Fic: Missing Breath (by perspi)

[perspi]

Title: Missing Breath
Recipient's name:
pentapus
Author:
perspi
Pairing/Genre: Gen
Prompt used: Ronon+Teyla, Ronon's the nice one, a story set somewhere not in the usual canon--past, future, AU.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~3800
Summary:  Teyla helped make a home for Ronon, once. In the face of loss and grief, Ronon returns the favor.
Warnings: Future-fic, made AU by events in "The Kindred." Draws from canon through "Midway." Minor character death.
Notes: Thanks as ever go to my lovely First Readers, for prodding and catching the odd grammatical bits. Thanks also to
pentapus, who had many lovely prompts to choose from. I really, really hope you like this!

Comments and concrit always welcome.

Missing Breath

Ronon recites the Song for the Dead as he carries stones. When he began, Teyla had looked at him with surprise before nodding her thanks. She doesn't watch his progress, focusing instead on the cloth-wrapped bundle in her arms.

It doesn't take long to gather enough stones for a child-sized cairn.

They don't speak on the way back to the Ring of the Ancestors. Ronon knows what it's like to walk the ruins of one's home, so he doesn't ask about Athos, about the settlement they skirt or the Ancient city he can see in the distance. Instead, he reaches for her hand, and Teyla reaches back, holds his hand in hers until they've got the all-clear to go back to Atlantis.

Just before they step through the event horizon, Teyla turns to him, forcing him to pause. "Ronon, I must thank you," she says quietly. "For all of this."

Ronon answers with the refrain of the Song for the Dead. "We grieve as one."

Teyla's face cannot tighten more; her jaw flexes as she wills herself not to crumble and Ronon wishes that she would. That she would wail and sob and release her grief into the spaces between them, that he could carry some of it. She hasn't yet, though, and Ronon doesn't think he'll get his wish today, but it's worth a try. He pulls her forward and rests his forehead against hers. "Share salt with me," he murmurs.

She pulls away abruptly and doesn't meet his eyes. "I am not ready for tears," Teyla says harshly, before her face softens slightly. "But I am grateful for your offer."

Ronon watches a long moment before he says, "Let's go home," and steps through first.

On the other side, the wormhole zzzzips closed behind him and he looks around to find himself alone.

"What happened?" Ronon shouts up at the control room as he powers up the stairs.

"Nothing happened," Chuck answers him. "The gate was normal."

"Dial back," Ronon orders just as Sheppard saunters up.

"Teyla didn't come back with you?" When Ronon looks at him, Sheppard's demeanor changes in an eyeblink from casual to battle-ready. The computer beeps a loud negation.

"I can't get a lock," Chuck tells him.

"Again," Ronon growls, impatient.

It's nearly twenty minutes before the Athos gate engages, time enough for a crowd to gather in the gateroom, time enough for McKay and several Marines to join Ronon and Sheppard as they step through the gate.

The field around the Athosian gate is empty and quiet.

"Where is she?" Sheppard asks, squinting in the sunlight.

"Obviously not here," McKay replies sharply. He taps at his scanner. "She probably dialed out as soon as the wormhole closed."

"By the time you find out where she went-"

"She'll be twelve worlds away." Ronon has been with the Lanteans long enough to know that even with their technology, they can't track through gates.

Sheppard snaps his fingers. "What about her transmitter?"

Ronon beats McKay to the answer. "She disabled it."

"What?" McKay snaps. "How could she possibly-"

"I know how to disable mine," Ronon tells him, then points at a bloody spot on the stones near the gate. Ronon knows the transmitter isn't buried deep in his neck; with sufficient motivation he could dig it out quickly and crush it with the heel of his knife. From the amount of blood on the stones, Teyla wasn't being careful when she'd dug hers out.

Sheppard and McKay gather round, both stooping to get a closer look. "Jesus," Sheppard swears softly.

"Why didn't she-" Mckay sputters to a stop, waving his hands with a helpless expression on his face. "She wanted away from us that badly?"

"Would you have let her leave?" Ronon asks.

