Happy Birthday, ciderpress!

[mirabile_dictu]

Title: Pianoforte
Author: Mirabile Dictu
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: Ronon Dex/Rodney McKay
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 13,895
Summary: It's not a piano.

A/N: Beta by the lady_of_asheru.

Written as a birthday present for dear ciderpress.

Pianoforte

mene

"It's a piano. Without black keys."

"It is not a piano. Okay, it looks like a piano, but it's not a piano."

"If it looks like a piano and it plays like a piano, even without black keys --"

Ronon was already tired of the discussion. "What's a piano?"

Sheppard and McKay stared at Ronon. McKay said, "It's a musical instrument. Little hammers strike wire strings." He looked back at the wooden boxy thing in front of them. More softly, he said, "I used to play one." He studied it, rocking back on his heels, and then dropped to his knees, leaning forward.

"Hey," Sheppard said, blocking his reach. "Not until we've examined it. Could be wired for explosives."

"Yes, yes, I saw The English Patient, too." He hunkered back. Ronon watched closely. "You're not a bomb disposal expert," he reminded Sheppard as he studied the piano.

"Shoot it," Ronon suggested.

McKay gave him a withering look. "What an innovative idea. Shoot the non-piano, see if it blows up. If it doesn't, it wasn't a bomb and, oh, we still can't see if it's a piano because it will be shot."

Ronon looked at him.

"Everybody back," Sheppard said. He hauled McKay to his feet and shooed the others back. They watched as he tossed a rock onto the piano.

"Well, that was anticlimactic," McKay said. Sheppard tossed another rock, larger and a bit harder. "And I'm going to conclude it's not wired for explosives."

"Go, go," Sheppard told him. "Blow yourself up. See if I care."

"Oh, you'd care all right. Next time you got in a bind, you'd care."

"Rodney," Teyla said.

He looked a bit guilty. "Um." He picked up a stick and poked at the piano. "Seriously, Sheppard. You think it's okay?"

"Yeah. Let me open it, though."

"No way. I can rig something that will open it -- let me think."

Ronon pushed past them and shoved at the thing. It made an odd jangling noise, metallic and harsh. "No bomb," he said.

"Jesus," McKay muttered. "Well, better you than me." He knelt again, next to Ronon's legs, and studied the piano. "Do you think someone in the Pegasus Galaxy actually invented a piano? Some kind of parallel evolution of musical instruments?"

"Well, the Getharans had that guitar thing," Sheppard pointed out, squatting on the other side of Ronon. He crossed his arms and watched them. "And there was that bassoon, remember?"

"Hideous noise," McKay said. They began to struggle with the top of the box, their faces turning red. "One, two, three," McKay said and they both rose, lifting what turned out to be a lid. Ronon leaned over to peek inside. Teyla came up beside him.

"Why is it full of wires?" she asked.

"Those are what the hammers hit. See, wow, this is amazing. Almost the same mechanism as in a piano from Earth. You press the keys here, and the corresponding hammer strikes there." A soft plunk sounded. "It's a goddamn piano."

"Told you."

"Why a piano?" Ronon asked. McKay and Sheppard turned to look up at him from the crater in which they'd found the piano.

"That's a good question," McKay said grudgingly. "Why is a piano on an alien planet in a bomb crater in a middle of a field?"

"Not a bomb crater," Sheppard said.

"Frankly, I don't give a damn what kind of crater it is," McKay said, standing up and shaking his legs. "Let's get the piano back to Atlantis."

"We're not," Sheppard said.

"Yes, we are. The cable that Moore and McNab are using on M8R-1229 --"

"And the magnetic grapple, yeah, that would work." They stared at each other, Ronon watching them nod at each other. "Okay," Sheppard finally said. "Let's check out this place, but I think it's pretty obvious whoever lived here is long gone. Get back to Atlantis and come back with the equipment. We'll fly the fucker through the gate, and you'll have your piano. Teyla?"

