Damaged Goods, Chapter 12/?
Title: Damaged Goods
Fandom/Pairing: SGA, John Sheppard/Ronon Dex
Rating: PG-13 (will go up in future chapters)
Spoilers: Runner, Vegas
Summary: AU: Ronon's immune to the wraith. Detective John Sheppard doesn't die in the Las Vegas desert. It would probably be easier if the opposites of both were true.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
All chapters available on AO3, or start with the master post Dreamwidth or Livejournal. And there's a Soundtrack available as well. :)
Ronon's already on his feet, and doesn't need a knife or a gun or a stunner, he can kill the with his bare hands, but the wraith is already lunging towards him; clawed hands, wild eyes, bared teeth, all hunger. And all rushing right at him. Ronon has just enough time to anchor himself, plant his feet wide as he deflects the mass that crashes into him, twisting the wraith's arm as it swings past, toppling both chairs, breaking one of them as it falls.
They need the space anyhow, and Ronon dives for the splintered chair leg that's sent skittering across the floor. Behind him, he can hear the wraith roaring to its feet too quickly.
He manages to grab the spike, adjusting his grip as he flips himself over, bringing it up just as the wraith tackles him, its fingers splayed and deadly. There's no room to maneuver for better aim, no way to skewer the hand- it's coming in too low, too fast, crashing into his chest as the wraith's breath hisses wetly against his face. Ronon doesn't watch for the realization to register on the wraith's face.
The wraith is still starving. But it's also still alive.
Grabbing the wraith's wrist, he twists, sharply, bringing his other shoulder up enough to force the wraith off of him as Ronon rolls them both over. The chair leg isn't sharp enough to penetrate at first; he has to put all his weight on it as he attempts a second thrust, and after an initial resistance, the skin finally breaks, the ribs part. Sickly green-black blood spurts out around the wood as the wraith struggles around the wound, it slick's Ronon's grip, spatters his clothing and face until he can taste it. The smell is so strong- rotten insects and molding plants- that Ronon doesn't feel the hand shoved up tightly against his chest, again, until it's already there.
With a roar, Ronon jerks the chair leg to the side, widening the wound; he feels it hit against something hard deep in the wraith's chest. Gurgling a roar and trying to grab the wood from it's abdomen, the wraith finally shoves Ronon away, but it's weak, and Ronon doesn't go far. The action only serves to give him the room he needs to lunge forward, grab the wraith by the head, and twist sharply. Its voice cuts out with a wet sinewy crack, and Ronon lets it fall to the floor.
His foot slips out from underneath him as he stands. The wraith's blood is growing cold and tacky where it's starting to dry, and he resists the urge to scratch. Though his back is throbbing, the spiking agony he'd felt when he'd landed on the tracker has faded, and a quick inventory finds no new injury. Past his heart beating in his ears, he can hear the forces gathering outside, and he turns to face the door.
This is the most alive he's felt in weeks.
---
"You've done well, Ronon Dex." The man steps from behind the wall of soldiers. His confidence, as he walks into at least two lines of fire, is arrogant, and reflected plainly on his face. "We thank you for your time."
There are still two guns and one stunner that have a clear shot at Ronon, but the two soldiers jostling behind Coolidge in the narrow doorway are unlikely to risk catching him in the crossfire.
"Who are you?"
"My name is James Coolidge. I have been appointed to determine the feasibility of integrating you into our operations. While the duration and extent of this will still need to be determined, your actions have shown that an alliance is viable."
"I'm not interested in an alliance." The adrenaline rush is fading too quickly, but he doesn't let on. "I'm interested in leaving."
"I'm afraid that is not an option at this time," Coolidge says.
"Then there's nothing to talk about," Ronon decides, but when Coolidge nods, it's not agreement but a signal.
He's down on the floor, stunned, and everything is too distant again, too muffled. He can't even close his eyes.
---
John makes good time, and makes it through airport security with an hour and a half to spare. It's strangely peaceful. He knows nobody here, and nobody knows him. Nobody expects anything of him until he arrives back in Vegas, and the notion is startlingly freeing. For a while, he just wanders the terminal, dodging the moms herding kids and businessmen panting into their cell phones as they stride towards their gates.
He's just sat down with coffee and a newspaper, glancing at the crossword when his phone rings and reminds him that while all this might be reality, it's not his reality.
"Keller? What's going on?"
"Hi John. Sorry to call you like this, but. How soon can you get back?"
