In Memoriam by Jadesfire [2008 fic exchange]
Challenge: Fall 2008 Fic Exchange
Title: In Memoriam
Author: jadesfire2808
Rating: PG
Word count: ~2,300
Characters: Ronon (H/C), Rodney, Team
Genre: Hurt/Comfort,
Disclaimer: MGM owns the show and not me or there would be much more hitting with big sticks.
Spoilers: Tag to Broken Ties so everything up to that point
Writing for: leesa_perrie
Assignment: Ronon is hurt/ill and Rodney has to look after him. I would also, if possible, like for Rodney to have to protect Ronon in some way, but I don't mind if not.
Author Notes: I didn't actually hurt Ronon 'onscreen', but I hope the comfort is enough to meet the criteria. With thanks to my flist for encouragement, but especially mad_jaks for the fine-tooth-combing that got me sorted out!
Summary: Now he has new pain to pile on the old, a layer of scars so thick that he finds it hard to remember what lies beneath them.
In Memoriam
Ronon remembers screaming. Remembers it from the very depths of his soul, not just because his throat hurts like hell. It feels like he bled out of every pore, even two days after Jennifer gave him the all-clear and took the straps from his wrists. She tells him that he didn't, that the pain-memory will fade. He knows she's lying. There are some things that he can never forget.
Three days after she clears him to leave the Isolation Room and move to the Infirmary, he's still as weak as a child, barely able to stay awake long enough to eat the food that he's ravenous for. He eats and sleeps, eats and stares at the ceiling, thinking. Remembering.
When the memories can't haunt his waking hours, they live in his dreams: specters of Wraith and humans, friends and enemies so bound up together that he comes awake with a gasp, trying to disentangle reality from the twist in his subconscious. Maybe it will always be there now, this wrongness, the taint of what he did forever dooming him to these nightmares.
The others continue to visit him, bringing him food and things to occupy him. Sheppard offers the enormous book that he values so highly and a small computer game, neither of which are particularly wanted, but Ronon understands what's behind the gift and nods for Sheppard to put them on the nightstand. They will still be there when Teyla comes in, helping him with the bland food he's allowed now and just sitting as he dozes. She and Sheppard come and go, quiet and somber, just as he knows they did when he was-
When he was unaware of them.
Teyla's smile is gentle, her voice smooth where Sheppard's is rough and tired. Both of them look tired, really, more even than Ronon, who has slipped in and out of sleep more easily than they have for the past few days. Rodney doesn't look any more tired than normal, but then Ronon is used to seeing him after long nights in the lab, after missions that leave him exhausted and crises that wear him down to the bone. He hides it better than Sheppard does, his deep weariness, only showing it when he stops for long enough.
He doesn't stop when he comes to see Ronon, the same restless energy that drives him through missions and dangers and disasters animates him whenever he visits the infirmary. There are times when his hands move so much that Ronon has to close his eyes, motion-sick. And always he talks, mostly of himself, of Jeannie, of the things he has done and all that he has yet to do. The chatter is constant, never expecting a response and never touching on anything close to Ronon.
The sound is more soothing than anything Ronon has heard for weeks, and he sleeps easier while Rodney holds forth on his latest breakthrough that will win him the noble honor he seems to value so highly.
He stirs from his latest doze when someone touches his hand, lifting it gently. It takes him time to stir at the movement, and so he hears Jennifer before he sees her.
"I think it's time to take these out." Her skin is warm and soft, her fingers deft against his although it still stings when she draws the needles from him. He must be getting better, that the light sting is just that, no more than a gentle prick. His skin no longer feels on fire and his muscles ache less now. It's not much, but it's a start.
Jennifer bandages his hand slowly, and Ronon takes his time waking up fully. There is nothing to rush to consciousness for; everyone keeps telling him to rest and gather his strength, and it's good advice he lets himself take.
Rodney's voice carries well, and it takes Ronon a moment to realize the other man is not by his bed. He blinks a little, trying to focus, seeing only Jennifer's smiling face.