"I agree. The people who lived here are no more." She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Ronon looked around him. This was a desolate place. Maybe the Wraith had culled, maybe the people had just moved, but whatever had happened, it had happened a long time ago. They weren't far from the stargate, in the middle of a field pockmarked by blasts of some kind. Ahead of them, he could see the remains of the village: a poor people, nothing like his home on Sateda and certainly no Ancient influence. Even if there were people nearby, they wouldn't offer anything of value, he was certain.

Still, Sheppard raised his hand and they moved out, Ronon trailing, watching closely. He liked that Sheppard trusted that he knew what he was doing and knew that he would safeguard the others. Especially McKay, who continued to chatter as he followed Sheppard.

When Ronon had first joined Sheppard's team, he couldn't understand why they let McKay off Atlantis. If he was as valuable as he said he was, he should be protected as any prized resource; if he wasn't, then he should shut up. Now Ronon knew that McKay was even more valuable than he boasted, but he also understood why they let him go. Sheppard had trained him well, as had Teyla, and now Ronon himself. McKay learned quickly. He saw and understood and imitated. Ronon liked that quality.

Teyla looked sadly around them as they approached the dilapidated village. The buildings were no more than huts, some only lean-tos crumbling into the earth. "Huh," McKay said, stopping abruptly. Sheppard took aim with his weapon and walked slowly forward, then shook his head. Teyla and Ronon followed, and Ronon saw the brown jagged ends of a broken tibia poking up from the soil. "I suppose if we dug we'd find lots more," McKay said.

"Let's not test that theory," Sheppard said, and Ronon agreed. It was never wise to disturb the unhappy dead.

"That piano," McKay murmured. "It makes even less sense. This is not a place I'd expect to find complex musical instruments."

"No," Sheppard agreed. "It's like it just fell out of the sky."

"From which galaxy? I wonder if the botanist can tell anything from the wood."

"Jesus, that gives me the creeps. A piano from the Milky Way? Here?"

McKay shrugged.

"I believe we should continue investigating," Teyla suggested. Ronon admired her skill at drawing their attention back to the work at hand. He pushed past them, into the village itself, and then peered into one of the ruined buildings. The woodwork was poor; nothing like the piano they'd discovered. McKay was right. These people didn't make whatever that piano was.

Leaving the others behind, he strode through the village. The street could barely be named that; it was a narrow passageway that petered out into another meadow of gold grasses the led to the edge of a pine forest. He crossed to the trees and looked up one. He could climb it, see further, but he wasn't sure it was worth the effort.

"Nothing to trade, nothing to see, nothing but a piano," McKay grumbled. Ronon followed him back to the stargate. Not one of their more successful ventures. Whoever had lived here hadn't in a long time.

tende

"Ronon? Ronon Dex? Whenever did you get so big? Oh, Ro-Neya," a woman cried. Ronon backed away, putting his hand on his weapon, but Sheppard touched his arm lightly and he knew that meant not here. The tiny woman continued to rush toward Ronon, pushing through the crowds in the market.

"Ama?" He knew it was his ama from so many years ago. He swung her into his arms and around as she kissed his cheeks.

"Put me down so I can look at you!" she demanded. He set her down carefully and they stared at each other. She looked so much older than he remembered; only her voice was familiar. Her hair was completely grey, and thin, but still worn in many tiny long braids. Her face was thin and her skin had a grayish cast to it that he knew came from malnutrition.

"Ama," he said softly, bending over to kiss her forehead. He closed his eyes and let her hug him; tears burned behind his lids and his throat was tight. When he'd last seen her, she hadn't been this short or frail, and when he'd been a little boy, she could chase him across the neighborhood square while he screamed with laughter.

Even with his eyes closed, he could feel his teammates' concern for him. When he trusted his voice, he kissed her forehead again and straightened. "This was my ama," he told Sheppard. "She cared for me when I was little."

"Three generations I cared for," she said proudly. "His beautiful mama, and her father, too. Oh, Ronon, I thought you were dead all these years!" She began to cry, and he held her tenderly, letting her weep into his shirt. "All dead," she said. "Everyone I ever loved is dead."

"No, Ama," he whispered. "I never died. And you're alive."

She sniffed, and pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe her face. "I am. The last one. And now you're here. Oh, darling boy."

"Where are you living, Ama?"