"I'm already at the airport. Boarding in 30 minutes. What happened?"
"I don't even know where to start. I just got back to work late this morning and found out. The IOA, they went around our backs. They exposed Ronon to the wraith, and-"
"What?"
"Ronon killed it before getting stunned himself. I checked him over again when he was out, and physically, he doesn't seem worse for wear." Keller sighs. "But far as mentally goes..."
John tosses the crossword onto the seat next to him and rubs a hand over his face. "Who signed off on this?"
"The IOA."
"Woolsey?"
"I don't know how they could've worked around him," Keller admits. "They were all in his office when I went to talk to him. Tensions were running high and he told me to come back in an hour. That was... fifteen minutes ago."
"Right. Well. Get what you can out of him. I'll head straight over, call you right when I land."
---
Finally, finally the "Fasten Seat Belt" sign is turned off and John can turn his phone on again. Keller doesn't have much for him; mostly that Ronon's awake now, and while he's not letting anyone near him, he's not attacking anyone, either.
"He didn't panic this time, waking up in the infirmary," Keller says. "Wasn't thrilled to be here, but nothing any different than what I see from anybody. But really, I think it'll be better when you get here."
"Why?"
"I went along when the guards came to move him back down to his cell. Stayed a minute just to make sure he was settled in okay, and because it was pointed out to me that he doesn't act out as much when you or I are around. Once he was locked in, I asked him if he needed anything. He just asked when you were coming back."
---
John gets in his car and doesn't hit the breaks until he reaches the facility, where he storms into the conference room to find Woolsey, Coolidge, and Ambassador Shen already gathered, along with three other suits John doesn't recognize. "Why wasn't I informed of this before it happened?"
"Given the new intel we've been receiving, it was agreed that we had to move quickly." The intonation in Woolsey's voice makes it clear that he's taking issue with the we part of the statement. It's impossible to tell, though, who he's most furious with. "There simply wasn't the time to wait."
"So. Why did you do it?" John doesn't give a damn about the intel right now. "You realize you did just flush all my work down the tubes, right? There's no way Ronon's going to trust us, now that we've locked him in a room with the wraith."
"We had a theory that needed testing." Coolidge states. "We needed to know if the resistance trait was merely a genetic anomaly, or if it was physically exhibited."
"And if it wasn't? If Ronon died?"
"If he had- which, I must point out, he hasn't, we would then know to move on to more viable avenues of research," Woolsey's jaw is set; he's clearly still angry and trying to salvage what he can. "At least we now can be certain that Ronon Dex is not allied with the wraith."
"Not that particular wraith, anyway," Coolidge mutters with a glance at his notepad. He reminds John of his high school principal
John grabs the back of an empty chair, but doesn't sit down. "So are you satisfied?"
"Never," Ambassador Shen raises quirks a brow and smothers a smirk; it's impossible to tell if she thinks she's in on the joke. "But you must appreciate that what happened in there was the best of all possible outcomes. Resistance to feeding is possible. And the wraith we've had living here has finally been disposed of in a useful manner."
"So what now?"
"The wraith will be passed on to our biologists for study. It is, after all, the most intact specimen we've yet to encounter here Earth." That isn't what he meant, and Coolidge knows it. He's making him ask.
Be that way. Jackass.
"And Ronon?"
"Well, once the medics have finished monitoring his condition, we can begin to integrate him more fully into the program. Starting tomorrow morning."
Tomorrow. Of course. Why not put it off longer?
"You sure you want to bother integrating him?" John snorts. "You could just leave him down there until there's a wraith that needs to be killed with his bare hands."
"Yes," Coolidge nods, flipping his notepad closed as he stands. "We could."
"Hold up a second," John shakes his head. He's losing the plot, here. "What about just letting him go? Head through the gate, go back to Pegasus?" Coolidge doesn't go so far as to roll his eyes, but he does mutter to himself, something about civilians not knowing what they're dealing with.
"That would be the best use of his capabilities, yes," Woolsey agrees with a sharp glance at Coolidge. "But as the Pegasus expedition is currently without major air support until the threat here on Earth has been handled, I refuse to do anything that exposes our people to more risk than what they're already dealing with. And for that matter, I've recommended that his tracker be removed before he be allowed to fly back with the Daedalus. For that, Dr. Keller insists that we bring on Dr. Carson Beckett from Atlantis, as he's more familiar with wraith technology."
"Which will take a while," John finishes for him. Hence the integration. More time to groom him for service. He's already here, he might as well get drafted..