"Hello, there. Decided to join us, have you?"
He grunts a little, still half-straining to hear Rodney. Not put off, Jennifer finishes what she is doing, wrapping her hand over the carefully wound bandage.
"You're going to need to start eating properly, and drinking too. It's going to be a while before you can do much more, though."
"Got it." The bed is raised up, just as it was when he fell asleep, and he looks round, seeing silhouettes in the doorway. One is instantly familiar, the other takes him a moment to recognize, and he isn't really sure until he hears the voice.
"…need to know."
"You already have all you need to know." That isn't the voice Rodney uses when he's telling Ronon about his early attempts at building rocket ships. Stronger, harsher, it's the one he saves for when he's truly terrified or truly angry. He doesn't use it so much, not recently, anyway.
"There are proper procedures to these things."
"That can't be followed when he's, let's see, strong enough to hold a pen?" Rodney's arms are straight down by his sides, fists clenched. His chin is lifted, aggressive, and the set of his shoulders tells Ronon that he's bracing himself for a fight. Ronon's seen it make angry locals back down and his scientists cower. Woolsey glances past him for a moment, then looks back.
"I suppose it can wait for a day or so." He's trying to make it sound like it's his decision, but he should know that Rodney won't let him get away with that.
"It can wait until he's ready and he wants to talk to you. If he wants to talk to you. You've already got Jennifer's reports, does the IOC really want to know more than that?"
Woolsey doesn't say anything, just looks at Rodney for a long moment, then nods briskly, turns on his heel and leaves. There is an almost unsettling silence as Rodney watches him go, then his stiff posture relaxes into his normal half-slouch and he turns into the infirmary, hands stuffed into his pockets and his head tilted slightly, the way he does when he's thinking. He starts a little when he sees Ronon, mouth twisting into something between a smile and a grimace.
"You're awake," he says, eyes flickering to the doorway and back. "How you feeling today?"
Shrugging doesn't make anything hurt too badly, and the gesture is automatic. "Tired."
"Yes, well. I suppose it's going to be a while until you're- Oh, hey, that's good." He's pointing to Ronon's hand, now free of tubes and lightly bound in white.
Ronon shrugs again. "I guess. There anything to eat?"
That earns him a half-smile, this time without the awkwardness. "I'll go see."
Rodney must have gone all the way down to the Mess himself, because he's gone a long time and he comes back carrying a tray that's loaded with what looks like enough food for three. Ronon's hungry, but probably not that hungry.
"It's not all for you," Rodney says defensively, setting it down on a table that he wheels closer to the bed. "But I wasn't sure if you wanted something hot or just a sandwich, and they had two types of pudding so I thought, you know, you could choose what you liked and I'd have the chocolate one."
The snort isn't quite laughter, but it's the closest Ronon's come in a few days. Rodney always has the chocolate one, claiming that it's safer, less likely to have citrus in. Not that Ronon minds. The tray of food looks more daunting than appetizing right now, soup and meat and a sandwich crowded on there with the puddings, and a stack of what he thinks are crackers and cheese. They eat well in Atlantis, these days.
He pulls the tray towards him as Rodney starts to talk.
"...weren't even allowed chocolate for something like a month. She used to get really obsessive about her weight from time to time and just throw everything out of the fridge except the lettuce. I actually used to look forward to lunch from the cafeteria at school, no matter how processed it was, just because it wasn't salad. Huh." He sits back, turning a fork thoughtfully. "You know, I'm still fond of MREs, airplane food, that kind of thing. Anything that comes in a package, really. Hadn't really thought about that before. It's weird, the things you don't realize you remember."
Ronon remembers the food from Initial Training, remembers sharing it with Tyre and Ara, swapping biscuits and sweets and trying to steal Rakai's netan seeds when he wasn't looking. There's nothing that doesn't remind him of them, that hasn't reminded him of them from the day he started Running. It hurts, every time, and each fresh wave of pain is a reminder that he welcomes. Rodney talks easily and freely about his past, as though it is still a living part of him.
