FIC: Last Man Standing
Title: Last Man Standing
Genre: het, angst
Summary: The Wraith are bombarding the city and there's nothing Ronon can do to stop them.
Main characters: Ronon, Elizabeth Teyla.
Pairing: Ronon/Elizabeth with some Ronon/Teyla friendship and implied John/Teyla.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be.
Ronon’s imagined his death a thousand times, has probably faced it as many times: getting impaled, shot, blown up… His first wish, one of only two prayers he can still make, is to die fighting, on his feet and preferably taking whoever kills him along to the grave. And secondly, and this is the wish he holds dearest: to not die at the hands of a Wraith.
The manner of his death as always preoccupied him. Growing up waiting for the Wraith to come, fighting them and then being hunted. He is the last of his people and he’s determined his race not die out at the hands of the fiends who plagued their existence. His people have already lost but they’re not yet defeated. As long as he stands, they aren’t.
But the city’s shaking and Ronon feels helpless. Wraith darts are impacting its shield by the hundreds trying to deplete their energy source. It’s held up pretty good till now but Rodney’s increasingly frantic outbursts and Elizabeth’s increasing pallor tell him all he needs to know about their situation. And there’s nothing he can do to help.
There are no Wraith close enough to fight, no ideas Ronon can contribute with. The danger they’re facing is well beyond his understanding and his help. Teyla feels the same, the helplessness is eating away at her but like him, she restrains it with silence. They’re not touching, or talking, but the link is there. He sees it when she looks up and catches his eye. They are the only two people here who feel the same.
Her hand on his arm comes out of nowhere and she leans heavily on him. The other is pressed against her forehead as she doubles over in pain, trying her hardest to be quiet. She becomes his salvation, a chance to be useful, so Ronon puts his arm around her shoulder, and basically carries her out of the control room and into the corridor before anyone notices.
She pushes away from him and falls to her knees holding her head, allowing herself to groan as soon as the doors close. Her face is twisted in pain, beads of sweat covering her brow. Her chest heaves irregularly, breath comes out harsh, painfully.
“Is it bad?”
“It will not be much longer, I think.”
She releases the words slowly and Ronon can only admire her strength and concentration.
“There are many Wraith and a queen on the closest ship. She wishes to take control of me.”
She looks up at him and other people might take her hand, maybe squeeze her shoulder. He doesn’t know what Sheppard would do, but it doesn’t matter. He knows exactly what she needs. He takes the time to smile boldly.
“Let her try, I’m here.”
Teyla smiles weakly and allows herself to rest her head in her hands. He can’t imagine how he’d feel knowing there was a little bit of Wraith in him, he doesn’t know what he’d do. But Teyla uses her abilities, her “gift” as she calls it to help people, to save lives. So he tries no to think about it too much, and at times like this, he tries harder to be there for her.
She looks a little pale and but he’s confident she’ll make it. Teyla’s strong and Ronon knows she warned him just in case, in keeping with her cautious manner. If she’d thought it risky, she wouldn’t be outside the control room, so close to the heart of Atlantis’ defense.
But she didn’t leave either. Like him, she finds it hard to be entirely out of the fight. It’s bad enough to stand by idly, unable to contribute, only too aware of what’s at stake. The Wraith are here once again and Atlantis is in for the fight of its life. Elizabeth set the objective: no one can get away, destroy them all and pray no more will come.
On land or in direct combat, Ronon knows what to do, he’s even an asset. But in this fight, when it comes to shields and ZPMs, when it’s about hit percentages and ratios, he’s lost. Others have to fight for all of them, he has to trust his friends and sit here, out of their way, waiting for them to save the day.
He punches the wall and welcomes the pain. It’s real and he holds on to it as he smashes his hand against the wall, again and again.
“Ronon…”
This time she can’t understand, she’s fighting too. He’s the only one ….
Behind the door, in the control room Elizabeth is overseeing the situation, making the decisions that will ultimately save them all. He loves her strength, her heart, her courage. She does things most people are unable to out of sheer willpower. She handles pressure few people can imagine, let alone face. He left but she’s still there and any outcome will be her responsibility.
He doesn’t really understand that. How tied down she is by people who aren’t directly hers, committed to an expedition, a curiosity. When Elizabeth talks about Atlantis, he gets chills. Because she doesn’t see weapon systems or power sources, she sees architecture and knowledge. Human endeavor and what being here, seeking it out makes them. It makes them explorers and in her somewhat romantic view, protectors of the future. The ZPMs, what Ronon and his teammates do everyday when they travel through the stargate, their primary mission objective, as far as she’s concerned, it’s just a means to protect her precious city.