"Well, no, but that's not the point! She's not thinking straight, she's not-"

"Would you?" Sheppard asks with a pointed look at Ronon.

He shakes his head. "Not without a way to find her again, I wouldn't."

Sheppard stands up and starts walking toward the ruins of the settlement. "Blood trail's clear," Ronon calls after him. "She went through the gate."

Sheppard stops, half-turns back to them. "I was kinda hoping-" He looks sidelong at McKay, who says softly, "She wouldn't let us come."

Ronon nods, finally understanding what they're asking. "I'll take you."

Sheppard comes to find him after their fourth mission fails to turn up any trace of Teyla. "We're calling the search."

Ronon throws his gear into his locker with enough force that one of the holsters bounces back out. "Woolsey's calling it," he grumbles. "And you're okay with it."

"Look," Sheppard says, low and pleading, "you know as well as I do that if Teyla doesn't want to be found, we're not going to find her. We can't spare the manpower."

"You can't spare the manpower for an alien, you mean," Ronon spits.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Ronon leans forward, leans over Sheppard, and accuses, "You're leaving her behind."

Sheppard hits him, a quick jab that slams into his nose and is surprising enough to send Ronon a step back. "You son of a bitch," Sheppard growls. "Teyla's part of my team. Woolsey won't keep sending missions but I can make intel a priority for all outgoing missions." He sits down on the bench, shoulders slumping as his anger leaves him. "I wish she would've let us help her."

Ronon finds his own anger swept away with Sheppard's, and he sits down, too. "Maybe she didn't think we'd know how."

Sheppard lets out a hard, bitter bark that's probably supposed to be a laugh. "She'd be right. But at least she wouldn't be alone."

The next morning, Sheppard sits with Ronon and McKay at breakfast and tells them that Lieutenant Starling will be joining their team for the time being. "She was a hostage negotiator for two years back on Earth," he says with false enthusiasm.

Ronon and Rodney both grunt and go on eating.

"Yeah," John says quietly and tears his bread into tiny pieces.

Lorne's team is the first to get intel on Teyla, and Sheppard calls Ronon and McKay in to hear Lorne's report.

Lorne pulls out a small leather-wrapped bundle from inside his tac vest. "We got these from a trader on M6V-292," he says quietly as he hands the bundle to Sheppard. "She said Teyla was there and showed interest, but didn't want to trade."

"How long?" Ronon asks. Sheppard's taking his time, carefully picking the knots out of the ties on the bundle.

"One, two days tops," Lorne answers. "The trader wasn't sure. She said Teyla asked about where she got-" he waves at the leather, "-those, and left once she found out."

"Oh, fuck," McKay says sharply when Sheppard finally pulls open the package to reveal several bone-and-sinew necklaces and a set of gleaming metal dogtags. McKay leans forward, gently pulling the tags from the pile, and murmurs, "I made these years ago."

"Jinto wouldn't have taken them off," Sheppard says.

"Not willingly," Ronon agrees, and he looks up from the jewelry to the solemn faces of men he still thinks of as his second military.

"So, wait, he could still be alive, right?" McKay asks, hope a shiver in his question. "The intel we got last year could be faked; they could be alive, couldn't they?"

Ronon almost can't believe the endless wellspring of optimism these people have, just as he almost can't bring himself to crush it. But he does believe it, because he's been watching them for years, and so he shakes his head. "Even slaves have ways of keeping precious things. Jinto's dead."

Ronon's wandering the bazaar on Trelle when he hears about the first bodies. He ambles closer to the bar tent, looking nonchalant while listening intently to the bartender talk about the four Brenmen, found with their throats slit in their tents.

The message is clear to Ronon: Teyla has nothing left to risk.

"She's avenging her people," Ronon tells the command staff when he finishes his report.

John leans forward, settling his weight on his elbows against the table. "So you're telling me the Athosians were taken by these...Bren? And then-"

"Given to the Wraith, mostly," Ronon answers.

"Like delivering a pizza," Woolsey snarls with disgust. "These Bren, they're Wraith worshippers?"

Ronon shifts in the uncomfortable, too-small chair. "And then some. Mostly they're criminals, exiled from their homeworlds, willing to trade whatever you can pay for."