"There is a hostel here for the elderly. I do laundry and mending. It's a nice place," she added. "Much better than when I was on my own."

"Come with me," he said without thinking. "There is a better place. You will be safe there."

"Ah, Ronon," Sheppard said in his hesitant voice.

He gathered his ama to him. "She cannot hurt you," he said roughly.

"Let me go," she said, struggling. "I am happy here, Neya. I have lived here seven years, made friends, have a home. You do not need to rescue me."

"Ama, I --" He wasn't sure what to say. He did want to rescue her, the way he wanted to rescue everyone: his family, his friends, his city, his planet.

There was a long awkward silence, and then McKay said, "This is very interesting, but could we walk and talk? I'm supposed to be taking readings, yes? And then maybe we can sit down and eat, can we pay for a meal here somehow, trade something, what do they use for currency, oh, excuse me, sorry," he said, trying to get out of the way of two men carrying a stack of cages full of live poultry. "Uh, no chicken today for me."

His ama laughed. "He is like you," she said, smiling so hard her eyes nearly disappeared in a net of wrinkles. "Talk-talk-talk, that was my Ro-Neya. And smart!" She looked at Sheppard. "Who are you?"

"Uh, Colonel John Sheppard, ma'am, of the US Air Force. This is Teyla Emmagen, and this is Rodney McKay."

"Doctor Rodney McKay," he said. "If you get to use your title, then I should use mine."

"Excuse me, Doctor," Sheppard said very insincerely.

"Call me Ama," she said. "It has been many years since anyone called me by name; no one left alive has that right. But I was Ama to Ro-Neya, and I can be Ama to his friends."

"Thank you," Teyla said, and bowed slightly.

"Are you --"

Ronon closed his eyes. He'd known the minute Ama saw Teyla she would ask.

"No, Ama. You know that isn't my, my way."

"So no babies for me to love?"

He couldn't look at Sheppard or Teyla; they would know what she meant. "Let me walk you home," he finally said.

"I need to buy some things first. Let's go to the West Market; they have better produce."

"Hey!" the lettuce man shouted at her, but she waved him off and led them through the market.

"Now we will do our telling," she said firmly,

She looked so sad that Ronon wanted to run away. Instead, he followed her through the market, carrying the bags of vegetables and fruit for the dinner. She bought dessert from a bakery, and Ronon thought McKay was going to orgasm right there in the street market, staring at all the confections. "You're a healthy eater, too," Ama told Rodney, patting his stomach. He looked a bit offended, but then the baker offered him a twist of sugarcone and that sweetened his temper. Ronon kept small packets of cookies from Earth in his pockets just for that reason.

The last stop was at the butcher's, where Ama spent a long time. McKay looked sickly fascinated, but Sheppard just looked sick, so Teyla took him away, into the fresh air. McKay stared after them, his forehead crinkling in worry. "Ama, Sheppard is my Taskmaster," Ronon said softly into her ear. "And sort of McKay's, too." She nodded but continued haranguing the butcher for the freshest cut of bous.

"He is not my Taskmaster, as you so delightfully put it," McKay hissed at him, as if his ama couldn't hear.

"Is too," Ronon said, and then ignored McKay, taking the wrapped meat from Ama. They went out into the street, McKay grumbling behind him. Teyla and Sheppard were staring at a fountain in the center; an ornate dayo stood on its tail, water spouting from his open mouth.

"Are you all right?" McKay asked Sheppard, hovering near him.

He shrugged. Ronon watched them, twin moons revolving around Atlantis. His ama nudged him. "Can he eat the dinner I'm going to fix?"

"Uh, Sheppard. Ama asks us all to dinner. You up for that?"

Ama glared at him, but Sheppard looked seriously at her and Ronon. "It would be an honor," he finally said, straightening up.

The crowds thinned as Ama led them to the hostel. Ronon paid close attention to the neighborhood, but it looked all right, not too unsafe, at least during the day. The hostel was nice, too. "Only twelve of us live here," Ama told him as they wound through the downstairs: front room full of rocking chairs but nothing too soft, so the old can get themselves up, through a dining room and into a big kitchen. Another old lady was in there, older than his ama, drying a big dish.

