SGA: The Year of Jubilee, PG-13, gen, 3/4
Three weeks after Sheppard’s arrival, Ronon had another delivery mission scheduled. He didn’t tell Sheppard, initially. But the man got all twitchy and strange, watching Ronon like he thought he was going to leave any second, so he must have figured it out anyway. Ronon hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even begun preparing to go.
Taking Sheppard with him was not an option. The mission stretched overnight and there was no way Ronon was going to find out if Sheppard could handle traveling when he sometimes couldn’t handle brushing his teeth. Even if Sheppard was on his best, most lucid behavior, it was out of the question. Many of the worlds Ronon visited were as grateful for the weapons as they were suspicious of newcomers. They liked the man that brought them ways to kill Wraith - they’d like him less if he had an utterly insane slave at his side.
It was the first time in years that Ronon had to consider someone else before acting. It was new, so new Ronon wasn’t sure what he should do. For himself, he wouldn’t have altered the mission plan at all. He had no idea how Sheppard would react to being left alone for a few days. Considering he didn’t like being left alone for minutes while Ronon went to the bathroom, it didn’t seem to bode well.
Ronon’s plan was two-sided. On his end, he shortened the mission. He only really needed three days to accomplish the goal. There were four cities on Caxa, and it would take him that long to travel to all four, deliver his arms and receive payment, and return to the Ring. He had intended to stay longer. The Corfu had sweet wine and a monthly festival where you got to drink lots of it.
Shepppard’s end was more complicated. The first thing Ronon did was make sure that he wouldn’t be followed. He secured the windows on the second bedroom Sheppard had never slept in. It wasn’t discreet - he had to make sure Sheppard couldn’t get at the glass, and he put up enormous pieces of scrap metal to that end. Since, of course, Sheppard wouldn’t leave him alone, the man watched him as he worked. He didn’t volunteer to help, though. Ronon didn’t ask, either, watching the way Sheppard’s eyes narrowed and his body language went tense and alarmed.
He didn’t get upset, yet. Ronon wondered if he even could, or if the Arachan mind control would only kick in later. Sheppard definitely knew what was coming, but for the moment he just watched with apprehension as Ronon installed three more locks on the door frame.
Ronon put more than three days supplies of food and water in the room, too. Sheppard glared at it, but said nothing. The mission wasn’t going to be dangerous, but Ronon didn’t want Sheppard to become hungry or thirsty if he was delayed in returning. This made him wonder what would happen to the Arachan device if Ronon died, if it would still link Sheppard to a dead man. He figured Sheppard was resourceful enough to escape, eventually, if Ronon really didn’t come back. There wasn’t anything he could do if the thing in his neck decided to fry him, though.
“Gonna leave me a litter box?” Sheppard asked. His hands were clutched together in his lap and he was looking up at Ronon from lowered lids.
Ronon went and found a bucket, that particular arrangement having slipped his mind.
“I’m coming back,” Ronon promised. Sheppard didn’t say anything, but his body was tense and coiled. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he added, knowing that order wouldn’t stick either.
Locking Sheppard in the room wasn’t hard. The man didn’t fight, he just sat on the bed as instructed and watched Ronon shut the door. His face was grim, eyes dark and clouded.
Ronon knew from experience the passiveness would only last a short time, and he immediately left for the Ring before he could hear Sheppard trying to get out.
~
The mission went as predicted. The leaders were a combination of relieved and excited to see him, meaning they’d probably seen Wraith scouts in the sky recently. They paid him the promised amount and he went on his way to the next city. It was odd, having his mind drift back to the man he’d left on Sateda. It distracted him from the business at hand, which was annoying. Then he started wondering, again, if the thing in Sheppard’s neck could somehow influence Ronon, as well. The thought freaked him out and he forced himself to ignore it.
He skipped the Corfu wine festival and returned to Sateda as planned. It wasn’t until he walked through the Ring that he realized how worried he was. Sheppard had been alone for three days and Ronon had no idea what to expect.
It was both better and worse that Ronon had thought.
Sheppard was alive. He smelled horrible, and Ronon couldn’t see how he looked because the moment the door was open, Sheppard launched himself forward and wrapped himself around Ronon with such force that they both toppled to the ground. Ronon ended up on his knees on the floor, and Sheppard contorted himself into a position where both his arms and legs managed to encircle Ronon’s body. Then he wedged his head under Ronon’s chin, pressed his face flat against Ronon’s clavicle, and started sobbing hysterically.
There really wasn’t anything else to do, so Ronon just readjusted his feet so he could sit back on his heels more comfortably. It was hard to do with nearly 200 pounds of man holding on to him. Ronon rested one hand on the floor to keep upright, cupping the other one around the back of Sheppard’s head. The touch actually made Sheppard cry harder. Ronon could feel liquid warmth soaking his shirt, Sheppard’s shoulders heaving.
The room was trashed. Sheppard had tried to rip the metal sheets off the windows. There was a man sized dent in the middle of one of them. It also looked like he’d dismantled the furniture and tried to smash through the walls. The whole room smelled of desperate, bitter sweat and urine. Sheppard reeked of it, too.
He hadn’t touched his food. The rations had been knocked over, but Ronon could see the container was completely full. Immediately, Ronon looked for the water he’d left. Sheppard had either drunk it all or spilled it. It hadn’t occurred to him that Sheppard wouldn’t be able to hold it together enough to realize he needed to drink water.
But Sheppard was hydrated enough to cry and to sweat - Ronon could feel ample proof of both.
He let Sheppard stay where he was for a few more seconds. The crying wasn’t stopping and Sheppard was holding on so hard it actually hurt. Sheppard lifted his head, slightly, and the next thing Ronon knew he actually felt teeth scraping against his neck.
“Okay,” Ronon said. He took his hand off the ground and tensed his knees, preparing to stand. Sheppard must have felt him moving, but he didn’t react at all. Ronon had to disentangle Sheppard’s legs so he could rise, and the man stayed latched on to his torso. His teeth stayed where they were, too, and it was starting to sting.
Sheppard didn’t resist when Ronon unpeeled his arms from around his own shoulders and dumped him, fully clothed, in the bathtub. He did make a grab for Ronon’s hands, miss, and end up holding tightly to his forearms while Ronon turned on the faucets.
“You stink,” Ronon said.
Sheppard blinked at him from red, swollen eyes. Silently, he leaned forward ‘til his face was against Ronon’s hair. And then he started crying again, in big, gasping sobs.
