(no subject)
Title: Flash of the Blade
Rating: PG
By: Jenda Vis
Spoilers: Up through Reunion
Pairing: Sheppard/Dex
Genre: Drama, WIP
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: Sheppard can't figure Ronon out. Or his motives.
A/N: Another WIP. Hopefully the plot won't all fall apart before I get there. :)
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
When Carter told him to search Ronon's room for any clues, Sheppard wanted to bristle at the command, he really did. But he was a little relieved. Because his invasion was validated, now. It wasn't his idea- wasn't his fault- if Carter was the one ordering it.
But he made a show of disagreement, all the same. A minor one, true. Nothing more but a vague scowl, but at least it was there. But he entered Ronon's quarters at five in the morning, because if the doing the search was bad enough, having the entire city knowing about it would be worse.
And now, he was standing in the middle of Ronon's room, not knowing where to begin.
He'd been in here, before. Several times. But he hadn't really noticed it. Sure, he'd helped when Ronon had wanted to recover some things from Sateda, he'd even helped him hang the picture that very same evening, drinking beer and breaking three drill bits in the process.
John hadn't said anything at the time, wasn't sure he'd even wanted Ronon to understand it. But it had felt a little like the day John had cleaned out a drawer for Nancy, back a billion light years ago when he was still deciding who he was going to be.
It had felt like Ronon was finally admitting that he was here at all. That he had made it, and planned to stick around long enough to call it home. John felt like it was one more thing checked off the list, one more thing out of the way.
---
John went for the closet, first. A few changes of clothing hung on the pegs in the door, but Ronon hadn't bothered with hangers. Not recently, and probably not ever, with one exception.
"Here, put this on," John said, ducking in from the hallway and tossing over the light armor.
Ronon's disdain was evident as he examined the vest. "What for?"
"So you don't get killed."
"I'll be fine," Ronon tossed it on the bed, a cocky grin spreading out across his face. "It'll just slow me down." Catching Sheppard's annoyed scowl as he passed by and out into the hallway, his smile slipped a bit, but not all the way. "But thanks, though."
John shook his head at the vest and shoved it back into the closet, wondering how he'd managed to get away with keeping Ronon on his team for so long. But he got it.
Ronon never went anywhere unarmed. Even now, he never went as far as the mess hall without at least three knives on him.
Ronon didn't think he was untouchable. He didn't think he'd win every fight he found.
But Ronon trusted them enough to open up, sometimes, to run out to the piers in the mornings, to crack the occasional joke at McKay's expense at dinner. To sleep, sometimes, out on missions when John took watch.
He just didn't trust their equipment as much as he trusted his own and himself. But it had been years, now, and Sheppard knew they should've made more headway than this.
---
In the corner, leaning against the wall, was a sheathed sword that Ronon only brought out on missions when the mood struck him. Against that was a broken set of bantos sticks.
"They lost money on the match I had with Amundson," Ronon explained the seven dirty looks he was passing as he stepped out of the gym to join John. "Happens all the time, but they keep putting money down."
"I don't know, man. They're looking kind of pissed." Sheppard stood back to let Amundson, looking battered and bruised, but still stocky and arrogant as ever, pass by.
"I can take them." Ronon twirled the unbroken bantos stick for emphasis.
"Not the point. Don't need them deciding to resent you, is all I'm saying."
"They just need more practice. It's cool." Ronon waved his hand over the transporter control panel, a little of the smugness dropping from his tone. "Seriously. They are getting better."
"Well there's something, at least," John decided to laugh, watching the transporter door close in front of them, wondering what they were serving in the mess for dinner.
---
Ronon had come to Atlantis with little more than the clothes on his back, and even with the Satedan additions, the man owned very little. A few extra knives, some trinkets that told John absolutely nothing, and a few books that Ronon had managed to recover from the library on Sateda. Two of them still smelled like smoke, one was water-damaged, but one was in good enough condition that John didn't worry too much about opening it.
John had never seen Ronon read them, and wondered if that meant anything. Wondered if Ronon put as much into the words knowing that he was one of a very few people left who could read them. If it provided him some sort of peace, or just more anger. If either of those did him any good.
It didn't do John any good, though. Paging through the book now only sent up another wave of frustration. Like so much else with Ronon, John just couldn't translate the script.
When Ronon comes back, I'll ask him then.
But he didn't know, really, what it was that he wanted to ask.
The alarm on his watch went off, and it was time to go. He put the book back on the top of the small pile and stood up, scowling at the room for not showing him anything he didn't already know, and tapped his radio on to see if anyone was heading down for breakfast yet.
---
John waited for the signal to cloak the jumper and take it through the gate, pretending to be focused on pre-flight systems checks that he'd already done, so he wouldn’t have to answer the questions Teyla and Rodney had already begun to ask.