"Company!" she cried out. Ama and Teyla smiled at her, and Sheppard took the big dish from her hands.

"Allow me," he said, and McKay snorted.

Ronon glanced at McKay from the corner of his eye; McKay was trying to hide a smile. He caught Ronon's eye and pursed his lips. "The colonel loves the ladies," he said quietly. Ronon didn't think that was actually true, but he didn't contradict McKay.

That night, dinner was shared with some of the other residents, interested in news from other worlds. Ama sat between Ronon and McKay; she looked so tiny compared to their health and well-being, Ronon thought, remembering how big she had seemed to him when he had been in her charge. "You enjoy your food," she said to McKay approvingly.

"Oh, yes, this is good, you're a good cook," he said, and swallowed. "The meat -- the bous -- it's very tender." He took another big bite.

"You remind me of Ronon," she said, smiling up at Ronon. He noticed that she'd eaten very little. "He could talk the hind leg off a davos."

"Ronon?" Sheppard asked, and even McKay paused.

"Ama," Ronon said, feeling uncomfortable.

"It's an old woman's prerogative," she said, flapping her hand at him. "My memories are all I have, and you were a wonderful child. The smartest child I ever cared for. In school, always first in his class. Sweet natured, but greedy." She smiled at him. "And so handsome."

"Greedy, yes," McKay said through another mouthful, "but first in his class? In what subjects?"

"Everything," Ama said, just as Ronon said, "Ama."

"No, let her talk," McKay said, leaning forward.

"He was a brilliant student. After his military training, he was going to teach."

Ronon felt all his teammates' surprise.

"What did you teach?" Teyla asked him.

Ama said, "History. His senior paper was published. I had a copy. Until . . ." Ronon hugged her, kissing the top of her head. She sighed, and gently pushed him away. "Until the Wraith came, and took everything from us."

"Teach," McKay said, putting down the bread in his hands. "You. A scholar."

"Hard to believe," Ronon said flatly. It was hard for him to believe. So many years had passed since he'd been that young scholar.

"You had mandatory military service?" Sheppard asked.

"Yeah. Everybody served two years. In the middle of college. Take two years off from your studies. But I never got to go back."

"I never thought I'd see you again," Ama said softly. "When everything happened, I knew you would fight. My brave boy," she whispered.

Ronon hung his head and took a deep breath. "I couldn't come back," he said after a while. Everyone at the table was watching him. "The Wraith -- they put a tracker in me. I had to Run."

"Ronon," Ama breathed.

"These people saved me." He gestured toward Sheppard. "This man. I owe him my allegiance and my life. His people are mine."

"Whither thou goest, I will go," McKay said, nodding. He returned to eating. "Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God," he said.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Rodney," Sheppard said, but mildly, and his eyes were on Ronon.

McKay shrugged and swallowed hugely. "Good you're with us," he told Ronon, and Teyla nodded.

isu

McKay was blindfolded, gagged, bound, and kneeling, hands behind his back, his face puffy and red, when Ronon reached him. He held his weapon threateningly, walking with his right side to McKay, facing the crowd. They stared at him, but no one tried to stop him or even talk to him. Without taking his eyes off them, he knelt next to McKay and patted the side of his face until he reached the gag; he found the knot and loosened it. When the wet cloth fell away, McKay inhaled deeply, and spit. "Who's there?" he asked, his voice a dry croak.

"Me," Ronon said. He pulled off the blindfold.

"Shit," McKay said, blinking rapidly. "Can we go home now?"

"Yup." He put his hand under McKay's elbow and gently levered him up. He trembled in Ronon's grasp and coughed and spit again.

One man stepped forward, eyeing Ronon cautiously. "He cannot go. He has violated our holiest relic. This is anathema."

Ronon shrugged, and continued to tug at Rodney, drawing him away from the crowd. He stepped between Rodney and the man. The man stepped forward and Ronon swung his weapon toward him. "Don't," he said.

