scanners before, he doesn’t need one now.
‘Gates were built for people, so if there is one on this world, it has to be close to inhabitated areas. Ronon heads downhill, away from the smoking fissures and the bubbling hot springs. People in mountain areas live in the valleys so thats where they need to go.
There’s still no sign of Wraith and probably won’t be for a while yet. They like to play with their prey, let them think they’ve escaped before they strike. But even then, weapons are very near the top of the list. If there is a ‘Gate, Ronon doesn’t expect the Wraith to let them off the planet so easily.
With the cloud of ash cloaking the world in darkness, there’s no way to tell if it’s night or day. They walk until Zelenka begins to fall farther and farther behind, struggling to keep up even with Ronon’s slow limping steps. The doc doesn’t go off-world often and his physical shape isn’t the best. That has to change. But for now, they need a couple of hours rest. Who knows how big the planet is? They could have weeks of hiking ahead of them. No use tiring themselves out the first day.
Lower down, the air is a little easier to breathe. Ronon finds a cliff overhang, protected from the elements. Still no water though, and that’s going to be a problem soon. Another day at the most before the effects of dehydration will become more severe. They can always drink their own piss if things get really desperate, but they’re not quite there yet.
Zelenka sinks down to the ground, groaning loudly. He leans back against the cliff face and closes his eyes. “If I had known this would happen, I would have visited the gym more often,” he mutters, just loud enough for Ronon to hear.
“You’re doing fine, doc,” Ronon says, slowly easing himself down, wincing as the pain in his ribs blossoms up again. You can’t afford to let something like exhaustion bring you down, have to keep moving forward even when you’re resting.
Zelenka’s a scrappy guy, tough as leather and more stubborn than an old ghetra. As long as Ronon can keep them both reasonably safe, he’ll pull his weight.
“Where do we go?” Zelenka mumbles, eyes still closed. His glasses are cracked, spidery lines reaching all over one lense. “We cannot return to Atlantis, not with the tracking devices.”
Ronon leans back against the cliff, ignoring the way his muscles twinges. He puts one hand on Zelenka’s thigh, offering what comfort he can give. “Don’t worry. I got a plan.”
He doesn’t, not yet. But he will have.
Zelenka soons fall asleep, snoring softly and muttering things in his native language. Ronon’s body screams for rest, for oblivion, but he can’t afford it, not yet. Instead, he looks out into the darkness and thinks.
* * *
Wraith cocoon, sticky and confining, head still pounding from the stunner blast and he’ll never get used to this, throws himself against the slimy substance holding him in place, struggles until he runs out of strength and energy and then struggles some more. That’s when they come, haul him out and drag him through the Hive ship, to that room he knows all too well, the cold operating table, the sharp equipment, holds him down while they cut his back open and he thinks no no no not again not fair just got away. He screams when they push the transmitter into his flesh, screams and fights, but there are too many of them. Then he looks up, to the side, sees Zelenka limp and unmoving on another table, and that’s when he breaks loose from the Wraith holding him, manages to kill two before they get hold of him again and punch him into oblivion...
* * *
He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he wakes up with Zelenka’s head pillowed on his shoulder. The world outside the shelter hasn’t changed. It’s difficult to tell time without a sun or the stars, but Ronon doesn’t think more than a few hours has passed. His muscles have stiffened up and it hurts to move. He shifts a little, tries to get his body working again, and then shakes Zelenka awake.
The doc starts awake with the beginning of a curse on his lips, but then he catches sight of Ronon and relaxes. “Oh, it’s you,” he says, rubbing his eyes with grimy hands.
“You expected someone else?” Ronon asks, getting to his feet with the cliff face for support. He has a steel band of pain around his chest and he knows it’ll probably get worse before they get better. “We need to get moving.”
Zelenka struggles upright, slowly and stiffly, like an old man. He stretches out and winces at the sound of his back cracking and popping. “No breakfast buffet?” he says with a tired sparkle in his eyes. “I don’t think I will be visiting this hotel again. The service is deplorable.”
Ronon grins at that, relived to see the doc hasn’t given up. “Come on,” he says, reaching out a hand to steady Zelenka. “Time to go.”
The trek is slow. They’re beginning to feel the lack of food and water. Ronon keeps all his senses wide open, anticipating Wraith with every step. He hasn’t found anything that could be used as a weapon, but he’s killed Wraith with his bare hands before and he can do it again. But that was back when he didn’t have anyone else to worry about.
The hunger is gnawing at his belly and his throat feels as dry as a desert. Ronon can take a lot worse than this, but he’s not so sure about Zelenka.
When they round a hill and catch sight of the Stargate in the distance, it’s like a heavy burden falls from Ronon’s shoulders. He turns around, towards Zelenka who’s walking with his back bent, both eyes on the ground. “We got a way off the planet,” he says, pointing.
Zelenka looks up, squinting through his broken glasses, and then his weary face lights up. “That is good news. Where do we go?”
Ronon shrugs. “Anywhere not here. Got a problem though. The Hive’s probably still in orbit and they won’t let us go without a fight.”
Zelenka only nods dejectedly, too exhausted for terror. “This will not be easy, will it?” he asks.
“Never is,” Ronon responds and keeps on walking.
As they approach the ‘Gate, they can see ruins, buildings abandoned centuries ago. The climate probably changed into what it is today and the people who lived here left to find a new home. Or they were culled. Whatever happened to them, they aren’t here anymore, but buildings means prospective weapons and that’s something of which they’re in desperate need.
It’s a small village, pre-industrial, in Zelenka’s terms, and it’s mostly destroyed by the elements. Rubble, fallen bricks, large heaps of junk, everything covered by a thin layer of ashes, like fine grey snow. Ronon roots through the trash, doesn’t find much useful stuff, but he’s able to pull a long jagged piece of metal free from a half-demolished house. He tears strips from his shirt and winds them around one end to make a handle. It’s not his old sword, but it’ll do.
A moment later, the first dart flies over the razed village. Ronon is the first to hear it and he pushes Zelenka into a lopsided doorway. He doesn’t think the Wraith will use the culling beams but you can never be sure.
“Stay here,” he tells Zelenka and forces the doctor further into the abandoned house. One wall and half the roof is gone and it’s not much of a hiding place, but it’s better than nothing and Ronon can’t afford to have company right now. Zelenka will be reasonably safe here until Ronon’s had a chance to deal with the Wraith.
There is the white flash of a beam a few houses away. The game’s on.
He hurries along the broken walls, crouching low to avoid being seen too soon. He doesn’t know how many Wraith there are. Probably not too many, not if they want to draw the hunt out. This is the first test. They want to find out what their new runners are made of. Ronon is more than happy to show them.
The dart zooms away again, probably returning to the Hive. Ronon peers around a corner and sees six Wraith standing in what once was the central square of the village. Two warriors and four drones, armed with stunners. Ronon misses his gun, but the big make-shift knife is better than nothing.
They split up almost immediately and move into different directions, the drones in pairs and the warriors by themselves. Bad move. Ronon creeps between buildings, around the square. Soundless. Invisible. He targets one of the drone pairs first, moves up behind them so he can surprise them. One falls immediately with Ronon’s knife in its back. The other one turns around and slams him into the remnants of a wall. The impact makes his ribs howl and presses all the air from his lungs, but he doesn’t have time for pain, wraps his hands around its thick neck and pushes it away from him. They fall to the ground in a tangled, struggling heap. The drone obviously didn’t expect its prey to put up so much of a fight, and that becomes its demise. Ronon reaches for a fallen rock, heavy and sharp in his hand, and bashes its skull in. Its legs twitches a little until it falls still and silent. He rips the knife out of the othere one’s back and slits its throat for good measure.
Two down, four to go, and now he’s got stunners. One of the warriors is the next to go, falls paralyzed to the ground before Ronon hacks off its head. Recover from that, sucker. The beheaded warrior has a better knife, not as large as the one Ronon fashioned for himself, but sharper. Ronon sticks it into his belt and moves on.