~
It took hours for Sheppard to calm down. Talking to him didn’t seem to help at all. In between sobs, Sheppard whimpered unintelligibly. If Ronon would have let him, he probably would have climbed out of the tub and back into his lap. He had to settle for holding on to Ronon’s forearms and burying his face in his hair. It made cleaning him up hard, but Ronon managed to fill the tub and slice off Sheppard’s sodden clothes.
Sheppard didn’t even seem to notice he was being bathed, not even with soap and water was dripping down his face. He did stop crying, finally, but his body kept shuddering in strange, empty sobs. Ronon didn’t try to move him, even as the water cooled to tepid, making him notice just how wet he was with Sheppard draped over him.
Eventually, Ronon realized Sheppard had gone quiet and still. He peered at him, trying to find the man’s face pressed against his dreads. Ronon thought he might have fallen asleep, but he found Sheppard’s eyes open and blinking.
“Hey,” he tried.
For a few seconds, Sheppard didn’t react. Then, his eyes fluttered sluggishly to meet Ronon’s gaze.
“Hrm,” Sheppard said. His voice sounded raw and hoarse.
“Think you can get up?” Ronon asked.
Sheppard’s fingers dugs into his skin as the man suddenly gripped tighter.
“Dunno,” he said. He sniffled loudly, abruptly released his hold on Ronon with one hand so he could rub at his face.
That was a good sign, Ronon figured. He was coming back to himself.
Giving the man time to at least pretend like he was participating, Ronon got to his feet, pulling Sheppard up with him. Getting a towel around him when Sheppard was barely able to stand and, also, again trying to wrap himself around Ronon was harder.
“You need to eat,” Ronon said.
Sheppard kind of snuffled. He put one hand on the towel to hold it up, the other stayed clenched around Ronon.
In the kitchen, Sheppard made unhappy noises when Ronon made him sit in his own chair. He sat next to him, though, rather than across the table. Sheppard kept hold of Ronon’s arm, not really paying attention to the rations placed before him.
“Eat,” Ronon said.
“Might puke,” Sheppard said, but he was already picking up a utensil.
“Slow,” Ronon reminded him.
Sheppard nodded. He worked his way through the meal in tiny, hesitant bites. As usual, Ronon wasn’t even sure he could taste it or if he was just systematically obeying the order.
He still looked terrible, even if he didn’t smell anymore. His eyes were red and swollen, his face pinched from crying. Sheppard’s fingers were scraped and bloodied, probably from trying to pry and smash his way out of the room.
Ronon tried to withdraw the arm Sheppard was still holding tightly, and the man looked up sharply from his meal. His fingernails sank into Ronon’s skin as his grip suddenly increased.
“Can I just…” Sheppard said, unable to verbalize the request completely. “Please?”
“Yeah.” Ronon kept his arm on the table.
Sheppard sighed deeply. His eyes were averted, as they usually were in the moments when he was the most aware of what was happening. Slowly, his gaze lifted from the table top and found Ronon’s.
“If you have to,” he said, and his voice was still thick but markedly coherent. “If you need to… you should…” and then he reached over and brushed Ronon’s holster with the back of the hand holding his eating utensil.
“What?” Ronon asked.
With effort, Sheppard tapped the weapon again. “Just do it,” he said. “If you have to go…it’s okay. I prefer it.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” Ronon said.
The expression on Sheppard’s face cracked, and he looked like he was going to cry again. “I prefer it,” he repeated.
~
It stayed bad for a long time. Leaving Sheppard had been a huge mistake. It was like starting all over again, except this time Sheppard wasn’t even together enough to help with bullet assembly. He’d lost the manual dexterity, just as clumsy with his hands as he was on his feet. Ronon blamed the device in his neck; Sheppard blamed himself and was furious about it. Dully furious, anyway, since he lacked the energy and focus to fully process the emotion.
He still wanted to help Ronon with his work. Ronon tried giving him a few basic tasks with nothing that could explode. Sheppard dropped, fumbled, or broke everything he touched. And then he got upset and tried to crawl into Ronon’s lap for comfort. The first few times, Ronon wouldn’t let him and Sheppard’s behavior progressed to a full blown meltdown. He ended up in Ronon’s lap, anyway, face contorted like he was trying desperately not to cry.
It sucked.
After that, Ronon gave him a simple task that couldn’t be broken or really done wrong, for that matter. He had him stamp the Satedan glyph for vengeance onto the soft clay used to seal the ammunition into the shells. Sheppard didn’t read Satedan, so he couldn’t know how badly he was screwing it up and thus couldn’t get upset. He couldn’t break unbaked clay, either.
“I hate this,” Sheppard hissed, violently bringing the stamp down on to the strip of clay before him. Ronon noted that he missed twice before getting half the glyph on the edge of it.
“It’s okay,” Ronon said. It was pretty much the only thing Ronon ever said to him, now. Sometimes it averted a crisis, but those were so common now saying it was mostly reflex.
It wasn’t okay, and Sheppard knew that. His reasons were about his own worsening condition. Ronon’s reasons had more to do with how mad Sheppard’s people were going to be when he returned their man to them and he was like this. It’d been long enough that they would rightly feel that Ronon had kept him to either make him worse or not let him get better.
“Feels like my arms don’t belong to me,” Sheppard said, waving one hand loosely. “Like they’re going to float away.”
That was how they discovered a third thing that calmed and centered Sheppard. It should have been Ronon’s favorite, since it didn’t involve him at all. He didn’t have to talk or touch or cradle him in his lap.
They both hated it. Well, Ronon hated it outright, and Sheppard really liked it and hated that he did.
Sheppard liked being restrained. Ronon only reached out and pinned Sheppard’s wrists down because he was getting upset and beginning to flail, and the motion immediately stilled him. It didn’t abort the meltdown - probably because Sheppard realized just how sick it was and got upset all over again - but it did seem to shorten it.
Ronon refused to actually tie the man up. But he knew a thing that would make his life easier when he saw it, so he was willing to pretend. There didn’t seem to be much difference in how Sheppard reacted to sincerely being restrained and to the weight of one of Ronon’s spare belts wrapped loosely around his wrists.
It made him more focused and calmer, and improved his aim such that sometimes the vengeance glyph was actually centered in the clay.
~
Sheppard liked wearing the belt. He probably liked the fact that Ronon put it on him, too, because he never did it himself. It just kind of came out automatically, because his behavior deteriorated that quickly and that badly. It was a different kind of meltdown, too. The same pathological need to be close to Ronon with the same total loss of reason. But physically, it was different. Previously, Sheppard had been limp and uncoordinated. Now, the emotional explosion included his body. Sheppard flailed violently, and since he was usually trying to grab at Ronon at the time, Ronon kept ending up with a thumb in his eye or knuckles mashing his nose. Sheppard also resorted to biting a lot - gnawing on whatever part of Ronon he happened to get his teeth around. It bothered him more than the hitting, not just because it hurt more, but because it was so bestial.