There was a long breathless pause. He could feel McKay quivering at his back, his breath sour, and he stank. He needed to get him through the stargate. Ronon took another step back, pushing at McKay. Each step back was one step away from the sullen crowd. Suddenly, the man rushed toward them; Ronon pivoted his weapon around and into the man's head and he fell, stunned, but the crowd reared back. Let them think the guy was dead. Ronon used the opportunity to continue moving away, trotting backwards. He grabbed McKay around the waist and held him upright.

"That guy pissed on me," McKay said, his voice shaking. "He pissed on me."

"You smell like it," Ronon said, but his heart surged in anger. "Stay here," he demanded.

"Stay here? Where are you going? Ronon!"

He sat McKay down in the field, the grass above his head when he was down. Handing him his water bottle, Ronon jogged back toward the crowd. They stumbled away from him, even as their leader stirred. Ronon stood above him, pulled out his dick, and pissed on his head. "Fuck you!" the guy yelled, rolling away.

"Never again," Ronon said, tucking himself away. He swung the barrel of his weapon toward the crowd. "Never fucking again," he said louder. He looked back at the guy on the ground, piss dripping from his chin. "I see you again, you're dead."

Jogging backwards, he found McKay trying to stand. "Come on," Ronon said, hoisting him to his feet. "Not far now."

"Where are Sheppard and Teyla?"

"Bit busy back at the temple. Can you walk?"

"Yeah. Kinda. Shit, I stink."

"Yup."

"Those assholes gonna follow us?" An explosion made them stop and stare. "Is that Sheppard?"

"Yup." They watched as the crowd, including the guy Ronon had pissed on, scrambled back toward the village. "Come on. That's our diversion." He got McKay turned back toward the stargate and moving again, though not very fast. He was still shaking. His skin was pale and papery; Ronon knew he had to be dehydrated, and scared, but he kept talking.

"They were idiots. Worshipping a goddamn artifact. I just wanted to see what it was -- not a ZPM, but some kind of sensor. I could look at it and tell where people were, and animals, but they never made the correlation. Just thought it was alive, some god speaking to them in an unknown language."

"Want me to go back and get it?"

"No. Nothing we don't have in Atlantis. Hey, there's the gate. When will Sheppard and Teyla be here?"

"Soon," Ronon said, and dialed Atlantis. "If they don't come through in an hour, I'll come back with Lorne's team."

"Yes, yes, good idea. I think," but he stumbled, and only Ronon held him upright. "I think I don't feel so good," he whispered.

"You don't smell so good, either," Ronon told him, but he held McKay tightly, lowering him slowly to the ground. When the event horizon had stabilized, he leaned forward and pushed McKay over his shoulder. "No," McKay protested, but Ronon ignored him and walked into the wormhole and back to Atlantis. "Goddamn it," McKay said when they stepped into the city. Weir was waiting for them, Lorne at her side; she called for Beckett the minute they appeared. He swung McKay off his shoulder, and Lorne helped hold him upright.

"It's wonderful to see you, Rodney," Weir said.

Rodney closed his eyes and murmured something, his head lolling onto Ronon's shoulder. Ronon tightened his hold on him, feeling something tender in his chest swell. "We're home," he whispered into McKay's ear.

McKay smiled, and patted Ronon's chest. "Good man," he mumbled. "Can you get me to a shower?"

"First to Dr. Beckett," Weir said. "Ronon?"

"I'll get him there." He pulled at McKay, holding him firmly. "Sheppard said one hour, go back," he told Lorne. "Get a team together." Lorne nodded and stayed with Weir.

"He fucking pissed on me," McKay said again. "Do you know how unsanitary that is? It burned, too. Asshole. Fucking asshole."

"I pissed on him," Ronon said.

"I hope it burns his eyes out. And thank you, by the way. For coming to get me, and especially for pissing on that asshole. I owe you one."

"You owe me a thousand."

"Ha ha. You've been hanging with Sheppard too long."

"Not as long as you."

"Yes, well, I'm immune to his charms."

Ronon smiled to himself, hanging on to McKay as he staggered toward the infirmary. "Not that immune."

"What's that mean? Are you casting aspersions? On whom, me or him?"