There may be many administrative duties, treaties to negotiate, the military to contend with. And no, she doesn’t enjoy speaking at funerals or writing families on her world to tell them a loved one died. And maybe she would have liked it best to spend her time exclusively in Atlantis’ many libraries, translating books, uncovering knowledge long-forgotten, but she’s not.
Her leaders asked and she accepted. She’s the leader of the city of Ancients and won’t ever compromise about what that means and what she has to do. Because top to bottom, in every fiber of her being, in caressing or living, Elizabeth Weir is an adventurer. And Ronon loves that about her.
It’s all the rest, the way she embraces responsibility and even seems enslaved by it. It’s one thing to have a team to worry about, to fight for and risk losing, but hundreds of people? No, never… he doesn’t have that in him.
He cares about her, she’s his lover. Sheppard, Teyla and Rodney are his friends. Their lives, all their lives are worth fighting for. Atlantis is an amazing weapon, a great opportunity in bringing the fight to the Wraith but if it were all to end tomorrow, he’d carry on, survive. He’s not sure about Elizabeth, or Sheppard for that matter, and that’s probably the real bond between the two of them, the opaque connection that excludes everyone else. Sheppard is the one who understands, who shares it with her. They are responsible and that’s the bottom line.
He doesn’t really worry about Sheppard and Elizabeth. No more than Sheppard worries about him and Teyla. That’s the best comparison he can establish. Ronon and Teyla are natives of Pegasus, they grew up knowing the Wraith would come, waiting for it. They did come, again and again, and every time there were new losses, more people to grieve for and more deaths to avenge. Their appearance is fact, an aspect of human life in this galaxy. They rarely leave his dreams and he’d be willing to bet it’s the same for Teyla. Their burden is of a different kind.
Teyla looks up a few second before the city shudders violently and the pressure, increasing dramatically, has him on his knees, fearing the worst. It could be the end but he feels neither acceptance nor composure. Rather such a violent burst of rage and hatred for the implacable enemies bent on taking it all away, his love, his world, his youth and now his new home and the woman whose heart must be breaking to realize she kept neither her people nor her beloved city safe.
“It is over, they are destroyed.”
He releases a sigh as the pressure suddenly lifts and the tension in his body wanes, his emotions flowing away, rearranging themselves into the iron resolve that fuels him. As long as he can go on fighting, he'll keep his rage at bay. Very quickly now, Elizabeth will make the announcement and he’ll hear her voice and know she’s safe, that they all are, for now.
He waits for her to come to bed. There’s damage to assess, more responsibilities to shoulder and he knows she’ll send everyone to bed, even Sheppard, before she allows herself to rest. So he waits in her room for her to return so he can hold her before tomorrow, when she’ll get up to do it all again.
Then she’s there, looking tired, beaten and he can’t find the words. Even by his own standards, he speaks very little. He’s doesn’t mean to be quiet but something’s got him holding back. He tries to explain why while he watches her shed her clothes, getting ready for bed.
“I don’t know what to say.”
She freezes while taking off her top and turns to look at him over her shoulder. He wonders if she knows exactly how beautiful she is, how beautiful he finds her.
“Well, that’s a start.”
She sits down on the bed but keeps her distance. She has that look, the one that’s constantly trying to see deep inside him, trying to figure him out. She wants him to tell her.
Instead he reaches out for her and she comes to him with little hesitation. She settles in his arms and doesn’t move while his hands caress the milky skin, moving up her forearms, framing her shoulders, caressing her hair. There was danger, the kind he can’t protect her from and it hurts him in ways he can’t put into words. They all live on the edge here but he and Teyla know how easy it is to tip over and exactly how quickly you can lose everything. He knows how quickly he did lose everything, everyone. The woman he still dreams about in Elizabeth’s arms.
He’s never told her but she must know, she can probably imagine. He can tell that there was someone for her too. He felt her letting go of him and then attaching herself to Ronon. He hasn’t been able to do the same and scares like this, these reminders… he doesn’t know what they do but he’s here holding her, like he’s been before and like he’ll probably be again. And she’s here, hugging him back, holding on so tight his eyes sting.
And later, in his arms just before she slips into sleep she whispers:
“Consider it payback for every time you step through the gate.”
And the thought comes to him that he has a reason to always returns to Atlantis, a responsibility of his own.