The last two drones are quickly disposed off. They’re not much of a challenge, big and stupid and unable to think for themselves. Ronon considers helping himself to their armour, but the thought makes his skin crawl, so he leaves them where they lie.
Only one left now, and for a brief terrifying moment, Ronon thinks he’s lost track of it until he hears a scream and a crash. He almost stops breathing, thinks Zelenka and the sets off in the direction of the noise at a run, all the while cursing himself for leaving the doc alone and defenseless.
The building where he left Zelenka has been reduced to a large heap of building stones and wooden beams on the ground. Ronon’s heart is pounding its way through his ribcage as he hurries closer, searching frantically for any signs of life from the ruin
“Doc?” he shouts, tearing into the rubble, not caring that it makes his fingers bleed, his whole body shouting silently no no no. He’s just about to move a large heavy stone aside when he feels someone watching him.
“Please not to do that,” comes a voice from behind him. “It took quite some work to demolish that house.”
Ronon spins around and sees Zelenka stand there in the middle of the narrow street. Even dirtier than before, an ugly scrape on one cheek and his hair covered in dust and dirt.
“You did that?” Ronon asks, astonished. He turns back to the rubble. Underneath the stone he was just about to move aside, he can see a pale hand, crushed and bloody. “Wraith?”
“I used to build mousetraps when I was a boy,” Zelenka says. There’s the slightest tremble in his voice and Ronon can see his hands shaking. Still. Not bad. Not bad at all.
“Well done,” Ronon says, clapping his shoulder. “Let’s get to the ‘Gate before they send more.”
He still remembers the adress of every world he’s ever been to and the one he picks is an uninhabited planet where the water is drinkable and there’s game to hunt. It’s late autumn there now and pretty cold, but it’s still better than this world with its fire breathing mountains.
They stumle through the ‘Gate, drawing in big lungfulls of fresh, clean air, soothing their abraded throats. Ronon finds a stream and they both lie down on their stomachs, lapping up the cold water like animals. They’re too tired to move any further so they seek shelter underneath a tree with low hanging branches, huddling together for warmth. Ronon sinks into sleep with Zelenka’s breath steady and even against his neck.
* * *
“Darts!” Teyla yells and heads for the ‘jumper, screaming into her headset for Sheppard to be ready to take off as soon as they get there. McKay and Zelenka are just behind her and Ronon covers their backs. They’re almost there, can see the shimmer of the cloak and the open hatch, when Zelenka stumbles and falls on his face. Ronon pulls him upright with a hand twisted in the back of his jacket and only hears McKay shout, “What’re you waiting for?” before the culling beam sweeps over them and the planet dissolves into nothing.
* * *
They’re not safe, won’t be safe again until they get rid of the tracking devices, but there’s no sign of Wraith yet and this planet is as good as any to stay for a while. There are no people here at risk to be culled if they stay too long.
Ronon gives his ribs a chance to begin to heal up. Zelenka takes the stunners apart and puts them back together, mostly to keep himself occupied it seems. It’s so cold their breath form little clouds of smoke in the air, and the trees have almost dropped all their leaves. They need warmth and food, but there’s lots of firewood and the forest is full of the small hoofed animals that are common all over the galaxy and the Lanteans have termed ‘dwarf gazelle’. Ronon fashions a couple of spears and goes hunting.
When he comes back to their campsite, he has a heavy body slung over his shoulder and the smell of blood in his nostrils.
Zelenka bathes in the river, skinny, naked and pale and shivering from the cold. He has dark purple bruises all over his body and the incision scar is angry red on his back, close to the knobbly spine. The sight of it makes Ronon shift his own shoulders, wince at the feel of the foreign object in there, broadcasting the signal that will bring the Wraith here.
They eat as much meat they possibly can without making themselves sick. Zelenka dries his goosepimpled skin by the fire and makes a disgusted face as he pulls his dirty clothes on again. Ronon feels restless, like his whole body is itching to leave, to get moving again. They’re safe for the moment but it won’t last long.
“What do you think happened to the others?” Zelenka asks, swallowing and wiping his greasy fingers on the leg of his pants. “Did they make it back?”
Ronon hasn’t thought of that yet, has forced himself not to think of it. Whatever did happen to the rest of his team, there’s nothing he can do about it now, not without risking Atlantis and everyone who lives there. “Don’t know,” he says. “Probably, or the Wraith would’ve said so. They like to gloat.”
Zelenka nods solemnly. “They won’t give up on us,” he says. “Rodney will find a way to track us.”
McKay will, Ronon’s sure of it. They came for him the last time when the Wraith brought him back to Sateda. Still, he can’t allow himself to relax because of it. Until McKay works his magic and comes up with a way to find them and get them help, they’re on their own.
* * *
It takes two days for the Wraith to find them. This time, they come through the ‘Gate, twelve of them, and it takes the better part of a day to get rid of them all and by then Ronon is covered in Wraith blood and is beginning to feel really grouchy. His ribs ache and being forced to leave sucks, even though he knew it was only a matter of time.
They jump between a couple of worlds to cover their tracks and then settle for the one with the endless swamps. Zelenka swats insects away from his face, muttering something about why everything in the galaxy seems intent on sucking the life out of him.
The shelter Ronon built the last time he was here is still standing, vegetation hanging off it like dark green drapes. This world is warm and humid, the air is thick to breathe and they’re drowning in their own sweat. Ronon washes the blood from his shirt and hangs it over a branch to dry, and then lies down on his stomach, dozing slightly in the heat.
After a while, he feels Zelenka’s hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, gently stroking his spine. He turns his head. “What’re you doin’?”
“I’m trying to locate the transmitter,” Zelenka says. “There must be a way to get it out.”
“No, there isn’t,” Ronon answers tiredly. He remembers the first time, how he spent hours hacking into his own flesh with no result. “I tried. Before.”
“Then maybe there is a way to jam the signal? If I can find out what frequency it broadcasts on...” Zelenka’s hand still moves over Ronon’s back. It feels good, long clever fingers against his skin, so he stays where he is and doesn’t move. He closes his eyes and tries to relax his tense muscles. Already so tired and it’s only been a couple of days.
The Wraith will keep coming.
* * *
This time there’s an entire cruiser hovering in the sky over the planet. Ronon grins to himself. They must be pissed off.
It’s been nearly a month. They haven’t heard squat from Atlantis. Zelenka has learned when to fight and when to run, grown lean stringy muscles. What he lacks in physical strength he makes up for by being a sneaky little bastard. He constructs traps Ronon could only dream of. Right now, he’s sitting perched in a tree somewhere, waiting for his latest invention to close up and catch a bunch of suckers.
Ronon kills five before he’s hit by a stunner and drops to the ground, limbs twitching, desperately trying to draw breath. This planet is an enormous jungle, stretching out forever, the foliage like a dark, lush ceiling above him and the ground soft. It smells wet and fresh and he tries to get his body working again, push through the paralysis, to get up and kill every last one of the fucking monsters.
A Wraith comes through the underbrush, long leather coat sweeping the ground and Ronon finds himself held up by his shirt, the greenish pale face snarling at him. He’s beginning to get the feeling back in his extremities and is just waiting for the right moment when the Wraith leans forward. Its long hair is brushing his skin and makes him feel sick and it hisses, “No one is coming for you this time, Lantean,” spits the words all over his face, and Ronon freezes. For a moment it’s like his heart has stopped before he reminds himself that Wraith lie, you can’t trust them, but he’s still not prepared when it tosses him into a tree and he drops to the ground, coughing and groaning, watching it come at him again, smiling coldly.
He’s only just made it to his feet again when the Wraith stops dead in its tracks, surrounded by crackling blue light and then falls face first to reveal Zelenka standing behind it wielding a stunner. He’s wide-eyed and pale and Ronon knows he must’ve heard what the Wraith said. Ronon draws his knife and finishes the sucker and then looks up at Zelenka, who still hasn’t moved from where he’s standing, with the stunner in a tight-knuckled grip.
“They lie,” he tells Zelenka. “They’re trying to get to us.”