"Rodney!" Beckett called, hurrying to meet them. "Oh, lord, but you smell like a privy. Look at your poor head."

"Some asshole pissed on me, Carson."

"Well, that will help with the head wound, I'm sure."

"What? You're a maniac. Why is a geneticist our Chief Medical Officer? In what universe does this make sense? Pissing on a head wound. I swear to God, Carson, you need to go back to med school."

"Shut up, Rodney, and let me treat that wound. Here, Ronon, get him up on the table, yes, like that. Lie back, Rodney. There you go."

"Where's Sheppard? Where's Teyla?" McKay asked. Ronon put his hands on McKay's shoulders and held him still for a minute, trying to catch his eye. McKay huffed loudly, and relaxed. "All right," he finally said, and let Ronon shove him up so the doctor could examine him.

He sat slumped, leaning against Ronon, who pushed against him, taking McKay's weight. Beckett raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything more. Ronon heard a noise and twisted his head back; Sheppard and Teyla were there, Sheppard slouched against the door. He turned back to McKay, whose eyes were slitted open, the right side of his mouth quirked up, watching Ronon.

lanne

McKay came to see Ronon after he'd been released from the infirmary, staring at him across the mess hall before hurrying toward him. "Listen," he said, sitting so abruptly that his tray rattled as he plopped it on the table, "thanks. Really. I was kind of out of it back on Planet Hell-hole, but I do remember you got me away from those maniacs. They were going to kill me, you know." Ronon nodded. For once, McKay wasn't overstating things; they had been going to kill him. He took another bite of the fried potatoes dipped in ketchup and listened. "Sheppard and Teyla, I know they helped with their diversion, and besides, he's good at blowing things up, he really could have been a chemist, but you were the one who faced down that crowd of thugs, and you were the one who pissed on that asshole." McKay smiled grimly at Ronon. "Thank you."

Ronon said, "Good fries," and held one out toward McKay, who took it quickly, then started on his own meal.

When he'd slowed down a bit, he said, "On that other planet, PX-whatever, your ama told us that you studied history and were going to teach." He poked a last fry into the puddle of ketchup on his plate. "And music."

Ronon shrugged. "Long time ago. Not much need for history as a Runner. Or music."

"What instrument did you play?"

"Flajol." At McKay's blank look, he said, "Long narrow tube, a wind instrument."

"How'd you hold it?"

Ronon mimed playing a flajol, hands in front of him. He could almost feel the patterned wood beneath his fingers.

"A recorder," McKay told him. "Can you still play?"

He shrugged again and stood to bus his empty tray. "No reason to." He paused and looked back at McKay. "Come running with me tomorrow morning."

"Don't be absurd."

"I'll get you."

He walked away, smiling to himself at the sound of McKay's sputtering behind him.

Though McKay grumbled the entire time, panting like a foaling davos, he did run with Ronon most mornings. Ronon slowed his pace, keeping just one step ahead of McKay so he was always in his peripheral vision. Not unlike how he did when they were in the field together. McKay would run the distance between two pylons, at a decent pace, but no further and no faster. "Got. To. Rest," he'd gasp, resting his hands on his knees, sweat rolling down his face.

"Gettin' stronger," Ronon said.

"Yeah, and my knees are arthritic, my lungs are asthmatic, and my arches are falling."

Ronon lightly smacked McKay's shoulder before jogging away. "See you at lunch," he called back. He smiled as McKay's complaining faded.

"So, listen," McKay said one night when he surprised Ronon in his quarters. He stuck out his hand. "Here."

Ronon picked up the instrument from McKay's flattened hand. "A flajol. Sort of."

"It's a recorder, made of rosewood. From Earth. I asked that it be sent out, and the Daedalus got in last night. I would've brought it by sooner, but it's been busy."

"Why?"

McKay shrugged. "So. Can you play? I can show you --"

"I can play." Ronon stepped back so McKay could come in. He looked around Ronon's quarters; Ronon knew how bare they were. He'd gotten out of the habit of owning things. Except weapons: guns and knives were never superfluous. He ran his fingers over the glossy wood, around the finger holes, and looked into the mouthpiece. It was not too heavy; he found it nicely balanced. At last, he lightly blew into it; a sudden squawk surprised him and made McKay laugh. "What's it mean?" he asked McKay, holding the flajol to his chest. "When someone gives an instrument, what's it mean?"

