Goshouisshou -- Ronon/Miko, PG
Title: Goshouisshou
Author: kansas
Rating: pg
Pairing: ronon/miko
Warnings: n/a
Spoilers: "Runner" & "Sateda"
Word Count: 1,500
Written For: beatrice_otter
Prompt: Two quiet people together; backstory for Ronon w/r/t Melena; reference to art, literature, or music.
Author's Notes/Summary: I've based the Satedan language on Japanese, because why not? If pressed, I would have to say that I bet, from the tattoo on Ronon's neck, that it is closer to Klingon, but who cares? A few years ago, someone wrote brilliant meta about the taboo of touching someone's chest in the Pegasus galaxy, and I've misappropriated that for my own clearly nefarious purposes. Whoever you are, thanks for being smart.
//
For the first few months, he saw Melena in every woman he came across. Then he stopped coming across women-because he stopped giving in to the impulse to find people. But here, on Atlantis, all the women blur into Melena.
Ronon doesn't think it's even because he still loves and misses her. It's been too long, and, even though he doesn't want to, he still feels that she betrayed him, betrayed their love. Her love for Sateda was too great; she didn't care about the effect it would have on him to lose her.
And he didn't care about that part of her enough; in his heart he knows he betrayed her too.
//
All the Earthers, the Lanteans, they look the same. They have narrow, pointed features, just like Melena. They speak like her, of loyalty and duty to a concept, rather than to people. Except Sheppard. He believes in people. If he didn't, Ronon doesn't think he would have stayed with the Lanteans. The Ring of the Ancestors spins many times, and there are many places a soldier of Sateda would be welcome. A soldier of Sateda and a Satedan energy pistol.
For one moment, Ronon believed that he could find peace with Teyla. Another warrior. Another alien-to the Lanteans and to her own people. And she showed her chest so brazenly, taunting. Come get me, Wraith. Come get me, see what you will find. She twirls her sticks and fights with precision, cold and angry.
But she is a warrior. The Lanteans call it "team"; it is the kzis, the brotherhood of warriors, the men who stand together. Except the Lanteans believe everyone is important, and the good of the one outweighs the good of the many.
After a few years with the Wraith, they will change their minds. Or they will die. Teyla knows this; she is kzi. Their bodies slap together in the coldness of war and the fire of protection, not in the heat of lovemaking.
//
There is a woman who stares at Ronon all the time. She's quiet, and squeaks like a nzumis, follows McKay everywhere. He heard her name once, and it sounded like Old Satedan-Kusangi. In Old Satedan, Kstgi was the princess of the water. She moved through the sea, tangling men in her hands, in her long fingers made of tnmis, the nets of the white crests of the ocean waves. Ronon can't imagine this little nzumi tangling anyone in anything; she's too concerned with McKay.
But she stares at Ronon all the time.
//
Once the Lanteans begin to look like people, the ghost of Melena fades. But he still sees her in the faces of the women who pass him in the hallways and watch him in the cafeteria. He thinks of her as Kstgi the Nzumi, and looks for her, because she's shaped differently, with her cheeks like the Lantean's apples, and her eyes slanted like the hkis; the Wraith are not the only demons. But her demon eyes draw him in. They're soft, they're not hard.
And they don't glow yellow, which, Ronon figures, means she's not a demon in disguise. He's not hallucinating. This is happening. These Lanteans are real. They are not ghosts of his past.
Miko is not a ghost of Melena. She is the opposite of Melena in every way. Quiet and watchful and-and smart.
Back-before-Ronon only liked the smart girls. It didn't matter what they looked like. Now it matters, because everyone who looks like Melena makes him think of Melena, and he hates her, the more he thinks about her. And he doesn't want to hate her. She fought to the very end, and there's honor in that.
He can't think about honor, though. Not now. Now he's thinking about his heart. He knows it's stupid; he keeps waiting for Teyla to beat it out of him with her sticks and her bare chest.
Come and get me, Wraith, he thinks. He never put his hand on Melena's chest, but he thought about it a lot. Maybe if they had grown older. Maybe if the Wraith had not come. Maybe if Sateda hadn't developed more weapons. Maybe if Kell had not betrayed them all. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
//
There are ghosts everywhere. It is months and months before Ronon stops seeing the ghosts. All of the people who died. All of the people he couldn't save. He knows there was nothing he could do, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that he couldn't do anything. What matters is that everything is gone, everyone is gone, and all the Lanteans look the same.
//
"My parents wanted me to be-" She stops, but he doesn't say anything, just keeps his hand on her hair. His hand is as big as her head. He thinks about killing her, pushing down on her head until she's dead.
"My parents were so disappointed when I became a scientist," she confides. He strokes her hair. "They are opposite all other parents in my country, who want their children to be successful, make money, live in the white world. They wanted me to be traditional, wear robes, be-my name was what they wanted for me. To know the gods. My father and mother were both priests." She must have thought he didn't understand. "They were-spiritual leaders."