A couple of times, Ronon reacted instinctually - and once he knew exactly what he was doing because Sheppard managed to slam a knee into his balls and it hurt - and flattened the man.
Afterwards, Ronon felt bad. Not too bad, though, since it never really hurt Sheppard. It was the same strange reaction the man had had to pain since the beginning. It tended to make him stop moving, and that was about it. As usual, it also made him even more eager for Ronon’s touch. It belatedly occurred to Ronon why and then he felt worse.
The Arachans could beat their slaves as much as and whenever they wanted if the slaves liked it too much to want to run away or murder their masters.
So, Ronon used the belt. It didn’t involve hitting Sheppard and it comforted him enough that Ronon didn’t take as many accidental elbows to the face. He still ended up with a restrained Sheppard crawling all over him, more often than not. Ronon almost wondered if the new violent flailing was deliberate, because it got a reaction Sheppard was programmed to enjoy. He didn’t think so, didn’t think Sheppard had any control over himself.
There were still occasions where Sheppard seemed aware, and in those moments he was always deeply embarrassed if not angry. The shot to the groin might have been one of those moments, Ronon wasn’t sure. He might have expected brutal retaliation, might have wanted Ronon to seriously try to kill him.
~
Sheppard made the request more directly three days before Ronon’s next scheduled offworld trip. While Ronon was bathing, Sheppard swiped his gun from his holster. It was probably only his muddled thoughts and manual clumsiness that meant he was still trying to figure out the firing mechanism when Ronon got out of the shower, found his pants, and realized it was missing.
“Give me that,” Ronon ordered, reaching out for it.
Immediately, Sheppard handed it over. Just as quickly, as soon as it was gone, Sheppard looked down at his empty hands and his face fell. His head dropped and his shoulders hunched up as they usually did when Sheppard thought he was in trouble. The reaction didn’t jive with the fact that the device in his neck made him like being hit, but there it was all the same.
Ronon holstered his gun and slid it across his hip, more out of reach. “Don’t do that,” he said.
Sheppard stayed there, shoulders hunched, while he went and got fully dressed. Ronon never tried to interact with him when he got like that. There was really only one possible outcome and Ronon accidentally set of far too many of those to do it on purpose.
After a few minutes, Sheppard followed him anyway, of course. Ronon was cleaning and sharpening his knives, something that didn’t really have to be done but was a part of his routine anyway. Sheppard didn’t help anymore because if he ever got his mind back, he would probably like to still have all his fingers.
Sheppard pulled a chair up next to Ronon, closer than was strictly necessary.
“You’re gonna leave me,” Sheppard said. It was a little halting, but otherwise the most coherent and longest sentence he’d come up with in weeks.
Ronon glanced up at him, gave him a raised eyebrow. “How do you know?”
Leaning forward, Sheppard raised his arms and cupped the back of his head, directly above the thing in his neck. “I can feel it,” he said. “Feels like you already left.”
Ronon stared at him. “Yeah?”
Sheppard’s gaze was dark and intense, unseeing of anything that wasn’t Ronon. He set one hand on the table, palm down, slid it forward.
“Busy,” Ronon said, because both his hands were full and he didn’t really feel like holding hands with Sheppard.
Sheppard’s arm stilled in place, and he settled for pressing it close to where Ronon’s elbows were propped on the table. He didn’t say anything, just stared and kept moving his hand so it followed Ronon’s arms.
“Got a schedule,” Ronon said, after a few minutes. “Gotta keep it. I can’t do the run with you. You lose it, they’re gonna think you’re crazy.”
“I am crazy,” Sheppard retorted, and it was fast enough and obnoxious enough that Ronon paused and looked at him. Sometimes Sheppard said things that weren’t very slave-like. Made Ronon wonder just how much of the man was still in there, fighting the device.
“Yeah,” Ronon agreed. “S’why you can’t come.”
Sheppard said nothing, but his eyes were welling with tears. Ronon sighed. If Sheppard had another tantrum, he’d have to take him and haul him and his grabby hands away from all the blades.
“I’ll tie you,” Ronon said. “You like that.” He reached out and put a hand down on Sheppard’s wrist, pinning it to the table. And Sheppard did like it. Ronon could feel the tension evaporate from his body, see his shoulders slumping instantly.
As usual, touching Sheppard had two effects. It calmed him such that the imminent meltdown vanished. It also focused him enough that he could organize his thoughts and think clearly enough to talk a little.
“It was like being ripped in half,” Sheppard said. “Okay?”
Ronon said nothing. He kept his grip on Sheppard’s wrist.
It was hard for Sheppard to say anything else. He kept opening his mouth, but his sentences died in his throat. Ronon let him try, watchful that the frustration would build into another tantrum.
“It’d be merciful,” Sheppard said, finally. His eyes were down, on Ronon’s gun.
“No,” Ronon said.
Sheppard scowled. It was unusual for him to express any kind of anger or irritation at Ronon, outside of total meltdowns. It was refreshingly normal to see him acting pissed.
“You’re doing this wrong,” Sheppard growled after a moment. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”
“You don’t want me to do it right,” Ronon said, fairly. He didn’t want to do it ‘right’, either.
But neither did he want Sheppard to get any worse. The trip to Oresta was long - seven communities distributed at some distance across one planet. It would take a lot longer than three days and Ronon didn’t want to know what Sheppard would be like left alone all that time.
Taking him along was really the only option. Ronon wouldn’t cancel the run just because he had to babysit.
~
Sheppard was thrilled to be coming. He also knew before Ronon told him, which continued to be disturbing.
Ronon made him wear real clothes. The man had mostly been in light, flimsy pajamas with old shoes Ronon salvaged if they went outside. It was springtime on Sateda and Sheppard didn’t really care what he wore. If Ronon didn’t make him, there were days where he wouldn’t have put clothes on at all. The pajamas worked and came off easily when Sheppard inevitably hurt himself or got covered in filth and needed both a bath and post-meltdown attention. He generally looked just as insane as he was acting, and that wouldn’t do for offworld.
Dressing Sheppard in Satedan armour was a strange experience. It made Ronon think about the last men to wear it, made his thoughts travel years back. He felt grim, unprepared for how intensely those old emotions resurfaced. Sheppard, as usual, picked up on this, even though Ronon said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” Sheppard whispered.