"What? Nothing. I didn't -- you're not obligated -- it's just. Well. You know. That piano we found, and you said you played." He sighed. "Enjoy it. When you can play Row, Row, Row Your Boat, let me know." He turned to go.

"Wait, McKay. Thanks."

"Yeah. Yeah." He left, and Ronon sat on his bed, licking his lips. His ama had loved to hear him play, and Ronon had enjoyed playing for others. He'd played with his friends at dances and ceremonies, and at the second and seventh conjunction of the moons. The images of his friends and family dancing, the entire neighborhood on the broad bend of the river, the moons mirrored in the water, the air smelling of river and roasting bous and the sense-memory of the little spice cakes with double moons of frosting on them rolled over him, almost painful in its intensity. On such a night he would have been with the musicians, dressed in the lightweight robes of players, his a pale rose to signify his abilities. His parents would have danced to his music, and his sisters and brother, the girl next door with one brown eye and one green eye, and his university friend Bron.

He blew again into the flajol, carefully, and this time produced a low sweet tone. He tried the finger holes, listening carefully to the changes in pitch, timbre, and tone.

He lay flat on his bed, closed his eyes, and began to play.

Two nights later, he went hunting for McKay. Not in the labs, nor the mess hall, so Ronon wasn't sure where else to look. He wandered the empty corridors; it was late, though McKay was usually up late. He wondered if McKay was with Sheppard, or that little Zelenka. He wasn't sure what McKay did when he wasn't working.

He headed back to his own quarters, turning into another corridor, when behind him a door slid open and he heard McKay's voice. Softer than normal, though, soft enough that Ronon couldn't hear his words, only the tone. He poked his head back around the corner and saw McKay kissing Teyla. A brief, shy kiss, but a kiss. She smiled up at him, stroking his face. "Good night, Rodney," he saw her whisper. McKay smiled hugely at her, so happy that Ronon's heart twisted with envy and grief that no one was smiling at him. He pulled back, leaning against the wall, thinking about what that kiss meant, when McKay turned the corner and they both jumped.

"What the hell are you doing lurking about?" McKay demanded, clutching his chest. "You're trying to kill me, aren't you, just give me a heart attack." Ronon just looked at him. "What? What?"

"So. Teyla and you?"

McKay lifted his chin. "None of your business, and she'll kick you into next week if you tell anyone." Ronon leaned down until he was only inches away from McKay's face, who stared belligerently back. Sighing dramatically, he said, "Sometimes, when it gets, ah, too much. Too much," he repeated more softly. "We're just friends."

Ronon straightened up. He didn't believe him; McKay wasn't the kind of guy to do casual. But he didn't want to press any further because Teyla really would kick his ass into next week. "Good night, McKay," he finally said, and clapped McKay's shoulder before heading back to his quarters. He'd lost the impulse, and wanted to think about McKay with Teyla.

He saw McKay in the mess hall when he went down for breakfast. "You didn't show up for your run this morning."

"Well, uh." McKay took another bite of his breakfast. "Um."

"That piano thing you brought back. You got it working yet?"

"Ah, no, not really." McKay ate faster, obviously happy to change the subject. "After you eat, let me show you. It's interesting, and even Radek's involved. A lot of physicists are also musicians; at McMurdo, we had a band. Kind of. Well, we made a lot of noise and people danced to it, but then, everybody was drunk most of the time at McMurdo so they'd dance to any damn thing."

Ronon didn't have a clue what McKay was talking about, but he sounded happy. They ate rapidly, not talking anymore. Then McKay led Ronon into a transporter, up two levels, and then several rooms down the corridor. The piano had been placed almost in the middle of the room, and a box of tools sat next to it, small strange tools glinting in the light that brightened when they walked in. McKay leaned over it, and Ronon looked into a nest of wires. "Tuning it has been a challenge," McKay said, but he looked smug.

"But not yet working."