"And by 'whatever you can pay for' you mean-"

"The youngest Athosians might still be alive somewhere."

Sheppard scrubs one hand across his forehead as Rodney swears under his breath. John asks, "So is Teyla hunting for the kids, or is she hunting Bren?"

"There's no way she'd find them, even if they were alive," Rodney points out. "It's been six years since they disappeared, they were scattered and nobody's going to admit they bought a kid."

Ronon adds, "Nobody challenges the Bren."

"Criminal group comes down on anybody who gets out of line, I get it," Sheppard says.

"She's hunting Bren," Ronon says, leveling a look around the room. "The bodies on Trelle are a declaration of war."

"She is going to get herself killed," Rodney says quietly, fervently.

Ronon silently agrees, clenching his hands into fists because he can't think of what else to do with them.

Once a week, Ronon spends a night in Teyla's quarters, her first and last room in Atlantis. He lights the candles, dusts the shelves, takes a shower; she shouldn't come home to a space that feels stale and empty. He arranges himself on the floor and attempts to meditate the way she taught him.

He still can't find the peace she wanted from him, though. Perhaps Running burned it out of him; the moment he goes still he falls into the light doze that kept him alive, once, so every week he gives up and stretches out on his bedroll on the floor.

Sheppard catches him leaving one morning but doesn't say anything. The next week, John's waiting for him outside Teyla's door, silent and a little sheepish. Ronon simply nods and follows him in.

McKay joins them a week later. They arrange themselves on the floor around Teyla's empty bed without a word spoken among them.

It's the only time Rodney's quiet, as they listen for Teyla's missing breath.

Sheppard won't let Ronon go alone to follow up every Teyla sighting, every dead Bren, and Ronon spends a month taking out his frustration on Sheppard's marines before he lets it go. He spends another two weeks pounding on marines when, eight months after the market on Trelle, the sightings and the bodies disappear and Woolsey refuses to send teams to find out why.

They're at a market on Patakkan when a ragged man steps from the shadows into Sheppard's path. Before Sheppard can get out a greeting, Ronon's put himself in front of his team, a knife to the man's throat.

"Ronon, what the hell are you doing?"

"He's Bren," Ronon replies sharply and presses the blade deeper against skin. "Where's your posse? What do you want?"

The Brenman doesn't flinch; he glances up at Ronon and starts talking to Sheppard. "I'm alone; I need to come with you. I plead for asylum on Atlantis."

"What, like political asylum? Do they even have that here?" Rodney wonders in the background as Sheppard says, "I'm...not entirely sure what you're asking."

"Please, I will be killed if I do not go with you. They will find me anywhere," the man begs.

Ronon leans in a little and hisses, "Your kind are not welcome on Atlantis." He says to Sheppard, "They want to kill him, that's his problem." Whatever the man did to fall out of the Bren's good graces, gaining a foothold into the Ancestors' city would no doubt get him back in.

John must see what Ronon's trying to tell him because he rolls his shoulders in an eloquent shrug. He tells the Brenman, "You heard him, we can't help you."

Rodney's already dismissed them, turning back to his datapad, and Ronon's just about to toss the man on his ass when the Brenman says desperately, "I have seen Teyla Emmagan."

The man gets to go to Atlantis after all; Ronon stuns him unconscious and drags him through the gate.

"I told you, no weapons." Sheppard's got his hands on his hips, sticking his elbows out in a way that makes him take up a surprising amount of space, and he's blocking Ronon's interrogation of the Brenman. "This isn't Kavanagh."

Ronon crosses his arms and glares at John. "I was never going to hurt Kavanagh."

"I know you-wait, what? Why didn't you say something?"

"You and Weir would think whatever you wanted anyway," Ronon answers and hands over his gun.

"Still," Sheppard says, "I don't want you killing this guy." He tries gracelessly to tuck the blaster into his waistband; when that fails, he settles for dropping it into the deep pocket on his pantleg. He crooks his fingers in a weird motion that Ronon's learned means 'gimme.' "No weapons."