Eventually, though, they were dialing out, moving forward, and they were cruising up over the village. Flying over the nearby countryside, they began to wait for news from Lorne's team, while Rodney resumed tweaking the jumper's communications system.
It was Teyla that broke the silence. "If I may ask, why were you so reluctant to join the search?"
"Because it's safer for Lorne's team if no one knows that he lied to get us out of here. And because these people were set to execute us without trial just over thirty hours ago."
"And here I was, thinking you were just sick of him," McKay joked from the back of the jumper, pulling crystals out of their casings to make adjustments, but no one laughed. It hit a little too close to home, and hung around until finally, McKay barked out a pleased grunt, and the radio crackled to life.
"We've got Amundson pulling the gate addresses right now, and Roth's talking with Sahlen and his family to see what they know. We've got word out that we're looking for Ronon, but no one's coming forth with anything. Orders still stand?"
"Yes. I want to see those addresses as soon as humanly possible. Sheppard out."
He could feel Teyla's eyes on him, but when he turned towards her, the gaze softened. She was forgiving him for something, only he didn't know what, and it was unsettling. He hadn't known he'd needed it, and the suspicion that there was something else that he'd screwed up sat heavily in his gut for the rest of the morning.
---
"Got a minute?"
"Of course. Please come in." Teyla waved him to sit, her skirts swishing against him as she moved some papers aside to join him on the low sofa. "How is the search going?"
"At the moment, they're still translating the addresses. It's going to take another hour or so. Then we'll cut out the duplicates, map them, search our records and heads to see if any of them sound more probable than the others. We're going to need you helping out at that point."
"Then you shall have it," Teyla nodded, her face brightening. "I must admit that it is a relief to be asked."
Here we go. "What d'you mean?"
"Well," Teyla paused, editing her thoughts before speaking. "At times, the members of the expedition are not very open to the input of Ronon or myself, especially as of late."
"You're a part of my team."
"This is true. But, if I may speak frankly, in the past months, since Colonel Carter has assumed command, tensions have increased. I do not wish to cast aspersions, but…"
John nodded. "But we've got a military head now, and not a diplomat."
"Indeed."
"I know Ronon's had some issues with some of the newer expedition members, but have you?"
"Many of them have learned to trust us, but with some, it takes time. Everyone has been quite kind, but there is a distance, now, where once there was not."
"Is that what this morning was about? In the jumper?"
"I believe I had feared that, with Ronon's recent actions, his desire to return to his Satedan compatriots, you might choose not to search for him. For that I apologize."
"Well, I guess I didn't do much to dissuade you of that."
Teyla shrugged, but she was smiling a little more openly.
John sighed. "You think we're going to find him? That he wants to be found?"
"Do you think he does not?"
She needs to know. "I saw him running through the gate as they were dragging us out of our rooms."
The shift in Teyla's shoulders told him too much, that she had not been prepared for the conclusions she was drawing.
"Why did you not say anything before this?"
"The other night? Because I didn't want McKay to panic. I was still trying to come up with a plan. Today, it's 'cause I don't like knowing it in the first place. Doesn't really put the best spin on things, and I worry what will happen if the information spreads too far."
"You believe." Teyla shook her head, but there was very little disbelief in her eyes. "Do you believe Ronon killed the Councilor?"
"I don't think it was deliberate. I don't think it was murder. But he might have had no choice but to fight. Something went down." He sighed, cracked his knuckles. "But I don't have any idea what it was."
---
Morning broke gray, but dry, with a slight breeze cutting around the rocks. It wasn't strong enough to dry his coat, or his clothes, not yet, but it was warm.
There was enough water pooled in the leaves growing at the edge of the tree stand to slake his thirst. He'd sustained himself more gracefully in recent times, but he hadn't been in the city so long that he'd forgotten how to make it work, and almost managed to drink his fill.
He found himself glancing in the direction of the gate as he cleaned and dressed the cut on his shoulder, but saw nothing. There was nothing that would hinder a puddlejumper's progress across the plain, and his radio, at least, seemed to be operational. They could contact him if they needed to.
He decided to follow the path he'd found. Even if it led only to ruins, he could probably find something useful there. Shelter, if nothing else. There was no reason not to move onward.
And if they weren't coming for him, there was no reason to stay.
---
The sun was beginning to cut through the haze when Ronon saw movement in the low valley below. He froze, eyes picking out a small mammal, maybe a large rodent, darting toward a low pile of rocks.
His eyes never lost their quarry, and he began to move, slowly, circumnavigating until he was certain he was downwind before approaching. He hoped it wasn't a burrowing animal; he was too tired to follow warrens for hours under the increasingly hot sun, but as he drew near, the rodent darted out from cover and began to run. It was caught on the second blade Ronon threw.
He hadn't even realized he'd thrown the first, but the awareness that instinct reasserted itself was a comfort.