"Well. It's alien." He shrugged. "Or badly tuned." There was an upturned box placed in front of the instrument; McKay scooted it closer, sat down, and rested his hands on what he called the keys. Ronon watched McKay, who took a deep breath, spread his fingers, and looked up at him. "Remember. Badly tuned, or something." Ronon nodded, McKay said, "Badly" again, and pressed some of the keys.

The piano thing vibrated beneath Ronon's arms; he jerked back in surprise, looking at Rodney, but his eyes were closed. The sound was soft, and eerie, as if coming from a long way off, and wavery, as if filtered through water. He returned to the piano, leaning gingerly against it, closing his own eyes to let the sound and vibration carry through him. McKay played hesitantly, staring off in a way Ronon found familiar from his instructors from so long ago.

McKay slowed, and looked at Ronon. "Chopin, not that that means anything to you. His nocturne number one in F minor. Badly played on an ill-tuned alien machine."

"Not badly played," Ronon said firmly, and was pleased to see McKay smile.

"Well. Not that you could judge."

He put his hand over McKay's, pressing the keys into a discordant cry. "I can judge," he said. McKay swallowed, staring at him, his mouth opening. "Show me," Ronon interrupted before he could speak. "Show me."

"Uh." Ronon sat next to McKay. "Um, put your hands here. Like this. Your thumb is on middle C. Do you know our alphabet? Does the gate translate that for you? So it's C, C sharp, D, D sharp, E, F, G -- do you see?"

Ronon nodded. "Scales, yeah. They're named after our moons."

"How many moons do you have?"

"Seven. Like the gate symbols." He put his thumb over McKay's on middle C. "This is mene," he said, pressing gently.

"What's that mean?"

"Hmm. They're all from an old dialect, not words we use now, so . . ." He shrugged. "Moon, I think. This," he pressed McKay's forefinger onto the next key, "is tende, and I know that means thin, like a sliver of a moon. Wait. This sound," and he pressed McKay's middle finger, "is wrong. Too much, too big. But the next would be isu."

"Say them all," McKay said, studying their entwined hands. "Teach me their names."

"Mene, tende, isu, lanne, kinn, augere, wita." He pressed the keys. "This isn't right; it's close, but not there."

"Our intervals are different. What you played is roughly the C diatonic scale. You know, I have to admit, Ronon, I never in a million years would have guessed you were a musician."

"Not anymore. Not since, since everything happened." He took his hand away from McKay's. "Play the Chopin again." He listened closely. It was only a few minutes long, but he found it achingly beautiful, a sound of longing tinged with something wrong.

When McKay finished this time, he said, "Help me with this. I'm trying to tune it to the pianos I grew up with, but it should be to the intervals you use. Though you still have seven notes, and a repeat at the octave, right? So this would also be mene?"

Ronon nodded, pleased at the idea of helping McKay with the piano thing.

"Okay, I've gotta get to the labs before somebody blows something up, and I'm sure you have important running and lurking to do. Let's get together after dinner." McKay stood and hovered for a moment, "Listen, Ronon. About last night. Teyla and I -- she's a good friend, and sometimes we talk, you know? Don't get the wrong idea."

"Talk, fuck, it's all good, McKay," Ronon said, but he smiled at the keyboard beneath his hands. McKay sputtered. "Thought you had work?"

"Yes, yes, goodbye."

He heard McKay leave, and then put his hands back on the keyboard, just touching the keys, listening to the noises they made, working his way through McKay's tuning, hearing in his head the missing sounds. He remembered again the camaraderie of playing with others, laughing till he ached, hoping the boy from university would be there to see him, knowing he looked good in his players robes. One night Bron had been there watching him and, during a break, came to take the saulé Ronon wore pinned to his collar.

He shook his head, smiling to himself. He hadn't thought of that night in years. He'd been so young before the Wraith came, before everything they'd done to him. McKay had given those memories back to him without even knowing, which was the way McKay worked, barging in, making changes without understanding the consequences. He was supposed to be a genius, or at least, that's what he told Ronon. Maybe he was, Ronon thought, rising; he really did have work in Atlantis.

On to Part Two