"I know what priests are," he says, a little dryly. He did go to school, graduate with the highest honors, made love to the smartest women.
She blushes. Her slant eyes, behind her glasses, still don't glow. She isn't hkis. He wants to lay his hand on her chest, and do everything that is forbidden.
His hand would cover her from shoulder to shoulder. It is all he thinks about as she tells him about strange math, the fabric of the universe, the stream of time.
//
Ronon stays silent, most of the time, when he eats with Miko. She likes to tell him things, and he likes to listen. Her halting voice, round accent, like a ball, like someone from the outskirts of Sateda where the old ways never fell away, where they shunned the technology of the cities and stayed away from Wraith.
Anyway, he doesn't have a lot to say. That's okay with him.
The words will build up.
//
"I was gkshis," he tells her. He offers her his brownie, and she takes it, but doesn't eat it. Later, he knows, she'll give it to McKay, to calm him down, to shut him up. He does the same thing sometimes. That's why he gave it to her; she's allergic to chocolate.
"What does that mean?" She leans forward. She loves his language because it reminds her of her own, and he loves her language because it reminds him of his. But his is sharper, slippery; hers is round and full of music.
"I don't know the Earther word for it." He scoops tiny brown seeds into his mouth. They squish between his teeth, and have a sharp bite in their gravy. Lentils. He has to remember the words; it's an effort. No matter how many times he goes through the Ring of the Ancestors, the words never quite separate in his head, and the Earther words are nothing like his own.
She has a steaming cup of something green. It's tea, but not like the kind the others drink. It smells horrible, but so does McKay's coffee, which tastes wonderful, like the dark, thick drink he had every morning for breakfast during training.
"We... knew history. And talked about it. But not in regular words. In poetry. Long poems." Long poems that Ronon spent years memorizing as a child, then reciting with his fellow soldiers during the long nights in the bunks-then reciting to himself during the long nights waiting for the Wraith to find him and fight him.
"We have that on Earth," she tells him, and the next night when he returns from kicking the asses of Sheppard's Marines, who are pathetic and barely keep him out of breath, there's a small stack of paper, bound, on his bed.
Paper was always precious on Sateda, because it was difficult to make. Guns were easy, paper was hard. That Miko gave him so much paper-well, the Lanteans don't care about things that are so important to everyone else. But he can't read it. He doesn't know what the squiggles say; they look nothing like Satedan.
He puts it under his pillow anyway. It's the first thing a Lantean has given him that is not food, weapon, shelter.
Author: kansas
Rating: pg
Pairing: ronon/miko
Warnings: n/a
Spoilers: "Runner" & "Sateda"
Word Count: 1,500
Written For: beatrice_otter
Prompt: Two quiet people together; backstory for Ronon w/r/t Melena; reference to art, literature, or music.
Author's Notes/Summary: I've based the Satedan language on Japanese, because why not? If pressed, I would have to say that I bet, from the tattoo on Ronon's neck, that it is closer to Klingon, but who cares? A few years ago, someone wrote brilliant meta about the taboo of touching someone's chest in the Pegasus galaxy, and I've misappropriated that for my own clearly nefarious purposes. Whoever you are, thanks for being smart.
//
For the first few months, he saw Melena in every woman he came across. Then he stopped coming across women-because he stopped giving in to the impulse to find people. But here, on Atlantis, all the women blur into Melena.
Ronon doesn't think it's even because he still loves and misses her. It's been too long, and, even though he doesn't want to, he still feels that she betrayed him, betrayed their love. Her love for Sateda was too great; she didn't care about the effect it would have on him to lose her.
And he didn't care about that part of her enough; in his heart he knows he betrayed her too.
//
All the Earthers, the Lanteans, they look the same. They have narrow, pointed features, just like Melena. They speak like her, of loyalty and duty to a concept, rather than to people. Except Sheppard. He believes in people. If he didn't, Ronon doesn't think he would have stayed with the Lanteans. The Ring of the Ancestors spins many times, and there are many places a soldier of Sateda would be welcome. A soldier of Sateda and a Satedan energy pistol.
For one moment, Ronon believed that he could find peace with Teyla. Another warrior. Another alien-to the Lanteans and to her own people. And she showed her chest so brazenly, taunting. Come get me, Wraith. Come get me, see what you will find. She twirls her sticks and fights with precision, cold and angry.
But she is a warrior. The Lanteans call it "team"; it is the kzis, the brotherhood of warriors, the men who stand together. Except the Lanteans believe everyone is important, and the good of the one outweighs the good of the many.
After a few years with the Wraith, they will change their minds. Or they will die. Teyla knows this; she is kzi. Their bodies slap together in the coldness of war and the fire of protection, not in the heat of lovemaking.