It took a while to find enough kindling to get a fire going, there on the sheltering rocks, but he managed to skin and cook the rodent. It was filling enough for the time being, but he ate without relish, and tried not to miss the mess hall.
He managed, for the most part, not to think of anything too deeply. Walking was a welcome distraction, as was tracking food, finding water, and watching warily as signs of civilization began to sprout up from the landscape.
But it was well past midday, now, and still no one came.
---
That first night- after he fought- killed- Ara and Rakai, John watched him get drunk. Set the whiskey bottle down after pouring himself a glass. Just to be neighborly, John explained, only it didn't explain anything at all.
Turned out, John could be a quiet drunk when it was dark outside and the windows showed only their own reflections. But John never talked, not really, unless it was casual, in the midst of doing something else. Eating, sparring. Reading a magazine.
Like he didn't want the focus on him, as if not paying attention guaranteed that no one else was, either. Hiding in plain sight. Usually camouflage, but sometimes it was lulling others into a false sense of security. Sometimes it meant nothing at all, just habit ingrained.
Half a bottle down, though, John finally asked the question Ronon had been waiting four hours to hear.
"You really gonna stick around?" The question was casual, but the way Sheppard listened was not.
Ronon nodded his head, because he didn't want to explain. Didn't want to admit, 'it's my last best shot. Same's you.'
He hoped John wouldn't press for more, but instead, found him moving into his line of vision, forcing him to notice him. Saying, "Look, ah. I'm sorry it didn't work out."
"Don't," Ronon began, but he didn't want to start an argument. That wasn't what tonight was supposed to be about. "It's fine." Only it wasn't. They weren't there yet, at least, and both knew it.
They were at an impasse, and it took most of the rest of the bottle, John drinking his fill, now, to get past it.
"You sure Carter, an' everyone are okay with me staying here?" Ronon asked, but he meant 'are you', and was fairly sure John understood.
"Yeah. Carter's just going to need some time to fit herself in here. Same's everyone." John was staring at their reflection in the window again. "She just needs to know that she can trust you."
Ronon would have asked what he was supposed to do to fix it, but wasn't able to find a question that wouldn't make it clear that he wasn't asking about Carter.
He wished he had, though. Because maybe, somehow, it would have put him on the spot, but it might have meant he wasn't sitting on this spot, watching the town at the bottom of the hill, and wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do next.
---
Sheppard and Teyla entered the lab to find McKay talking with Lorne's team, minus Parrish, about the New Sanacran gate list. They didn't seem to notice them, so Sheppard interrupted. "So, what do we got?"
"A whole lot of nothing, so far. Sir." Amundson grumbled, but John wasn't startled by Lorne's annoyed look at his teammate, or McKay's snort when it inevitably came.
"What we've got," he began, hopefully not winding up for another lecture, "is about fifty addresses. Cutting out the doubles brings it down to just under twenty."
"That's not so bad," Sheppard said, even if he knew better than to pin his hopes on those odds. Lorne seemed intent on sharing his optimism, though, and Roth followed suit. Teyla's opinion was completely unreadable.
"Right, well." McKay clapped his hands together once. "I've gone through and highlighted all the ones we've visited, and the ones that I know Ronon knows about. I've probably missed some, since he doesn't really talk to me about anything," he raised his head from the screen long enough to search out Sheppard and Teyla, "but maybe you two know something I don't."
"There's a first time for everything," Sheppard grinned at the irritation crossing McKay's face, but before he could say anything more, Teyla cut in.
"Doctor McKay, may we see the file?"
"Already sent it to both of you. Let me know if you find anything." McKay rose, picking up his laptop and closing it.
"Where are you going?"
"I've done what I can here, and now have actual work to do." McKay seemed to really notice Teyla for the first time, and continued, reluctantly apologetic. "You know, with attainable results and such. I've done what I can for now, but let me know as soon as you come up with anything."
"What, you think tracking down a runaway runner who evaded the wraith with a tracker in his back doesn't have the greatest odds of success?" Amundson snorted, before looking away sheepishly when faced with glares from both Sheppard and Lorne.
"I think-" Rodney began, but seemed reluctant to continue, and Sheppard was again thankful for Teyla's presence, and its ability to make McKay behave himself. "Look. I think that we'll search for him, but obviously, if he hasn't come back by now, either he's not able to, or he doesn't want to. You want me to get into the particular conditions of either scenario?"
Sheppard choked back his response, tries not to let even Teyla see it, but she was staring at McKay, and her glare chased him out of the room.
"Right." Sheppard didn't feel up to trying to soothe any ruffled feathers, so he decided the prudent course was to let it slide until they had something less important to do. "The rest of you are dismissed for now. Teyla?"
Nothing was said as Teyla followed Sheppard to his office, not until the door was closed.