Watching Rodney's hands move, sketching the outline of "the biggest pork joint, ever. I mean, the pig must have been the porcine equivalent of Godzilla" Ronon can't imagine what it's like, not to have every memory tinged with overwhelming grief. Now he has new pain to pile on the old, a layer of scars so thick that he finds it hard to remember what lies beneath them.
The soup has tiny flecks in it, peppercorns perhaps, or some other kind of Earth spice. They're nothing like the sweet netan seeds, but the look is close enough that he puts the bowl back down, appetite suddenly gone.
"...because then she just had to reheat it." Shaking his head, Rodney frowns at the tray, then at Ronon. "I, er. I thought you were hungry."
Lying back against the pillows, Ronon lets himself sink into them. "Yeah."
"You know, if you don't want this, I can take it back to the Mess." There is a tinge of hurt in Rodney's voice, and Ronon cracks an eye open enough to glare at him. Rodney shifts on the high stool that are the only seats available in the Infirmary. "Or I could just leave it there for when you're ready. I might have the soup though, if you don't mind, because, you know, it'll go cold and it's not gazpacho. Not that you know what gazpacho is, of course."
Ronon closes his eyes.
"It's a cold soup," Rodney goes on, his words occasionally interrupted by a gentle slurp. "Spanish, I think. Never been a fan of it myself. There's something wrong about cold soup, a bit like hot ice-cream. I remember Jeannie trying to make Baked Alaska when she was twelve. Terrible mess..."
Drifting a little, Ronon remembers cooking hantil broth over a fire in the middle of a forest. The beans had swollen right up, until there was barely any liquid left and they'd had to cut the remains out of the pot with a knife. Tyre had never let him forget that one, although it had at least been edible.
He knows that Tyre is dead. Sheppard told him that, before he'd even begun to come back to himself. It's been the one constant in his recovery.
Tyre is dead. Ronon is alive. He can feel the softness of the sheets under his hands, the steady beat of his heart and the remaining ache in his limbs. He can hear Rodney's voice, steady and sure as he talks about family dinners and the difference between Pegasus and Milky Way food. These things tell him that he is alive, even though his soul feels dead.
The Wraith took his life from him, but lying in Atlantis' Infirmary, with its dim lights and familiar smells and the constant stream of Rodney's words, he knows he will find it again here.
Turning his head a fraction, he opens his eyes just enough to look at Rodney, still perched awkwardly on the chair and trying to eat a sandwich one-handed so he can gesture with the other.
"Although really it's no worse than the mess that Heidi in Biochem made when she tried to-" He breaks off, sensing Ronon's stare. "What?"
"Nothing." Ronon stretches a little, just to feel it burn. "Pass me the chocolate pudding?"
There's a moment, the slightest pause when Rodney narrows his eyes and looks as though he's going to argue.
Ronon glares.
Rodney looks sheepish and peeved at the same time, but passes the pudding over, along with a spoon. Once he's got it balanced enough to eat, Ronon looks up again, expectantly.
"What happened in Biochem?" he asks, starting to eat.
Surprised, Rodney blinks for a moment. Then he smiles, almost shyly, before his more usual sarcasm reasserts itself.
"Have you met Heidi? Not blonde, surprisingly, and whatever you do, don't mention pigtails to her. After the whole thing with the Lederhosen, she's kind of sensitive about it. Anyway, she convinced Zelenka to let her work on a pet project, because she knew that if she'd brought it to me, I would have shut it down right away. With very good reason, as it turned out. I doubt lab thirty-five will ever be the same again."