By the time Ronon's finished, John is standing very carefully so as not to disturb the shanks and blades resting in every one of his many pockets and the Glock nestled in his waistband.

"Okay, then," Sheppard says and waves Ronon through.

Ronon's tempted to make a crack that he'd rather pound the man's head through the floor anyway, but he decides against it.

The Brenman takes his time finishing his meal. Ronon sits across from him and waits; there's no use wasting energy on a man who won't talk until he's ready.

Eventually the Brenman says, "We respected her vengeance-she wasn't killed."

Ronon's knuckles crackle loudly in the small room.

"The Wraith knew of your friend, and they were most pleased with her." The man smiles a thin, cold smile. "They felt that her abilities would make the hunt more...challenging."

Ronon growls low in his throat and grabs the man by his wrist. He presses a razor blade flat against the vein. "You would be wise to use this before I come for you."

The Brenman doesn't flinch. "The Lanteans will not let you kill me."

"No," Ronon agrees with a feral smile. He lies, "They would give you back to the Bren."

The man blanches white.

"And I'm not Bren," Ronon warns before he walks out the door.

McKay is shocked into near-silence. "So Teyla's-"

"A Runner," Sheppard finishes quietly. They look helplessly at each other across the desk.

"Motherfucker," Rodney whispers. "How are we supposed to find her now? Why doesn't she just come home?"

John shakes his head. "She wouldn't risk Atlantis that way. Or maybe she doesn't want our help."

Ronon stands and tries to pace, only to be blocked in by the confines of Sheppard's office. He leans on the desk and asks Sheppard, asks because he hasn't yet really asked for anything, "Let me go. I can cover more ground alone."

McKay breathes in, breathes out slowly, watching Ronon with naked trust on his face. "If anybody could find her, Sheppard..."

John assesses Ronon with narrow eyes. Finally, finally, he says, "Take whatever you need. Radio check-in every day and you come home once a week."

Ronon's already halfway out the door.

"Ronon," Sheppard calls sharply, forcing Ronon to pause. "You're not Running this time. You rest on Atlantis one day a week, and that's an order." He waits for Ronon to nod his acknowledgment, then says, "Bring her home."

Ronon spends the first week on planets he had visited with his Lantean team. He sleeps, he eats, he listens for Wraith. He spends the week alone and remembers how the tracker felt in his back, the way it jabbed into his spine when he slept on it. He spends the week remembering to think like a Runner, and he's surprised that it takes him almost the entire time.

His first night back on Atlantis, he shrugs when he hears of the ragged Brenman's suicide. Woolsey gives him a look, but Ronon refuses to give anything away.

He spends the night in Teyla's quarters; John and Rodney are already in their bedrolls by the time Ronon gets there.

Ronon spends the second week Running, visiting planets he used more than once. He leaves food in old caches he'd told Teyla about. On a whim, he marks them with bantos sticks.

His second night back on Atlantis tastes bitter. Ronon doesn't sleep until Rodney reaches out and rests his hand against Ronon's shoulder, trust and team and reassurance and home.

The third week, Ronon revisits the cave on the sun-planet where he first met the Lanteans and Teyla. The bantos sticks are gone from the cache, and Ronon nearly falls to his knees in thanks. He catches signs, varying in age, on three other planets.

His third night back on Atlantis, Rodney gets excited with Ronon's information and sets about writing a computer simulation to predict where Teyla will be next. Ronon doesn't have the courage to tell him there's no math to Running, that it's art and luck and desperation.

He's surprised when he visits his quarters for the first time in three weeks and the room isn't stale. There's an empty coffee mug on the sink, and Ronon almost drops to his knees a second time, humbled by the thought that vigil is being kept for him, too.

The fourth week, Ronon stops Running. McKay's model aside, Ronon knows the best way to catch a Runner is to stand still. So he fights his drive to move and hunt and forces himself to wait. He chooses a rainforest planet where the heavy canopy makes Dart flying impossible and the rain makes Wraith uncomfortable. He sleeps in the canopy, among the wide branches of the enormous trees.