But the weak attempt at comfort sounds empty and pathetic even to his own ears. Last time, it didn’t take McKay more than a day to find him and he knows Sheppard won’t stop looking. If there’s one thing he’s learned about the Lanteans it’s that they don’t leave their people behind.
Zelenka lets the stunner fall to the ground. They already have more of them than they can carry. The doc swallows a couple of times, trying to get himself together, and then digs into his pocket, taking out some electronic gadget. It looks Wraith-made and Ronon peers over his shoulder. “What’s that?”
“I took it off one of the Wraith,” Zelenka says. “It appears to be a scanner of some sort, probably to track our life signs. I might be able to modify it to jam the signals from our sub-space transmitters.”
“You do that,” Ronon agrees, patting Zelenka’s back. It’s a long shot, but they got to keep their hopes up. “Come on, time to go.”
Time to keep moving.
* * *
They risk going to an inhabited world to try to get some news on what’s going on in the galaxy. Just a quick visit, pop in and out again, and with a little luck, the Wraith won’t pay attention to that particular planet and leave it alone once they’ve left again.
Ronon knows people on Nared so that’s where they go, hurrying through the gate with a strong feeling of unease. Zelenka’s been working on the transmitters, but so far he hasn’t had any luck and they keep moving and moving and fighting Wraith and moving.
Nared hasn’t changed much and neither has the village by the gate. The same muddy streets, the same cheerful people. Ronon briefly wishes they could’ve gone somewhere else, to a planet whose people he doesn’t like, but they can’t afford to do this more than once and what Galen doesn’t know about what’s happening in the galaxy isn’t worth knowing.
It feels like everyone’s eyes are on them as they walk into the village pub where Galen can always be found at his regular table. It’s like they all know, like they can see the tracking devices. Ronon tries not to meet anyone’s eyes, and Zelenka walks two steps behind him, staring at the ground, his shoulders hunched in on himself like he’s trying to make himself invisible.
True enough, Galen is sitting in the pub with a drink, the good-natured bastard, and when he catches sight of Ronon he stands up, wide grin on his face.
“Hello Ronon! What brings you here?”
Ronon can’t hold back his smile as he squeezes Galen’s shoulder and sits down at the opposite side of the table. It’s been a while. “Looking for news on the Lanteans,” he says.
“You don’t know?” Galen asks.
“Know what?” Ronon counters, grasping Zelenka’s hands in his to stop him from fidgeting.
“Atlantis has been besieged by the Wraith for weeks,” Galen says. “Rumour is they won’t be able to hold out much longer. Already asked the Genii for help, but it looks like they’re loosing.”
Zelenka’s mouth opens and closes like a fish’s before he sputters, “But...but... how? What happened?”
Galen shrugs and throws his drink back. “People say they were betrayed. Trusted someone they shouldn’t have trusted. How come you don’t know?”
“Long story,” Ronon says, dodging his head with a deep feeling of guilt. They’ve been here too long, could already have doomed these people to death. “We got to go. Thanks.”
“Hey, what’s the hurry!” Galen shouts after them as they leave the pub.
They’re quiet on their way back to the gate, hurrying their steps, keeping one eye on the sky. There are no darts.
Yet.
* * *
On the next world, the Wraith come almost immediately. Ronon and Zelenka have barely made it through the gate before they’re overrun by suckers. Ronon kills nine, a little bit more ferociously than usual. Zelenka kills three and manages to lay his hands on a Wraith communication device that makes his otherwise grim face take on an expression of smugness that reminds Ronon too much of McKay.
They leave, jump between planets before they run out of energy and collapse together in a cave on the world where Ronon first encountered the Lanteans. In fact, it is the very cave where he had Sheppard and Teyla tied up, before he realised that these were people he could finally trust, before the seven years of bitter loneliness finally came to an end.
Zelenka hunkers down, fiddling with the Wraith gadgets, cursing softly to himself. He’s been silent since Nared and the news from Atlantis and Ronon doesn’t know what to do, what to say to make it better.
There might no be a way to make it better, to make anything better. Ronon lies down on the ground, closes his eyes and listens to Zelenka work, taking selfish comfort in the fact that he’s not alone this time. His skin is still crawling from fighting the Wraith, his muscles tense and restless and he has to force himself to lie still, to take stock of any possible injuries he might have so they won’t come back and bite him in the ass when he can least afford them.
He breathes in, out, slowly. Concentrates on the way his body feels, heavy and sore and utterly exhausted. He stays like that for a while, searches for that reserve of rage to rely on to keep going, but it’s very deeply hidden this time around. He can’t take his mind off Atlantis; keep seeing images of explosions against the shield like fireworks, of Sheppard in the chair and McKay scurrying around fixing things, close to collapsing from sleep deprivation, of Teyla leading soldiers through the lower levels in search of intruders. He aches inside because he ought to be there with them, ought to keep them safe and instead he’s here, useless and hunted and so tired that he’s not sure he will be able to go on this time.
Zelenka’s hand on his shoulder makes him start, reach up and grip the doc’s wrist before he realises that there’s no threat, not at the moment. Zelenka studies him with eyes sunk deep in his thin face; they haven’t had nearly enough to eat lately and it’s worse for Zelenka than for Ronon, he has less body fat from which to draw.
“Turn over,” Zelenka says, waving some contraption in his face, something that looks like a mix of the Wraith scanner and the communication device. Ronon does what he says, lies belly down on the hard ground and feels how Zelenka strokes his back again. He revels in the touch and he needs this right now, didn’t even know he needed it before Zelenka touched his skin but he has to keep himself from arching into the touch, from trying to get as much contact as possible just to verify to himself that he’s not alone - that there are two of them, they’re trapped in this nightmare together.
Zelenka touches him slowly, gently, like he’s trying to calm a skittish animal, and Ronon surprises himself by groaning deep down in his chest, closes his eyes again and concentrates of Zelenka’s fingers on his body, of the light bird-feather touch.
Then, it’s gone and it’s like the world suddenly went colder, emptier. Zelenka rustles with something above him, pushes buttons on his newly constructed gadget and mutters to himself, “Ne, ne, to je špatně. Do háje, přece to nějak...“
Ronon doesn’t understand a word and he misses Zelenka’s touch, his presence, so he rolls over and pulls the doc down against him, lean body warm and sweaty and a little surprised, but then his mouth finds Zelenka’s and the scanner/communication device/whatever clanks to the ground and Zelenka’s fingers are in his hair, rubbing, gripping his scalp hard as their tongues fight a battle of their own. There’s too many layers between them, Ronon needs more skin, more touch, needs to know he’s not alone, and then one of Zelenka’s hands travels down his body slides underneath his shirt and Ronon moans into Zelenka’s mouth, can’t get enough of skin and touch and warmth and togetherness
He’s actually a little surprised to find himself hard, didn’t think his body had enough energy for it, but here they are, moving rhythmically against each other. Zelenka’s hands underneath his shirt, Ronon’s on Zelenka’s ass, grinding their cocks together through the fabric of their pants and it’s good, desperate and frantic but still good. They come together, swallowing each other’s moans.
Zelenka leans his head against Ronon’s shoulder, panting harshly, and Ronon reaches up to cradle the back of his head, feels Zelenka’s breath against his skin, their hearts beating against each other through their chests and that’s how they fall asleep, too weary for anything else.
* * *
He still runs, doesn’t really know how to stop. Sometimes it feels like he’s been running since he joined up on Sateda. Slogging through knee-deep mud with a pack full of rocks on his back and Kell’s voice barking orders in his ears. Running was the means to an end, a way to prove his worth, to become strong so he could help protect his world.
Then, when he was on his own, running meant survival. It kept him going, gave him strenght and stamina. There were times when he ran for days on end, just to feel the ground move beneath him, feel his heart beat in his chest, to know that he was still alive.
Now, on Atlantis, he runs because he wants to. Because that is who he is. He climbs a flight of stairs, takes the steps two at a time and almost laughs at the feeling of the blood pumping through his veins, the sound of his feet against the floors of Atlantis. Sheppard is panting far behind him, but for once, Ronon doesn’t slow down to let him catch up.