"Colonel Sheppard, I must admit that I am finding McKay's response to this entire situation to be-" she gestured sharply with her hands, and John didn't need to hear the rest to understand.
"Me too. Well, anyway. We should look at this stuff. Grab a chair."
---
"What about this one?" Teyla asked, pointing at the screen. "Is this not the address for Old Sanacra?"
"Yes, it is," It seemed logical enough, but he couldn't understand the optimistic lilt to Teyla's voice. "Looks like it was in there twice."
"Does that not mean that two portals were opened to a dying world?"
"Yeah. Huh. Hang on."
Sheppard tapped his radio on, trying to not get his hopes up as Teyla sat back in her chair, watching him.
"Lorne, I need your team in my office if you've got a minute."
While waiting for Lorne's team to arrive, Sheppard and Teyla discussed the details with growing animation. By the time the team arrived, they were certain that they had a workable theory.
"He was displeased with the news that they had left their people to die," Teyla explained, once Roth and Amundson had joined Lorne on the other side of Sheppard's desk.
"And he seemed to know about how many houses would have been left empty," Sheppard added. "I thought he was just doing the math, but. It's a strange thing to know."
"Maybe he was just running the numbers. It could have been just a guess, sir."
"I don't know. Strange thing to do the math on, don't you think?"
"Yes sir," Roth jumped in, eager to agree. "However, I'm afraid I have a more logical explanation."
Damn. "Oh. Okay, let's hear it."
"Ah, Sir? We were there about a month ago when one of the women from town- an older woman, who seemed like maybe she had Alzheimer's, I'm not sure. Anyway. She went through the gate. It's just something that happens sometimes."
"Really?"
"Yes sir," Lorne cut in. "Either senility, or just wanting to see their home world before they die, apparently tends to push some of the elderly to return. Sahlen and one of the Minor Councilors explained it to me."
"Clutching at straws," Amundson muttered, shrugging but not trying to evade Lorne's look. "What?"
"Damn it," Sheppard said, unclenching his fist before anyone could think he was losing his cool. Before he punched out Amundson over nothing but words that slipped out that were probably right anyway.
"Was there anything else, sir?"
"No. Dismissed." No, there's nothing else. Nothing at all.
He was surprised to find Teyla rising as well.
"I have no more ideas to share, John. I apologize, but I would like to return to my quarters to meditate. Perhaps something will occur to me once my mind is refreshed."
Sheppard wished, he really did, that a few hours spent head-clearing and navel-gazing would fix all of this, but he doubted it. He didn't want to tell it to Teyla, though. At least she's trying. "Go ahead. Thanks."
Sheppard glared at the computer screen for a few moments, and, instead of shutting it down like he'd been tempted, he opened up a blank document and began to type.
Half an hour later, he was staring at the orders to block Ronon's IDC until a proper threat assessment could be strung together with duct tape and baling wire and guesses.
He clicked "send" and looked away, standing quickly enough that the blood rushed to his head. If something went wrong with the system right then, and the message didn't go through- if Carter didn't get it in time to sign off and forward it to the gate techs- there would be nothing at all he could do about it.
---
If this were the only settlement on the planet, it would not even be worthy of wraith attack. Flyover country, Sheppard would have called it.
But there was always a chance, however unlikely, that they survived by using the same tactics the Genii observed. Hiding below the surface. Living in disguise.
He was already in the center of town before he'd seen anyone other than shadows of the gray time-cracked stone buildings, and he'd learned a few things.
First, most of the town was abandoned. Buildings were obviously empty. But here, there seemed to be more signs of life. Clothing left to dry in the air. The smell of cooking food. The details were more obvious now, and it was apparent that the people had moved in, close together, either for safety or convenience.
No one at all had lived in the abandoned ruins of houses out near the fields. He'd been sure of that when approaching.
No one at all seemed to take issue with his presence though, which was a welcome realization until he followed the thought to the conclusion. There was no one there to take issue.
There was movement behind him, coming out of the alley, and his gun was ready before he turned.
He didn't fire though, and his target didn't seem to be aware that he might. The girl just stared at him like he was some exotic animal. She looked to be about ten years old, still a child but growing out of it. She had brown hair, was unhealthily thin, and had eyes that stared like she didn't know how to be curious.
"Greetings," she said, nervously, eyes moving slowly from his gun to his face.
"Hello." Ronon looked around, thought he saw a face pulling back from a second story window, but otherwise made no movement.
"You are not from here," She said, tilting her head in observation, hands going into the pockets of her trousers. She wasn't afraid of him, and it was a relief.
"No." Ronon wasn't sure it was a question or a statement, but he holstered his gun for the moment. "Where am I?"
"Sanacra," she said, stepping forward, but a door creaked somewhere, back in the alley, and she jumped to respond, darting back around the corner without another word.