//
There is a woman who stares at Ronon all the time. She's quiet, and squeaks like a nzumis, follows McKay everywhere. He heard her name once, and it sounded like Old Satedan-Kusangi. In Old Satedan, Kstgi was the princess of the water. She moved through the sea, tangling men in her hands, in her long fingers made of tnmis, the nets of the white crests of the ocean waves. Ronon can't imagine this little nzumi tangling anyone in anything; she's too concerned with McKay.
But she stares at Ronon all the time.
//
Once the Lanteans begin to look like people, the ghost of Melena fades. But he still sees her in the faces of the women who pass him in the hallways and watch him in the cafeteria. He thinks of her as Kstgi the Nzumi, and looks for her, because she's shaped differently, with her cheeks like the Lantean's apples, and her eyes slanted like the hkis; the Wraith are not the only demons. But her demon eyes draw him in. They're soft, they're not hard.
And they don't glow yellow, which, Ronon figures, means she's not a demon in disguise. He's not hallucinating. This is happening. These Lanteans are real. They are not ghosts of his past.
Miko is not a ghost of Melena. She is the opposite of Melena in every way. Quiet and watchful and-and smart.
Back-before-Ronon only liked the smart girls. It didn't matter what they looked like. Now it matters, because everyone who looks like Melena makes him think of Melena, and he hates her, the more he thinks about her. And he doesn't want to hate her. She fought to the very end, and there's honor in that.
He can't think about honor, though. Not now. Now he's thinking about his heart. He knows it's stupid; he keeps waiting for Teyla to beat it out of him with her sticks and her bare chest.
Come and get me, Wraith, he thinks. He never put his hand on Melena's chest, but he thought about it a lot. Maybe if they had grown older. Maybe if the Wraith had not come. Maybe if Sateda hadn't developed more weapons. Maybe if Kell had not betrayed them all. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
//
There are ghosts everywhere. It is months and months before Ronon stops seeing the ghosts. All of the people who died. All of the people he couldn't save. He knows there was nothing he could do, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that he couldn't do anything. What matters is that everything is gone, everyone is gone, and all the Lanteans look the same.
//
"My parents wanted me to be-" She stops, but he doesn't say anything, just keeps his hand on her hair. His hand is as big as her head. He thinks about killing her, pushing down on her head until she's dead.
"My parents were so disappointed when I became a scientist," she confides. He strokes her hair. "They are opposite all other parents in my country, who want their children to be successful, make money, live in the white world. They wanted me to be traditional, wear robes, be-my name was what they wanted for me. To know the gods. My father and mother were both priests." She must have thought he didn't understand. "They were-spiritual leaders."
"I know what priests are," he says, a little dryly. He did go to school, graduate with the highest honors, made love to the smartest women.
She blushes. Her slant eyes, behind her glasses, still don't glow. She isn't hkis. He wants to lay his hand on her chest, and do everything that is forbidden.
His hand would cover her from shoulder to shoulder. It is all he thinks about as she tells him about strange math, the fabric of the universe, the stream of time.
//
Ronon stays silent, most of the time, when he eats with Miko. She likes to tell him things, and he likes to listen. Her halting voice, round accent, like a ball, like someone from the outskirts of Sateda where the old ways never fell away, where they shunned the technology of the cities and stayed away from Wraith.
Anyway, he doesn't have a lot to say. That's okay with him.
The words will build up.
//
"I was gkshis," he tells her. He offers her his brownie, and she takes it, but doesn't eat it. Later, he knows, she'll give it to McKay, to calm him down, to shut him up. He does the same thing sometimes. That's why he gave it to her; she's allergic to chocolate.
"What does that mean?" She leans forward. She loves his language because it reminds her of her own, and he loves her language because it reminds him of his. But his is sharper, slippery; hers is round and full of music.
"I don't know the Earther word for it." He scoops tiny brown seeds into his mouth. They squish between his teeth, and have a sharp bite in their gravy. Lentils. He has to remember the words; it's an effort. No matter how many times he goes through the Ring of the Ancestors, the words never quite separate in his head, and the Earther words are nothing like his own.
She has a steaming cup of something green. It's tea, but not like the kind the others drink. It smells horrible, but so does McKay's coffee, which tastes wonderful, like the dark, thick drink he had every morning for breakfast during training.
"We... knew history. And talked about it. But not in regular words. In poetry. Long poems." Long poems that Ronon spent years memorizing as a child, then reciting with his fellow soldiers during the long nights in the bunks-then reciting to himself during the long nights waiting for the Wraith to find him and fight him.
"We have that on Earth," she tells him, and the next night when he returns from kicking the asses of Sheppard's Marines, who are pathetic and barely keep him out of breath, there's a small stack of paper, bound, on his bed.
Paper was always precious on Sateda, because it was difficult to make. Guns were easy, paper was hard. That Miko gave him so much paper-well, the Lanteans don't care about things that are so important to everyone else. But he can't read it. He doesn't know what the squiggles say; they look nothing like Satedan.
He puts it under his pillow anyway. It's the first thing a Lantean has given him that is not food, weapon, shelter.