In the city of the Ancestors, no one orders him to run. No one hunts him and forces him to run. Here, he can run because it feels good, because his body and mind craves it.
Ronon speeds up a little more, pushes on until he reaches that place inside where it feels like he’s flying.
* * *
He wakes up still half submerged in dream, his pants sticky and uncomfortable. He feels okay though, relaxed, better than he’s felt in ages, since before they started running.
There’s sunlight shining in through the opening of the cave. Ronon lies still for a while, lost in memories; he remembers McKay hanging upside down from a tree in that signal red suit, crazy lieutenant Ford jumping into a culling beam, Sheppard and Teyla trying to gain his trust, and Beckett cutting the transmitter out of his back.
Ronon shifts a little, thinks he’s probably due for a bath, thinks about Zelenka’s mouth against his and their bodies moving together, and then he rolls over, turns around to see the doc sitting against the wall of the cave, fiddling with his gadget.
“Morning,” he croaks and then clears his throat and stretches. Muscles still stiff, but better than yesterday. Zelenka looks up, waving his contraption in the air with an unbelievably content expression on his face.
“I did it. I jammed the signal. We can go home.”
* * *
They step through the ‘Gate at the Alpha site, prepared to come face to face by armed marines.
There are none. The place is empty, silent, only remnants of tents and equipment strewn about. Zelenka looks ready to rush down the dais, but Ronon holds him back with a hand on his shoulder.
“Wait,” he says, drawing his knives and heading down the steps in front of Zelenka. It’s so quiet it’s eerie, the only sound is the wind whining in the trees.
There doesn’t seem to have been any kind of battle here. The Alpha site is just...abandoned.
“Maybe they moved,” Zelenka says, voice a little unsteady.
“Let’s try dialling Atlantis,” Ronon says, fearing the worst.
They try. Then they try again, and again, and again, until Zelenka sinks to the ground, his back to the DHD and sighs, “The wormhole cannot be established. Maybe... maybe they moved the city again? Maybe the Atlantis ‘Gate is malfunctioning? If we wait a few hours maybe...”
Grasping at straws and Ronon can’t blame him, but he can’t find any way to comfort the doc either so he moves away from the DHD, walks around the abandoned camp, kicks at a few empty crates on the ground, left there by the Lanteans.
One of them rattles. Ronon reaches down to look inside.
There’s a backpack, the kind the Lanteans use, and when he rips it open he finds some supplies. A blanket, a canteen full of water, a couple of MRE:s, and one of those tablets the scientists use all the time.
“Zelenka!” he shouts. “Come here!”
The doc gets to his feet painstakingly slowly, like he’s all done, too tired and dejected to move, but he speeds up a little when Ronon waves the tablet at him.
“What is it?” he asks, taking the thing out of Ronon’s hands, pushing a few buttons.
Sheppard’s face appears on the screen. He’s unshaven, deep dark circles underneath his eyes and he look stressed and exhausted.
“Ronon, Radek, if you’re watching this, Atlantis is gone. The Apollo is evacuating personnel as we speak. I want you to know that we never gave up looking for you. Won’t give up looking. No matter what happens, we’ll find a way back to Pegasus. We won’t leave you behind, that’s a promise.” Sheppard turned his head, looking at something or someone out of screen. “Yeah, okay, I’m coming.” Then he turned back to the camera. “Rodney says be careful and don’t get yourselves killed and Teyla... Teyla’s not coming with us. She wants to find her people. So... you might run into her.” Sheppard cleared his throat. “Well. I guess this is goodbye for now. Take care and...”
They don’t get to know what else Sheppard had been about to say. The picture becomes unfocused and then fades into black. Zelenka lets the hand holding the tablet fall to his side. “So much for going home,” he sighs.
Ronon draws a deep breath, tries to adjust to the new development. For his inner eye, he sees Atlantis going up in smoke, disintegrating and disappearing into nothing. That’s two homes lost now, and it doesn’t seem fair.
“They’re alive,” he says finally. “And you heard him, they’re coming back. Sheppard keeps his promises.”
When Zelenka meets his gaze, his eyes are glassy and moist behind the spectacles, and Ronon thinks that maybe he has lost even more. His life’s work, the place he’s put his whole soul into. “What do we do now?” Zelenka asks, empty voiced. “Where do we go? Where...”
Ronon has no idea. He needs a new plan, needs to sit down and think, find a new direction. He’s so unbelievably tired, could just lie down here and now and sleep for a week, for a year, but that would feel too much like going to sleep on a grave, the tomb of Atlantis, the city of the Ancestors.
“Belkan,” he says, making the decision, because a decision has to be made, they have to keep moving. “Some of my people live there. We can find a doctor to get these damn things out. And Teyla’s gonna stop by sooner or later. It’s a place to start. From there... we’ll figure it out.”
Zelenka nods slowly and tucks the tablet into the backpack, wraps it in the blanket to keep it safe. The only thing left of Atlantis.
Ronon enters the gate address and watches the ‘Gate activate, open up into an uncertain future. He should feel angry, should be furious with himself for not getting them here earlier, for letting the Lanteans fight their last battle without him. Instead he feels calm, almost reverent.
Zelenka is a grounding presence by his elbow when they walk up the dais at the ‘Gate. In the middle of all disappointment, the defeat, they at least have this. There’s two of them.
Before stepping through the ‘Gate, Zelenka turns around, giving the abandoned Alpha site one last look. A few low words spill over his lips.
“Odpočívej v pokoji.”
Ronon doesn’t understand the words, but he gets the meaning and offers up a silent prayer of his own. Then they turn their backs to the Alpha site and the memory of Atlantis and walk through the event horizon towards whatever comes next.
-fin-
Translations:
Prosím, buď naživu - Don’t be dead, please.
Ne, ne, to je špatně. Do háje, přece to nějak... - No, no, it’s all wrong. Damn it, there has to be a way...
Odpočívej v pokoji - Rest in peace.
Author: Zinnith
Rating: R
Pairing: Ronon/Radek
Word count: 6900
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Spoilers: Runner and Sateda
Acknowledgements: Huge thanks to
the_cephalopod for beta reading and assuring me that this didn’t suck. Equally huge thanks to
tagetes and
lavvyan for helping out with the Czech. You’re the best!
Notes: Written for the
sga_santa exchange.
busaikko wanted Wraith-fic with a side of Ronon/Zelenka romantic comedy, with a killer ending. I’m afraid this is more dark-ish Ronon/Zelenka fic with a side of Wraith and not much comedy at all, but I hope you’ll like it anyway!
Summary: Ronon isn't alone this time around.
He’s freezing. Everything hurts. He’s lying on something hard and cold, with a sharp ridge digging into his back. There’s a smell of sulphur in the air and someone’s shaking him. It doesn’t make him feel any better.
Then the buzzing in his ears recede and he hears a low frantic voice repeating the same words over and over, “Prosím, buď naživu.”
That’s when it all comes racing back. Teyla and McKay’s backs, running towards the ‘jumper. The Wraith. The sub-space tracking device adding to all his other aches and pains.
He forces his eyes open and is greeted by the pale, terrified face of Radek Zeleka. The little scientist has a dark smudge of something streaking one unshaven cheek and a purplish bruise on his forehead right under the wispy hairline. He’s holding himself awkwardly, like every movement hurts. Of course it does. Getting a tracker implanted is a literal pain in the neck.
Ronon clears his throat and manages a few hoarse words.
“This is not good.”
Zelenka’s tired eyes shine with relief. “You have a gift for stating the obvious, my friend,” he says, mouth twisting into a sardonic smile.
Ronon makes an effort to get up from the ground. It makes his back and his chest protest loudly, damn, that’s a couple of broken ribs at least. Zelenka keeps a concerned grip on his elbow and somehow, he manages to get to his feet, swaying slightly.