It doesn't take long for Ronon to finish the too-sweet pudding, and Rodney takes the bowl and spoon back from him without missing a beat. The words wash over Ronon as he closes his eyes, grounding him in the present, in the friends that are here, the family he has found. There will be time enough for grief, to remember with sadness and joy. For now, he lets himself be lulled into sleep by the sound of Rodney's voice
Title: In Memoriam
Author: jadesfire2808
Rating: PG
Word count: ~2,300
Characters: Ronon (H/C), Rodney, Team
Genre: Hurt/Comfort,
Disclaimer: MGM owns the show and not me or there would be much more hitting with big sticks.
Spoilers: Tag to Broken Ties so everything up to that point
Writing for: leesa_perrie
Assignment: Ronon is hurt/ill and Rodney has to look after him. I would also, if possible, like for Rodney to have to protect Ronon in some way, but I don't mind if not.
Author Notes: I didn't actually hurt Ronon 'onscreen', but I hope the comfort is enough to meet the criteria. With thanks to my flist for encouragement, but especially mad_jaks for the fine-tooth-combing that got me sorted out!
Summary: Now he has new pain to pile on the old, a layer of scars so thick that he finds it hard to remember what lies beneath them.
In Memoriam
Ronon remembers screaming. Remembers it from the very depths of his soul, not just because his throat hurts like hell. It feels like he bled out of every pore, even two days after Jennifer gave him the all-clear and took the straps from his wrists. She tells him that he didn't, that the pain-memory will fade. He knows she's lying. There are some things that he can never forget.
Three days after she clears him to leave the Isolation Room and move to the Infirmary, he's still as weak as a child, barely able to stay awake long enough to eat the food that he's ravenous for. He eats and sleeps, eats and stares at the ceiling, thinking. Remembering.
When the memories can't haunt his waking hours, they live in his dreams: specters of Wraith and humans, friends and enemies so bound up together that he comes awake with a gasp, trying to disentangle reality from the twist in his subconscious. Maybe it will always be there now, this wrongness, the taint of what he did forever dooming him to these nightmares.
The others continue to visit him, bringing him food and things to occupy him. Sheppard offers the enormous book that he values so highly and a small computer game, neither of which are particularly wanted, but Ronon understands what's behind the gift and nods for Sheppard to put them on the nightstand. They will still be there when Teyla comes in, helping him with the bland food he's allowed now and just sitting as he dozes. She and Sheppard come and go, quiet and somber, just as he knows they did when he was-
When he was unaware of them.
Teyla's smile is gentle, her voice smooth where Sheppard's is rough and tired. Both of them look tired, really, more even than Ronon, who has slipped in and out of sleep more easily than they have for the past few days. Rodney doesn't look any more tired than normal, but then Ronon is used to seeing him after long nights in the lab, after missions that leave him exhausted and crises that wear him down to the bone. He hides it better than Sheppard does, his deep weariness, only showing it when he stops for long enough.
He doesn't stop when he comes to see Ronon, the same restless energy that drives him through missions and dangers and disasters animates him whenever he visits the infirmary. There are times when his hands move so much that Ronon has to close his eyes, motion-sick. And always he talks, mostly of himself, of Jeannie, of the things he has done and all that he has yet to do. The chatter is constant, never expecting a response and never touching on anything close to Ronon.
The sound is more soothing than anything Ronon has heard for weeks, and he sleeps easier while Rodney holds forth on his latest breakthrough that will win him the noble honor he seems to value so highly.
He stirs from his latest doze when someone touches his hand, lifting it gently. It takes him time to stir at the movement, and so he hears Jennifer before he sees her.
"I think it's time to take these out." Her skin is warm and soft, her fingers deft against his although it still stings when she draws the needles from him. He must be getting better, that the light sting is just that, no more than a gentle prick. His skin no longer feels on fire and his muscles ache less now. It's not much, but it's a start.
Jennifer bandages his hand slowly, and Ronon takes his time waking up fully. There is nothing to rush to consciousness for; everyone keeps telling him to rest and gather his strength, and it's good advice he lets himself take.
Rodney's voice carries well, and it takes Ronon a moment to realize the other man is not by his bed. He blinks a little, trying to focus, seeing only Jennifer's smiling face.