“S’okay,” Ronon said.
The Satedan soldiers had been able to dress themselves, though, and Ronon had to do up all the fasteners because Sheppard didn’t have the manual dexterity or the attention span to do it himself. Underneath the sleeves, Ronon tied two separate belts around Sheppard’s wrists. He didn’t want to march around with an obviously bound man, but Sheppard liked the sensation and Ronon wasn’t naïve enough to believe that the trip would go off flawlessly. If Sheppard had a flailing tantrum, he wanted to be able to shut it down quickly. He also wrapped a short scarf around Sheppard’s neck, concealing the Arachan implant. As he did so, one of the little metal tines wiggled in place. Ronon froze, afraid he’d just driven it deep into Sheppard’s brain. But Sheppard didn’t make a sound or react in any way, so he carefully continued wrapping.
“Just stay behind me and be good,” Ronon said, as they walked towards the Ring.
“I try to be good,” Sheppard said, immediately.
That wasn’t true, because there were plenty of times when Sheppard seemed to have a meltdown purely because it got him attention and physical contact from Ronon.
“I mean it,” Ronon said.
Sheppard’s face twisted up. “So do I.”
The plan on Oresta was for Sheppard to say nothing and do nothing. Ronon figured he could carry supplies, but that was all he was counting on. He had a prepared explanation for who Sheppard was and why he was so crazy, since even if Sheppard didn’t showcase his worst behavior, it was still pretty obvious something was wrong with his mind.
“He’s my brother from another mother,” Ronon told the clan leader at the first Orestan villiage. “She drank too much Ulliki ale while he was within her.”
This went over fine. He was even offered a nurse to watch Sheppard while he did his work. It was tempting, but he could already see Sheppard tensely staring at him.
“He doesn’t really like other people,” Ronon said.
All the same, he had to leave Sheppard somewhere while he went and did some of the stupid ritual social meetings surrounding trade. He didn’t think Sheppard could handle that much activity. Ronon didn’t like it himself, but he wasn’t going to flip out about it. So, he left Sheppard with the nurse in their tent. He bound the man’s wrists together and to the center pole, so he couldn’t get away without bringing down the whole thing. He wasn’t sure that was good enough.
“He goes kinda crazy,” he warned the nurse. “Don’t get near him.”
She was a tiny woman, dark like the other Orestans. If Sheppard got loose, she wouldn’t be able to stop him. She looked at Sheppard and frowned.
“Can I give him some Keyshi tea?” she asked, face concerned.
Sheppard didn’t want it, but Ronon told him to drink it. It smelled sweet and medicinal and the nurse said it would make his brother happy and quiet. This appeared to mean drugged into a stupor, because when Ronon got back a few hours later, Sheppard was curled up on the floor and drooling. The nurse was gone, and she’d left a pile of tea bags near the door.
Sheppard woke up the following morning and he was pissed. He said nothing, of course, but Ronon could see the emotion battling in his face. It took forever to get him dressed because he was twice as clingy as usual and had decided that he wasn’t going to help at all. Ronon left the tent for a few minutes to load up the cargo he’d received, and when he came back all the remaining tea bags had been dumped in the fire and were burning away. Sheppard was sitting next to it, shoulders hunched guiltily. Ronon had never, ever punished him, but every time Sheppard did something he thought would make Ronon angry, that scared posture came out.
“Okay,” Ronon said, sitting down besides Sheppard. He kept his movements smooth and calm, waiting for the fear to ease out. “Tea do anything?” he asked.
Sheppard stared at him, face mostly neutral but something muddled and angry stirring underneath.
“It help?” Ronon asked. “It make it worse?”
Blinking, Sheppard forced out an answer. “Just made me sleep,” he said, finally. “Didn’t do anything else.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not fair,” Sheppard said, almost assertively. He looked at Ronon, waiting for an answer.
“You gotta be good,” Ronon said.
Sheppard crossed his arms over his chest, the tails of the ropes left on his wrists dangling down.
If needed, he could’ve got more tea and kept Sheppard out of it the whole trip. But Ronon tried not to do things that the man obviously hated - and he thought this was actually the man and not the thing in his brain.
Their journey was uneventful for the next few villages. Sheppard behaved, for the most part. Acting normal was hard on him and every time he got the chance to go back to being a total lunatic without anyone seeing, he took it. This made coming back to the lodging every night incredibly shitty, because within seconds of the door shutting Sheppard would completely lose it. Ronon kept repeating the story he’d made up to each village leader. It worked, although eventually Sheppard figured out what he was saying and had enough dignity left to get pissed about it.
“Are you telling people I have brain damage?” he asked, and it would have sounded more righteous if he wasn’t trying to hug Ronon’s legs while he took his boots off.
“Yeah.”
Sheppard clung harder, and then he started to try to bite Ronon on the knee. It was through his pants so it didn’t really hurt. Ronon put his hand down and pulled Sheppard’s head away, anyway. He sort of patted Sheppard’s hair, something which made him feel like he was stroking a pet. But Sheppard liked it, and Ronon liked it better than getting chewed on.
There was an incident at the seventh village, on the return leg to the Ring. A man came up to Sheppard and tried to speak to him. Sheppard backed away, tripped over his own legs trying to get away. Ronon stepped between them, ready to explain the whole Ulliki ale thing.
“Colonel Sheppard,” the villager said, “Are you alright?”
Sheppard stayed on the ground, staring up at the man. He didn’t say anything and when Ronon stepped closer, his hands shot out and grabbed hold of his leg.
“You’re mistaken,” Ronon said, putting more of his body between them. “You don’t know him. He’s my brother and he’s sick in the head.”
The villager stepped back, probably mostly to get away from Ronon. The expression on his face wasn’t convinced.
“You know him?” Ronon asked Sheppard, hours later. The encounter had left him upset and disoriented, to the extent that they’d spent the entire time hiding out in the inn where they were staying. Sheppard hadn’t trashed the room, mostly because Ronon had tied his arms together and preemptively dumped him in the bathtub. If he wanted to spend the rest of his life in a bathroom with a tied up naked guy, it would actually be a great way to handle Sheppard’s meltdowns.
Sheppard shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He shook his head, water droplets flipping off the ends of his hair. “It’s really hard to remember before.”
“Before what?”
Sheppard blinked at him. “Before,” he said, and then he made a face as if realizing he had no idea what that meant.
Ronon decided to cut the rest of the trip short. Sheppard was in bad shape, now, shaky and unable to follow even basic instructions. They made the delivery at the last village quickly and skipped the celebratory feast that should have followed.