They’re standing in the middle of a barren wasteland, rocky and rough. There’s a smoking fissure nearby and the air stings in Ronon’s eyes, makes them tear up. He can’t remember ever having been here before. The Wraith must’ve known that, putting them down on this world. Ronon only hopes it has a Stargate, or this hunt won’t last long, especially now that he isn’t alone.
Things would be easier if he were, but for some reason he can’t make himself feel sorry.
He takes a few unsteady steps away from the fissure. “Let’s go,” he tells Zelenka. “We gotta find the ‘Gate.”
* * *
They have no equipment other than the clothes they’re wearing. No weapons, no food, nothing. Ronon tries to tuck the pain away, push it back into that place in his mind where it’ll just lie floating without bothering him. Being up and moving helps, even though every breath feels like crushed glass in his chest. He’s done this before. He can do it again.
Zelenka is relatively uninjured, just a few cuts and bruises. His most serious injury is the ugly incision from the tracking device. He lets Ronon lead the way through the rocky landscape, following a few steps behind without a word of complaint.
They walk in silence. Ronon tries to wrap his head around the situation. For a start they need water. Then weapons, food and shelter, in that order. He’s not sure how long it’s been since the Wraith put them down on this world, his internal clock says a couple of hours at he most, but that means the hunt is already on. They need to find a way off the planet. If they’re lucky, this Hive want to get as much sport as possible out of their new runners, but if there’s no ‘Gate... Ronon doesn’t want to think about that right now. First things first.
There are puddles of water here and there, but it smells rancid and can’t be used for drinking water. Zelenka says the planet must have extensive volcanic activity, something Ronon is capable of figuring out for himself. The mountains at the horizon are pouring out smoke and there’s a thick cloud of ash blocking out the sunlight. Now and then, the ground shakes.
They need to get out of here. The air is hard to breathe, grates at the lungs like acid. Even without the Wraith hunters, they won’t survive long on this world. If they’d had one of those scanners McKay always carries around, finding the ‘Gate would be easy. Ronon pushes that thought away as well. Atlantis has made him soft and lazy. He didn’t have any scanners before, he doesn’t need one now.
‘Gates were built for people, so if there is one on this world, it has to be close to inhabitated areas. Ronon heads downhill, away from the smoking fissures and the bubbling hot springs. People in mountain areas live in the valleys so thats where they need to go.
There’s still no sign of Wraith and probably won’t be for a while yet. They like to play with their prey, let them think they’ve escaped before they strike. But even then, weapons are very near the top of the list. If there is a ‘Gate, Ronon doesn’t expect the Wraith to let them off the planet so easily.
With the cloud of ash cloaking the world in darkness, there’s no way to tell if it’s night or day. They walk until Zelenka begins to fall farther and farther behind, struggling to keep up even with Ronon’s slow limping steps. The doc doesn’t go off-world often and his physical shape isn’t the best. That has to change. But for now, they need a couple of hours rest. Who knows how big the planet is? They could have weeks of hiking ahead of them. No use tiring themselves out the first day.
Lower down, the air is a little easier to breathe. Ronon finds a cliff overhang, protected from the elements. Still no water though, and that’s going to be a problem soon. Another day at the most before the effects of dehydration will become more severe. They can always drink their own piss if things get really desperate, but they’re not quite there yet.
Zelenka sinks down to the ground, groaning loudly. He leans back against the cliff face and closes his eyes. “If I had known this would happen, I would have visited the gym more often,” he mutters, just loud enough for Ronon to hear.
“You’re doing fine, doc,” Ronon says, slowly easing himself down, wincing as the pain in his ribs blossoms up again. You can’t afford to let something like exhaustion bring you down, have to keep moving forward even when you’re resting.
Zelenka’s a scrappy guy, tough as leather and more stubborn than an old ghetra. As long as Ronon can keep them both reasonably safe, he’ll pull his weight.
“Where do we go?” Zelenka mumbles, eyes still closed. His glasses are cracked, spidery lines reaching all over one lense. “We cannot return to Atlantis, not with the tracking devices.”
Ronon leans back against the cliff, ignoring the way his muscles twinges. He puts one hand on Zelenka’s thigh, offering what comfort he can give. “Don’t worry. I got a plan.”
He doesn’t, not yet. But he will have.
Zelenka soons fall asleep, snoring softly and muttering things in his native language. Ronon’s body screams for rest, for oblivion, but he can’t afford it, not yet. Instead, he looks out into the darkness and thinks.
* * *
Wraith cocoon, sticky and confining, head still pounding from the stunner blast and he’ll never get used to this, throws himself against the slimy substance holding him in place, struggles until he runs out of strength and energy and then struggles some more. That’s when they come, haul him out and drag him through the Hive ship, to that room he knows all too well, the cold operating table, the sharp equipment, holds him down while they cut his back open and he thinks no no no not again not fair just got away. He screams when they push the transmitter into his flesh, screams and fights, but there are too many of them. Then he looks up, to the side, sees Zelenka limp and unmoving on another table, and that’s when he breaks loose from the Wraith holding him, manages to kill two before they get hold of him again and punch him into oblivion...
* * *
He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he wakes up with Zelenka’s head pillowed on his shoulder. The world outside the shelter hasn’t changed. It’s difficult to tell time without a sun or the stars, but Ronon doesn’t think more than a few hours has passed. His muscles have stiffened up and it hurts to move. He shifts a little, tries to get his body working again, and then shakes Zelenka awake.
The doc starts awake with the beginning of a curse on his lips, but then he catches sight of Ronon and relaxes. “Oh, it’s you,” he says, rubbing his eyes with grimy hands.
“You expected someone else?” Ronon asks, getting to his feet with the cliff face for support. He has a steel band of pain around his chest and he knows it’ll probably get worse before they get better. “We need to get moving.”
Zelenka struggles upright, slowly and stiffly, like an old man. He stretches out and winces at the sound of his back cracking and popping. “No breakfast buffet?” he says with a tired sparkle in his eyes. “I don’t think I will be visiting this hotel again. The service is deplorable.”
Ronon grins at that, relived to see the doc hasn’t given up. “Come on,” he says, reaching out a hand to steady Zelenka. “Time to go.”
The trek is slow. They’re beginning to feel the lack of food and water. Ronon keeps all his senses wide open, anticipating Wraith with every step. He hasn’t found anything that could be used as a weapon, but he’s killed Wraith with his bare hands before and he can do it again. But that was back when he didn’t have anyone else to worry about.
The hunger is gnawing at his belly and his throat feels as dry as a desert. Ronon can take a lot worse than this, but he’s not so sure about Zelenka.
When they round a hill and catch sight of the Stargate in the distance, it’s like a heavy burden falls from Ronon’s shoulders. He turns around, towards Zelenka who’s walking with his back bent, both eyes on the ground. “We got a way off the planet,” he says, pointing.
Zelenka looks up, squinting through his broken glasses, and then his weary face lights up. “That is good news. Where do we go?”
Ronon shrugs. “Anywhere not here. Got a problem though. The Hive’s probably still in orbit and they won’t let us go without a fight.”
Zelenka only nods dejectedly, too exhausted for terror. “This will not be easy, will it?” he asks.
“Never is,” Ronon responds and keeps on walking.
As they approach the ‘Gate, they can see ruins, buildings abandoned centuries ago. The climate probably changed into what it is today and the people who lived here left to find a new home. Or they were culled. Whatever happened to them, they aren’t here anymore, but buildings means prospective weapons and that’s something of which they’re in desperate need.
It’s a small village, pre-industrial, in Zelenka’s terms, and it’s mostly destroyed by the elements. Rubble, fallen bricks, large heaps of junk, everything covered by a thin layer of ashes, like fine grey snow. Ronon roots through the trash, doesn’t find much useful stuff, but he’s able to pull a long jagged piece of metal free from a half-demolished house. He tears strips from his shirt and winds them around one end to make a handle. It’s not his old sword, but it’ll do.
A moment later, the first dart flies over the razed village. Ronon is the first to hear it and he pushes Zelenka into a lopsided doorway. He doesn’t think the Wraith will use the culling beams but you can never be sure.