The fourth day, Ronon drops to the ground to wait close to the Ring. Four is a lucky number, on Sateda; four is stability, direction, season, element. Team. He waits, patient in the silence.

Until the Ring engages.

Teyla cuts to the side as soon as she steps through; Ronon guesses right and is waiting, blaster in hand, on the backside of the event horizon for her. "Teyla," he calls.

She turns sharply, sticks in one hand and stunner in the other. Her eyes are narrow and hard, her hair hacked short by an impatient knife. There's a jagged scar on her cheek, covered in fresh pink skin that shines bright in contrast to the grubbiness of the rest of her.

She steps toward him, keeping the stunner level, and says in a low voice that sounds rusted with disuse, "You should not be here."

"Been waiting for you," he answers.

"Hunting me."

"Helping you." Ronon glances briefly at the bantos sticks in her hand. "Taking you back."

"I should shoot you right now," Teyla grinds out even as the sticks waver.

"Go ahead," Ronon says and shrugs. "I'll shoot back, you'll wake up in Atlantis."

Teyla scowls and looks around, but she doesn't move.

"Come home."

"I have no home," she spits.

Ronon steps closer, almost within range of the sticks. "We miss you. Come home."

Teyla shakes her head once, a sharp negation. "I have no home. Leave me."

"They're not home like our people were home, I know," he says softly. "But the Lanteans are our people, now."

"My people are dead."

Ronon hesitates, lets himself feel the ache under his ribs where he carries his grief for Sateda, lets it remind him of why he's here. "They're ours, Teyla. They're your son's people."

She lashes out, viciously swiping the sticks at him. "They killed him," she growls, low and feral and broken.

He steps back, avoiding her attack easily. "They didn't, and neither did you. Jeran's death was an accident."

"It was pointless," Teyla snarls, lunging recklessly.

Ronon takes her down, pinning her to the soggy ground. "So is this," he snarls back. "You don't have to Run. You still have family; let us help you."

"I am not who you remember," Teyla says, futilely pushing and squirming beneath him. "I am a murderer."

"That was vengeance and justice, well-deserved," Ronon tells her. He gentles his grip but doesn't let her up. "I'm sorry," he adds, unable to voice everything that he's sorry for, hoping she hears it anyway. "I'm sorry," he repeats until it becomes almost a chant. She relaxes slowly, bit by bit conveying that she's considering agreeing to go back to Atlantis.

When Teyla finally speaks, her voice is a low, fervent whisper. "Running is...simple. I do not think I can go back."

"You're not going back, you're coming home." Ronon sits back, letting go of her shoulders. "You made a home for me when I didn't have one. Let me return the gift."

She nods, once, and sits up; Ronon pulls them both to a stand. Teyla doesn't say anything more as Ronon dials Atlantis. She remains silent and wary as the team arrives, pulling back from Keller's initial attempt at a hug. It's not long before the tracker's out and they're stepping back to Atlantis.

Ronon follows Teyla through her medical exam and then back to her quarters. He steps in close behind where she stops to take in the room, with its three bedrolls arranged around the bed. John and Rodney are waiting, expectant, uncertain looks on their faces.

Teyla draws in a long, shuddering breath.

"We kept the home fires burning for you," John says quietly, voice heavy with something Ronon can't name.

"It's good to have you back," Rodney adds softly, his welcome clear on his face.

Ronon catches Teyla as she starts to crumple to the floor, as her breath leaves her in a low sob. "We grieve as one," he whispers into her ear and feels her clutch his hand in an iron grip. He looks up at John and Rodney and motions them over with a nod of his head.

They arrange themselves awkwardly, Rodney and Ronon holding Teyla in a loose embrace and John at her side. Teyla's tears are quiet but powerful; she vibrates with the force of them.

"We share salt, we grieve as one," Ronon says formally in the Ancestors' high speech, ignoring the broken sound in his voice. "We grieve for Jeran, for all Athosians, for Teyla's long absence from us. We give thanks that she has returned to us, our family of choice." Rodney and John meet his eyes; together they begin as Ronon taught them, reciting the Song for the Dead.

Ronon lets his own tears fall unheeded and holds his family close.