"Hello, there. Decided to join us, have you?"
He grunts a little, still half-straining to hear Rodney. Not put off, Jennifer finishes what she is doing, wrapping her hand over the carefully wound bandage.
"You're going to need to start eating properly, and drinking too. It's going to be a while before you can do much more, though."
"Got it." The bed is raised up, just as it was when he fell asleep, and he looks round, seeing silhouettes in the doorway. One is instantly familiar, the other takes him a moment to recognize, and he isn't really sure until he hears the voice.
"…need to know."
"You already have all you need to know." That isn't the voice Rodney uses when he's telling Ronon about his early attempts at building rocket ships. Stronger, harsher, it's the one he saves for when he's truly terrified or truly angry. He doesn't use it so much, not recently, anyway.
"There are proper procedures to these things."
"That can't be followed when he's, let's see, strong enough to hold a pen?" Rodney's arms are straight down by his sides, fists clenched. His chin is lifted, aggressive, and the set of his shoulders tells Ronon that he's bracing himself for a fight. Ronon's seen it make angry locals back down and his scientists cower. Woolsey glances past him for a moment, then looks back.
"I suppose it can wait for a day or so." He's trying to make it sound like it's his decision, but he should know that Rodney won't let him get away with that.
"It can wait until he's ready and he wants to talk to you. If he wants to talk to you. You've already got Jennifer's reports, does the IOC really want to know more than that?"
Woolsey doesn't say anything, just looks at Rodney for a long moment, then nods briskly, turns on his heel and leaves. There is an almost unsettling silence as Rodney watches him go, then his stiff posture relaxes into his normal half-slouch and he turns into the infirmary, hands stuffed into his pockets and his head tilted slightly, the way he does when he's thinking. He starts a little when he sees Ronon, mouth twisting into something between a smile and a grimace.
"You're awake," he says, eyes flickering to the doorway and back. "How you feeling today?"
Shrugging doesn't make anything hurt too badly, and the gesture is automatic. "Tired."
"Yes, well. I suppose it's going to be a while until you're- Oh, hey, that's good." He's pointing to Ronon's hand, now free of tubes and lightly bound in white.
Ronon shrugs again. "I guess. There anything to eat?"
That earns him a half-smile, this time without the awkwardness. "I'll go see."
Rodney must have gone all the way down to the Mess himself, because he's gone a long time and he comes back carrying a tray that's loaded with what looks like enough food for three. Ronon's hungry, but probably not that hungry.
"It's not all for you," Rodney says defensively, setting it down on a table that he wheels closer to the bed. "But I wasn't sure if you wanted something hot or just a sandwich, and they had two types of pudding so I thought, you know, you could choose what you liked and I'd have the chocolate one."
The snort isn't quite laughter, but it's the closest Ronon's come in a few days. Rodney always has the chocolate one, claiming that it's safer, less likely to have citrus in. Not that Ronon minds. The tray of food looks more daunting than appetizing right now, soup and meat and a sandwich crowded on there with the puddings, and a stack of what he thinks are crackers and cheese. They eat well in Atlantis, these days.
He pulls the tray towards him as Rodney starts to talk.
"...weren't even allowed chocolate for something like a month. She used to get really obsessive about her weight from time to time and just throw everything out of the fridge except the lettuce. I actually used to look forward to lunch from the cafeteria at school, no matter how processed it was, just because it wasn't salad. Huh." He sits back, turning a fork thoughtfully. "You know, I'm still fond of MREs, airplane food, that kind of thing. Anything that comes in a package, really. Hadn't really thought about that before. It's weird, the things you don't realize you remember."
Ronon remembers the food from Initial Training, remembers sharing it with Tyre and Ara, swapping biscuits and sweets and trying to steal Rakai's netan seeds when he wasn't looking. There's nothing that doesn't remind him of them, that hasn't reminded him of them from the day he started Running. It hurts, every time, and each fresh wave of pain is a reminder that he welcomes. Rodney talks easily and freely about his past, as though it is still a living part of him.