Chapter 3
Rating: PG
By: Jenda Vis
Spoilers: Up through Reunion
Pairing: Sheppard/Dex
Genre: Drama, WIP
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: Sheppard can't figure Ronon out. Or his motives.
A/N: Another WIP. Hopefully the plot won't all fall apart before I get there. :)
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
When Carter told him to search Ronon's room for any clues, Sheppard wanted to bristle at the command, he really did. But he was a little relieved. Because his invasion was validated, now. It wasn't his idea- wasn't his fault- if Carter was the one ordering it.
But he made a show of disagreement, all the same. A minor one, true. Nothing more but a vague scowl, but at least it was there. But he entered Ronon's quarters at five in the morning, because if the doing the search was bad enough, having the entire city knowing about it would be worse.
And now, he was standing in the middle of Ronon's room, not knowing where to begin.
He'd been in here, before. Several times. But he hadn't really noticed it. Sure, he'd helped when Ronon had wanted to recover some things from Sateda, he'd even helped him hang the picture that very same evening, drinking beer and breaking three drill bits in the process.
John hadn't said anything at the time, wasn't sure he'd even wanted Ronon to understand it. But it had felt a little like the day John had cleaned out a drawer for Nancy, back a billion light years ago when he was still deciding who he was going to be.
It had felt like Ronon was finally admitting that he was here at all. That he had made it, and planned to stick around long enough to call it home. John felt like it was one more thing checked off the list, one more thing out of the way.
---
John went for the closet, first. A few changes of clothing hung on the pegs in the door, but Ronon hadn't bothered with hangers. Not recently, and probably not ever, with one exception.
"Here, put this on," John said, ducking in from the hallway and tossing over the light armor.
Ronon's disdain was evident as he examined the vest. "What for?"
"So you don't get killed."
"I'll be fine," Ronon tossed it on the bed, a cocky grin spreading out across his face. "It'll just slow me down." Catching Sheppard's annoyed scowl as he passed by and out into the hallway, his smile slipped a bit, but not all the way. "But thanks, though."
John shook his head at the vest and shoved it back into the closet, wondering how he'd managed to get away with keeping Ronon on his team for so long. But he got it.
Ronon never went anywhere unarmed. Even now, he never went as far as the mess hall without at least three knives on him.
Ronon didn't think he was untouchable. He didn't think he'd win every fight he found.
But Ronon trusted them enough to open up, sometimes, to run out to the piers in the mornings, to crack the occasional joke at McKay's expense at dinner. To sleep, sometimes, out on missions when John took watch.
He just didn't trust their equipment as much as he trusted his own and himself. But it had been years, now, and Sheppard knew they should've made more headway than this.
---
In the corner, leaning against the wall, was a sheathed sword that Ronon only brought out on missions when the mood struck him. Against that was a broken set of bantos sticks.
"They lost money on the match I had with Amundson," Ronon explained the seven dirty looks he was passing as he stepped out of the gym to join John. "Happens all the time, but they keep putting money down."
"I don't know, man. They're looking kind of pissed." Sheppard stood back to let Amundson, looking battered and bruised, but still stocky and arrogant as ever, pass by.
"I can take them." Ronon twirled the unbroken bantos stick for emphasis.
"Not the point. Don't need them deciding to resent you, is all I'm saying."
"They just need more practice. It's cool." Ronon waved his hand over the transporter control panel, a little of the smugness dropping from his tone. "Seriously. They are getting better."
"Well there's something, at least," John decided to laugh, watching the transporter door close in front of them, wondering what they were serving in the mess for dinner.
---
Ronon had come to Atlantis with little more than the clothes on his back, and even with the Satedan additions, the man owned very little. A few extra knives, some trinkets that told John absolutely nothing, and a few books that Ronon had managed to recover from the library on Sateda. Two of them still smelled like smoke, one was water-damaged, but one was in good enough condition that John didn't worry too much about opening it.
John had never seen Ronon read them, and wondered if that meant anything. Wondered if Ronon put as much into the words knowing that he was one of a very few people left who could read them. If it provided him some sort of peace, or just more anger. If either of those did him any good.
It didn't do John any good, though. Paging through the book now only sent up another wave of frustration. Like so much else with Ronon, John just couldn't translate the script.
When Ronon comes back, I'll ask him then.
But he didn't know, really, what it was that he wanted to ask.
The alarm on his watch went off, and it was time to go. He put the book back on the top of the small pile and stood up, scowling at the room for not showing him anything he didn't already know, and tapped his radio on to see if anyone was heading down for breakfast yet.
---
John waited for the signal to cloak the jumper and take it through the gate, pretending to be focused on pre-flight systems checks that he'd already done, so he wouldn’t have to answer the questions Teyla and Rodney had already begun to ask.
