Loner by Imbecamiel (Family Challenge)
He’d gotten used to being alone. He’d never been exactly a “people person,” but back… before, there had always been small groups of people he cared for deeply, and larger ones he fought for and protected passionately. His parents, Melena, his fellow soldiers, the people of Sateda.
Before. Before the Wraith had come to his world, and he’d lost his family, seen Melena killed just paces away from him, his fellow soldiers killed for the most part, those who weren’t taken. He’d fought beside them even as they fell, unflagging, until… it was over.
When the reality of what having that tracking device in his back meant, what being hunted for sport by the Wraith meant, first crashed down on him, it had hurt, as badly as any physical pain he’d ever felt. He was alone, completely alone. He’d lost everyone he knew, and now he couldn’t linger near anyone else without endangering them. He couldn’t predict when the Wraith chasing him might catch up with him.
There could be no new friendships, no finding a new home… he couldn’t ask anyone for a night’s lodging, knowing he might be condemning his hosts to death. Even watching from a distance the happiness of those who still had homes, friends and families was out of the question.
When he needed to, he stopped for supplies. He never lingered, and avoided doing business too often in any one place. He never dared enjoy even that human contact. He simply got what he needed, and left. As time passed and he honed his survival skills, his supply needs grew fewer and less frequent, until he came near to being entirely self-sufficient.
Perhaps he could have afforded more courtesy. Doubtless many had considered his unwillingness to pause and exchange news and information rude. Little did they know it was worry, not bad manners, that motivated him. His haste was for their safety. His forbidding and taciturn demeanor… well, perhaps that was for his own. It grew too hard to grasp snatches of warmth and companionship, only to go back to long stretches of solitude. He didn’t think that distance was too much to ask.
He was a Runner. Running from the Wraith, running from human contact, running from his memories… Maybe running from himself, as well, but he tried not to think about any of it too deeply. Life, and his thoughts, pared down to the bare essentials, never thinking too far ahead or back, keeping useful lessons, abandoning regrets, killing Wraith. Surviving.
Somehow he couldn’t give up, couldn’t stop fighting. He knew eventually he wouldn’t have any choice, that he was going to die. They’d catch up to him, he’d slip up, get injured too badly, become too worn out to go on. But until that time came, he would keep on going, and take down as many of his enemies as he could in the process. Maybe the Wraith had seen that in him, chosen him as a Runner because of it, but if that was the case he’d see to it they got more than they’d bargained on.
He hadn’t really expected to survive for seven years.
He’d refused to accept his assigned role in the Wraiths’ game, defiantly blurring the lines between predator and prey. His training in the Satedan army had focused more on fighting with a team than as a loner, but he’d adapted.
By the end, he didn’t mind being alone. It was safe, for him and for others.
When the Lanteans had offered him help he’d hardly dared hope, much less trust them to follow through on their promises. When they’d kept their word, and their doctor had removed the tracking device, the freedom had been bewildering, disorienting. When they’d brought him back to their city - which had turned out to be the city of the Ancestors - he’d been amazed. When they’d invited him to stay, the thought of such welcome had overwhelmed him more than he’d cared to let on.
When he’d found out that Sateda had been completely destroyed, he no longer had even a distant dream of home to fight for. The only goal he had left was to fight and kill the Wraith - that was what the Lanteans were doing. And what was more, they appeared to have a better chance of winning than anyone else in the Pegasus galaxy. He’d stayed.
The Lanteans were strange, but they were good people. Good warriors, even if a bit soft, unwilling to be ruthless, not ready to do whatever it might take to destroy the Wraith. He couldn’t fault them for it. They hadn’t been born in this galaxy, didn’t know generations of fear of the Wraith, much less the years that he’d lived as a runner. Indeed, it was part of what gave them their strength, their courage to fight. They’d never known utter defeat and hopelessness, and refused to accept the possibility now. And even in that determination they weren’t ready to grasp victory at the cost of abandoning their ideals. Maybe he could learn - and re-learn - some things from them, while he helped them in the fight against the Wraith.
He was a warrior among fellow warriors again, and he had a new group of people to protect, even if they weren’t his people. Just as well. He needed a cause, but it was better not to get too close.
Being a part of Sheppard’s team made achieving his goals both easier and harder. When Sheppard had asked him, he’d been uncertain. Uncertain he could respect Sheppard enough to follow him, after commanding himself for so long. Uncertain he could regain his civilized self enough to interact on that kind of individual and personal basis. Uncertain he wanted to commit himself to these people that deeply. He couldn’t just walk away if things weren’t working out.
But it was the best way he could see to repay the Lanteans for what they had done for him. And, despite his unconventional style and disconcertingly laid-back attitude, Sheppard had soon proved himself not only honorable, but worthy of loyalty - and even obedience. Most of the time.
It also guaranteed him plenty of chances to fight the Wraith. Danger seemed oddly attracted to Sheppard’s team. He was just relieved to learn that it wasn’t him bringing bad luck to them. Even with the tracking device removed, he’d been a bit paranoid about attracting the Wraith at first. He’d been informed, however, that such misfortune and mishaps had become a pattern for them long before they’d met him.
And he found, somewhat to his surprise, that he didn’t mind spending extended amounts of time with these people. Even McKay. Again - most of the time.
But still, he worried. Sheppard, McKay, Teyla, Beckett… it was too easy to like these people. Too easy to once again get used to close companionship, knowing someone was there to watch his back. He had to keep his guard up, couldn’t let himself get too close.
He’d lost one family - he couldn’t lose another. The only shield he could see against it was distance, either emotional or physical. He would fight beside these people, but he wouldn’t care about them. He couldn’t.
It seemed so clear, so straightforward, so necessary. How could he have known that, like so many resolutions of its kind, it would also prove so impossible?
The End