It was good to get back to Sateda. They settled back into the routine, and Sheppard could act as crazy as he wanted without any witnesses.
~
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Part 4
Taking Sheppard with him was not an option. The mission stretched overnight and there was no way Ronon was going to find out if Sheppard could handle traveling when he sometimes couldn’t handle brushing his teeth. Even if Sheppard was on his best, most lucid behavior, it was out of the question. Many of the worlds Ronon visited were as grateful for the weapons as they were suspicious of newcomers. They liked the man that brought them ways to kill Wraith - they’d like him less if he had an utterly insane slave at his side.
It was the first time in years that Ronon had to consider someone else before acting. It was new, so new Ronon wasn’t sure what he should do. For himself, he wouldn’t have altered the mission plan at all. He had no idea how Sheppard would react to being left alone for a few days. Considering he didn’t like being left alone for minutes while Ronon went to the bathroom, it didn’t seem to bode well.
Ronon’s plan was two-sided. On his end, he shortened the mission. He only really needed three days to accomplish the goal. There were four cities on Caxa, and it would take him that long to travel to all four, deliver his arms and receive payment, and return to the Ring. He had intended to stay longer. The Corfu had sweet wine and a monthly festival where you got to drink lots of it.
Shepppard’s end was more complicated. The first thing Ronon did was make sure that he wouldn’t be followed. He secured the windows on the second bedroom Sheppard had never slept in. It wasn’t discreet - he had to make sure Sheppard couldn’t get at the glass, and he put up enormous pieces of scrap metal to that end. Since, of course, Sheppard wouldn’t leave him alone, the man watched him as he worked. He didn’t volunteer to help, though. Ronon didn’t ask, either, watching the way Sheppard’s eyes narrowed and his body language went tense and alarmed.
He didn’t get upset, yet. Ronon wondered if he even could, or if the Arachan mind control would only kick in later. Sheppard definitely knew what was coming, but for the moment he just watched with apprehension as Ronon installed three more locks on the door frame.
Ronon put more than three days supplies of food and water in the room, too. Sheppard glared at it, but said nothing. The mission wasn’t going to be dangerous, but Ronon didn’t want Sheppard to become hungry or thirsty if he was delayed in returning. This made him wonder what would happen to the Arachan device if Ronon died, if it would still link Sheppard to a dead man. He figured Sheppard was resourceful enough to escape, eventually, if Ronon really didn’t come back. There wasn’t anything he could do if the thing in his neck decided to fry him, though.
“Gonna leave me a litter box?” Sheppard asked. His hands were clutched together in his lap and he was looking up at Ronon from lowered lids.
Ronon went and found a bucket, that particular arrangement having slipped his mind.
“I’m coming back,” Ronon promised. Sheppard didn’t say anything, but his body was tense and coiled. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he added, knowing that order wouldn’t stick either.
Locking Sheppard in the room wasn’t hard. The man didn’t fight, he just sat on the bed as instructed and watched Ronon shut the door. His face was grim, eyes dark and clouded.
Ronon knew from experience the passiveness would only last a short time, and he immediately left for the Ring before he could hear Sheppard trying to get out.
~
The mission went as predicted. The leaders were a combination of relieved and excited to see him, meaning they’d probably seen Wraith scouts in the sky recently. They paid him the promised amount and he went on his way to the next city. It was odd, having his mind drift back to the man he’d left on Sateda. It distracted him from the business at hand, which was annoying. Then he started wondering, again, if the thing in Sheppard’s neck could somehow influence Ronon, as well. The thought freaked him out and he forced himself to ignore it.
He skipped the Corfu wine festival and returned to Sateda as planned. It wasn’t until he walked through the Ring that he realized how worried he was. Sheppard had been alone for three days and Ronon had no idea what to expect.
It was both better and worse that Ronon had thought.
Sheppard was alive. He smelled horrible, and Ronon couldn’t see how he looked because the moment the door was open, Sheppard launched himself forward and wrapped himself around Ronon with such force that they both toppled to the ground. Ronon ended up on his knees on the floor, and Sheppard contorted himself into a position where both his arms and legs managed to encircle Ronon’s body. Then he wedged his head under Ronon’s chin, pressed his face flat against Ronon’s clavicle, and started sobbing hysterically.
There really wasn’t anything else to do, so Ronon just readjusted his feet so he could sit back on his heels more comfortably. It was hard to do with nearly 200 pounds of man holding on to him. Ronon rested one hand on the floor to keep upright, cupping the other one around the back of Sheppard’s head. The touch actually made Sheppard cry harder. Ronon could feel liquid warmth soaking his shirt, Sheppard’s shoulders heaving.
The room was trashed. Sheppard had tried to rip the metal sheets off the windows. There was a man sized dent in the middle of one of them. It also looked like he’d dismantled the furniture and tried to smash through the walls. The whole room smelled of desperate, bitter sweat and urine. Sheppard reeked of it, too.
He hadn’t touched his food. The rations had been knocked over, but Ronon could see the container was completely full. Immediately, Ronon looked for the water he’d left. Sheppard had either drunk it all or spilled it. It hadn’t occurred to him that Sheppard wouldn’t be able to hold it together enough to realize he needed to drink water.
But Sheppard was hydrated enough to cry and to sweat - Ronon could feel ample proof of both.
He let Sheppard stay where he was for a few more seconds. The crying wasn’t stopping and Sheppard was holding on so hard it actually hurt. Sheppard lifted his head, slightly, and the next thing Ronon knew he actually felt teeth scraping against his neck.
“Okay,” Ronon said. He took his hand off the ground and tensed his knees, preparing to stand. Sheppard must have felt him moving, but he didn’t react at all. Ronon had to disentangle Sheppard’s legs so he could rise, and the man stayed latched on to his torso. His teeth stayed where they were, too, and it was starting to sting.
Sheppard didn’t resist when Ronon unpeeled his arms from around his own shoulders and dumped him, fully clothed, in the bathtub. He did make a grab for Ronon’s hands, miss, and end up holding tightly to his forearms while Ronon turned on the faucets.
“You stink,” Ronon said.
Sheppard blinked at him from red, swollen eyes. Silently, he leaned forward ‘til his face was against Ronon’s hair. And then he started crying again, in big, gasping sobs.
~
It took hours for Sheppard to calm down. Talking to him didn’t seem to help at all. In between sobs, Sheppard whimpered unintelligibly. If Ronon would have let him, he probably would have climbed out of the tub and back into his lap. He had to settle for holding on to Ronon’s forearms and burying his face in his hair. It made cleaning him up hard, but Ronon managed to fill the tub and slice off Sheppard’s sodden clothes.