Eventually, though, they were dialing out, moving forward, and they were cruising up over the village. Flying over the nearby countryside, they began to wait for news from Lorne's team, while Rodney resumed tweaking the jumper's communications system.
It was Teyla that broke the silence. "If I may ask, why were you so reluctant to join the search?"
"Because it's safer for Lorne's team if no one knows that he lied to get us out of here. And because these people were set to execute us without trial just over thirty hours ago."
"And here I was, thinking you were just sick of him," McKay joked from the back of the jumper, pulling crystals out of their casings to make adjustments, but no one laughed. It hit a little too close to home, and hung around until finally, McKay barked out a pleased grunt, and the radio crackled to life.
"We've got Amundson pulling the gate addresses right now, and Roth's talking with Sahlen and his family to see what they know. We've got word out that we're looking for Ronon, but no one's coming forth with anything. Orders still stand?"
"Yes. I want to see those addresses as soon as humanly possible. Sheppard out."
He could feel Teyla's eyes on him, but when he turned towards her, the gaze softened. She was forgiving him for something, only he didn't know what, and it was unsettling. He hadn't known he'd needed it, and the suspicion that there was something else that he'd screwed up sat heavily in his gut for the rest of the morning.
---
"Got a minute?"
"Of course. Please come in." Teyla waved him to sit, her skirts swishing against him as she moved some papers aside to join him on the low sofa. "How is the search going?"
"At the moment, they're still translating the addresses. It's going to take another hour or so. Then we'll cut out the duplicates, map them, search our records and heads to see if any of them sound more probable than the others. We're going to need you helping out at that point."
"Then you shall have it," Teyla nodded, her face brightening. "I must admit that it is a relief to be asked."
Here we go. "What d'you mean?"
"Well," Teyla paused, editing her thoughts before speaking. "At times, the members of the expedition are not very open to the input of Ronon or myself, especially as of late."
"You're a part of my team."
"This is true. But, if I may speak frankly, in the past months, since Colonel Carter has assumed command, tensions have increased. I do not wish to cast aspersions, but…"
John nodded. "But we've got a military head now, and not a diplomat."
"Indeed."
"I know Ronon's had some issues with some of the newer expedition members, but have you?"
"Many of them have learned to trust us, but with some, it takes time. Everyone has been quite kind, but there is a distance, now, where once there was not."
"Is that what this morning was about? In the jumper?"
"I believe I had feared that, with Ronon's recent actions, his desire to return to his Satedan compatriots, you might choose not to search for him. For that I apologize."
"Well, I guess I didn't do much to dissuade you of that."
Teyla shrugged, but she was smiling a little more openly.
John sighed. "You think we're going to find him? That he wants to be found?"
"Do you think he does not?"
She needs to know. "I saw him running through the gate as they were dragging us out of our rooms."
The shift in Teyla's shoulders told him too much, that she had not been prepared for the conclusions she was drawing.
"Why did you not say anything before this?"
"The other night? Because I didn't want McKay to panic. I was still trying to come up with a plan. Today, it's 'cause I don't like knowing it in the first place. Doesn't really put the best spin on things, and I worry what will happen if the information spreads too far."
"You believe." Teyla shook her head, but there was very little disbelief in her eyes. "Do you believe Ronon killed the Councilor?"
"I don't think it was deliberate. I don't think it was murder. But he might have had no choice but to fight. Something went down." He sighed, cracked his knuckles. "But I don't have any idea what it was."
---
Morning broke gray, but dry, with a slight breeze cutting around the rocks. It wasn't strong enough to dry his coat, or his clothes, not yet, but it was warm.
There was enough water pooled in the leaves growing at the edge of the tree stand to slake his thirst. He'd sustained himself more gracefully in recent times, but he hadn't been in the city so long that he'd forgotten how to make it work, and almost managed to drink his fill.
He found himself glancing in the direction of the gate as he cleaned and dressed the cut on his shoulder, but saw nothing. There was nothing that would hinder a puddlejumper's progress across the plain, and his radio, at least, seemed to be operational. They could contact him if they needed to.
He decided to follow the path he'd found. Even if it led only to ruins, he could probably find something useful there. Shelter, if nothing else. There was no reason not to move onward.
And if they weren't coming for him, there was no reason to stay.
---
The sun was beginning to cut through the haze when Ronon saw movement in the low valley below. He froze, eyes picking out a small mammal, maybe a large rodent, darting toward a low pile of rocks.
His eyes never lost their quarry, and he began to move, slowly, circumnavigating until he was certain he was downwind before approaching. He hoped it wasn't a burrowing animal; he was too tired to follow warrens for hours under the increasingly hot sun, but as he drew near, the rodent darted out from cover and began to run. It was caught on the second blade Ronon threw.
He hadn't even realized he'd thrown the first, but the awareness that instinct reasserted itself was a comfort.