Genre: het, angst
Summary: The Wraith are bombarding the city and there's nothing Ronon can do to stop them.
Main characters: Ronon, Elizabeth Teyla.
Pairing: Ronon/Elizabeth with some Ronon/Teyla friendship and implied John/Teyla.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be.
Ronon’s imagined his death a thousand times, has probably faced it as many times: getting impaled, shot, blown up… His first wish, one of only two prayers he can still make, is to die fighting, on his feet and preferably taking whoever kills him along to the grave. And secondly, and this is the wish he holds dearest: to not die at the hands of a Wraith.
The manner of his death as always preoccupied him. Growing up waiting for the Wraith to come, fighting them and then being hunted. He is the last of his people and he’s determined his race not die out at the hands of the fiends who plagued their existence. His people have already lost but they’re not yet defeated. As long as he stands, they aren’t.
But the city’s shaking and Ronon feels helpless. Wraith darts are impacting its shield by the hundreds trying to deplete their energy source. It’s held up pretty good till now but Rodney’s increasingly frantic outbursts and Elizabeth’s increasing pallor tell him all he needs to know about their situation. And there’s nothing he can do to help.
There are no Wraith close enough to fight, no ideas Ronon can contribute with. The danger they’re facing is well beyond his understanding and his help. Teyla feels the same, the helplessness is eating away at her but like him, she restrains it with silence. They’re not touching, or talking, but the link is there. He sees it when she looks up and catches his eye. They are the only two people here who feel the same.
Her hand on his arm comes out of nowhere and she leans heavily on him. The other is pressed against her forehead as she doubles over in pain, trying her hardest to be quiet. She becomes his salvation, a chance to be useful, so Ronon puts his arm around her shoulder, and basically carries her out of the control room and into the corridor before anyone notices.
She pushes away from him and falls to her knees holding her head, allowing herself to groan as soon as the doors close. Her face is twisted in pain, beads of sweat covering her brow. Her chest heaves irregularly, breath comes out harsh, painfully.
“Is it bad?”
“It will not be much longer, I think.”
She releases the words slowly and Ronon can only admire her strength and concentration.
“There are many Wraith and a queen on the closest ship. She wishes to take control of me.”
She looks up at him and other people might take her hand, maybe squeeze her shoulder. He doesn’t know what Sheppard would do, but it doesn’t matter. He knows exactly what she needs. He takes the time to smile boldly.
“Let her try, I’m here.”
Teyla smiles weakly and allows herself to rest her head in her hands. He can’t imagine how he’d feel knowing there was a little bit of Wraith in him, he doesn’t know what he’d do. But Teyla uses her abilities, her “gift” as she calls it to help people, to save lives. So he tries no to think about it too much, and at times like this, he tries harder to be there for her.
She looks a little pale and but he’s confident she’ll make it. Teyla’s strong and Ronon knows she warned him just in case, in keeping with her cautious manner. If she’d thought it risky, she wouldn’t be outside the control room, so close to the heart of Atlantis’ defense.
But she didn’t leave either. Like him, she finds it hard to be entirely out of the fight. It’s bad enough to stand by idly, unable to contribute, only too aware of what’s at stake. The Wraith are here once again and Atlantis is in for the fight of its life. Elizabeth set the objective: no one can get away, destroy them all and pray no more will come.
On land or in direct combat, Ronon knows what to do, he’s even an asset. But in this fight, when it comes to shields and ZPMs, when it’s about hit percentages and ratios, he’s lost. Others have to fight for all of them, he has to trust his friends and sit here, out of their way, waiting for them to save the day.
He punches the wall and welcomes the pain. It’s real and he holds on to it as he smashes his hand against the wall, again and again.
“Ronon…”
This time she can’t understand, she’s fighting too. He’s the only one ….
Behind the door, in the control room Elizabeth is overseeing the situation, making the decisions that will ultimately save them all. He loves her strength, her heart, her courage. She does things most people are unable to out of sheer willpower. She handles pressure few people can imagine, let alone face. He left but she’s still there and any outcome will be her responsibility.
He doesn’t really understand that. How tied down she is by people who aren’t directly hers, committed to an expedition, a curiosity. When Elizabeth talks about Atlantis, he gets chills. Because she doesn’t see weapon systems or power sources, she sees architecture and knowledge. Human endeavor and what being here, seeking it out makes them. It makes them explorers and in her somewhat romantic view, protectors of the future. The ZPMs, what Ronon and his teammates do everyday when they travel through the stargate, their primary mission objective, as far as she’s concerned, it’s just a means to protect her precious city.