Chapter 13
Fandom/Pairing: SGA, John Sheppard/Ronon Dex
Rating: PG-13 (will go up in future chapters)
Spoilers: Runner, Vegas
Summary: AU: Ronon's immune to the wraith. Detective John Sheppard doesn't die in the Las Vegas desert. It would probably be easier if the opposites of both were true.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
All chapters available on AO3, or start with the master post Dreamwidth or Livejournal. And there's a Soundtrack available as well. :)
Ronon's already on his feet, and doesn't need a knife or a gun or a stunner, he can kill the with his bare hands, but the wraith is already lunging towards him; clawed hands, wild eyes, bared teeth, all hunger. And all rushing right at him. Ronon has just enough time to anchor himself, plant his feet wide as he deflects the mass that crashes into him, twisting the wraith's arm as it swings past, toppling both chairs, breaking one of them as it falls.
They need the space anyhow, and Ronon dives for the splintered chair leg that's sent skittering across the floor. Behind him, he can hear the wraith roaring to its feet too quickly.
He manages to grab the spike, adjusting his grip as he flips himself over, bringing it up just as the wraith tackles him, its fingers splayed and deadly. There's no room to maneuver for better aim, no way to skewer the hand- it's coming in too low, too fast, crashing into his chest as the wraith's breath hisses wetly against his face. Ronon doesn't watch for the realization to register on the wraith's face.
The wraith is still starving. But it's also still alive.
Grabbing the wraith's wrist, he twists, sharply, bringing his other shoulder up enough to force the wraith off of him as Ronon rolls them both over. The chair leg isn't sharp enough to penetrate at first; he has to put all his weight on it as he attempts a second thrust, and after an initial resistance, the skin finally breaks, the ribs part. Sickly green-black blood spurts out around the wood as the wraith struggles around the wound, it slick's Ronon's grip, spatters his clothing and face until he can taste it. The smell is so strong- rotten insects and molding plants- that Ronon doesn't feel the hand shoved up tightly against his chest, again, until it's already there.
With a roar, Ronon jerks the chair leg to the side, widening the wound; he feels it hit against something hard deep in the wraith's chest. Gurgling a roar and trying to grab the wood from it's abdomen, the wraith finally shoves Ronon away, but it's weak, and Ronon doesn't go far. The action only serves to give him the room he needs to lunge forward, grab the wraith by the head, and twist sharply. Its voice cuts out with a wet sinewy crack, and Ronon lets it fall to the floor.
His foot slips out from underneath him as he stands. The wraith's blood is growing cold and tacky where it's starting to dry, and he resists the urge to scratch. Though his back is throbbing, the spiking agony he'd felt when he'd landed on the tracker has faded, and a quick inventory finds no new injury. Past his heart beating in his ears, he can hear the forces gathering outside, and he turns to face the door.
This is the most alive he's felt in weeks.
---
"You've done well, Ronon Dex." The man steps from behind the wall of soldiers. His confidence, as he walks into at least two lines of fire, is arrogant, and reflected plainly on his face. "We thank you for your time."
There are still two guns and one stunner that have a clear shot at Ronon, but the two soldiers jostling behind Coolidge in the narrow doorway are unlikely to risk catching him in the crossfire.
"Who are you?"
"My name is James Coolidge. I have been appointed to determine the feasibility of integrating you into our operations. While the duration and extent of this will still need to be determined, your actions have shown that an alliance is viable."
"I'm not interested in an alliance." The adrenaline rush is fading too quickly, but he doesn't let on. "I'm interested in leaving."
"I'm afraid that is not an option at this time," Coolidge says.
"Then there's nothing to talk about," Ronon decides, but when Coolidge nods, it's not agreement but a signal.
He's down on the floor, stunned, and everything is too distant again, too muffled. He can't even close his eyes.
---
John makes good time, and makes it through airport security with an hour and a half to spare. It's strangely peaceful. He knows nobody here, and nobody knows him. Nobody expects anything of him until he arrives back in Vegas, and the notion is startlingly freeing. For a while, he just wanders the terminal, dodging the moms herding kids and businessmen panting into their cell phones as they stride towards their gates.
He's just sat down with coffee and a newspaper, glancing at the crossword when his phone rings and reminds him that while all this might be reality, it's not his reality.
"Keller? What's going on?"
"Hi John. Sorry to call you like this, but. How soon can you get back?"
"I'm already at the airport. Boarding in 30 minutes. What happened?"