It took a while to find enough kindling to get a fire going, there on the sheltering rocks, but he managed to skin and cook the rodent. It was filling enough for the time being, but he ate without relish, and tried not to miss the mess hall.
He managed, for the most part, not to think of anything too deeply. Walking was a welcome distraction, as was tracking food, finding water, and watching warily as signs of civilization began to sprout up from the landscape.
But it was well past midday, now, and still no one came.
---
That first night- after he fought- killed- Ara and Rakai, John watched him get drunk. Set the whiskey bottle down after pouring himself a glass. Just to be neighborly, John explained, only it didn't explain anything at all.
Turned out, John could be a quiet drunk when it was dark outside and the windows showed only their own reflections. But John never talked, not really, unless it was casual, in the midst of doing something else. Eating, sparring. Reading a magazine.
Like he didn't want the focus on him, as if not paying attention guaranteed that no one else was, either. Hiding in plain sight. Usually camouflage, but sometimes it was lulling others into a false sense of security. Sometimes it meant nothing at all, just habit ingrained.
Half a bottle down, though, John finally asked the question Ronon had been waiting four hours to hear.
"You really gonna stick around?" The question was casual, but the way Sheppard listened was not.
Ronon nodded his head, because he didn't want to explain. Didn't want to admit, 'it's my last best shot. Same's you.'
He hoped John wouldn't press for more, but instead, found him moving into his line of vision, forcing him to notice him. Saying, "Look, ah. I'm sorry it didn't work out."
"Don't," Ronon began, but he didn't want to start an argument. That wasn't what tonight was supposed to be about. "It's fine." Only it wasn't. They weren't there yet, at least, and both knew it.
They were at an impasse, and it took most of the rest of the bottle, John drinking his fill, now, to get past it.
"You sure Carter, an' everyone are okay with me staying here?" Ronon asked, but he meant 'are you', and was fairly sure John understood.
"Yeah. Carter's just going to need some time to fit herself in here. Same's everyone." John was staring at their reflection in the window again. "She just needs to know that she can trust you."
Ronon would have asked what he was supposed to do to fix it, but wasn't able to find a question that wouldn't make it clear that he wasn't asking about Carter.
He wished he had, though. Because maybe, somehow, it would have put him on the spot, but it might have meant he wasn't sitting on this spot, watching the town at the bottom of the hill, and wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do next.
---
Sheppard and Teyla entered the lab to find McKay talking with Lorne's team, minus Parrish, about the New Sanacran gate list. They didn't seem to notice them, so Sheppard interrupted. "So, what do we got?"
"A whole lot of nothing, so far. Sir." Amundson grumbled, but John wasn't startled by Lorne's annoyed look at his teammate, or McKay's snort when it inevitably came.
"What we've got," he began, hopefully not winding up for another lecture, "is about fifty addresses. Cutting out the doubles brings it down to just under twenty."
"That's not so bad," Sheppard said, even if he knew better than to pin his hopes on those odds. Lorne seemed intent on sharing his optimism, though, and Roth followed suit. Teyla's opinion was completely unreadable.
"Right, well." McKay clapped his hands together once. "I've gone through and highlighted all the ones we've visited, and the ones that I know Ronon knows about. I've probably missed some, since he doesn't really talk to me about anything," he raised his head from the screen long enough to search out Sheppard and Teyla, "but maybe you two know something I don't."
"There's a first time for everything," Sheppard grinned at the irritation crossing McKay's face, but before he could say anything more, Teyla cut in.
"Doctor McKay, may we see the file?"
"Already sent it to both of you. Let me know if you find anything." McKay rose, picking up his laptop and closing it.
"Where are you going?"
"I've done what I can here, and now have actual work to do." McKay seemed to really notice Teyla for the first time, and continued, reluctantly apologetic. "You know, with attainable results and such. I've done what I can for now, but let me know as soon as you come up with anything."
"What, you think tracking down a runaway runner who evaded the wraith with a tracker in his back doesn't have the greatest odds of success?" Amundson snorted, before looking away sheepishly when faced with glares from both Sheppard and Lorne.
"I think-" Rodney began, but seemed reluctant to continue, and Sheppard was again thankful for Teyla's presence, and its ability to make McKay behave himself. "Look. I think that we'll search for him, but obviously, if he hasn't come back by now, either he's not able to, or he doesn't want to. You want me to get into the particular conditions of either scenario?"
Sheppard choked back his response, tries not to let even Teyla see it, but she was staring at McKay, and her glare chased him out of the room.
"Right." Sheppard didn't feel up to trying to soothe any ruffled feathers, so he decided the prudent course was to let it slide until they had something less important to do. "The rest of you are dismissed for now. Teyla?"
Nothing was said as Teyla followed Sheppard to his office, not until the door was closed.