There may be many administrative duties, treaties to negotiate, the military to contend with. And no, she doesn’t enjoy speaking at funerals or writing families on her world to tell them a loved one died. And maybe she would have liked it best to spend her time exclusively in Atlantis’ many libraries, translating books, uncovering knowledge long-forgotten, but she’s not.
Her leaders asked and she accepted. She’s the leader of the city of Ancients and won’t ever compromise about what that means and what she has to do. Because top to bottom, in every fiber of her being, in caressing or living, Elizabeth Weir is an adventurer. And Ronon loves that about her.
It’s all the rest, the way she embraces responsibility and even seems enslaved by it. It’s one thing to have a team to worry about, to fight for and risk losing, but hundreds of people? No, never… he doesn’t have that in him.
He cares about her, she’s his lover. Sheppard, Teyla and Rodney are his friends. Their lives, all their lives are worth fighting for. Atlantis is an amazing weapon, a great opportunity in bringing the fight to the Wraith but if it were all to end tomorrow, he’d carry on, survive. He’s not sure about Elizabeth, or Sheppard for that matter, and that’s probably the real bond between the two of them, the opaque connection that excludes everyone else. Sheppard is the one who understands, who shares it with her. They are responsible and that’s the bottom line.
He doesn’t really worry about Sheppard and Elizabeth. No more than Sheppard worries about him and Teyla. That’s the best comparison he can establish. Ronon and Teyla are natives of Pegasus, they grew up knowing the Wraith would come, waiting for it. They did come, again and again, and every time there were new losses, more people to grieve for and more deaths to avenge. Their appearance is fact, an aspect of human life in this galaxy. They rarely leave his dreams and he’d be willing to bet it’s the same for Teyla. Their burden is of a different kind.
Teyla looks up a few second before the city shudders violently and the pressure, increasing dramatically, has him on his knees, fearing the worst. It could be the end but he feels neither acceptance nor composure. Rather such a violent burst of rage and hatred for the implacable enemies bent on taking it all away, his love, his world, his youth and now his new home and the woman whose heart must be breaking to realize she kept neither her people nor her beloved city safe.
“It is over, they are destroyed.”
He releases a sigh as the pressure suddenly lifts and the tension in his body wanes, his emotions flowing away, rearranging themselves into the iron resolve that fuels him. As long as he can go on fighting, he'll keep his rage at bay. Very quickly now, Elizabeth will make the announcement and he’ll hear her voice and know she’s safe, that they all are, for now.
He waits for her to come to bed. There’s damage to assess, more responsibilities to shoulder and he knows she’ll send everyone to bed, even Sheppard, before she allows herself to rest. So he waits in her room for her to return so he can hold her before tomorrow, when she’ll get up to do it all again.
Then she’s there, looking tired, beaten and he can’t find the words. Even by his own standards, he speaks very little. He’s doesn’t mean to be quiet but something’s got him holding back. He tries to explain why while he watches her shed her clothes, getting ready for bed.
“I don’t know what to say.”
She freezes while taking off her top and turns to look at him over her shoulder. He wonders if she knows exactly how beautiful she is, how beautiful he finds her.
“Well, that’s a start.”
She sits down on the bed but keeps her distance. She has that look, the one that’s constantly trying to see deep inside him, trying to figure him out. She wants him to tell her.
Instead he reaches out for her and she comes to him with little hesitation. She settles in his arms and doesn’t move while his hands caress the milky skin, moving up her forearms, framing her shoulders, caressing her hair. There was danger, the kind he can’t protect her from and it hurts him in ways he can’t put into words. They all live on the edge here but he and Teyla know how easy it is to tip over and exactly how quickly you can lose everything. He knows how quickly he did lose everything, everyone. The woman he still dreams about in Elizabeth’s arms.
He’s never told her but she must know, she can probably imagine. He can tell that there was someone for her too. He felt her letting go of him and then attaching herself to Ronon. He hasn’t been able to do the same and scares like this, these reminders… he doesn’t know what they do but he’s here holding her, like he’s been before and like he’ll probably be again. And she’s here, hugging him back, holding on so tight his eyes sting.
And later, in his arms just before she slips into sleep she whispers:
“Consider it payback for every time you step through the gate.”
And the thought comes to him that he has a reason to always returns to Atlantis, a responsibility of his own.