“Stay here,” he tells Zelenka and forces the doctor further into the abandoned house. One wall and half the roof is gone and it’s not much of a hiding place, but it’s better than nothing and Ronon can’t afford to have company right now. Zelenka will be reasonably safe here until Ronon’s had a chance to deal with the Wraith.
There is the white flash of a beam a few houses away. The game’s on.
He hurries along the broken walls, crouching low to avoid being seen too soon. He doesn’t know how many Wraith there are. Probably not too many, not if they want to draw the hunt out. This is the first test. They want to find out what their new runners are made of. Ronon is more than happy to show them.
The dart zooms away again, probably returning to the Hive. Ronon peers around a corner and sees six Wraith standing in what once was the central square of the village. Two warriors and four drones, armed with stunners. Ronon misses his gun, but the big make-shift knife is better than nothing.
They split up almost immediately and move into different directions, the drones in pairs and the warriors by themselves. Bad move. Ronon creeps between buildings, around the square. Soundless. Invisible. He targets one of the drone pairs first, moves up behind them so he can surprise them. One falls immediately with Ronon’s knife in its back. The other one turns around and slams him into the remnants of a wall. The impact makes his ribs howl and presses all the air from his lungs, but he doesn’t have time for pain, wraps his hands around its thick neck and pushes it away from him. They fall to the ground in a tangled, struggling heap. The drone obviously didn’t expect its prey to put up so much of a fight, and that becomes its demise. Ronon reaches for a fallen rock, heavy and sharp in his hand, and bashes its skull in. Its legs twitches a little until it falls still and silent. He rips the knife out of the othere one’s back and slits its throat for good measure.
Two down, four to go, and now he’s got stunners. One of the warriors is the next to go, falls paralyzed to the ground before Ronon hacks off its head. Recover from that, sucker. The beheaded warrior has a better knife, not as large as the one Ronon fashioned for himself, but sharper. Ronon sticks it into his belt and moves on.
The last two drones are quickly disposed off. They’re not much of a challenge, big and stupid and unable to think for themselves. Ronon considers helping himself to their armour, but the thought makes his skin crawl, so he leaves them where they lie.
Only one left now, and for a brief terrifying moment, Ronon thinks he’s lost track of it until he hears a scream and a crash. He almost stops breathing, thinks Zelenka and the sets off in the direction of the noise at a run, all the while cursing himself for leaving the doc alone and defenseless.
The building where he left Zelenka has been reduced to a large heap of building stones and wooden beams on the ground. Ronon’s heart is pounding its way through his ribcage as he hurries closer, searching frantically for any signs of life from the ruin
“Doc?” he shouts, tearing into the rubble, not caring that it makes his fingers bleed, his whole body shouting silently no no no. He’s just about to move a large heavy stone aside when he feels someone watching him.
“Please not to do that,” comes a voice from behind him. “It took quite some work to demolish that house.”
Ronon spins around and sees Zelenka stand there in the middle of the narrow street. Even dirtier than before, an ugly scrape on one cheek and his hair covered in dust and dirt.
“You did that?” Ronon asks, astonished. He turns back to the rubble. Underneath the stone he was just about to move aside, he can see a pale hand, crushed and bloody. “Wraith?”
“I used to build mousetraps when I was a boy,” Zelenka says. There’s the slightest tremble in his voice and Ronon can see his hands shaking. Still. Not bad. Not bad at all.
“Well done,” Ronon says, clapping his shoulder. “Let’s get to the ‘Gate before they send more.”
He still remembers the adress of every world he’s ever been to and the one he picks is an uninhabited planet where the water is drinkable and there’s game to hunt. It’s late autumn there now and pretty cold, but it’s still better than this world with its fire breathing mountains.
They stumle through the ‘Gate, drawing in big lungfulls of fresh, clean air, soothing their abraded throats. Ronon finds a stream and they both lie down on their stomachs, lapping up the cold water like animals. They’re too tired to move any further so they seek shelter underneath a tree with low hanging branches, huddling together for warmth. Ronon sinks into sleep with Zelenka’s breath steady and even against his neck.
* * *
“Darts!” Teyla yells and heads for the ‘jumper, screaming into her headset for Sheppard to be ready to take off as soon as they get there. McKay and Zelenka are just behind her and Ronon covers their backs. They’re almost there, can see the shimmer of the cloak and the open hatch, when Zelenka stumbles and falls on his face. Ronon pulls him upright with a hand twisted in the back of his jacket and only hears McKay shout, “What’re you waiting for?” before the culling beam sweeps over them and the planet dissolves into nothing.
* * *
They’re not safe, won’t be safe again until they get rid of the tracking devices, but there’s no sign of Wraith yet and this planet is as good as any to stay for a while. There are no people here at risk to be culled if they stay too long.
Ronon gives his ribs a chance to begin to heal up. Zelenka takes the stunners apart and puts them back together, mostly to keep himself occupied it seems. It’s so cold their breath form little clouds of smoke in the air, and the trees have almost dropped all their leaves. They need warmth and food, but there’s lots of firewood and the forest is full of the small hoofed animals that are common all over the galaxy and the Lanteans have termed ‘dwarf gazelle’. Ronon fashions a couple of spears and goes hunting.
When he comes back to their campsite, he has a heavy body slung over his shoulder and the smell of blood in his nostrils.
Zelenka bathes in the river, skinny, naked and pale and shivering from the cold. He has dark purple bruises all over his body and the incision scar is angry red on his back, close to the knobbly spine. The sight of it makes Ronon shift his own shoulders, wince at the feel of the foreign object in there, broadcasting the signal that will bring the Wraith here.
They eat as much meat they possibly can without making themselves sick. Zelenka dries his goosepimpled skin by the fire and makes a disgusted face as he pulls his dirty clothes on again. Ronon feels restless, like his whole body is itching to leave, to get moving again. They’re safe for the moment but it won’t last long.
“What do you think happened to the others?” Zelenka asks, swallowing and wiping his greasy fingers on the leg of his pants. “Did they make it back?”
Ronon hasn’t thought of that yet, has forced himself not to think of it. Whatever did happen to the rest of his team, there’s nothing he can do about it now, not without risking Atlantis and everyone who lives there. “Don’t know,” he says. “Probably, or the Wraith would’ve said so. They like to gloat.”
Zelenka nods solemnly. “They won’t give up on us,” he says. “Rodney will find a way to track us.”
McKay will, Ronon’s sure of it. They came for him the last time when the Wraith brought him back to Sateda. Still, he can’t allow himself to relax because of it. Until McKay works his magic and comes up with a way to find them and get them help, they’re on their own.
* * *
It takes two days for the Wraith to find them. This time, they come through the ‘Gate, twelve of them, and it takes the better part of a day to get rid of them all and by then Ronon is covered in Wraith blood and is beginning to feel really grouchy. His ribs ache and being forced to leave sucks, even though he knew it was only a matter of time.
They jump between a couple of worlds to cover their tracks and then settle for the one with the endless swamps. Zelenka swats insects away from his face, muttering something about why everything in the galaxy seems intent on sucking the life out of him.
The shelter Ronon built the last time he was here is still standing, vegetation hanging off it like dark green drapes. This world is warm and humid, the air is thick to breathe and they’re drowning in their own sweat. Ronon washes the blood from his shirt and hangs it over a branch to dry, and then lies down on his stomach, dozing slightly in the heat.
After a while, he feels Zelenka’s hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, gently stroking his spine. He turns his head. “What’re you doin’?”
“I’m trying to locate the transmitter,” Zelenka says. “There must be a way to get it out.”
“No, there isn’t,” Ronon answers tiredly. He remembers the first time, how he spent hours hacking into his own flesh with no result. “I tried. Before.”
“Then maybe there is a way to jam the signal? If I can find out what frequency it broadcasts on...” Zelenka’s hand still moves over Ronon’s back. It feels good, long clever fingers against his skin, so he stays where he is and doesn’t move. He closes his eyes and tries to relax his tense muscles. Already so tired and it’s only been a couple of days.