"I don't even know where to start. I just got back to work late this morning and found out. The IOA, they went around our backs. They exposed Ronon to the wraith, and-"
"What?"
"Ronon killed it before getting stunned himself. I checked him over again when he was out, and physically, he doesn't seem worse for wear." Keller sighs. "But far as mentally goes..."
John tosses the crossword onto the seat next to him and rubs a hand over his face. "Who signed off on this?"
"The IOA."
"Woolsey?"
"I don't know how they could've worked around him," Keller admits. "They were all in his office when I went to talk to him. Tensions were running high and he told me to come back in an hour. That was... fifteen minutes ago."
"Right. Well. Get what you can out of him. I'll head straight over, call you right when I land."
---
Finally, finally the "Fasten Seat Belt" sign is turned off and John can turn his phone on again. Keller doesn't have much for him; mostly that Ronon's awake now, and while he's not letting anyone near him, he's not attacking anyone, either.
"He didn't panic this time, waking up in the infirmary," Keller says. "Wasn't thrilled to be here, but nothing any different than what I see from anybody. But really, I think it'll be better when you get here."
"Why?"
"I went along when the guards came to move him back down to his cell. Stayed a minute just to make sure he was settled in okay, and because it was pointed out to me that he doesn't act out as much when you or I are around. Once he was locked in, I asked him if he needed anything. He just asked when you were coming back."
---
John gets in his car and doesn't hit the breaks until he reaches the facility, where he storms into the conference room to find Woolsey, Coolidge, and Ambassador Shen already gathered, along with three other suits John doesn't recognize. "Why wasn't I informed of this before it happened?"
"Given the new intel we've been receiving, it was agreed that we had to move quickly." The intonation in Woolsey's voice makes it clear that he's taking issue with the we part of the statement. It's impossible to tell, though, who he's most furious with. "There simply wasn't the time to wait."
"So. Why did you do it?" John doesn't give a damn about the intel right now. "You realize you did just flush all my work down the tubes, right? There's no way Ronon's going to trust us, now that we've locked him in a room with the wraith."
"We had a theory that needed testing." Coolidge states. "We needed to know if the resistance trait was merely a genetic anomaly, or if it was physically exhibited."
"And if it wasn't? If Ronon died?"
"If he had- which, I must point out, he hasn't, we would then know to move on to more viable avenues of research," Woolsey's jaw is set; he's clearly still angry and trying to salvage what he can. "At least we now can be certain that Ronon Dex is not allied with the wraith."
"Not that particular wraith, anyway," Coolidge mutters with a glance at his notepad. He reminds John of his high school principal
John grabs the back of an empty chair, but doesn't sit down. "So are you satisfied?"
"Never," Ambassador Shen raises quirks a brow and smothers a smirk; it's impossible to tell if she thinks she's in on the joke. "But you must appreciate that what happened in there was the best of all possible outcomes. Resistance to feeding is possible. And the wraith we've had living here has finally been disposed of in a useful manner."
"So what now?"
"The wraith will be passed on to our biologists for study. It is, after all, the most intact specimen we've yet to encounter here Earth." That isn't what he meant, and Coolidge knows it. He's making him ask.
Be that way. Jackass.
"And Ronon?"
"Well, once the medics have finished monitoring his condition, we can begin to integrate him more fully into the program. Starting tomorrow morning."
Tomorrow. Of course. Why not put it off longer?
"You sure you want to bother integrating him?" John snorts. "You could just leave him down there until there's a wraith that needs to be killed with his bare hands."
"Yes," Coolidge nods, flipping his notepad closed as he stands. "We could."
"Hold up a second," John shakes his head. He's losing the plot, here. "What about just letting him go? Head through the gate, go back to Pegasus?" Coolidge doesn't go so far as to roll his eyes, but he does mutter to himself, something about civilians not knowing what they're dealing with.
"That would be the best use of his capabilities, yes," Woolsey agrees with a sharp glance at Coolidge. "But as the Pegasus expedition is currently without major air support until the threat here on Earth has been handled, I refuse to do anything that exposes our people to more risk than what they're already dealing with. And for that matter, I've recommended that his tracker be removed before he be allowed to fly back with the Daedalus. For that, Dr. Keller insists that we bring on Dr. Carson Beckett from Atlantis, as he's more familiar with wraith technology."
"Which will take a while," John finishes for him. Hence the integration. More time to groom him for service. He's already here, he might as well get drafted..
Chapter 13