Sheppard didn’t even seem to notice he was being bathed, not even with soap and water was dripping down his face. He did stop crying, finally, but his body kept shuddering in strange, empty sobs. Ronon didn’t try to move him, even as the water cooled to tepid, making him notice just how wet he was with Sheppard draped over him.
Eventually, Ronon realized Sheppard had gone quiet and still. He peered at him, trying to find the man’s face pressed against his dreads. Ronon thought he might have fallen asleep, but he found Sheppard’s eyes open and blinking.
“Hey,” he tried.
For a few seconds, Sheppard didn’t react. Then, his eyes fluttered sluggishly to meet Ronon’s gaze.
“Hrm,” Sheppard said. His voice sounded raw and hoarse.
“Think you can get up?” Ronon asked.
Sheppard’s fingers dugs into his skin as the man suddenly gripped tighter.
“Dunno,” he said. He sniffled loudly, abruptly released his hold on Ronon with one hand so he could rub at his face.
That was a good sign, Ronon figured. He was coming back to himself.
Giving the man time to at least pretend like he was participating, Ronon got to his feet, pulling Sheppard up with him. Getting a towel around him when Sheppard was barely able to stand and, also, again trying to wrap himself around Ronon was harder.
“You need to eat,” Ronon said.
Sheppard kind of snuffled. He put one hand on the towel to hold it up, the other stayed clenched around Ronon.
In the kitchen, Sheppard made unhappy noises when Ronon made him sit in his own chair. He sat next to him, though, rather than across the table. Sheppard kept hold of Ronon’s arm, not really paying attention to the rations placed before him.
“Eat,” Ronon said.
“Might puke,” Sheppard said, but he was already picking up a utensil.
“Slow,” Ronon reminded him.
Sheppard nodded. He worked his way through the meal in tiny, hesitant bites. As usual, Ronon wasn’t even sure he could taste it or if he was just systematically obeying the order.
He still looked terrible, even if he didn’t smell anymore. His eyes were red and swollen, his face pinched from crying. Sheppard’s fingers were scraped and bloodied, probably from trying to pry and smash his way out of the room.
Ronon tried to withdraw the arm Sheppard was still holding tightly, and the man looked up sharply from his meal. His fingernails sank into Ronon’s skin as his grip suddenly increased.
“Can I just…” Sheppard said, unable to verbalize the request completely. “Please?”
“Yeah.” Ronon kept his arm on the table.
Sheppard sighed deeply. His eyes were averted, as they usually were in the moments when he was the most aware of what was happening. Slowly, his gaze lifted from the table top and found Ronon’s.
“If you have to,” he said, and his voice was still thick but markedly coherent. “If you need to… you should…” and then he reached over and brushed Ronon’s holster with the back of the hand holding his eating utensil.
“What?” Ronon asked.
With effort, Sheppard tapped the weapon again. “Just do it,” he said. “If you have to go…it’s okay. I prefer it.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” Ronon said.
The expression on Sheppard’s face cracked, and he looked like he was going to cry again. “I prefer it,” he repeated.
~
It stayed bad for a long time. Leaving Sheppard had been a huge mistake. It was like starting all over again, except this time Sheppard wasn’t even together enough to help with bullet assembly. He’d lost the manual dexterity, just as clumsy with his hands as he was on his feet. Ronon blamed the device in his neck; Sheppard blamed himself and was furious about it. Dully furious, anyway, since he lacked the energy and focus to fully process the emotion.
He still wanted to help Ronon with his work. Ronon tried giving him a few basic tasks with nothing that could explode. Sheppard dropped, fumbled, or broke everything he touched. And then he got upset and tried to crawl into Ronon’s lap for comfort. The first few times, Ronon wouldn’t let him and Sheppard’s behavior progressed to a full blown meltdown. He ended up in Ronon’s lap, anyway, face contorted like he was trying desperately not to cry.
It sucked.
After that, Ronon gave him a simple task that couldn’t be broken or really done wrong, for that matter. He had him stamp the Satedan glyph for vengeance onto the soft clay used to seal the ammunition into the shells. Sheppard didn’t read Satedan, so he couldn’t know how badly he was screwing it up and thus couldn’t get upset. He couldn’t break unbaked clay, either.
“I hate this,” Sheppard hissed, violently bringing the stamp down on to the strip of clay before him. Ronon noted that he missed twice before getting half the glyph on the edge of it.
“It’s okay,” Ronon said. It was pretty much the only thing Ronon ever said to him, now. Sometimes it averted a crisis, but those were so common now saying it was mostly reflex.
It wasn’t okay, and Sheppard knew that. His reasons were about his own worsening condition. Ronon’s reasons had more to do with how mad Sheppard’s people were going to be when he returned their man to them and he was like this. It’d been long enough that they would rightly feel that Ronon had kept him to either make him worse or not let him get better.
“Feels like my arms don’t belong to me,” Sheppard said, waving one hand loosely. “Like they’re going to float away.”
That was how they discovered a third thing that calmed and centered Sheppard. It should have been Ronon’s favorite, since it didn’t involve him at all. He didn’t have to talk or touch or cradle him in his lap.
They both hated it. Well, Ronon hated it outright, and Sheppard really liked it and hated that he did.
Sheppard liked being restrained. Ronon only reached out and pinned Sheppard’s wrists down because he was getting upset and beginning to flail, and the motion immediately stilled him. It didn’t abort the meltdown - probably because Sheppard realized just how sick it was and got upset all over again - but it did seem to shorten it.
Ronon refused to actually tie the man up. But he knew a thing that would make his life easier when he saw it, so he was willing to pretend. There didn’t seem to be much difference in how Sheppard reacted to sincerely being restrained and to the weight of one of Ronon’s spare belts wrapped loosely around his wrists.
It made him more focused and calmer, and improved his aim such that sometimes the vengeance glyph was actually centered in the clay.
~
Sheppard liked wearing the belt. He probably liked the fact that Ronon put it on him, too, because he never did it himself. It just kind of came out automatically, because his behavior deteriorated that quickly and that badly. It was a different kind of meltdown, too. The same pathological need to be close to Ronon with the same total loss of reason. But physically, it was different. Previously, Sheppard had been limp and uncoordinated. Now, the emotional explosion included his body. Sheppard flailed violently, and since he was usually trying to grab at Ronon at the time, Ronon kept ending up with a thumb in his eye or knuckles mashing his nose. Sheppard also resorted to biting a lot - gnawing on whatever part of Ronon he happened to get his teeth around. It bothered him more than the hitting, not just because it hurt more, but because it was so bestial.