The Wraith will keep coming.
* * *
This time there’s an entire cruiser hovering in the sky over the planet. Ronon grins to himself. They must be pissed off.
It’s been nearly a month. They haven’t heard squat from Atlantis. Zelenka has learned when to fight and when to run, grown lean stringy muscles. What he lacks in physical strength he makes up for by being a sneaky little bastard. He constructs traps Ronon could only dream of. Right now, he’s sitting perched in a tree somewhere, waiting for his latest invention to close up and catch a bunch of suckers.
Ronon kills five before he’s hit by a stunner and drops to the ground, limbs twitching, desperately trying to draw breath. This planet is an enormous jungle, stretching out forever, the foliage like a dark, lush ceiling above him and the ground soft. It smells wet and fresh and he tries to get his body working again, push through the paralysis, to get up and kill every last one of the fucking monsters.
A Wraith comes through the underbrush, long leather coat sweeping the ground and Ronon finds himself held up by his shirt, the greenish pale face snarling at him. He’s beginning to get the feeling back in his extremities and is just waiting for the right moment when the Wraith leans forward. Its long hair is brushing his skin and makes him feel sick and it hisses, “No one is coming for you this time, Lantean,” spits the words all over his face, and Ronon freezes. For a moment it’s like his heart has stopped before he reminds himself that Wraith lie, you can’t trust them, but he’s still not prepared when it tosses him into a tree and he drops to the ground, coughing and groaning, watching it come at him again, smiling coldly.
He’s only just made it to his feet again when the Wraith stops dead in its tracks, surrounded by crackling blue light and then falls face first to reveal Zelenka standing behind it wielding a stunner. He’s wide-eyed and pale and Ronon knows he must’ve heard what the Wraith said. Ronon draws his knife and finishes the sucker and then looks up at Zelenka, who still hasn’t moved from where he’s standing, with the stunner in a tight-knuckled grip.
“They lie,” he tells Zelenka. “They’re trying to get to us.”
But the weak attempt at comfort sounds empty and pathetic even to his own ears. Last time, it didn’t take McKay more than a day to find him and he knows Sheppard won’t stop looking. If there’s one thing he’s learned about the Lanteans it’s that they don’t leave their people behind.
Zelenka lets the stunner fall to the ground. They already have more of them than they can carry. The doc swallows a couple of times, trying to get himself together, and then digs into his pocket, taking out some electronic gadget. It looks Wraith-made and Ronon peers over his shoulder. “What’s that?”
“I took it off one of the Wraith,” Zelenka says. “It appears to be a scanner of some sort, probably to track our life signs. I might be able to modify it to jam the signals from our sub-space transmitters.”
“You do that,” Ronon agrees, patting Zelenka’s back. It’s a long shot, but they got to keep their hopes up. “Come on, time to go.”
Time to keep moving.
* * *
They risk going to an inhabited world to try to get some news on what’s going on in the galaxy. Just a quick visit, pop in and out again, and with a little luck, the Wraith won’t pay attention to that particular planet and leave it alone once they’ve left again.
Ronon knows people on Nared so that’s where they go, hurrying through the gate with a strong feeling of unease. Zelenka’s been working on the transmitters, but so far he hasn’t had any luck and they keep moving and moving and fighting Wraith and moving.
Nared hasn’t changed much and neither has the village by the gate. The same muddy streets, the same cheerful people. Ronon briefly wishes they could’ve gone somewhere else, to a planet whose people he doesn’t like, but they can’t afford to do this more than once and what Galen doesn’t know about what’s happening in the galaxy isn’t worth knowing.
It feels like everyone’s eyes are on them as they walk into the village pub where Galen can always be found at his regular table. It’s like they all know, like they can see the tracking devices. Ronon tries not to meet anyone’s eyes, and Zelenka walks two steps behind him, staring at the ground, his shoulders hunched in on himself like he’s trying to make himself invisible.
True enough, Galen is sitting in the pub with a drink, the good-natured bastard, and when he catches sight of Ronon he stands up, wide grin on his face.
“Hello Ronon! What brings you here?”
Ronon can’t hold back his smile as he squeezes Galen’s shoulder and sits down at the opposite side of the table. It’s been a while. “Looking for news on the Lanteans,” he says.
“You don’t know?” Galen asks.
“Know what?” Ronon counters, grasping Zelenka’s hands in his to stop him from fidgeting.
“Atlantis has been besieged by the Wraith for weeks,” Galen says. “Rumour is they won’t be able to hold out much longer. Already asked the Genii for help, but it looks like they’re loosing.”
Zelenka’s mouth opens and closes like a fish’s before he sputters, “But...but... how? What happened?”
Galen shrugs and throws his drink back. “People say they were betrayed. Trusted someone they shouldn’t have trusted. How come you don’t know?”
“Long story,” Ronon says, dodging his head with a deep feeling of guilt. They’ve been here too long, could already have doomed these people to death. “We got to go. Thanks.”
“Hey, what’s the hurry!” Galen shouts after them as they leave the pub.
They’re quiet on their way back to the gate, hurrying their steps, keeping one eye on the sky. There are no darts.
Yet.
* * *
On the next world, the Wraith come almost immediately. Ronon and Zelenka have barely made it through the gate before they’re overrun by suckers. Ronon kills nine, a little bit more ferociously than usual. Zelenka kills three and manages to lay his hands on a Wraith communication device that makes his otherwise grim face take on an expression of smugness that reminds Ronon too much of McKay.
They leave, jump between planets before they run out of energy and collapse together in a cave on the world where Ronon first encountered the Lanteans. In fact, it is the very cave where he had Sheppard and Teyla tied up, before he realised that these were people he could finally trust, before the seven years of bitter loneliness finally came to an end.
Zelenka hunkers down, fiddling with the Wraith gadgets, cursing softly to himself. He’s been silent since Nared and the news from Atlantis and Ronon doesn’t know what to do, what to say to make it better.
There might no be a way to make it better, to make anything better. Ronon lies down on the ground, closes his eyes and listens to Zelenka work, taking selfish comfort in the fact that he’s not alone this time. His skin is still crawling from fighting the Wraith, his muscles tense and restless and he has to force himself to lie still, to take stock of any possible injuries he might have so they won’t come back and bite him in the ass when he can least afford them.
He breathes in, out, slowly. Concentrates on the way his body feels, heavy and sore and utterly exhausted. He stays like that for a while, searches for that reserve of rage to rely on to keep going, but it’s very deeply hidden this time around. He can’t take his mind off Atlantis; keep seeing images of explosions against the shield like fireworks, of Sheppard in the chair and McKay scurrying around fixing things, close to collapsing from sleep deprivation, of Teyla leading soldiers through the lower levels in search of intruders. He aches inside because he ought to be there with them, ought to keep them safe and instead he’s here, useless and hunted and so tired that he’s not sure he will be able to go on this time.
Zelenka’s hand on his shoulder makes him start, reach up and grip the doc’s wrist before he realises that there’s no threat, not at the moment. Zelenka studies him with eyes sunk deep in his thin face; they haven’t had nearly enough to eat lately and it’s worse for Zelenka than for Ronon, he has less body fat from which to draw.
“Turn over,” Zelenka says, waving some contraption in his face, something that looks like a mix of the Wraith scanner and the communication device. Ronon does what he says, lies belly down on the hard ground and feels how Zelenka strokes his back again. He revels in the touch and he needs this right now, didn’t even know he needed it before Zelenka touched his skin but he has to keep himself from arching into the touch, from trying to get as much contact as possible just to verify to himself that he’s not alone - that there are two of them, they’re trapped in this nightmare together.
Zelenka touches him slowly, gently, like he’s trying to calm a skittish animal, and Ronon surprises himself by groaning deep down in his chest, closes his eyes again and concentrates of Zelenka’s fingers on his body, of the light bird-feather touch.