"Colonel Sheppard, I must admit that I am finding McKay's response to this entire situation to be-" she gestured sharply with her hands, and John didn't need to hear the rest to understand.
"Me too. Well, anyway. We should look at this stuff. Grab a chair."
---
"What about this one?" Teyla asked, pointing at the screen. "Is this not the address for Old Sanacra?"
"Yes, it is," It seemed logical enough, but he couldn't understand the optimistic lilt to Teyla's voice. "Looks like it was in there twice."
"Does that not mean that two portals were opened to a dying world?"
"Yeah. Huh. Hang on."
Sheppard tapped his radio on, trying to not get his hopes up as Teyla sat back in her chair, watching him.
"Lorne, I need your team in my office if you've got a minute."
While waiting for Lorne's team to arrive, Sheppard and Teyla discussed the details with growing animation. By the time the team arrived, they were certain that they had a workable theory.
"He was displeased with the news that they had left their people to die," Teyla explained, once Roth and Amundson had joined Lorne on the other side of Sheppard's desk.
"And he seemed to know about how many houses would have been left empty," Sheppard added. "I thought he was just doing the math, but. It's a strange thing to know."
"Maybe he was just running the numbers. It could have been just a guess, sir."
"I don't know. Strange thing to do the math on, don't you think?"
"Yes sir," Roth jumped in, eager to agree. "However, I'm afraid I have a more logical explanation."
Damn. "Oh. Okay, let's hear it."
"Ah, Sir? We were there about a month ago when one of the women from town- an older woman, who seemed like maybe she had Alzheimer's, I'm not sure. Anyway. She went through the gate. It's just something that happens sometimes."
"Really?"
"Yes sir," Lorne cut in. "Either senility, or just wanting to see their home world before they die, apparently tends to push some of the elderly to return. Sahlen and one of the Minor Councilors explained it to me."
"Clutching at straws," Amundson muttered, shrugging but not trying to evade Lorne's look. "What?"
"Damn it," Sheppard said, unclenching his fist before anyone could think he was losing his cool. Before he punched out Amundson over nothing but words that slipped out that were probably right anyway.
"Was there anything else, sir?"
"No. Dismissed." No, there's nothing else. Nothing at all.
He was surprised to find Teyla rising as well.
"I have no more ideas to share, John. I apologize, but I would like to return to my quarters to meditate. Perhaps something will occur to me once my mind is refreshed."
Sheppard wished, he really did, that a few hours spent head-clearing and navel-gazing would fix all of this, but he doubted it. He didn't want to tell it to Teyla, though. At least she's trying. "Go ahead. Thanks."
Sheppard glared at the computer screen for a few moments, and, instead of shutting it down like he'd been tempted, he opened up a blank document and began to type.
Half an hour later, he was staring at the orders to block Ronon's IDC until a proper threat assessment could be strung together with duct tape and baling wire and guesses.
He clicked "send" and looked away, standing quickly enough that the blood rushed to his head. If something went wrong with the system right then, and the message didn't go through- if Carter didn't get it in time to sign off and forward it to the gate techs- there would be nothing at all he could do about it.
---
If this were the only settlement on the planet, it would not even be worthy of wraith attack. Flyover country, Sheppard would have called it.
But there was always a chance, however unlikely, that they survived by using the same tactics the Genii observed. Hiding below the surface. Living in disguise.
He was already in the center of town before he'd seen anyone other than shadows of the gray time-cracked stone buildings, and he'd learned a few things.
First, most of the town was abandoned. Buildings were obviously empty. But here, there seemed to be more signs of life. Clothing left to dry in the air. The smell of cooking food. The details were more obvious now, and it was apparent that the people had moved in, close together, either for safety or convenience.
No one at all had lived in the abandoned ruins of houses out near the fields. He'd been sure of that when approaching.
No one at all seemed to take issue with his presence though, which was a welcome realization until he followed the thought to the conclusion. There was no one there to take issue.
There was movement behind him, coming out of the alley, and his gun was ready before he turned.
He didn't fire though, and his target didn't seem to be aware that he might. The girl just stared at him like he was some exotic animal. She looked to be about ten years old, still a child but growing out of it. She had brown hair, was unhealthily thin, and had eyes that stared like she didn't know how to be curious.
"Greetings," she said, nervously, eyes moving slowly from his gun to his face.
"Hello." Ronon looked around, thought he saw a face pulling back from a second story window, but otherwise made no movement.
"You are not from here," She said, tilting her head in observation, hands going into the pockets of her trousers. She wasn't afraid of him, and it was a relief.
"No." Ronon wasn't sure it was a question or a statement, but he holstered his gun for the moment. "Where am I?"
"Sanacra," she said, stepping forward, but a door creaked somewhere, back in the alley, and she jumped to respond, darting back around the corner without another word.
Chapter 3