A couple of times, Ronon reacted instinctually - and once he knew exactly what he was doing because Sheppard managed to slam a knee into his balls and it hurt - and flattened the man.
Afterwards, Ronon felt bad. Not too bad, though, since it never really hurt Sheppard. It was the same strange reaction the man had had to pain since the beginning. It tended to make him stop moving, and that was about it. As usual, it also made him even more eager for Ronon’s touch. It belatedly occurred to Ronon why and then he felt worse.
The Arachans could beat their slaves as much as and whenever they wanted if the slaves liked it too much to want to run away or murder their masters.
So, Ronon used the belt. It didn’t involve hitting Sheppard and it comforted him enough that Ronon didn’t take as many accidental elbows to the face. He still ended up with a restrained Sheppard crawling all over him, more often than not. Ronon almost wondered if the new violent flailing was deliberate, because it got a reaction Sheppard was programmed to enjoy. He didn’t think so, didn’t think Sheppard had any control over himself.
There were still occasions where Sheppard seemed aware, and in those moments he was always deeply embarrassed if not angry. The shot to the groin might have been one of those moments, Ronon wasn’t sure. He might have expected brutal retaliation, might have wanted Ronon to seriously try to kill him.
~
Sheppard made the request more directly three days before Ronon’s next scheduled offworld trip. While Ronon was bathing, Sheppard swiped his gun from his holster. It was probably only his muddled thoughts and manual clumsiness that meant he was still trying to figure out the firing mechanism when Ronon got out of the shower, found his pants, and realized it was missing.
“Give me that,” Ronon ordered, reaching out for it.
Immediately, Sheppard handed it over. Just as quickly, as soon as it was gone, Sheppard looked down at his empty hands and his face fell. His head dropped and his shoulders hunched up as they usually did when Sheppard thought he was in trouble. The reaction didn’t jive with the fact that the device in his neck made him like being hit, but there it was all the same.
Ronon holstered his gun and slid it across his hip, more out of reach. “Don’t do that,” he said.
Sheppard stayed there, shoulders hunched, while he went and got fully dressed. Ronon never tried to interact with him when he got like that. There was really only one possible outcome and Ronon accidentally set of far too many of those to do it on purpose.
After a few minutes, Sheppard followed him anyway, of course. Ronon was cleaning and sharpening his knives, something that didn’t really have to be done but was a part of his routine anyway. Sheppard didn’t help anymore because if he ever got his mind back, he would probably like to still have all his fingers.
Sheppard pulled a chair up next to Ronon, closer than was strictly necessary.
“You’re gonna leave me,” Sheppard said. It was a little halting, but otherwise the most coherent and longest sentence he’d come up with in weeks.
Ronon glanced up at him, gave him a raised eyebrow. “How do you know?”
Leaning forward, Sheppard raised his arms and cupped the back of his head, directly above the thing in his neck. “I can feel it,” he said. “Feels like you already left.”
Ronon stared at him. “Yeah?”
Sheppard’s gaze was dark and intense, unseeing of anything that wasn’t Ronon. He set one hand on the table, palm down, slid it forward.
“Busy,” Ronon said, because both his hands were full and he didn’t really feel like holding hands with Sheppard.
Sheppard’s arm stilled in place, and he settled for pressing it close to where Ronon’s elbows were propped on the table. He didn’t say anything, just stared and kept moving his hand so it followed Ronon’s arms.
“Got a schedule,” Ronon said, after a few minutes. “Gotta keep it. I can’t do the run with you. You lose it, they’re gonna think you’re crazy.”
“I am crazy,” Sheppard retorted, and it was fast enough and obnoxious enough that Ronon paused and looked at him. Sometimes Sheppard said things that weren’t very slave-like. Made Ronon wonder just how much of the man was still in there, fighting the device.
“Yeah,” Ronon agreed. “S’why you can’t come.”
Sheppard said nothing, but his eyes were welling with tears. Ronon sighed. If Sheppard had another tantrum, he’d have to take him and haul him and his grabby hands away from all the blades.
“I’ll tie you,” Ronon said. “You like that.” He reached out and put a hand down on Sheppard’s wrist, pinning it to the table. And Sheppard did like it. Ronon could feel the tension evaporate from his body, see his shoulders slumping instantly.
As usual, touching Sheppard had two effects. It calmed him such that the imminent meltdown vanished. It also focused him enough that he could organize his thoughts and think clearly enough to talk a little.
“It was like being ripped in half,” Sheppard said. “Okay?”
Ronon said nothing. He kept his grip on Sheppard’s wrist.
It was hard for Sheppard to say anything else. He kept opening his mouth, but his sentences died in his throat. Ronon let him try, watchful that the frustration would build into another tantrum.
“It’d be merciful,” Sheppard said, finally. His eyes were down, on Ronon’s gun.
“No,” Ronon said.
Sheppard scowled. It was unusual for him to express any kind of anger or irritation at Ronon, outside of total meltdowns. It was refreshingly normal to see him acting pissed.
“You’re doing this wrong,” Sheppard growled after a moment. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”
“You don’t want me to do it right,” Ronon said, fairly. He didn’t want to do it ‘right’, either.
But neither did he want Sheppard to get any worse. The trip to Oresta was long - seven communities distributed at some distance across one planet. It would take a lot longer than three days and Ronon didn’t want to know what Sheppard would be like left alone all that time.
Taking him along was really the only option. Ronon wouldn’t cancel the run just because he had to babysit.
~
Sheppard was thrilled to be coming. He also knew before Ronon told him, which continued to be disturbing.
Ronon made him wear real clothes. The man had mostly been in light, flimsy pajamas with old shoes Ronon salvaged if they went outside. It was springtime on Sateda and Sheppard didn’t really care what he wore. If Ronon didn’t make him, there were days where he wouldn’t have put clothes on at all. The pajamas worked and came off easily when Sheppard inevitably hurt himself or got covered in filth and needed both a bath and post-meltdown attention. He generally looked just as insane as he was acting, and that wouldn’t do for offworld.
Dressing Sheppard in Satedan armour was a strange experience. It made Ronon think about the last men to wear it, made his thoughts travel years back. He felt grim, unprepared for how intensely those old emotions resurfaced. Sheppard, as usual, picked up on this, even though Ronon said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” Sheppard whispered.
“S’okay,” Ronon said.