Then, it’s gone and it’s like the world suddenly went colder, emptier. Zelenka rustles with something above him, pushes buttons on his newly constructed gadget and mutters to himself, “Ne, ne, to je špatně. Do háje, přece to nějak...“
Ronon doesn’t understand a word and he misses Zelenka’s touch, his presence, so he rolls over and pulls the doc down against him, lean body warm and sweaty and a little surprised, but then his mouth finds Zelenka’s and the scanner/communication device/whatever clanks to the ground and Zelenka’s fingers are in his hair, rubbing, gripping his scalp hard as their tongues fight a battle of their own. There’s too many layers between them, Ronon needs more skin, more touch, needs to know he’s not alone, and then one of Zelenka’s hands travels down his body slides underneath his shirt and Ronon moans into Zelenka’s mouth, can’t get enough of skin and touch and warmth and togetherness
He’s actually a little surprised to find himself hard, didn’t think his body had enough energy for it, but here they are, moving rhythmically against each other. Zelenka’s hands underneath his shirt, Ronon’s on Zelenka’s ass, grinding their cocks together through the fabric of their pants and it’s good, desperate and frantic but still good. They come together, swallowing each other’s moans.
Zelenka leans his head against Ronon’s shoulder, panting harshly, and Ronon reaches up to cradle the back of his head, feels Zelenka’s breath against his skin, their hearts beating against each other through their chests and that’s how they fall asleep, too weary for anything else.
* * *
He still runs, doesn’t really know how to stop. Sometimes it feels like he’s been running since he joined up on Sateda. Slogging through knee-deep mud with a pack full of rocks on his back and Kell’s voice barking orders in his ears. Running was the means to an end, a way to prove his worth, to become strong so he could help protect his world.
Then, when he was on his own, running meant survival. It kept him going, gave him strenght and stamina. There were times when he ran for days on end, just to feel the ground move beneath him, feel his heart beat in his chest, to know that he was still alive.
Now, on Atlantis, he runs because he wants to. Because that is who he is. He climbs a flight of stairs, takes the steps two at a time and almost laughs at the feeling of the blood pumping through his veins, the sound of his feet against the floors of Atlantis. Sheppard is panting far behind him, but for once, Ronon doesn’t slow down to let him catch up.
In the city of the Ancestors, no one orders him to run. No one hunts him and forces him to run. Here, he can run because it feels good, because his body and mind craves it.
Ronon speeds up a little more, pushes on until he reaches that place inside where it feels like he’s flying.
* * *
He wakes up still half submerged in dream, his pants sticky and uncomfortable. He feels okay though, relaxed, better than he’s felt in ages, since before they started running.
There’s sunlight shining in through the opening of the cave. Ronon lies still for a while, lost in memories; he remembers McKay hanging upside down from a tree in that signal red suit, crazy lieutenant Ford jumping into a culling beam, Sheppard and Teyla trying to gain his trust, and Beckett cutting the transmitter out of his back.
Ronon shifts a little, thinks he’s probably due for a bath, thinks about Zelenka’s mouth against his and their bodies moving together, and then he rolls over, turns around to see the doc sitting against the wall of the cave, fiddling with his gadget.
“Morning,” he croaks and then clears his throat and stretches. Muscles still stiff, but better than yesterday. Zelenka looks up, waving his contraption in the air with an unbelievably content expression on his face.
“I did it. I jammed the signal. We can go home.”
* * *
They step through the ‘Gate at the Alpha site, prepared to come face to face by armed marines.
There are none. The place is empty, silent, only remnants of tents and equipment strewn about. Zelenka looks ready to rush down the dais, but Ronon holds him back with a hand on his shoulder.
“Wait,” he says, drawing his knives and heading down the steps in front of Zelenka. It’s so quiet it’s eerie, the only sound is the wind whining in the trees.
There doesn’t seem to have been any kind of battle here. The Alpha site is just...abandoned.
“Maybe they moved,” Zelenka says, voice a little unsteady.
“Let’s try dialling Atlantis,” Ronon says, fearing the worst.
They try. Then they try again, and again, and again, until Zelenka sinks to the ground, his back to the DHD and sighs, “The wormhole cannot be established. Maybe... maybe they moved the city again? Maybe the Atlantis ‘Gate is malfunctioning? If we wait a few hours maybe...”
Grasping at straws and Ronon can’t blame him, but he can’t find any way to comfort the doc either so he moves away from the DHD, walks around the abandoned camp, kicks at a few empty crates on the ground, left there by the Lanteans.
One of them rattles. Ronon reaches down to look inside.
There’s a backpack, the kind the Lanteans use, and when he rips it open he finds some supplies. A blanket, a canteen full of water, a couple of MRE:s, and one of those tablets the scientists use all the time.
“Zelenka!” he shouts. “Come here!”
The doc gets to his feet painstakingly slowly, like he’s all done, too tired and dejected to move, but he speeds up a little when Ronon waves the tablet at him.
“What is it?” he asks, taking the thing out of Ronon’s hands, pushing a few buttons.
Sheppard’s face appears on the screen. He’s unshaven, deep dark circles underneath his eyes and he look stressed and exhausted.
“Ronon, Radek, if you’re watching this, Atlantis is gone. The Apollo is evacuating personnel as we speak. I want you to know that we never gave up looking for you. Won’t give up looking. No matter what happens, we’ll find a way back to Pegasus. We won’t leave you behind, that’s a promise.” Sheppard turned his head, looking at something or someone out of screen. “Yeah, okay, I’m coming.” Then he turned back to the camera. “Rodney says be careful and don’t get yourselves killed and Teyla... Teyla’s not coming with us. She wants to find her people. So... you might run into her.” Sheppard cleared his throat. “Well. I guess this is goodbye for now. Take care and...”
They don’t get to know what else Sheppard had been about to say. The picture becomes unfocused and then fades into black. Zelenka lets the hand holding the tablet fall to his side. “So much for going home,” he sighs.
Ronon draws a deep breath, tries to adjust to the new development. For his inner eye, he sees Atlantis going up in smoke, disintegrating and disappearing into nothing. That’s two homes lost now, and it doesn’t seem fair.
“They’re alive,” he says finally. “And you heard him, they’re coming back. Sheppard keeps his promises.”
When Zelenka meets his gaze, his eyes are glassy and moist behind the spectacles, and Ronon thinks that maybe he has lost even more. His life’s work, the place he’s put his whole soul into. “What do we do now?” Zelenka asks, empty voiced. “Where do we go? Where...”
Ronon has no idea. He needs a new plan, needs to sit down and think, find a new direction. He’s so unbelievably tired, could just lie down here and now and sleep for a week, for a year, but that would feel too much like going to sleep on a grave, the tomb of Atlantis, the city of the Ancestors.
“Belkan,” he says, making the decision, because a decision has to be made, they have to keep moving. “Some of my people live there. We can find a doctor to get these damn things out. And Teyla’s gonna stop by sooner or later. It’s a place to start. From there... we’ll figure it out.”
Zelenka nods slowly and tucks the tablet into the backpack, wraps it in the blanket to keep it safe. The only thing left of Atlantis.
Ronon enters the gate address and watches the ‘Gate activate, open up into an uncertain future. He should feel angry, should be furious with himself for not getting them here earlier, for letting the Lanteans fight their last battle without him. Instead he feels calm, almost reverent.
Zelenka is a grounding presence by his elbow when they walk up the dais at the ‘Gate. In the middle of all disappointment, the defeat, they at least have this. There’s two of them.
Before stepping through the ‘Gate, Zelenka turns around, giving the abandoned Alpha site one last look. A few low words spill over his lips.
“Odpočívej v pokoji.”
Ronon doesn’t understand the words, but he gets the meaning and offers up a silent prayer of his own. Then they turn their backs to the Alpha site and the memory of Atlantis and walk through the event horizon towards whatever comes next.
-fin-
Translations:
Prosím, buď naživu - Don’t be dead, please.
Ne, ne, to je špatně. Do háje, přece to nějak... - No, no, it’s all wrong. Damn it, there has to be a way...
Odpočívej v pokoji - Rest in peace.