Watching Rodney's hands move, sketching the outline of "the biggest pork joint, ever. I mean, the pig must have been the porcine equivalent of Godzilla" Ronon can't imagine what it's like, not to have every memory tinged with overwhelming grief. Now he has new pain to pile on the old, a layer of scars so thick that he finds it hard to remember what lies beneath them.
The soup has tiny flecks in it, peppercorns perhaps, or some other kind of Earth spice. They're nothing like the sweet netan seeds, but the look is close enough that he puts the bowl back down, appetite suddenly gone.
"...because then she just had to reheat it." Shaking his head, Rodney frowns at the tray, then at Ronon. "I, er. I thought you were hungry."
Lying back against the pillows, Ronon lets himself sink into them. "Yeah."
"You know, if you don't want this, I can take it back to the Mess." There is a tinge of hurt in Rodney's voice, and Ronon cracks an eye open enough to glare at him. Rodney shifts on the high stool that are the only seats available in the Infirmary. "Or I could just leave it there for when you're ready. I might have the soup though, if you don't mind, because, you know, it'll go cold and it's not gazpacho. Not that you know what gazpacho is, of course."
Ronon closes his eyes.
"It's a cold soup," Rodney goes on, his words occasionally interrupted by a gentle slurp. "Spanish, I think. Never been a fan of it myself. There's something wrong about cold soup, a bit like hot ice-cream. I remember Jeannie trying to make Baked Alaska when she was twelve. Terrible mess..."
Drifting a little, Ronon remembers cooking hantil broth over a fire in the middle of a forest. The beans had swollen right up, until there was barely any liquid left and they'd had to cut the remains out of the pot with a knife. Tyre had never let him forget that one, although it had at least been edible.
He knows that Tyre is dead. Sheppard told him that, before he'd even begun to come back to himself. It's been the one constant in his recovery.
Tyre is dead. Ronon is alive. He can feel the softness of the sheets under his hands, the steady beat of his heart and the remaining ache in his limbs. He can hear Rodney's voice, steady and sure as he talks about family dinners and the difference between Pegasus and Milky Way food. These things tell him that he is alive, even though his soul feels dead.
The Wraith took his life from him, but lying in Atlantis' Infirmary, with its dim lights and familiar smells and the constant stream of Rodney's words, he knows he will find it again here.
Turning his head a fraction, he opens his eyes just enough to look at Rodney, still perched awkwardly on the chair and trying to eat a sandwich one-handed so he can gesture with the other.
"Although really it's no worse than the mess that Heidi in Biochem made when she tried to-" He breaks off, sensing Ronon's stare. "What?"
"Nothing." Ronon stretches a little, just to feel it burn. "Pass me the chocolate pudding?"
There's a moment, the slightest pause when Rodney narrows his eyes and looks as though he's going to argue.
Ronon glares.
Rodney looks sheepish and peeved at the same time, but passes the pudding over, along with a spoon. Once he's got it balanced enough to eat, Ronon looks up again, expectantly.
"What happened in Biochem?" he asks, starting to eat.
Surprised, Rodney blinks for a moment. Then he smiles, almost shyly, before his more usual sarcasm reasserts itself.
"Have you met Heidi? Not blonde, surprisingly, and whatever you do, don't mention pigtails to her. After the whole thing with the Lederhosen, she's kind of sensitive about it. Anyway, she convinced Zelenka to let her work on a pet project, because she knew that if she'd brought it to me, I would have shut it down right away. With very good reason, as it turned out. I doubt lab thirty-five will ever be the same again."
It doesn't take long for Ronon to finish the too-sweet pudding, and Rodney takes the bowl and spoon back from him without missing a beat. The words wash over Ronon as he closes his eyes, grounding him in the present, in the friends that are here, the family he has found. There will be time enough for grief, to remember with sadness and joy. For now, he lets himself be lulled into sleep by the sound of Rodney's voice