The Satedan soldiers had been able to dress themselves, though, and Ronon had to do up all the fasteners because Sheppard didn’t have the manual dexterity or the attention span to do it himself. Underneath the sleeves, Ronon tied two separate belts around Sheppard’s wrists. He didn’t want to march around with an obviously bound man, but Sheppard liked the sensation and Ronon wasn’t naïve enough to believe that the trip would go off flawlessly. If Sheppard had a flailing tantrum, he wanted to be able to shut it down quickly. He also wrapped a short scarf around Sheppard’s neck, concealing the Arachan implant. As he did so, one of the little metal tines wiggled in place. Ronon froze, afraid he’d just driven it deep into Sheppard’s brain. But Sheppard didn’t make a sound or react in any way, so he carefully continued wrapping.
“Just stay behind me and be good,” Ronon said, as they walked towards the Ring.
“I try to be good,” Sheppard said, immediately.
That wasn’t true, because there were plenty of times when Sheppard seemed to have a meltdown purely because it got him attention and physical contact from Ronon.
“I mean it,” Ronon said.
Sheppard’s face twisted up. “So do I.”
The plan on Oresta was for Sheppard to say nothing and do nothing. Ronon figured he could carry supplies, but that was all he was counting on. He had a prepared explanation for who Sheppard was and why he was so crazy, since even if Sheppard didn’t showcase his worst behavior, it was still pretty obvious something was wrong with his mind.
“He’s my brother from another mother,” Ronon told the clan leader at the first Orestan villiage. “She drank too much Ulliki ale while he was within her.”
This went over fine. He was even offered a nurse to watch Sheppard while he did his work. It was tempting, but he could already see Sheppard tensely staring at him.
“He doesn’t really like other people,” Ronon said.
All the same, he had to leave Sheppard somewhere while he went and did some of the stupid ritual social meetings surrounding trade. He didn’t think Sheppard could handle that much activity. Ronon didn’t like it himself, but he wasn’t going to flip out about it. So, he left Sheppard with the nurse in their tent. He bound the man’s wrists together and to the center pole, so he couldn’t get away without bringing down the whole thing. He wasn’t sure that was good enough.
“He goes kinda crazy,” he warned the nurse. “Don’t get near him.”
She was a tiny woman, dark like the other Orestans. If Sheppard got loose, she wouldn’t be able to stop him. She looked at Sheppard and frowned.
“Can I give him some Keyshi tea?” she asked, face concerned.
Sheppard didn’t want it, but Ronon told him to drink it. It smelled sweet and medicinal and the nurse said it would make his brother happy and quiet. This appeared to mean drugged into a stupor, because when Ronon got back a few hours later, Sheppard was curled up on the floor and drooling. The nurse was gone, and she’d left a pile of tea bags near the door.
Sheppard woke up the following morning and he was pissed. He said nothing, of course, but Ronon could see the emotion battling in his face. It took forever to get him dressed because he was twice as clingy as usual and had decided that he wasn’t going to help at all. Ronon left the tent for a few minutes to load up the cargo he’d received, and when he came back all the remaining tea bags had been dumped in the fire and were burning away. Sheppard was sitting next to it, shoulders hunched guiltily. Ronon had never, ever punished him, but every time Sheppard did something he thought would make Ronon angry, that scared posture came out.
“Okay,” Ronon said, sitting down besides Sheppard. He kept his movements smooth and calm, waiting for the fear to ease out. “Tea do anything?” he asked.
Sheppard stared at him, face mostly neutral but something muddled and angry stirring underneath.
“It help?” Ronon asked. “It make it worse?”
Blinking, Sheppard forced out an answer. “Just made me sleep,” he said, finally. “Didn’t do anything else.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not fair,” Sheppard said, almost assertively. He looked at Ronon, waiting for an answer.
“You gotta be good,” Ronon said.
Sheppard crossed his arms over his chest, the tails of the ropes left on his wrists dangling down.
If needed, he could’ve got more tea and kept Sheppard out of it the whole trip. But Ronon tried not to do things that the man obviously hated - and he thought this was actually the man and not the thing in his brain.
Their journey was uneventful for the next few villages. Sheppard behaved, for the most part. Acting normal was hard on him and every time he got the chance to go back to being a total lunatic without anyone seeing, he took it. This made coming back to the lodging every night incredibly shitty, because within seconds of the door shutting Sheppard would completely lose it. Ronon kept repeating the story he’d made up to each village leader. It worked, although eventually Sheppard figured out what he was saying and had enough dignity left to get pissed about it.
“Are you telling people I have brain damage?” he asked, and it would have sounded more righteous if he wasn’t trying to hug Ronon’s legs while he took his boots off.
“Yeah.”
Sheppard clung harder, and then he started to try to bite Ronon on the knee. It was through his pants so it didn’t really hurt. Ronon put his hand down and pulled Sheppard’s head away, anyway. He sort of patted Sheppard’s hair, something which made him feel like he was stroking a pet. But Sheppard liked it, and Ronon liked it better than getting chewed on.
There was an incident at the seventh village, on the return leg to the Ring. A man came up to Sheppard and tried to speak to him. Sheppard backed away, tripped over his own legs trying to get away. Ronon stepped between them, ready to explain the whole Ulliki ale thing.
“Colonel Sheppard,” the villager said, “Are you alright?”
Sheppard stayed on the ground, staring up at the man. He didn’t say anything and when Ronon stepped closer, his hands shot out and grabbed hold of his leg.
“You’re mistaken,” Ronon said, putting more of his body between them. “You don’t know him. He’s my brother and he’s sick in the head.”
The villager stepped back, probably mostly to get away from Ronon. The expression on his face wasn’t convinced.
“You know him?” Ronon asked Sheppard, hours later. The encounter had left him upset and disoriented, to the extent that they’d spent the entire time hiding out in the inn where they were staying. Sheppard hadn’t trashed the room, mostly because Ronon had tied his arms together and preemptively dumped him in the bathtub. If he wanted to spend the rest of his life in a bathroom with a tied up naked guy, it would actually be a great way to handle Sheppard’s meltdowns.
Sheppard shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He shook his head, water droplets flipping off the ends of his hair. “It’s really hard to remember before.”
“Before what?”
Sheppard blinked at him. “Before,” he said, and then he made a face as if realizing he had no idea what that meant.
Ronon decided to cut the rest of the trip short. Sheppard was in bad shape, now, shaky and unable to follow even basic instructions. They made the delivery at the last village quickly and skipped the celebratory feast that should have followed.
It was good to get back to Sateda. They settled back into the routine, and Sheppard could act as crazy as he wanted without any witnesses.
~
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Part 4